The Little Lame Prince  by Dinah Maria Mulock

Bewildered

W HAT, I wonder, would be most people's idea of a king? What was Prince Dolor's?

Perhaps a very splendid personage, with a crown on his head and a sceptre in his hand, sitting on a throne and judging the people. Always doing right, and never wrong—"The king can do no wrong" was a law laid down in olden times. Never cross, or tired, or sick, or suffering; perfectly handsome and well-dressed, calm and good-tempered, ready to see and hear everybody, and discourteous to nobody; all things always going well with him, and nothing unpleasant ever happening.

This, probably, was what Prince Dolor expected to see. And what did he see? But I must tell you how he saw it.

"Ah," said the magpie, "no levée to-day. The King is ill, though his Majesty does not wish it to be generally known—it would be so very inconvenient. He can't see you, but perhaps you might like to go and take a look at him, in a way I often do? It is so very amusing."

Amusing, indeed!

The Prince was just now too much excited to talk much. Was he not going to see the King his uncle, who had succeeded his father and dethroned himself; had stepped into all the pleasant things that he, Prince Dolor, ought to have had, and shut him up in a desolate tower? What was he like, this great, bad, clever man? Had he got all the things he wanted, which another ought to have had? And did he enjoy them?

"Nobody knows," answered the magpie, just as if she had been sitting inside the Prince's heart, instead of on the top of his shoulder. "He is a king, and that's enough. For the rest nobody knows."

As she spoke, Mag flew down on to the palace roof, where the cloak had rested, settling down between the great stacks of chimneys as comfortably as if on the ground. She pecked at the tiles with her beak—truly she was a wonderful bird—and immediately a little hole opened, a sort of door, through which could be seen distinctly the chamber below.

"Now look in, my prince. Make haste, for I must soon shut it up again."

She pecked at the tiles with her beak . . . a little hole opened. "Now look in, Prince. Make haste, for I must soon shut it up again."

But the boy hesitated. "Isn't it rude?—won't they think us intruding?"

"Oh, dear no! there's a hole like this in every palace; dozens of holes, indeed. Everybody knows it, but nobody speaks of it. Intrusion! Why, though the Royal family are supposed to live shut up behind stone walls ever so thick, all the world knows that they live in a glass house where everybody can see them, and throw a stone at them. Now, pop down on your knees, and take a peep at his Majesty."

His Majesty!

The Prince gazed eagerly down, into a large room, the largest room he had ever beheld, with furniture and hangings grander than anything he could have ever imagined. A stray sunbeam, coming through a crevice of the darkened windows, struck across the carpet, and it was the loveliest carpet ever woven—just like a bed of flowers to walk over; only nobody walked over it, the room being perfectly empty and silent.

"Where is the King?" asked the puzzled boy.

"There," said Mag, pointing with one wrinkled claw to a magnificent bed, large enough to contain six people. In the centre of it, just visible under the silken counterpane—quite straight and still—with its head on the lace pillow lay a small figure, something like waxwork, fast asleep—very fast asleep! There were a quantity of sparkling rings on the tiny yellow hands, that were curled a little, helplessly, like a baby's, outside the coverlet; the eyes were shut, the nose looked sharp and thin, and the long grey beard hid the mouth and lay over the breast. A sight not ugly, nor frightening, only solemn and quiet. And so very silent—two little flies buzzing about the curtains of the bed being the only audible sound.

"Is that the King?" whispered Prince Dolor.

"Yes," replied the bird.

He had been angry—furiously angry; ever since he knew how his uncle had taken the crown, and sent him, a poor little helpless child, to be shut up for life, just as if he had been dead. Many times the boy had felt as if, king as he was, he should like to strike him, this great, strong, wicked man.

Why, you might as well have struck a baby! How helpless he lay! with his eyes shut, and his idle hands folded: they had no more work to do, bad or good.

"What is the matter with him?" asked the Prince.

"He is dead," said the Magpie, with a croak.

No, there was not the least use in being angry with him now. On the contrary, the Prince felt almost sorry for him, except that he looked so peaceful, with all his cares at rest. And this was being dead? So, even kings died?

"Well, well, he hadn't an easy life, folk say, for all his grandeur. Perhaps he is glad it is over. Good-bye, your Majesty."

With another cheerful tap of her beak, Mistress Mag shut down the little door in the tiles, and Prince Dolor's first and last sight of his uncle was ended.

He sat in the centre of his travelling-cloak, silent and thoughtful.

"What shall we do now?" said the Magpie. "There's nothing much more to be done with his Majesty, except a fine funeral, which I shall certainly go and see. All the world will. He interested the world exceedingly when he was alive, and he ought to do it now he's dead—just once more. And since he can't hear me, I may as well say that, on the whole, his majesty is much better dead than alive—if we can only get somebody in his place. There'll be such a row in the city presently. Suppose we float up again and see it all. At a safe distance, though. It will be such fun!"

"What will be fun?"

"A revolution."

Whether anybody except a magpie would have called it "fun," I don't know, but it certainly was a remarkable scene.

As soon as the Cathedral bell began to toll and the minute guns to fire, announcing to the kingdom that it was without a king, the people gathered in crowds, stopping at street corners to talk together. The murmur now and then rose into a shout, and the shout into a roar. When Prince Dolor, quietly floating in upper air, caught the sound of their different and opposite cries, it seemed to him as if the whole city had gone mad together.

"Long live the King!"  "The King is dead—down with the King!"  "Down with the crown, and the King too!"  "Hurrah for the Republic!"  "Hurrah for no Government at all!"

Such were the shouts which travelled up to the travelling-cloak. And then began—oh, what a scene!

When you children are grown men and women—or before—you will hear and read in books about what are called revolutions—earnestly I trust that neither I nor you may ever see one. But they have happened, and may happen again, in other countries beside Nomansland, when wicked kings have helped to make their people wicked too, or out of an unrighteous nation have sprung rulers equally bad; or, without either of these causes, when a restless country has fancied any change better than no change at all.

For me, I don't like changes, unless pretty sure that they are for good. And how good can come out of absolute evil—the horrible evil that went on this night under Prince Dolor's very eyes—soldiers shooting people down by hundreds in the streets, scaffolds erected, and heads dropping off—houses burnt, and women and children murdered—this is more than I can understand.

But all these things you will find in history, my children, and must by-and-by judge for yourselves the right and wrong of them, as far as anybody ever can judge.

Prince Dolor saw it all. Things happened so fast one after another that they quite confused his faculties.

"Oh, let me go home," he cried at last, stopping his ears and shutting his eyes; "only let me go home!" for even his lonely tower seemed home, and its dreariness and silence absolute paradise after all this.

"Good-bye, then," said the magpie, flapping her wings. She had been chatting incessantly all day and all night, for it was actually thus long that Prince Dolor had been hovering over the city, neither eating nor sleeping, with all these terrible things happening under his very eyes. "You've had enough, I suppose, of seeing the world?"

"Oh, I have—I have!" cried the Prince, with a shudder.

"That is, till next time. All right, your Royal Highness. You don't know me, but I know you. We may meet again some time."

She looked at him with her clear, piercing eyes, sharp enough to see through everything, and it seemed as if they changed from bird's eyes to human eyes, the very eyes of his godmother, whom he had not seen for ever so long. But the minute afterwards she became only a bird, and with a screech and a chatter spread her wings and flew away.

Prince Dolor fell into a kind of swoon of utter misery, bewilderment, and exhaustion, and when he awoke he found himself in his own room—alone and quiet—with the dawn just breaking, and the long rim of yellow light in the horizon glimmering through the window panes.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

The Story of Roanoke

Twenty-one years before we sailed from London, Sir Walter Raleigh sent out a fleet of seven ships, carrying one hundred and seven persons, to Virginia, and Master Ralph Lane was named as the governor. They landed on Roanoke Island; but because the Indians threatened them, and because just at that time when they were most frightened, Sir Francis Drake came by with his fleet, they all went home, not daring to stay any longer.

Two years after that, which is to say nineteen years before we of Jamestown came here, Sir Walter Raleigh sent over one hundred and sixteen people, among whom were men, women and children, and they also began to build a town on Roanoke Island.

John White was their governor, and very shortly after they came to Roanoke, his daughter, Mistress Ananias Dare, had a little baby girl, the first white child to be born in the new world, so they named her Virginia.

Now these people, like ourselves, were soon sorely in need of food, and they coaxed Governor John White to go back to England, to get what would be needed until they could gather a harvest.

At the time he arrived at London, England was at war with the Spanish people, and it was two years before he found a chance to get back. When he finally arrived at Roanoke Island, there were no signs of any of his people to be found, except that on the tree was cut the word "Croatan," which is the name of an Indian village on the island nearby.

That was the last ever heard of all those hundred and sixteen people. Five different times Sir Walter Raleigh sent out men for the missing ones; but no traces could be found, not even at Croatan, and no one knows whether they were killed by the Indians, or wandered off into the wilderness where they were lost forever.

You can see by the story, that the London Company had set for Captain Newport a very great task when they commanded him to do what so many people had failed in before him.

And now out of that story of the lost colony, as Master Hunt told Nathaniel and me, grows another which also concerns us in this new land of Virginia.

You will remember I have said that Master Ralph Lane was the governor of the first company of people who went to Roanoke Island, and, afterward, getting discouraged, returned to England. Now this Master Lane, and the other men who were with him, learned from the Indians to smoke the weed called tobacco, and carried quite a large amount of it home with them.

Not only Sir Walter Raleigh, who knew Master Lane very well, but many other people in England also learned to smoke, and therefore it was that when we of Jamestown began to raise tobacco, it found a more ready sale in London than any other thing we could send over. Once this was known, our people gave the greater portion of their time to cultivating the Indian weed.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

The Crowning of Powhatan

Very nearly the first thing which my master did after having been made President of the Council, was to obey the orders of the London Company, by going with Captain Newport to Powhatan's village in order to crown him like a king.

