The Little Lame Prince  by Dinah Maria Mulock

Helpless No More

W HEN Prince Dolor sat up in bed, trying to remember where he was, whither he had been, and what he had seen the day before, he perceived that his room was empty.

Generally his nurse rather worried him by breaking his slumbers, coming in and "setting things to rights," as she called it. Now the dust lay thick upon chairs and tables; there was no harsh voice heard to scold him for not getting up immediately—which, I am sorry to say, this boy did not always do. For he so enjoyed lying still, and thinking lazily about everything or nothing, that, if he had not tried hard against it, he would certainly have become like those celebrated

"Two little men Who lay in their bed till the clock struck ten."

It was striking ten now, and still no nurse was to be seen. He was rather relieved at first, for he felt so tired; and besides, when he stretched out his arm, he found to his dismay that he had gone to bed in his clothes.

Very uncomfortable he felt, of course; and just a little frightened. Especially when he began to call and call again, but nobody answered. Often he used to think how nice it would be to get rid of his nurse and live in this tower all by himself—like a sort of monarch able to do everything he liked, and leave undone all that he did not want to do; but now that this seemed really to have happened, he did not like it at all.

"Nurse—dear nurse—please come back!" he called out. "Come back, and I will be the best boy in all the land."

And when she did not come back, and nothing but silence answered his lamentable call, he very nearly began to cry.

"This won't do," he said at last, dashing the tears from his eyes. "It's just like a baby, and I'm a big boy—shall be a man some day. What has happened, I wonder? I'll go and see."

He sprang out of bed—not to his feet, alas! but to his poor little weak knees, and crawled on them from room to room. All the four chambers were deserted—not forlorn or untidy, for everything seemed to have been done for his comfort—the breakfast and dinner-things were laid, the food spread in order. He might live "like a prince," as the proverb is, for several days. But the place was entirely forsaken—there was evidently not a creature but himself in the solitary tower.

A great fear came upon the poor boy. Lonely as his life had been, he had never known what it was to be absolutely alone. A kind of despair seized him—no violent anger or terror, but a sort of patient desolation.

"What in the world am I to do?" thought he, and sat down in the middle of the floor, half inclined to believe that it would be better to give up entirely, lay himself down and die.

This feeling, however, did not last long, for he was young and strong, and I said before, by nature a very courageous boy. There came into his head, somehow or other, a proverb that his nurse had taught him—the people of Nomansland were very fond of proverbs:—

"For every evil under the sun There is a remedy, or there's none; If there is one, try to find it— If there isn't, never mind it."

"I wonder—is there a remedy now, and could I find it?" cried the Prince, jumping up and looking out of the window.

No help there. He only saw the broad bleak sunshiny plain—that is, at first. But, by-and-by, in the circle of mud that surrounded the base of the tower, he perceived distinctly the marks of a horse's feet, and just in the spot where the deaf-mute was accustomed to tie up his great black charger, while he himself ascended, there lay the remains of a bundle of hay and a feed of corn.

"Yes, that's it. He has come and gone, taking nurse away with him. Poor nurse! how glad she would be to go!"

That was Prince Dolor's first thought. His second—wasn't it natural?—was a passionate indignation at her cruelty—at the cruelty of all the world toward him, a poor little helpless boy. Then he determined, forsaken as he was, to try and hold on to the last, and not to die as long as he could possibly help it.

Anyhow, it would be easier to die here than out in the world, among the terrible doings which he had just beheld. From the midst of which, it suddenly struck him, the deaf-mute had come—contrived somehow to make the nurse understand that the king was dead, and she need have no fear in going back to the capital, where there was a grand revolution, and everything turned upside down. So, of course, she had gone.

"I hope she'll enjoy it, miserable woman—if they don't cut off her head too."

And then a kind of remorse smote him for feeling so bitterly toward her, after all the years she had taken care of him—grudgingly, perhaps, and coldly; still, she had taken care of him, and that even to the last: for, as I have said, all his four rooms were as tidy as possible, and his meals laid out, that he might have no more trouble than could be helped.

"Possibly she did not mean to be cruel. I won't judge her," said he. And afterwards he was very glad that he had so determined.

For the second time he tried to dress himself, and then to do everything he could for himself—even to sweeping up the hearth and putting on more coals. "It's a funny thing for a prince to have to do," said he, laughing. "But my godmother once said princes need never mind doing anything."