This was not at all to the pleasure of the savage, who failed of understanding what my master and Captain Newport meant, when they wanted him to kneel down so they might put the crown upon his head. If all the stories which I have heard regarding the matter are true, they must have had quite a scrimmage before succeeding in getting him into what they believed was a proper position to receive the gifts of the London Company.

Our people, so Master Hunt told me, were obliged to take him by the shoulders and force him to his knees, after which they clapped the crown on his head, and threw the red robe around his shoulders in a mighty hurry lest he show fight and overcome them.

It was some time before Captain Smith could make him understand that it was a great honor which was being done him, but when he did get it through his head, he took off his old moccasins and brought from the hut his raccoon skin coat, with orders that my master and Captain Newport send them all to King James in London, as a present from the great Powhatan of Virginia.

After this had been done, Captain Newport sailed up the James River in search of the passage to the South Sea, and my master set about putting Jamestown into proper order.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Preparing for the Future

Once more Captain Smith made the rule that those who would not work should not eat, and this time, with all the Council at his back, together with such men as Captain Newport had just brought with him, you can well fancy his orders were obeyed.

In addition to the stocks which had been built, he had a pillory set up, and those gentlemen who were not inclined to labor with their hands as well as they might, were forced to stand in it to their discomfort.

The next thing which he did was to have a large, deep well dug, so that we might have sweet water from it for drinking purposes, rather than be forced to use that from the river, for it was to his mind that through this muddy water did the sickness come to us.

When the winter was well begun, and Captain Newport ceased to search for the South Sea passage, because of having come to the falls of the James River, Captain Smith forced our people to build twenty stout houses such as would serve to withstand an attack from the savages, and again was the palisade stretched from one to the other, until the village stood in the form of a square.

After the cold season had passed, some of the people were set about shingling the church, and others were ordered to make clapboards that we might have a cargo when Captain Newport returned. It was the duty of some few to keep the streets and lanes of the village clear of filth, lest we invite the sickness again, and the remainder of the company were employed in planting Indian corn, forty acres of which were seeded down.

 

Robert Louis Stevenson

The Land of Story-Books

At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about. So when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear land of Story-Books.

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

Maximilian and the Goose Boy

O NE summer day King Max-i-mil´ian of Ba-va´ri-a was walking in the country. The sun shone hot, and he stopped under a tree to rest.

It was very pleasant in the cool shade. The king lay down on the soft grass, and looked up at the white clouds sailing across the sky. Then he took a little book from his pocket and tried to read.

But the king could not keep his mind on his book. Soon his eyes closed, and he was fast asleep.

It was past noon when he awoke. He got up from his grassy bed, and looked around. Then he took his cane in his hand, and started for home.

When he had walked a mile or more, he happened to think of his book. He felt for it in his pocket. It was not there. He had left it under the tree.

The king was already quite tired, and he did not like to walk back so far. But he did not wish to lose the book. What should he do?

If there was only some one to send for it!

While he was thinking, he happened to see a little bare-foot-ed boy in the open field near the road. He was tending a large flock of geese that were picking the short grass, and wading in a shallow brook.

The king went toward the boy. He held a gold piece in his hand.

"My boy," he said, "how would you like to have this piece of money?"

"I would like it," said the boy; "but I never hope to have so much."

"You shall have it if you will run back to the oak tree at the second turning of the road, and fetch me the book that I left there."

The king thought that the boy would be pleased. But not so. He turned away, and said, "I am not so silly as you think."

"What do you mean?" said the king, "Who says that you are silly?"

"Well," said the boy, "you think that I am silly enough to believe that you will give me that gold piece for running a mile, and fetch-ing you a book. You can't catch me."

"But if I give it to you now, perhaps you will believe me," said the king; and he put the gold piece into the little fellow's hand.

The boy's eyes spar-kled; but he did not move.

"What is the matter now?" said the king. "Won't you go? "

The boy said, "I would like to go; but I can't leave the geese. They will stray away, and then I shall be blamed for it."

"Crack the whip!"

"Oh, I will tend them while you are away," said the king.

The boy laughed. "I should like to see you tending them!" he said. "Why, they would run away from you in a minute."

"Only let me try," said the king.

At last the boy gave the king his whip, and started off. He had gone but a little way, when he turned and came back.

"What is the matter now?" said Max-i-mil-ian.

"Crack the whip!"

The king tried to do as he was bidden, but he could not make a sound.

"I thought as much," said the boy. "You don't know how to do anything."

Then he took the whip, and gave the king lessons in whip cracking. "Now you see how it is done," he said, as he handed it back. "If the geese try to run away, crack it loud."

The king laughed. He did his best to learn his lesson; and soon the boy again started off on his errand.

Maximilian sat down on a stone, and laughed at the thought of being a goose-herd. But the geese missed their master at once. With a great cac-kling and hissing they went, half flying, half running, across the meadow.

The king ran after them, but he could not run fast. He tried to crack the whip, but it was of no use. The geese were soon far away. What was worse, they had gotten into a garden, and were feed-ing on the tender veg-e-ta-bles.

A few minutes after-ward, the goose boy came back with the book.

"Just as I thought," he said. "I have found the book, and you have lost the geese."

"Never mind," said the king, "I will help you get them again."

"Well, then, run around that way, and stand by the brook while I drive them out of the garden."

The king did as he was told. The boy ran forward with his whip, and after a great deal of shouting and scolding, the geese were driven back into the meadow.

"I hope you will pardon me for not being a better goose-herd, " said Maximilian; "but, as I am a king, I am not used to such work."

"A king, indeed!" said the boy. "I was very silly to leave the geese with you. But I am not so silly as to believe that you are a king."

"Very well," said Maximilian, with a smile; "here is another gold piece, and now let us be friends."

The boy took the gold, and thanked the giver. He looked up into the king's face and said,—

"You are a very kind man, and I think you might be a good king; but if you were to try all your life, you would never be a good gooseherd."

 

Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

Swallows on the Wires

So Nan went with Don to visit the birds. There were rows and rows of them.

Now and then a bird went away from a wire and hunted in the air. It found some insects and then it went back to the wire to rest.

"The brown-and-white birds are bank swallows," said Nan. "They make nests in holes in sand banks."

"Some of those birds are tree swallows," said Don. "They like to make nests in holes in trees. So people call them tree swallows.

"They have dark shiny backs that look green or blue. Their under feathers are white.

"Uncle Tom told me about them. He said different kinds of swallows often sit near one another on wires."

"They seem to be waiting," said Nan. "I wonder why they wait."

So they went to tell their uncle about visiting the birds.

"Why were bank swallows and tree swallows and some other swallows sitting on the wires?" asked Nan.

"Those wires are a good size for their feet," said Uncle Tom. "Swallows can perch on the small branches of trees and small stems of bushes. They can take hold of the wires with their feet, too, and so they like to sit there.

"They will soon go South, but they are in no hurry. They like to go in flocks. They fly by day. They stop to rest when they wish. And they hunt when they are hungry.

"Swallows go South for the winter. They find places where there is no snow. They stay where there are insects flying in the air."

"They have good times!" said Don.

 

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!"

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

Farewells and Welcomes

A LL through the long summer Peter Rabbit watched his feathered friends and learned things in regard to their ways he never had suspected. As he saw them keeping the trees of the Old Orchard free of insect pests working in Farmer Brown's garden, and picking up the countless seeds of weeds everywhere, he began to understand something of the wonderful part these feathered folks have in keeping the Great World beautiful and worth while living in.

He had many a hearty laugh as he watched the bird babies learn to fly and to find their own food. All summer long they were going to school all about him, learning how to watch out for danger, to use their eyes and ears, and all the things a bird must know who would live to grow up.

As autumn drew near Peter discovered that his friends were gathering in flocks, roaming here and there. It was one of the first signs that summer was nearly over, and it gave him just a little feeling of sadness. He heard few songs now, for the singing season was over. Also he discovered that many of the most beautifully dressed of his feathered friends had changed their finery for sober traveling suits in preparation for the long journey to the far South where they would spend the winter. In fact he actually failed to recognize some of them at first.

September came, and as the days grew shorter, some of Peter's friends bade him good-by. They were starting on the long journey, planning to take it in easy stages for the most part. Each day saw some slip away. As Peter thought of the dangers of the long trip before them he wondered if he would ever see them again. But some there were who lingered even after Jack Frost's first visit. Welcome and Mrs. Robin, Winsome and Mrs. Bluebird. Little Friend the Song Sparrow and his wife were among these. By and by even they were forced to leave.

Sad indeed and lonely would these days have been for Peter had it not been that with the departure of the friends he had spent so many happy hours with came the arrival of certain other friends from the Far North where they had made their summer homes. Some of these stopped for a few days in passing. Others came to stay, and Peter was kept busy looking for and welcoming them. A few old friends there were who would stay the year through. Sammy Jay was one. Downy and Hairy the Woodpeckers were others. And one there was whom Peter loves dearly. It was Tommy Tit the Chickadee.

Now Tommy Tit had not gone north in the spring. In fact, he had made his home not very far from the Old Orchard. It just happened that Peter hadn't found that home, and had caught only one or two glimpses of Tommy Tit. Now, with household cares ended and his good-sized family properly started in life, Tommy Tit was no longer interested in the snug little home he had built in a hollow birch-stub, and he and Mrs. Chickadee spent their time flitting about hither, thither, and yon, spreading good cheer. Every time Peter visited the Old Orchard he found him there, and as Tommy was always ready for a bit of merry gossip, Peter soon ceased to miss Jenny Wren.

"Don't you dread the winter, Tommy Tit?" asked Peter one day, as he watched Tommy clinging head down to a twig as he picked some tiny insect eggs from the under side.

"Not a bit," replied Tommy. "I like winter. I like cold weather. It makes a fellow feel good from the tips of his claws to the tip of his bill. I'm thankful I don't have to take that long journey most of the birds have to. I discovered a secret a long time ago, Peter; shall I tell it to you?"

"Please, Tommy," cried Peter. "You know how I love secrets."

"Well," replied Tommy Tit, "this is it: If a fellow keeps his stomach filled he will keep his toes warm."

Peter looked a little puzzled. "I—I—don't just see what your stomach has to do with your toes," said he.

Tommy Tit chuckled. It was a lovely throaty little chuckle. "Dee, dee, dee!" said he. "What I mean is, if a fellow has plenty to eat he will keep the cold out, and I've found that if a fellow uses his eyes and isn't afraid of a little work, he can find plenty to eat. At least I can. The only time I ever get really worried is when the trees are covered with ice. If it were not that Farmer Brown's boy is thoughtful enough to hang a piece of suet in a tree for me, I should dread those ice storms more than I do. As I said before, plenty of food keeps a fellow warm."

"I thought it was your coat of feathers that kept you warm," said Peter.

"Oh, the feathers help," replied Tommy Tit. "Food makes heat and a warm coat keeps the heat in the body. But the heat has got to be there first, or the feathers will do no good. It's just the same way with your own self, Peter. You know you are never really warm in winter unless you have plenty to eat."

"That's so," replied Peter thoughtfully. "I never happened to think of it before. Just the same, I don't see how you find food enough on the trees when they are all bare in winter."

"Dee, Dee, Chickadee! Leave that matter just to me,"

chuckled Tommy Tit. "You ought to know by this time Peter Rabbit, that a lot of different kinds of bugs lay eggs on the twigs and trunks of trees. Those eggs would stay there all winter and in the spring hatch out into lice and worms if it were not for me. Why, sometimes in a single day I find and eat almost five hundred eggs of those little green plant lice that do so much damage in the spring and summer. Then there are little worms that bore in just under the bark, and there are other creatures who sleep the winter away in little cracks in the bark. Oh, there is plenty for me to do in the winter. I am one of the policemen of the trees. Downy and Hairy the Woodpeckers, Seep-Seep the Brown Creeper and Yank-Yank the Nuthatch are others. If we didn't stay right here on the job all winter, I don't know what would become of the Old Orchard."

Tommy Tit hung head downward from a twig while he picked some tiny insect eggs from the under side of it. It didn't seem to make the least difference to Tommy whether he was right side up or upside down. He was a little animated bunch of black and white feathers, not much bigger than Jenny Wren. The top of his head, back of his neck and coat were shining black. The sides of his head and neck were white. His back was ashy. His sides were a soft cream-buff, and his wing and tail feathers were edged with white. His tiny bill was black, and his little black eyes snapped and twinkled in a way good to see. Not one among all Peter's friends is such a merry-hearted little fellow as Tommy Tit the Chickadee. Merriment and happiness bubble out of him all the time, no matter what the weather is. He is the friend of everyone and seems to feel that everyone is his friend.

TOMMY TIT THE CHICKADEE Tommy will introduce himself. YANK‑YANK THE WHITE‑BREASTED NUTHATCH A winter visitor who goes down a tree head first.

"I've noticed," said Peter, "that birds who do not sing at any other time of year sing in the spring. Do you have a spring song, Tommy Tit?"

"Well, I don't know as you would call it a song, Peter," chuckled Tommy. "No, I hardly think you would call it a song. But I have a little love call then which goes like this: Phoe-be! Phoe-be!"

It was the softest, sweetest little whistle, and Tommy had rightly called it a love call. "Why, I've often heard that in the spring and didn't know it was your voice at all," cried Peter. "You say Phoebe plainer than does the bird who is named Phoebe, and it is ever so much softer and sweeter. I guess that is because you whistle it."

"I guess you guess right," replied Tommy Tit. "Now I can't stop to talk any longer. These trees need my attention. I want Farmer Brown's boy to feel that I have earned that suet I am sure he will put out for me as soon as the snow and ice come. I'm not the least bit afraid of Farmer Brown's boy. I had just as soon take food from his hand as from anywhere else. He knows I like chopped-up nut-meats, and last winter I used to feed from his hand every day." Peter's eyes opened very wide with surprise. "Do you mean to say," said he, "that you and Farmer Brown's boy are such friends that you dare sit on his hand?"

Tommy Tit nodded his little black-capped head vigorously. "Certainly," said he. "Why not? What's the good of having friends if you can't trust them? The more you trust them the better friends they'll be."

Just the same, I don't see how you dare to do it," Peter replied. "I know Farmer Brown's boy is the friend of all the little people, and I'm not much afraid of him myself, but just the same I wouldn't dare go near enough for him to touch me."

"Pooh!" retorted Tommy Tit. "That's no way of showing true friendship. You've no idea, Peter, what a comfortable feeling it is to know that you can trust a friend, and I feel that Farmer Brown's boy is one of the best friends I've got. I wish more boys and girls were like him."

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Lion, the Bear and the Fox

Just as a great Bear rushed to seize a stray kid, a Lion leaped from another direction upon the same prey. The two fought furiously for the prize until they had received so many wounds that both sank down unable to continue the battle.

Just then a Fox dashed up, and seizing the kid, made off with it as fast as he could go, while the Lion and the Bear looked on in helpless rage.

"How much better it would have been," they said, "to have shared in a friendly spirit."

Those who have all the toil do not always get the profit.

 

The Forge in the Forest  by Padraic Colum

AIR: THE FIRST STORY

The third shoe was made; it was laid upon the ground and the air blew upon it, hardening it with invisible strokes. Then the King said, "There is another story to be told, and it should be a story that is different from the others, being one that can be told humorously as we look towards the blossoming tree yonder." The four brothers then looked anxiously one at the other, and then the one who was the eldest amongst them signed to the King and to the others to seat themselves so that they might look towards the blossoming tree. Then, resting against the anvil, he told them the story of:

 

The Forge in the Forest  by Padraic Colum

Saint Martin and the Honest Man

OU must know that there is a certain day in the year on which the saints may leave the courts of heaven and come down upon earth for the space between daylight and dark. That day we call All Saints' Day. Then Saint Peter opens the gate, and the saints who would have their day upon earth come down.

Only a few ever come. These few are the best and the greatest of the saints. And of the few who come amongst us again I can tell you of only one—Saint Martin. I am told that never once has Saint Martin missed coming down to earth upon All Saints' Day.

And what does Saint Martin do between daylight and dark when he comes down upon earth upon All Saints' Day? I will tell you. He goes up and down the country that he went up and down when he was upon the earth. He goes up and down upon it seeking for an honest man.

In the shape of a great white horse with wings he goes up and down the country he knew when he was on earth before. For you must know that the saints when they come down upon earth on All Saints' Day do not have the forms they had when they were on earth before. Oh, no! Each comes down in the form of the bird or beast that they were with most when they were upon the earth as men. And Saint Martin, because he was a high officer and rode a horse, takes the shape of a horse upon All Saints' Day—a white horse with great wings.

So up and down the land, in the shape of a white horse with wings, Saint Martin goes between daylight and dark upon All Saints' Day. And when he comes upon an honest man, he gallops around and around him, persuading him to mount upon his back. And when the man mounts upon his back, Saint Martin carries him off to the place where honest men, honestly enjoying themselves, are doing the work that their hearts are set upon doing.

There once was a goatherd who lived near the place that Saint Martin had lived in. He was once given a very good riding-boot that the King himself had worn. He hadn't been given the other boot. The King had ordered the riding-boots to be given to him one day when he had stopped at the goatherd's hut. But then he remembered that there was good leather in the sides of the left boot, and he ordered that it be sent to the cordwainer's, so that when his slippers needed repair there would be good leather to repair them with. So the left boot was taken to the cordwainer's and the goatherd was given the right boot only. It was a good boot and only slightly worn, and it would have lasted the goatherd many years—that is, if he had had the left boot to go with it.

He took it into his hut and he left it on a shelf above him where he lay at night. It was a welcome sight to him in the mornings when he wakened up, that boot standing there so fine and so stately, as if it were waiting for him to put it on. And the goatherd lived hoping that some time he might come by another boot that would go with it. Then he would have a pair of boots for his feet, and then he would be able to go about in as much style and comfort as any man in the King's dominions.

One day, passing by the cordwainer's and looking sharply out as he always did when he went that way, he found the King's left riding-boot. He picked it up out of the nettles, and, a happy man, he went into his hut and put the left boot beside the right boot upon the shelf. There was a real pair of boots for him to look at when he wakened up in the morning.

This left boot had a very good sole, but the sides of it had been taken out to put patches upon the King's slippers. He would get enough leather some day, the goatherd hoped, to make sides for this boot. Then he would put the King's two riding-boots upon his feet, and he would go in as much style and comfort as any man in the King's dominions.

All that summer he used to sit near the shoemaker's bench while the goats were in the fenced field, and watch him while he cut out the leather and stitched the sides into the boots. He came to know how to do this job just as well as the shoemaker. He had a knife for cutting the leather, an awl for making the holes, a needle and waxed thread for stitching; he had even a cobbler's ball for rubbing on the leather when it was stitched in. But, the poor goatherd!—he could never get a piece of leather that would make sides for the King's riding-boot.

He knew that he would come by so much leather some day, and he lived on in hope, while he had the comfort of seeing the two high boots on the shelf every morning when he wakened up. These two boots he knew would one day go upon his feet that never had had boots upon them before; then, with the King's boots upon his feet, he would go about in as much style and comfort as any man in the King's dominions.