And then he thought a little of his godmother. Not of summoning her, or asking her to help him—she had evidently left him to help himself, and he was determined to try his best to do it, being a very proud and independent boy—but he remembered her tenderly and regretfully, as if even she had been a little hard upon him—poor, forlorn boy that he was! But he seemed to have seen and learned so much within the last few days, that he scarcely felt like a boy, but a man—until he went to bed at night.

When I was a child, I used often to think how nice it would be to live in a little house all by my own self—a house built high up in a tree, or far away in a forest, or halfway up a hillside,—so deliciously alone and independent. Not a lesson to learn—but no! I always liked learning my lessons. Anyhow, to choose the lessons I liked best, to have as many books to read and dolls to play with as ever I wanted: above all, to be free and at rest, with nobody to tease or trouble or scold me, would be charming. For I was a lonely little thing, who liked quietness—as many children do; which other children, and sometimes grown-up people even, cannot always understand. And so I can understand Prince Dolor.

After his first despair, he was not merely comfortable, but actually happy in his solitude, doing everything for himself, and enjoying everything by himself—until bedtime.

Then he did not like it at all. No more, I suppose, than other children would have liked my imaginary house in a tree, when they had had sufficient of their own company.

But the prince had to bear it—and he did bear it, like a prince—for fully five days. All that time he got up in the morning and went to bed at night without having spoken to a creature, or, indeed, heard a single sound. For even his little lark was silent: and as for his travelling-cloak, either he never thought about it, or else it had been spirited away—for he made no use of it, nor attempted to do so.

A very strange existence it was, those five lonely days. He never entirely forgot it. It threw him back upon himself, and into himself—in a way that all of us have to learn when we grow up, and are the better for it—but it is somewhat hard learning.

On the sixth day Prince Dolor had a strange composure in his look, but he was very grave and thin and white. He had nearly come to the end of his provisions—and what was to happen next? Get out of the tower he could not; the ladder the deaf-mute used was always carried away again; and if it had not been, how could the poor boy have used it? And even if he slung or flung himself down, and by miraculous chance came alive to the foot of the tower how could he run away?

Fate had been very hard to him, or so it seemed.

He made up his mind to die. Not that he wished to die; on the contrary, there was a great deal that he wished to live to do; but if he must die, he must. Dying did not seem so very dreadful; not even to lie quiet like his uncle, whom he had entirely forgiven now, and neither be miserable nor naughty any more, and escape all those horrible things that he had seen going on outside the palace, in that awful place which was called "the world."

"It's a great deal nicer here," said the poor little Prince, and collected all his pretty things round him: his favorite pictures, which he thought he should like to have near him when he died; his books and toys—no, he had ceased to care for toys now; he only liked them because he had done so as a child. And there he sat very calm and patient, like a king in his castle, waiting for the end.

"Still, I wish I had done something first—something worth doing, that somebody might remember me by," thought he. "Suppose I had grown a man, and had had work to do, and people to care for, and was so useful and busy that they liked me, and perhaps even forgot I was lame? Then it would have been nice to live, I think."

A tear came into the little fellow's eyes, and he listened intently through the dead silence for some hopeful sound.

Was there one?—was it his little lark, whom he had almost forgotten? No, nothing half so sweet. But it really was something—something which came nearer and nearer, so that there was no mistaking it. It was the sound of a trumpet, one of the great silver trumpets so admired in Nomansland. Not pleasant music, but very bold, grand, and inspiring.

As he listened to it the boy seemed to recall many things which had slipped his memory for years, and to nerve himself for whatever might be going to happen.

What had happened was this.

The poor condemned woman had not been such a wicked woman after all. Perhaps her courage was not wholly disinterested, but she had done a very heroic thing. As soon as she heard of the death and burial of the King and of the changes that were taking place in the country, a daring idea came into her head—to set upon the throne of Nomansland its rightful heir. Thereupon she persuaded the deaf-mute to take her away with him, and they galloped like the wind from city to city, spreading everywhere the news that Prince Dolor's death and burial had been an invention concocted by his wicked uncle—that he was alive and well, and the noblest young Prince that ever was born.

It was a bold stroke, but it succeeded. The country, weary perhaps of the late King's harsh rule, and yet glad to save itself from the horrors of the last few days, and the still further horrors of no rule at all, and having no particular interest in the other young princes, jumped at the idea of this Prince, who was the son of their late good King and the beloved Queen Dolorez.