Summer passed, and the days before All Saints' Day began. Now the goatherd had two very good pieces of leather. They were given him by a man whose goats he had saved from the flooding river. He was ready now to put sides into the boot that wanted sides. But, the poor goatherd!—he couldn't get any work for himself done now, night or day.

For it was about this time that the King, by the help of a good law that he himself made, had the Ancient Tribe shifted from the place they always had had by the edge of the forest. "It will be a good place for my goats to graze," said the King, and thereupon he had orders sent to the goatherd to take his two hundred goats to the edge of the forest. The goatherd used to take them there every day. He used to bring the leather, and the knife, and the awl, and the needle and the waxed thread, and the King's boot with him, always hoping that he would have an hour or two to cut out and put in the leather; but so it was not to be. The goats were always striving to get off that grazing ground and into places where they should not go, and the goatherd spent all his time keeping them where they should be. And when he would get back to his own hut at night, the light would be gone, and he had no way of making a light to cut or to stitch by.

Now I must tell you about the King. His family was known as "The Dynasty of the Honest Crown," for there was no one in that family, it was thought, but was an honest man. A long time before, one of the King's forefathers had been carried off by Saint Martin, and ever since that, theirs was spoken of as "The Honest Crown." And on All Saints' Day every year the King would go walking the roads of his kingdom expecting that he would meet and be carried off by the white horse that was Saint Martin.

All Saints' Day came round again. The King went walking the roads of his kingdom in the expectation that Saint Martin would meet him and carry him off on his back. And as soon as the light came into the sky the goatherd rose up, and took his breakfast of whey and curds, got together the two hundred goats, and started off for the edge of the forest. He didn't forget to take with him the leather and the awl, the needle and the waxed thread, and even the cobbler's ball. And the King's boot was where it always was when he went out in the morning—hanging from around his neck. As he went out of his door he took his cap off to the rising sun and he said, "Glory and thanks to the day, and to God who has given me this day and the sense to use it." And then he shouted to the goats and drove them off.

He drove the goats in amongst the rocks and he kept them there till the King went by. The King, as always upon that day, was walking by himself, and the goatherd gave him the salutation that was always given him upon that day, "Good morrow, honest man." The King saluted him and went by, and then the goatherd took the road again, driving the two hundred goats before him.

He heard the sound of galloping behind him, and before he had time to look round him a white horse came up with him. It galloped around and around him. It had wings upon its back. The horse drove the goats on, and put them into a cave, and then it came back and galloped around the goatherd.

"Go on, go on, your reverence," said the goatherd. "Go on. The King is on the road before you."

"Go on, go on, your reverence," said the goatherd.

But the great white horse with the wings would not go on. It kept galloping around and around the goatherd, persuading him to mount upon its back. And at last the goatherd said, "If I get up on your back, maybe then you will go on to where the King is walking."

So up on the horse's back the goatherd got, and as soon as he was up, the horse spread out its wings and went up and up. High in the air went the goatherd upon the winged horse. Up and up they went, above the cave where the goats were, above the road where the King walked, above the forest along the edge of which the goats used to graze. Up and up they went, the goatherd upon the winged horse. Many's the story told of a man in the air, but there's none of them as strange as that of the goatherd upon the winged horse.

They went above where the King was walking, but although he was to be seen upon the road, the winged horse did not go down to take him up on its back. It took the goatherd at last to the place where the honest men were honestly enjoying themselves, each man doing the work that his heart was set upon doing. And there, with the rest of the honest men, the goatherd sat and ate what there was there to be eaten, and drank what there was there to be drunk, and set to and did what the rest of them were doing—the work that his heart was set upon.

He took the leather and cut it and shaped it; he took the awl and made holes for the needle to go through; he took the needle and the waxed thread and stitched the sides into the boot. He pared away the leather and he rubbed it with the cobbler's ball, making it all fine. And when the work was done the winged horse came before him again, and took him down to the cave where the two hundred goats were. Then the white horse galloped away. The goatherd drove the goats to the edge of the forest, and there was still time for them to graze to their hearts' content.

And in the morning when he wakened up, the goatherd looked to the shelf, and there before his eyes were the two high boots that were his very own. They were the finest sight the goatherd had ever looked on. He rose up and he put them on his two feet, and every minute in the day he looked down on them, saying to himself, "I have as much style and comfort now as any man in the King's dominions! Praise to God and Saint Martin for it!"

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I See a Strange Sail

I PASS over some wonderful things that happened during my last year on the island. For I must not make this story too long.

I was fast asleep in my castle one morning when Friday came running in.

"O master, master!" he cried, "a boat, a boat!"

I jumped up and went out as quickly as could. I was in such haste that I forgot to carry my gun with me.

I looked toward the sea. About three miles from the shore I saw a strange boat coming to the island. It carried a leg-of-mutton sail and was coming swiftly with the wind. "Surely," I thought, "this is not the kind of boat that savages sail in."

Then I saw that it was coming not from the open sea on my side of the island, but from around a point on the south shore.

I ran back to my castle and told Friday to stay inside and keep quiet till we could learn whether the people in the boat were friends or foes.

Then I climbed up to my lookout on the top of the great rock.

I looked out toward the south shore, and there I saw a ship lying at anchor. As nearly as I could guess, it was about five miles from my castle and at least three miles from the shore.

It looked just like an English ship, and the boat was surely an English longboat.

I cannot tell you how glad I was at the thought that some of my own countrymen were so near. Yet I felt strange fears, and so made up my mind to be very cautious.

In the first place, what business could an English ship have in these seas? The English had no lands in this part of the world. They would not come here to trade. There had been no storms to drive the vessel to this place.

The more I thought of the matter, the more I doubted. If these people were indeed English, they must be here for no good purpose.

By this time the boat was quite near the shore. I could see the men in it quite plainly. They looked like Englishmen.

As they came in the tide was at its highest, and so they ran the boat far up on the beach about half a mile from me.

I now counted eleven men, and all but three were armed with swords. As soon as the boat touched the land, the most of them jumped out.

Then I saw that the three unarmed men were prisoners. Their hands were tied behind them and they were closely guarded.

As they were led on shore, they seemed in great distress as though begging for their lives.

When Friday saw all this, he cried out to me, "O master! the white mans do just like savage mans with their prisoners."

"Why, Friday," I said, "do you think they are going to eat them?"

"Yes, yes," he answered, " they are going to eat them."

The prisoners were led far up on the beach, and I expected every moment to see them killed.

But soon their guards seemed to change their minds. They talked together for a little while. Then they untied the prisoners' hands and let them go where they pleased.

The seamen scattered, some going this way, some that, as though they wished to see the country. But the men who had been prisoners sat down on the ground and seemed very sad and full of despair.

I thought then of the time when I had first landed on that shore—how I had no hope, and how I gave myself up for lost.

As I have said, the tide was at its highest when the men came on shore. They rambled around till it had flowed out and left their boat high and dry on the sand.

They had left two men with the boat to guard it. But the weather being very warm, these men had fallen asleep.

When one of them awoke and found the water far out from the boat, he began to hello for help. All the men came running and tried to drag the boat out to the water.

But it was so heavy they could not move it. They tugged and pulled for a long time. Then I heard one of them shout: "Let her alone, boys! She'll float all right when the next tide comes up.

With that they gave it up and all strolled out into the country again.

 

Margaret Deland

The Fairies' Shopping

Where do you think the Fairies go To buy their blankets ere the snow? When Autumn comes, with frosty days, The sorry, shivering little Fays Begin to think it's time to creep Down to their caves for Winter sleep. But first they come from far and near To buy, where shops are not too dear. (The wind and frost bring prices down So Fall's their time to come to town!) Where on the hillside rough and steep Browse all day long the cows and sheep, The mullein's yellow candles burn Over the heads of dry sweet fern: All summer long the mullein weaves His soft and thick and woolly leaves. Warmer blankets were never seen Than these broad leaves of fuzzy green. (The cost of each is but a shekel Made from the gold of honeysuckle!) To buy their sheets and fine white lace With which to trim a pillow case, They only have to go next door, Where stands a sleek brown spider's store, And there they find the misty threads Ready to cut into sheets and spreads; Then, for a pillow, pluck with care Some soft-winged seeds as light as air; Just what they want the thistle brings, But thistles are such surly things— And so, though it is somewhat high, The clematis the Fairies buy. The only bedsteads that they need Are silky pods of ripe milk-weed, With hangings of the dearest things— Autumn leaves, or butterflies' wings! And dandelions' fuzzy heads They use to stuff their feather beds; And yellow snapdragons supply The nightcaps that the Fairies buy, To which some blades of grass they pin, And tie them 'neath each little chin. Then, shopping done, the Fairies cry, "Our Summer's gone! Oh, sweet, good-by!" And sadly to their caves they go, To hide away from Winter's snow— And then, though winds and storms may beat, The Fairies' sleep is warm and sweet!

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

The West Indies

"The city deck'd herself To meet me, roar'd my name: the king, the queen Bade me be seated, speak and tell them all The story of my voyage, . . . And when I ceas'd to speak, the king, the queen Sank from their thrones and melted into tears, And knelt and lifted hand and heart and voice In praise to God, who led me thro' the waste." —Tennyson.

S EVEN months had passed since Columbus had sailed from Spain in the dim light of that summer morning. Now he was back. Through tempestuous seas and raging winter gales he had guided his ship well, and Spain knew how to do him honour. His journey from the coast to the Court was like a royal progress. The wonderful news of his return had spread far and wide. The roads were lined with excited villagers, the air was rent with shouts of joy. His entrance into the city was not unlike the triumph decreed by the old Romans to their heroes.

First came six natives, brought back from the islands by Columbus, painted in their savage fashion and decorated with ornaments of gold. Bearers followed, with forty parrots and other birds of strange and brilliant colouring, skins of unknown animals, and priceless curious plants.

On horseback rode Christopher Columbus, his stately figure and grey hair marking him out among the mounted chivalry of Spain. The king and queen rose to receive him, and as he stooped to kiss their hands they bade him be seated—a rare honour in that proud Spanish Court.

Not Spain only, but the whole civilised world, was filled with wonder and delight. The opinion of Columbus was adopted: Cuba lay off the coast of Asia; the island was not far from the land of the Great Khan, Marco Polo's country. It lay in the Indian Seas, together with the other newly discovered island. So they were called the West Indies, which name they have borne ever since, though we know now they are not near Asia at all, but close to the coast of South America.

The departure of Columbus on his second voyage was a brilliant contrast to the gloomy start of a year ago. The bay of Cadiz—the Gades of the old Phœnicians—was full of his ships. The 1500 men who were to sail with him were in highest spirits, for were they not bound for the golden realms of the New World, where wealth, wonder, and enjoyment awaited them?

The start was made on September 25, 1493. Two months later Columbus sailed into the beautiful bay of Hayti, an island he had discovered on his first voyage, lying to the south of Cuba. Here he built a town, and called it Isabella, after the Queen of Spain. Sailing on, he found a new island, which the natives called Jamaica. Still he had dreams of finding India, perhaps sailing home by the Cape of Good Hope, as yet only dimly shadowed by Bartholomew Diaz. But his ships were leaky, his men proved troublesome, he himself grew ill, and they were obliged to put back to the new colony of Isabella to recruit. More troubles here. Complaints broke from the new settlers. They had thought they would become rich men at once, and this was impossible. Columbus was not a Spaniard like themselves, but an Italian. Reports reached the ears of the king and queen in Spain. Discontented colonists returned, spreading false stories of the cruelty of the new Viceroy and the condition of the newly found country.

A Spaniard was sent out to the new colony to inquire if this was all true or not, and to take charge of Isabella. Columbus was away when he arrived, on an exploring expedition. He returned to find himself accused of tyranny, cruelty, deceit, and failure. Columbus made up his mind to return at once to Spain and see the king and queen.

The ships were ready to depart when a terrific storm swept the island of Hayti, sinking ships in the harbour. The natives were overwhelmed, for never had they known such a tremendous storm. Out of the wrecks a new ship had to be made, and another repaired, to carry Columbus home. Meanwhile a rich gold mine was discovered inland. This would be good news for Columbus to carry to Spain. For himself, he made sure he had found the Ophir of the ancients—possibly the very mines from which King Solomon procured the gold for the building of the temple of Jerusalem.

It was June 11, 1496, before he found himself again in the harbour of Cadiz. People had crowded down to greet the great discoverer, but instead of a joyous crew, flushed with new success and rich with the spoils of the golden Indies, a feeble train of wretched men crawled on shore—thin, miserable, and ill. Columbus himself was dressed as a monk, in a long gown girded with a cord. His beard was long and unshaven. The whole man was utterly broken down with all he had been through.

The king and queen listened to his explanation, and soon preparations were set on foot to send him out again to the new country.

 

Merry Tales  by Eleanor L. Skinner

The Story of Li'l' Hannibal

Carolyn Sherwin Bailey

O NCE on a time, 'way down South, there lived a little boy named Hannibal, Li'l' Hannibal. He lived along with his gran'mammy and his gran'daddy in a li'l' one-story log cabin that was set right down in a cotton field. Well, from morning until night, Li'l' Hannibal's gran'-mammy kept him toting things. As soon as he woke up in the morning it was:

"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, fetch a pine knot and light the kitchen fire."

"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, fetch the teakettle to the well and get some water for the tea."

"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, mix a li'l' hoecake for your gran'daddy's brea'fus'."

"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, take the bunch of turkeys' feathers and dust the ashes off the hearth."

And from morning until night, Li'l' Hannibal's gran'daddy kept him toting things, too.

"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal," his gran'daddy would say, "fetch the corn and feed the turkeys."

"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, take your li'l' ax and chop some lightwood for gran'mammy's fire."

"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, run 'round to the store and buy a bag of flour."

"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, fetch your basket and pick a li'l' cotton off the edge of the field."

So they kept poor little Hannibal toting 'most all day long, and he had only four or five hours to play.

Well, one morning when Li'l' Hannibal woke up, he made up his mind to something. Before they could ask him to light the kitchen fire, or fill the teakettle, or mix the hoecake, or dust the hearth, or feed the turkeys, or chop any wood, or go to the store, or pick any cotton, he had made up his mind that he was not going to tote for his gran'mammy and his gran'daddy any longer. He was going to run away!

So Li'l' Hannibal got out of bed very quietly. He put on his li'l' trousers, and his li'l' shirt, and his li'l' suspenders, and his li'l' shoes—he never wore stockings. He pulled his li'l' straw hat down tight over his ears, and then Li'l' Hannibal ran away!

He went down the road past all the cabins. He went under the fence and across the cotton fields. He went through the pine grove past the schoolhouse, stooping down low—so the schoolmistress couldn't see him—and then he went 'way, 'way off into the country.

When he was a long way from town, Li'l' Hannibal met a possum loping along by the edge of the road, and the possum stopped and looked at Li'l' Hannibal.

"How do? Where you goin', Li'l' Hannibal?" asked the possum.

Li'l' Hannibal sat down by the side of the road and took off his straw hat to fan himself, for he felt quite warm, and he said,

"I done run away, Br'er Possum, my gran'mammy and my gran'daddy kept me totin', totin' for them all the time. I don't like to work, Br'er Possum."

"Po' Li'l' Hannibal!" said the possum, sitting up and scratching himself. "Any special place you bound for?"

"I don't reckon so," said Li'l' Hannibal, for he was getting tired, and he had come away without any breakfast.

"You come along with me, Li'l' Hannibal," said the possum; "I reckon I kin take you somewhere."

So the possum and Li'l' Hannibal went along together, the possum loping along by the side of the road and Li'l' Hannibal going very slowly in the middle of the road, for his shoes were full of sand and it hurt his toes. They went on and on until they came, all at once, to a sort of open space in the woods and then they stopped. There was a big company there—Br'er Rabbit and Br'er Partridge, and Br'er Jay Bird and Br'er Robin, and Ol' Miss Guinea Hen.

"Here's po' Li'l' Hannibal come to see you," said the possum. "Li'l' Hannibal done run away from his gran'mammy and gran'daddy."

Li'l' Hannibal hung his head as if he was ashamed, but nobody noticed him. They were all as busy as they could be, and so he just sat down on a pine stump and watched them.

Each one had his own special work and he was keeping at it right smart. Br'er Robin was gathering all the holly berries from the south side of the holly tree and singing as he worked:

"Cheer up, cheer-u-up!"

Br'er Partridge was building a new house down low in the bushes. As he hurried back and forth with twigs, he would stop and drum a little, he felt so happy to be busy.

Br'er Jay Bird was taking corn down below. You know that is what Br'er Jay Bird does all the time. He takes one kernel of corn in his bill to the people down below and then comes back for another. It is a very long trip to take with one kernel of corn, but Br'er Jay Bird doesn't seem to mind how hard he works.

Ol' Miss Guinea Hen was almost the busiest of the whole company, for she was laying eggs. As soon as ever she laid one she would get up on a low branch and screech, "Catch it! Catch it! Catch it!" like to deafen everybody.

But Li'l' Hannibal was most interested to see what Br'er Rabbit was doing. Br'er Rabbit had on a li'l' apron, and he kept bringing things in his market basket. Then he cooked the things over a fire back in the bushes, and when it got to be late in the afternoon, he spread a tablecloth on a big stump and then he pounded on his stewpan with his soup ladle. "Supper's ready," said Br'er Rabbit.

Then Br'er Robin, and Br'er Partridge, and Br'er Jay Bird, and Br'er Possum, and Ol' Miss Guinea Hen all scrambled to their places at the table and Li'l' Hannibal tried to find a place to sit at, but there wasn't any.

"Po' Li'l' Hannibal!" said Br'er Rabbit as he poured the soup. "Doesn't like work! Doesn't like to tote for his gran'mammy. Can't have no supper!"

"Catch him! Catch him!" said Ol' Miss Guinea Hen, but no one did it. They were all too busy eating.

They had a grand supper. There was breakfast strip, and roast turkey, and fried chicken, and mutton and rice, and hominy and sweet potatoes, and peas and beans, and baked apples, and cabbage, and hoe cake, and hot biscuits, and corn muffins, and butter cakes and waffles and maple syrup.

When they were through eating, it was dark, and they all went home, and they left Li'l' Hannibal all by himself.

Well, after a while it began to get darker. Br'er Mocking Bird came out, and he looked at Li'l' Hannibal and then he began to scream, just like Ol' Miss Guinea Hen,

"Catch him! Catch him! Catch him!"

Br'er Screech Owl looked down from a tree and he said very hoarsely:

"Who! Who! Who-oo!"

Then all the frogs began to say, loud and shrill, "Li'l' Hannibal! Li'l' Hannibal!" like they thought he was deaf.

So Li'l' Hannibal got up from his pine stump and he said, "I reckon I better go home to my gran'mammy."

Well, Li'l' Hannibal started for home slowly, because his feet hurt and he was hungry. When he came to the pine grove by the schoolhouse the shadows came out from behind the trees and followed him, and that was much worse than seeing the schoolmistress. But Li'l' Hannibal got away from them all right. He crawled under the fence and ran across the cotton field, and there in the door of the cabin was his gran'daddy with a lantern. His gran'daddy had been out looking for Li'l' Hannibal.

"Why, Li'l' Hannibal, where you been all day?" asked his gran'daddy.