"Hurrah for Prince Dolor! Let Prince Dolor be our sovereign!" rang from end to end of the kingdom. Everybody tried to remember what a dear baby he once was—how like his mother, who had been so sweet and kind, and his father, the finest-looking king that ever reigned. Nobody remembered his lameness—or, if they did, they passed it over as a matter of no consequence. They were determined to have him to reign over them, boy as he was—perhaps just because he was a boy, since in that case the great nobles thought they should be able to do as they liked with the country.

Accordingly, with a fickleness not confined to the people of Nomansland, no sooner was the late King laid in his grave than they pronounced him to have been a usurper; turned all his family out of the palace, and left it empty for the reception of the new sovereign, whom they went to fetch with great rejoicing; a select body of lords, gentlemen, and soldiers travelling night and day in solemn procession through the country until they reached Hopeless Tower.

There they found the Prince, sitting calmly on the floor—deadly pale, indeed, for he expected a quite different end from this, and was resolved, if he had to die, to die courageously, like a prince and a king.

But when they hailed him as prince and king, and explained to him how matters stood, and went down on their knees before him, offering the crown (on a velvet cushion, with four golden tassels, each nearly as big as his head)—small though he was and lame, which lameness the courtiers pretended not to notice,—there came such a glow into his face, such a dignity into his demeanour, that he became beautiful, king-like.

"Yes," he said, "if you desire it, I will be your king. And I will do my best to make my people happy."

Then there arose, from inside and outside the tower, such a shout as never yet was heard across the lonely plain.

Prince Dolor shrank a little from the deafening sound. "How shall I be able to rule all this great people? You forget, my lords, that I am only a little boy still."

"Not so very little," was the respectful answer. "We have searched in the records, and found that your Royal Highness—your Majesty, I mean—is fifteen years old."

"Am I?" said Prince Dolor; and his first thought was a thoroughly childish pleasure that he should now have a birthday, with a whole nation to keep it. Then he remembered that his childish days were done. He was a monarch now. Even his nurse, to whom, the moment he saw her, he had held out his hand, kissed it reverently, and called him ceremoniously "his Majesty the King."

"A king must be always a king, I suppose," said he half sadly, when, the ceremonies over, he had been left to himself for just ten minutes, to put off his boy's clothes and be reattired in magnificent robes, before he was conveyed away from his tower to the Royal Palace.

He could take nothing with him; indeed, he soon saw that, however politely they spoke, they would not allow him to take anything. If he was to be their king, he must give up his old life for ever. So he looked with tender farewell on his old books, old toys, the furniture he knew so well, and the familiar plain in all its levelness—ugly yet pleasant, simply because it was familiar.

"It will be a new life in a new world," said he to himself; "but I'll remember the old things still. And, oh! if before I go, I could but once see my dear old godmother."

While he spoke he had laid himself down on the bed for a minute or two, rather tired with his grandeur, and confused by the noise of the trumpets which kept playing incessantly down below. He gazed, half sadly, up to the skylight, whence there came pouring a stream of sun-rays, with innumerable motes floating there, like a bridge thrown between heaven and earth. Sliding down it, as if she had been made of air, came the little old woman in grey.

There came pouring a stream of sun-rays . . . like a bridge . . . Sliding down it, as if she had been made of air, came the little old woman in grey.

So beautiful looked she—old as she was—that Prince Dolor was at first quite startled by the apparition. Then he held out his arms in eager delight.

"O, godmother, you have not forsaken me!"

"Not at all, my son. You may not have seen me, but I have seen you, many a time."

"How?"

"O, never mind. I can turn into anything I please, you know. And I have been a bear-skin rug, and a crystal goblet—and sometimes I have changed from inanimate to animate nature, put on feathers, and made myself very comfortable as a bird."

"Ha!" laughed the Prince, a new light breaking in upon him as he caught the infection of her tone, lively and mischievous. "Ha! ha! a lark, for instance?"

"Or a magpie," answered she, with a capital imitation of Mistress Mag's croaky voice. "Do you suppose I am always sentimental, and never funny?—If anything makes you happy, gay or grave, don't you think it is more than likely to come through your old godmother?"

"I believe that," said the boy tenderly, holding out his arms. They clasped one another in a close embrace.

Suddenly Prince Dolor looked very anxious. "You will not leave me now that I am a king? Otherwise I had rather not be a king at all. Promise never to forsake me!"