"Oh, Li'l' Han'," said his gran'mammy, "here's your corn mush. I kep' it warm on the hearth, but afore you eat your supper, Li'l' Han, jus' take your li'l' basket and run 'round to the chicken house for a couple of eggs."

So Li'l' Hannibal took his li'l' basket, and he started for those eggs singing all the way. You see, he reckoned he was mighty glad to be at home, and toting again.

 

Walter de la Mare

Alone

A very old woman Lives in yon house. The squeak of the cricket, The stir of the mouse, Are all she knows Of the earth and us. Once she was young, Would dance and play, Like many another Young popinjay; And run to her mother At dusk of day. And colours bright She delighted in; The fiddle to hear, And to lift her chin, And sing as small As a twittering wren. But age apace Comes at last to all; And a lone house filled With the cricket's call; And the scampering mouse In the hollow wall.

 

The Bears of Blue River  by Charles Major

The Black Gully

Part 1 of 2

Note —The author, fearing that the account of fire springing from the earth, given in the following story, may be considered by the reader too improbable for any book but one of Arabian fables, wishes to say that the fire and the explosion occurred in the place and manner described.

The Fire Bear had never before been seen in the Blue River neighbourhood. His former appearances had been at or near the mouth of Conn's Creek, where that stream flows into Flatrock, five or six miles southeast of Balser's home.

Flatrock River takes its name from the fact that it flows over layers of broad flat rocks. The soil in its vicinity is underlaid at a depth of a few feet by a formation of stratified limestone, which crops out on the hillsides and precipices, and in many places forms deep, cañon-like crevasses, through which the river flows. In these cliffs and miniature cañons are many caves, and branching off from the river's course are many small side-cañons, or gullies, which at night are black and repellent, and in many instances are quite difficult to explore.

One of these side-cañons was so dark and forbidding that it was called by the settlers "The Black Gully." The conformation of the rocks composing its precipitous sides was grotesque in the extreme; and the overhanging trees, thickly covered with vines, cast so deep a shadow upon the ravine that even at midday its dark recesses bore a cast of gloom like that of night untimely fallen. How Balser happened to visit the Black Gully, and the circumstances under which he saw it—sufficiently terrible and awe-inspiring to cause the bravest man to tremble—I shall soon tell you.

The country in the vicinity of Flatrock was full of hiding-places, and that was supposed to be the home of the Fire Bear.

The morning after Polly and Balser had seen the Fire Bear, they went forth bright and early to follow the tracks of their fiery enemy, and if possible to learn where he had gone after his unwelcome visit.

They took up the spoor at the point where the bear had crossed the river the night before, and easily followed his path three or four miles down the stream. There they found the place where he had crossed the river to the east bank. The tracks, which were plainly visible in the new-fallen snow, there turned southeast toward his reputed home among the caves and gullies of Flatrock and Conn's Creek.

The trackers hurried forward so eagerly in their pursuit that they felt no fatigue. They found several deer and at one time they saw at a great distance a bear; but they did not pursue either, for their minds were too full of the hope that they night discover the haunts of the monster upon whose death depended, as they believed, their lives and that of Liney Fox. When Balser and Polly reached the stony ground of Flatrock the bear tracks began to grow indistinct, and soon they were lost entirely among the smooth rocks from which the snow had been blown away. The boys had, however, accomplished their purpose, for they were convinced that they had discovered the haunts of the bear. They carefully noticed the surrounding country, and spoke to each other of the peculiar cliffs and trees in the neighbourhood, so that they might remember the place when they should return. Then they found a dry little cave wherein they kindled a fire and roasted a piece of venison which they had taken with them. When their roast was cooked, they ate their dinner of cold hoe-cake and venison, and then sat by the fire for an hour to warm and rest before beginning their long, hard journey home through the snow. Polly smoked his after-dinner pipe,—the pipe was a hollow corn-cob with the tip of a buck's horn for a stem,—and the two bear hunters talked over the events of the day and discussed the coming campaign against the Fire Bear.

"I s'pose we'll have to hunt him by night," said Polly. "He's never seen at any other time, they say."

"Yes, we'll have to hunt him by night," said Balser; "but darkness will help us in the hunt, for we can see him better at night than at any other time, and he can't see us as well as he could in daylight."

"Balser, you surprise me," answered Polly. "Have you hunted bears all this time and don't know that a bear can see as well after night as in the daytime—better, maybe?"

"Maybe that's so," responded Balser. "I know that cats and owls can see better by night, but I didn't know about bears. How do you know it's true?"

"How do I know? Why, didn't that there bear make a bee-line for this place last night, and wasn't last night as dark as the inside of a whale, and don't they go about at night more than in the daytime? Tell me that. When do they steal sheep and shoats? In daytime? Did you ever hear of a bear stealing a shoat in the daytime? No, sirree; but they can see the littlest shoat that ever grunted, on the darkest night,—see him and snatch him out of the pen and get away with him quicker than you or I could, a durned sight."

"I never tried; did you, Polly?" asked Balser.

Polly wasn't above suspicion among those who knew him, and Balser's question slightly disconcerted him.

"Well, I—I—durned if that ain't the worst fool question I ever heerd a boy ask," answered Polly. Then, somewhat anxious to change the conversation, he continued:—

"What night do you propose to come down here? To-morrow night?"

"No, not for a week. Not till seven nights after to-night," answered Balser, mindful of the charm which he hoped Liney's prayers would make for him.

"Seven nights? Geminy! I'm afraid I'll get scared of this place by that time. I'll bet this is an awful place at night; nothing but great chunks of blackness in these here gullies, so thick you could cut it with a knife. I'm not afraid now because I'm desperate. I'm so afraid of dyin' because I saw the Fire Bear that I don't seem to be afraid of nothin' else."

Polly was right. There is nothing like a counter-fear to keep a coward's courage up.

After they were warm and had rested, Balser and Polly went out of the cave and took another survey of the surrounding country from the top of the hill. They started homeward, and reached the cozy cabin on Blue River soon after sunset, tired, hungry, and cold. A good warm supper soon revived them, and as it had been agreed that Polly should remain at Mr. Brent's until after the Fire Bear hunt, they went to bed in the loft and slept soundly till morning.

After Balser announced his determination to hunt the Fire Bear, many persons asked him when he intended to undertake the perilous task, but the invariable answer he gave was, that he would begin after the seventh night from the one upon which the Fire Bear had visited Blue River. "Why after the seventh night?" was frequently asked; but the boy would give no other answer.

Balser had invited Tom Fox to go with him; and Tom, in addition to his redoubtable hatchet, intended to carry his father's gun. Polly would take Mr. Brent's rifle, and of course Balser would carry the greatest of all armaments, his smooth-bore carbine. Great were the preparations made in selecting bullets and in drying powder. Knives and hatchets were sharpened until they were almost as keen as a razor. Many of the men and boys of the neighbourhood volunteered to accompany Balser, but he would take with him no one but Tom and Polly.

"Too many hunters spoil the chase," said Balser, borrowing his thought from the cooks and the broth maxim.

Upon the morning of the eighth day Balser went over to see Liney, and to receive from her the precious charm redolent with forty-nine prayers from her pure heart. When she gave it to him he said:—

"It's a charm; I know it is." And he held it in his hand and looked at it affectionately. "It looks like a charm, and it feels like a charm. Liney, I seem to feel your prayers upon it."

"Ah! Balser, don't say that. It sounds almost wicked. It has seemed wicked all the time for me to try to make a charm."

"Don't feel that way, Liney. You didn't try to make it. You only prayed to God to make it, and God is good and loves to hear you pray. If He don't love to hear you pray, Liney, He don't love to hear any one."

"No, no, Balser, I'm so wicked. The night we saw the Fire Bear father read in the Bible where it says, 'The prayers of the wicked availeth not.' Oh, Balser, do you think it's wicked to try to make a charm—that is, to pray to God to make one?"

"No, indeed, Liney. God makes them of His own accord. He made you." But Liney only half understood.

The charm worked at least one spell. It made the boy braver and gave him self-confidence.

Balser, Tom, and Polly had determined to ride down to Flatrock on horseback, and for that purpose one of Mr. Fox's horses and two of Mr. Brent's were brought into service. At three o'clock upon the famous eighth day the three hunters started for Flatrock, and spent the night in the vicinity of the mouth of Conn's Creek; but they did not see the Fire Bear. Four other expeditions were made, for Balser had no notion of giving up the hunt, and each expedition was a failure. But the fifth—well, I will tell you about it.

Upon the fifth expedition the boys reached Flatrock River just after sunset. A cold drizzling rain had begun to fall, and as it fell it froze upon the surface of the rocks. The wind blew and moaned through the tree-tops, and the darkness was so dense it seemed heavy. The boys had tied their horses in a cave, which they had used for the same purpose upon former visits, and were discussing the advisability of giving up the hunt for that night and returning home. Tom had suggested that the rain might extinguish the Fire Bear's fire so he could not be seen. The theory seemed plausible. Polly thought that a bear with any sense at all would remain at home in his cave upon such a night as that, and all these arguments, together with the slippery condition of the earth, which made walking among the rocks and cliffs very dangerous, induced Balser to conclude that it was best to return to Blue River without pursuing the hunt that night. He announced his decision, and had given up all hope of seeing the Fire Bear upon that expedition. But they were not to be disappointed after all, for, just as the boys were untying their horses to return home, a terrific growl greeted their ears, coming, it seemed, right from the mouth of the cave in which they stood.

"That's him," cried Polly. "I know his voice. I heerd it for one mortal hour that night when he was a chasin' me, and I'll never furgit it. I'd know it among a thousand bears. It's him. Oh, Balser, let's go home! For the Lord's sake, Balser, let's go home! I'd rather die three months from now than now. Three months is a long time to live, after all."