The little old woman laughed gaily. "Forsake you? that is impossible. But it is just possible you may forsake me. Not probable though. Your mother never did, and she was a queen. The sweetest queen in all the world was the Lady Dolorez."

"Tell me about her," said the boy eagerly. "As I get older I think I can understand more. Do tell me."

"Not now. You couldn't hear me for the trumpets and the shouting. But when you are come to the palace, ask for a long-closed upper room, which looks out upon the Beautiful Mountains; open it and take it for your own. Whenever you go there you will always find me, and we will talk together about all sorts of things."

"And about my mother?"

The little old woman nodded—and kept nodding and smiling to herself many times, as the boy repeated over and over again the sweet words he had never known or understood—"my mother—my mother."

"Now I must go," said she, as the trumpets blared louder and louder, and the shouts of the people showed that they would not endure any delay. "Good-bye, Good-bye! Open the window and out I fly."

Prince Dolor repeated gaily the musical rhyme—but all the while tried to hold his godmother fast.

Vain, vain!—for the moment that a knocking was heard at his door the sun went behind a cloud, the bright stream of dancing motes vanished, and the little old woman with them—he knew not where.

So Prince Dolor quitted his tower—which he had entered so mournfully and ignominiously, as a little helpless baby carried in the deaf-mute's arms—quitted it as the great King of Nomansland.

So Prince Dolor quitted his tower . . . quitted it as the great King of Nomansland.

The only thing he took away with him was something so insignificant that none of the lords, gentlemen, and soldiers who escorted him with such triumphant splendour could possibly notice it—a tiny bundle, which he had found lying on the floor just where the bridge of sunbeams had rested. At once he had pounced upon it, and thrust it secretly into his bosom, where it dwindled into such small proportions, that it might have been taken for a mere chest-comforter—a bit of flannel, or an old pocket-handkerchief.

It was his travelling-cloak!

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Stealing the Company's Goods

If I have made it appear that during all this time we lived in the most friendly manner with the savages, then have I blundered in the setting down of that which happened.

Although it shames one to write such things concerning those who called themselves Englishmen, yet it must be said that the savages were no longer in any degree friendly, and all because of what our own people had done.

From the time when Captain Smith had declared that he who would not work should not eat, some of our fine gentlemen who were willing to believe that labor was the greatest crime which could be committed, began stealing from the common store iron and copper goods of every kind which might be come at, in order to trade with the savages for food they themselves were too lazy to get otherwise.

They even went so far, some of those who thought it more the part of a man to wear silks than build himself a house, as to steal matchlocks, pistols, and weapons of any kind, standing ready to teach the savages how to use these things, if thereby they were given so much additional in the way of food.

As our numbers increased, by reason of the companies which were brought over by Captain Newport and Captain Nelson, so did the thievery become the more serious until on one day I heard Master Hunt tell my master, that of forty axes which had been brought ashore from the Phoenix and left outside the storehouse during the night, but eight were remaining when morning came.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

What the Thieving Led To

Now there was more of mischief to this than the crime of stealing, or of indolence. The savages came to understand they could drive hard bargains, and so increased the price of their corn that Captain Smith set it down in his report to the London Company, that the same amount of copper, or of beads, which had, one year before, paid for five bushels of wheat, would, within a week after Captain Newport came in search of the lost colony, pay for no more than one peck.

Nor was this the entire sum of the wrong done by our gentlemen who stole rather than worked with their hands. The savages, grown bold now that they had firearms and knew how to use them, no longer had the same fear of white people as when Captain Smith, single-handed, was able to hold two hundred in check, and strove to kill us of Jamestown whenever they found opportunity.

On four different times did they plot to murder my master, believing that when he had been done to death, it would be more easy for them to kill off all in our town; but on each occasion, so keen was his watchfulness, he outwitted them all.

The putting of a crown on Powhatan's head, and bowing before him as if he had been a real king, also did much mischief. It caused that brown savage to believe we feared him, which was much the same as inviting him to be less of a friend, until on a certain day he boldly declared that one basket of his corn was worth more than all our copper and beads, because he could eat his corn, while our trinkets gave a hungry man no satisfaction.