"Polly, what on earth are you talking about? Are you crazy? Tie up your horse at once," said Balser. "If the bear gets away from us this time, we'll never have another chance at him. Quick! Quick!"

Polly's courage was soon restored, and the horses were quickly tied again.

 

The Adventures of Unc' Billy Possum  by Thornton Burgess

Farmer Brown's Boy Chops Down a Tree

"There was an old Possum lived up in a tree; Hi, ho, see the chips fly! The sliest old thief that you ever did see; Hi, ho, see the chips fly! He ate and he ate in the dark of the night, And when the day came not an egg was in sight, But now that I know where he's making his bed, I'll do without eggs and will eat him instead! Hi, ho, see the chips fly!"

F ARMER BROWN'S boy sang as he swung his keen axe, and the chips did fly. They flew out on the white snow in all directions. And the louder Farmer Brown's boy sang, the faster the chips flew. Farmer Brown's boy had come to the Green Forest bright and early that morning, and he had made up his mind that he would take home a fat Possum for dinner. He didn't have the least doubt about it, and that is why he sang as he made the chips fly. He had tracked that Possum right up to that tree, and there were no tracks going away from it. Right up near the top he could see a hollow, just such a hollow as a Possum likes. All he had to do was to cut the tree down and split it open, and Mr. Possum would be his.

So Farmer Brown's boy swung his axe, chop, chop, chop, and the chips flew out on the white snow, and Farmer Brown's boy sang, never once thinking of how the Possum he was after might feel. Of course it was Unc' Billy Possum whose tracks he had followed. He had seen them outside of the hen-house, just as Unc' Billy had been afraid that he would. He couldn't very well have helped it, those tracks were so very plain to be seen.

That had been a long, hard, anxious journey for Unc' Billy from Farmer Brown's hen-house to the Green Forest. The snow was so deep that he could hardly wade through it. When he reached that hollow tree, he was so tired that it was all he could do to climb it. Of course it wasn't his own hollow tree, where old Mrs. Possum and the eight little Possums lived. He knew better than to go there, leaving a plain track for Farmer Brown's boy to follow. So he had been very thankful to climb up this hollow tree. And, just as he had feared, there was Farmer Brown's boy.

Chop, chop, chop! The snow was covered with chips now. Chop, chop, chop! The tree began to shiver and then to shake. Cra-a-ck! With a great crash over it went!

Bowser the Hound barked excitedly, and with Farmer Brown's boy rushed to the hollow near the top to catch Mr. Possum, if he should run out. But he didn't run out. Farmer Brown's boy rapped on the tree with the handle of his axe, but no one ran out.

"I guess he's playing dead," said Farmer Brown's boy, and began to split open the tree, so as to get into the hollow. And as he chopped, he began to sing again. Pretty soon he had split the tree wide open. In the bottom of the hollow was an old nest of Chatterer the Red Squirrel, and that was all. Farmer Brown's boy rubbed his eyes and stared and stared and stared. There were Unc' Billy's tracks leading straight up to that tree and none leading away. Did that Possum have wings?

 

Edith M. Thomas

The Fir-Tree

O singing Wind Searching field and wood, Canst thou find Aught that's sweet or good,— Flowers, to kiss awake, Or dewy grass, to shake, Or feathered seed Aloft to speed? Replies the wind: "I cannot find Flowers, to kiss awake, Or dewy grass to shake, Or feathered seed Aloft to speed; Yet I meet Something sweet, When the scented fir,— Balsam-breathing fir— In my flight I stir.

 

In God's Garden  by Amy Steedman

Saint Martin

It was a cold winter's day in the city of Amiens, and the wind swept along the great Roman road outside the city gates with such an icy blast that the few people who were out of doors wrapped themselves closer in their cloaks, and longed for their sheltering homes and warm firesides.

But there was one poor old man who had no cloak to wrap around him, and no fireside of which to dream. He shivered as the searching wind came sweeping past him, and his half-blind eyes looked eagerly up and down the road to see if any one was coming who might help him in his need. One by one the people hurried past and paid no heed to the beggar's outstretched hand. It was much too cold to stop or to think of giving help, and not even a beggar could expect it on such a day as this. So they left the poor old man hungry and cold and homeless.

Then a young soldier came riding past, but the beggar scarcely thought of asking alms of him, for the Roman soldiers were not the kind of men to trouble themselves about the poor and suffering.

The old man closed his eyes, weary and hopeless, for it seemed as if there was none to help nor pity him. Then in a moment he felt a warm cloak thrown around his shoulders, and in his ears sounded a kind voice which bade him wrap it close around him to keep out the cold. Half bewildered the beggar looked up, and saw the young soldier bending over him. He had dismounted from his horse and held a sword in his hand, with which he had just cut his own cloak in half, that he might share it with the shivering old man.

The passers-by laughed and hurried on, but the soldier did not care if they mocked him, for he was quite happy to think he had helped one who needed help so sorely.

The name of this young soldier was Martin, and he served in the Roman army with his father, who was a famous general. Most of Martin's fellow-soldiers were pagans, but he was a Christian, and served the emperor well, because he served Christ first.

The very night after Martin had divided his cloak with the beggar he had a dream, in which he saw his Master, Christ, among the holy angels, wearing the half cloak which Martin had given away that afternoon. And as he looked, he heard Christ's voice speaking to the angels, and saying:

"Know ye who hath clothed Me with this cloak? My servant Martin, who is yet unbaptized, hath done this."

Then Martin awoke, and he did not rest until Christ's seal of baptism was set upon his brow, and he felt that he had enlisted truly in God's service.

Now Martin knew that to be God's servant meant doing everything day by day as well as it could be done, and serving his earthly master as faithfully and diligently as he tried to serve his heavenly commander. So it came to pass that for all the fourteen years he served in the emperor's army, he was known as the best and bravest soldier, and one who had never failed to do his duty.

But as he began to grow old, he longed to serve God in other ways, and so he went to the emperor and asked for permission to leave the army.

There was war going on just then, for Rome was ever fighting with the barbarians who came up against her, and the emperor was very angry when he heard Martin's request.

"You seek to leave the army because you fear to fight," he said scornfully to Martin, who stood silently before him. "A Roman soldier should scorn to be a coward."

"I am no coward," answered Martin and he met with unflinching look the angry gaze of the emperor. "Place me alone in the front of the battle, with no weapon but the cross alone, and I shall not fear to meet the enemy single-handed and unarmed."

"Well said," answered the emperor quickly; "we will take thee at thy word. To-morrow thou shalt stand defenceless before the enemy, and so shall we judge of thy boasted courage."

Then the emperor ordered his guards to watch Martin that night lest he should try to escape before the trial could be made. But Martin had no thought of escape, and was ready and eager to do as he had said.

Meanwhile, however, the enemy began to fear that they had no chance against the Roman army; and very early in the morning, they sent messengers to ask for peace, offering to give themselves up to the mercy of the emperor.

So Martin was set at liberty, and no one doubted his courage and faithfulness; since they believed that his faith in God had brought peace, and given them the victory over their enemies.

Soon after this Martin was allowed to leave the army, and he journeyed from place to place telling those who had never heard it before the good news of Jesus Christ.

In those days it was dangerous to go among the mountains unarmed, for robbers and brigands made their home there, and would swoop down on unsuspecting travellers and rob or murder them.

But Martin took no companions with him, and with no weapon but the cross, he climbed the mountain roads defenceless and alone.

One day, as he journeyed, a company of brigands appeared suddenly, as if they had started out of the rocks. They seized him roughly, and one of them aimed a blow at his head with an axe. But before the blow could fall, another robber turned the axe aside and claimed Martin as his prisoner. Then they tied his hands behind him and bound him fast, while they made up their minds which would be the best way to kill him.

But Martin sat calm and untroubled, and seemed to have no fear of these terrible men.

"What is thy name, and who art thou?" asked the brigand who had claimed Martin as his prisoner.

"I am a Christian," answered Martin simply.

"And art thou not afraid of the tortures which await thee, that thou dost seem so calm and fearless?" asked the robber, wondering at the peaceful look upon the prisoner's face.

"I fear nothing that thou canst do to me," answered Martin, "for I am a servant of the great King, and He will defend His own. But I do indeed grieve for thee, because thou livest by robbery and violence, and art therefore unworthy of the mercy of my Lord."

The astonished robber asked him what he meant, and who this great King was whom he served; so Martin told him the whole story of God's love, and of the coming of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

No words so wonderful had ever been spoken to this brigand before, and as he listened he believed that what Martin said was true. The first thing he did was to cut the rope which bound his prisoner's hands and to set him free; and after that he led him in safety through the mountain passes, until he reached a road that led to the plains below.

Here they parted, and the brigand knelt and asked Martin to pray for him that he might lead a new life. So there was one less robber on that lonely road, and one more Christian fighting the battles of the Lord.

Although Martin loved to dwell in lonely places, he was always ready to go where he was most needed, and so a great part of his life was spent in busy towns. When he was made Bishop of Tours and could no longer live in the solitude he loved, still he strove to be the best bishop it was possible to become, just as when he was a soldier he tried to be as good a soldier as he knew how to be.

Now Martin was growing an old man, yet he was very little changed since that long ago day when he divided his cloak with the poor beggar outside the gates of Amiens. It is said that one day when he was serving at the altar, in all his beautiful bishop's robes, he saw a ragged beggar standing near shivering with cold. At first he bade his deacon give him clothing, but the deacon was too slow to please the kind heart of the bishop, and so he went himself and took off his gold-embroidered vestment and put it tenderly round the shoulders of the beggar. Then as the service went on, and the bishop held up the holy chalice, the kneeling crowd saw with wonder that angels were hovering round and were hanging chains of gold upon the upraised arms to cover them, because the robe Martin had given to the beggar had left them bare.

Now the Evil One looked with great mistrust and disfavour upon Martin, for the good bishop won more souls by his love and gentleness than the Evil One cared to lose. All the preaching and sternness of other good men were not half so dangerous to the plans of the Evil One as the pity and kindness of Martin. So one day the Evil One met Martin and began to mock at him.

"Thy faith is beautiful indeed," he said scornfully; "but how long do thy sinners remain saints? They have but to pretend a little sorrow for their sins, and lo! in thy eyes they are immediately saved."

"Oh, poor, miserable Spirit that thou art!" answered Martin. "Dost thou not know that our Saviour refuses none who turn to Him? Even thou, if thou wouldst but repent, might find mercy with my Lord."

The Evil One did not stop to answer the bishop, but disappeared with great swiftness. Later on he returned, as we shall see.

The fame of Martin's life spread far and near, and the rich as well as the poor did him honour. The emperor and empress invited him over and over again to come to their court, but Martin steadily refused, for he loved best to work among the poor.

A time came, however, when he saw that he might do great good if he could persuade the emperor to cease from persecuting the Christians; and so at last he agreed to attend a banquet at the palace and to be the emperor's guest.

Everything was as gorgeous and splendid as possible, for the emperor wished to do honour to the bishop, who was the one man who dared to speak truly to him and not to flatter him with mere words.

But Martin scarcely seemed to notice all the grandeur and brilliance of the entertainment. And when, at the banquet, the emperor took the wine-cup and passed it to his guest, expecting him to bless it and respectfully hand it back, Martin turned quietly round instead, and passed the jewelled cup to a poor priest who stood behind. This he did to show the astonished emperor that in his eyes the poorest of God's servants was to be considered before the greatest ruler upon earth.

It was not long after this that the Evil One again visited Martin. But this time he disguised himself that he might not be known.

It was evening and Martin was praying in his cell, when a bright light filled the place, and in the midst of the light he saw a figure clad in royal robes and with a crown of gold and jewels upon his head. His face was shining and beautiful, so that no one could have guessed he was the Evil One. Martin could only gaze upon him in dazzled silence, for his shining beauty was beyond all words.

Then the Evil One spoke, and the sound of his voice was like music.

"Martin," he said, "dost thou not see that I am Christ? I have come again upon earth, and it is to thee that I have first showed myself."

But Martin still gazed silently at him and answered nothing.

"Martin," said the Evil One again, "why dost thou not believe? Canst thou not see that I am Christ?"

Then Martin answered slowly:

"It seemeth strange to me that my Lord should come in glittering clothing and a golden crown. Unless thou canst show the marks of the nails and spear, I cannot believe that thou art He."

At these words, with a horrible thunder-clap, the Evil One disappeared, and Martin saw him no more.

Years passed, and Martin lived a long and useful life; but he was growing weary now, and when God's call came, he gladly prepared to enter into his rest, and to leave the world where he had laboured so long and faithfully.

The night that Martin died he was seen in a vision by one of his friends who loved him more than all the rest. The saint's robe was shining white and his eyes were like stars and, as the friend knelt and worshipped, he felt a soft touch upon his head and heard a voice that blessed him ere the vision faded.

And so Martin finished his earthly work, and went to hear from his Master's lips the gracious words: "Well done, good and faithful servant."

 

The Sandman: His Sea Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Stowaway Story

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

That wharf and all the ships that sailed from it belonged to Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob; and after they had moved their office to Boston the ships sailed from a wharf in Boston. And once, in the long ago, the brig Industry  had sailed from the wharf in Boston, and she had got to that far country and all the things that she had brought there had been taken out of her and sold. And Captain Solomon had bought the things that she would carry back to Boston, but they were not loaded on the Industry  yet. And Captain Solomon had gone off with little Jacob and little Sol to see some elephants, for he thought the mate could attend to loading the ship. After Captain Solomon had gone off, the sailors who had rowed him ashore stood there for a few minutes looking after the dust that the bullocks kicked up, and then they turned to get into the boat again. And one of the sailors, who was named Ephraim, saw a man coming toward them, and he knew the man, for the man was a sailor, too, and he and Ephraim had sailed together a long while before, but not in the Industry. So he waited for the man to come, and the man and Ephraim were glad to see each other and Ephraim asked him where he came from and what ship he was on. For no other ship was in the river at that time.

Then the man said that he had sailed in a ship from England, but the ship had gone off without him while he was ashore; and he wanted to get back to Boston, for he hadn't been there for several years. And he asked Ephraim if there was a chance to be a sailor on the Industry. But Ephraim said that they had a full crew and there wasn't any chance, for the old man was very strict. He called Captain Solomon the old man, but he wasn't an old man at all, for he wasn't quite forty years old; but sailors always call the captain the old man. And Ephraim was afraid of Captain Solomon, but he needn't have been afraid, for Captain Solomon was a kind man, although he was rather gruff and stern to the sailors.

And so Ephraim advised the man to try to stow himself away on the Industry  until she was clear of the land and on blue water, and then to come out and see what would happen. For he knew that Captain Solomon wouldn't go back just to land the man, and he couldn't throw him overboard. And the man said that he would do that, and he thought he should be able to stow away when the ship was loading, but he would have to depend upon Ephraim to feed him for a few days. And Ephraim said that he would, and the man went away and the sailors rowed the boat back to the Industry.

So the sailors began to load the ship with all the things that Captain Solomon had bought, and many little boats began to go back and forth and there was a good deal of confusion. And in the confusion of the loading the man managed to stow himself away on the Industry;  and he was in the hold of the ship, as far forward as he could get, so that Ephraim could bring him food and water without much trouble. And the sailors got all the things aboard, and Captain Solomon came back with little Jacob and little Sol. And they got the things to eat on board, and the water that they would drink, and when everything was ready they hoisted up the anchor from the bottom of the river, and they hoisted the sails, and they sailed away down the river and out into the great ocean. And on the second day out, the stowaway came out and worked with the other sailors.

He was in the hold of the ship.

And Captain Solomon was on the quarter deck, looking out over the ocean and at the ship and at the sailors, and he saw the stowaway.

"Who is that man and where did he come from?" he said to the mate.

And the mate looked and saw the man, and he didn't know. "I'm sure I don't know, sir," answered the mate.

"Call him up," said Captain Solomon.

So the mate called him and he came and stood at the foot of the steps that led to the quarter deck, and Captain Solomon stood at the head of the steps with his hand upon the railing. And the man stood first upon one foot and then upon the other and he looked very uncomfortable.

"Aye, aye, sir," said the man; and he touched his cap.

And Captain Solomon didn't say anything for a long time, but he looked the man over from head to foot, and he looked very fierce and stern, so that the man was more uncomfortable than ever. And little Jacob and little Sol stood just behind Captain Solomon.

"Who are you, and where did you come from?" asked Captain Solomon. "Give an account of yourself."

Then the man began to tell that he was a sailor and had been a sailor for many years. And he had shipped, last, on an English vessel bound to India, and she had got there all right, but had sailed away without him while he was ashore on leave.

Captain Solomon had to smile at that, though he didn't mean to. And the man went on to say that he wanted to get a passage to Boston and he would have been glad to ship as one of the crew, but he understood that the ship had a full crew and that the captain didn't want any more sailors, and so he had stowed away. But he was an able seaman and would be only too grateful for a chance to work with the other sailors if Captain Solomon pleased, sir.

Then Captain Solomon was very angry, and asked how he heard that he had a full crew and didn't want any more sailors; and who told him that an able seaman who wanted to get back to Boston couldn't get a passage on that ship. And the man wouldn't tell, but Captain Solomon saw that Ephraim looked very uneasy, so he knew it was Ephraim. And he called Ephraim, and blew him up sky high, and he said that he had a good mind to put him and the stowaway both on bread and water for a month. When little Jacob heard Captain Solomon say that, he stepped forward to speak, for he couldn't bear to think that men should be put on bread and water for a month just for that. But little Sol gave him a nudge and whispered to him not to say anything, for he knew well enough that his father hadn't any idea of doing it.

And Ephraim and the stowaway both turned pale and looked as if they were going to be seasick, but they weren't. And after everybody had stood there without speaking for a good while, Captain Solomon spoke to the whole crew, who had all come near, and told them that he didn't want any such actions on his ship again; and if they ever heard of any such case, he wanted them to come right to him, and he would inquire into it. For he didn't want them to think that he would ever refuse a passage home to a good sailor. And he told Ephraim and the stowaway that he would think about putting them on bread and water, but he wouldn't do it yet. And if the stowaway did his duty well and proved himself an able seaman he would try to get pay for him when he got back to Boston and saw his owners. But if the man wasn't what he said he was, or didn't attend to his duty, he would be put on bread and water, as sure as his own name was Solomon, and so would Ephraim.

Then the sailors all went about their business, and Captain Solomon blew up the mate for letting a man stow away on the Industry. And when Captain Solomon had blown everybody up that he could, he felt very pleasant indeed, and he played with little Sol and little Jacob.

And that's all.

 

Anonymous

The Chestnut Burr

A wee little nut lay deep in its nest Of satin and brown, the softest and best, And slept and grew while its cradle rocked, As it hung in the boughs that interlocked. Now the house was small where the cradle lay, As it swung in the winds by night and day; For the thicket of underbrush fenced it round, This lone little cot by the great sun browned. This little nut grew, and ere long it found There was work outside on the soft green ground; It must do its part so the world might know It had tried one little seed to sow. And soon the house that had kept it warm Was tossed about by the autumn storm, The stem was cracked, the old house fell, And the chestnut burr was an empty shell. But the little nut, as it waiting lay, Dreamed a wonderful dream one day, Of how it should break its coat of brown, And live as a tree, to grow up and down.