And thus, by the wicked and unwise acts of our own people, did we prepare the way for another time of famine and sickness.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Fear of Famine in a Land of Plenty

However, I must set this much down as counting in our favor: when we landed in this country we had three pigs, and a cock and six hens, all of which we turned loose in the wilderness to shift for themselves, giving shelter to such as came back to us when winter was near at hand.

Within two years we had of pigs more than sixty, in addition to many which were yet running wild in the forest. Of hens and cocks we had upward of five hundred, the greater number being kept in pens to the end that we might profit by their eggs.

I have heard Master Hunt declare more than once, that had we followed Captain Smith's advice, giving all our labor to the raising of crops, our storehouse would have been too small for the food on hand, and we might have held ourselves free from the whims of the savages, having corn to sell, rather than spending near to half our time trying to buy.

As Master Hunt said again and again when talking over the situation with Captain Smith, it seemed strange even to us who were there, that we could be looking forward to a famine, when in the sea and on the land was food in abundance to feed half the people in all this wide world.

To show how readily one might get himself a dinner, if so be his taste were not too nice, I have seen Captain Smith, when told what we had in the larder for the next meal, go to the river with only his naked sword, and there spear fish enough with the weapon to provide us with as much as could be eaten in a full day. But yet some of our gentlemen claimed that it was not good for their blood to eat this food of the sea; others declared that oysters, when partaken of regularly, were as poisonous as the sweet potatoes which we bought of the Indians.

Thus it was that day by day did we who were in the land of plenty, overrun with that which would serve as food, fear that another time of famine was nigh.

 

Gabriel Setoun

Romance

I saw a ship a-sailing, A-sailing on the sea; Her masts were of the shining gold, Her deck of ivory; And sails of silk, as soft as milk, And silvern shrouds had she. And round about her sailing, The sea was sparkling white, The waves all clapped their hands and sang To see so fair a sight. They kissed her twice, they kissed her thrice, And murmured with delight. Then came the gallant captain, And stood upon the deck; In velvet coat, and ruffles white, Without a spot or speck; And diamond rings, and triple strings Of pearls around his neck. And four-and-twenty sailors Were round him bowing low; On every jacket three times three Gold buttons in a row; And cutlasses down to their knees; They made a goodly show. And then the ship went sailing, A-sailing o'er the sea; She dived beyond the setting sun, But never back came she, For she found the lands of the golden sands, Where the pearls and diamonds be.

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

The Inchcape Rock

I N the North Sea there is a great rock called the Inch-cape Rock. It is twelve miles from any land, and is covered most of the time with water.

Many boats and ships have been wrecked on that rock; for it is so near the top of the water that no vessel can sail over it without striking it.

More than a hundred years ago there lived not far away a kind-heart-ed man who was called the Abbot of Ab-er-broth-ock.

"It is a pity," he said, "that so many brave sailors should lose their lives on that hidden rock."

So the abbot caused a buoy to be fastened to the rock. The buoy floated back and forth in the shallow water. A strong chain kept it from floating away.

On the top of the buoy the abbot placed a bell; and when the waves dashed against it, the bell would ring out loud and clear.

Sailors, now, were no longer afraid to cross the sea at that place. When they heard the bell ringing, they knew just where the rock was, and they steered their vessels around it.

"God bless the good Abbot of Ab-er-broth-ock!" they all said.

One calm summer day, a ship with a black flag happened to sail not far from the Inch-cape Rock. The ship belonged to a sea robber called Ralph the Rover; and she was a terror to all honest people both on sea and shore.

There was but little wind that day, and the sea was as smooth as glass. The ship stood almost still; there was hardly a breath of air to fill her sails.

Ralph the Rover was walking on the deck. He looked out upon the glassy sea. He saw the buoy floating above the Inchcape Rock. It looked like a big black speck upon the water. But the bell was not ringing that day. There were no waves to set it in motion.

"Boys!" cried Ralph the Rover; "put out the boat, and row me to the Inchcape Rock. We will play a trick on the old abbot."

The boat was low-ered. Strong arms soon rowed it to the Inchcape Rock. Then the robber, with a heavy ax, broke the chain that held the buoy.

He cut the fas-ten-ings of the bell. It fell into the water. There was a gur-gling sound as it sank out of sight.

"The next one that comes this way will not bless the abbot," said Ralph the Rover.

Soon a breeze sprang up, and the black ship sailed away. The sea robber laughed as he looked back and saw that there was nothing to mark the place of the hidden rock.

For many days, Ralph the Rover scoured the seas, and many were the ships that he plun-dered. At last he chanced to sail back toward the place from which he had started.

The wind had blown hard all day. The waves rolled high. The ship was moving swiftly. But in the evening the wind died away, and a thick fog came on.

Ralph the Rover walked the deck. He could not see where the ship was going. "If the fog would only clear away!" he said.

"I thought I heard the roar of breakers," said the pilot. "We must be near the shore."

"I cannot tell," said Ralph the Rover; "but I think we are not far from the Inchcape Rock. I wish we could hear the good abbot's bell."

The next moment there was a great crash. "It is the Inchcape Rock!" the sailors cried, as the ship gave a lurch to one side, and began to sink.

"Oh, what a wretch am I!" cried Ralph the Rover. "This is what comes of the joke that I played on the good abbot!"

What was it that he heard as the waves rushed over him? Was it the abbot's bell, ringing for him far down at the bottom of the sea?

 

Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

New Coats for Bluebirds

They heard some birds. So they sat near a vine and were quiet.

Before long the birds flew to the vine. They found some dark berries on the vine and ate many of them.

They were bluebirds. They liked insects to eat but they liked berries very much, too. They had a happy time in the vine.

Don and Nan knew the bluebirds. They had watched the old birds go in and out of a box on a tree where they had a nest in the spring.

Father and Mother Bluebird did not look the same in the fall as they did in the spring. Their feathers were a little different.

The spring feathers dropped out and new feathers grew.

Father Bluebird had blue feathers with brown tips on his head and back. His breast was red. He had white under feathers near his legs.

The colors of Mother Bluebird were not so bright. Her head and back were gray.

When the young bluebirds first came out of the nest they had white spots on their backs and brown spots on their breasts.

Now the young bluebirds looked much like their father and mother. They were ready to go South for the winter with the old birds.

Uncle Tom told Don and Nan about the feather coats of bluebirds.

"In the fall some of their new feathers have brown tips," he said. "So their coats are not very bright.

"Before spring the brown tips will be rubbed off. Then the other colors of the feathers can show.

"That is why Father Bluebird looks so very blue in the spring."

"What a queer kind of coat!" said Don. "It is not so pretty when it is new as when it is old."

 

Eugene Field

Norse Lullaby

The sky is dark and the hills are white As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night; And this is the song the storm-king sings, As over the world his cloak he flings: "Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep"; He rustles his wings and gruffly sings: "Sleep, little one, sleep." On yonder mountain-side a vine Clings at the foot of a mother pine; The tree bends over the trembling thing, And only the vine can hear her sing: "Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep— What shall you fear when I am here? Sleep, little one, sleep." The king may sing in his bitter flight, The tree may croon to the vine to-night, But the little snowflake at my breast Liketh the song I  sing the best— Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; Weary thou art, a-next my heart, Sleep, little one, sleep.

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

Honker and Dippy Arrive

T HE leaves of the trees turned yellow and red and brown and then began to drop, a few at first, then more and more every day until all but the spruce-trees and the pine-trees and the hemlock-trees and the fir-trees and the cedar-trees were bare. By this time most of Peter's feathered friends of the summer had departed, and there were days when Peter had oh, such a lonely feeling. The fur of his coat was growing thicker. The grass of the Green Meadows had turned brown. All these things were signs which Peter knew well. He knew that rough Brother North Wind and Jack Frost were on their way down from the Far North.

Peter had few friends to visit now. Johnny Chuck had gone to sleep for the winter 'way down in his little bedroom under ground. Grandfather Frog had also gone to sleep. So had Old Mr. Toad. Peter spent a great deal of time in the dear Old Briar-patch just sitting still and listening. What he was listening for he didn't know. It just seemed to him that there was something he ought to hear at this time of year, and so he sat listening and listening and wondering what he was listening for. Then, late one afternoon, there came floating down to him from high up in the sky, faintly at first but growing louder, a sound unlike any Peter had heard all the long summer through. The sound was a voice. Rather it was many voices mingled "Honk, honk, honk, honk, honk, honk, honk!" Peter gave a little jump.

"That's what I've been listening for!" he cried. "Honker the Goose and his friends are coming. Oh, I do hope they will stop where I can pay them a call."

He hopped out to the edge of the dear Old Briar-patch that he might see better, and looked up in the sky. High up, flying in the shape of a letter V, he saw a flock of great birds flying steadily from the direction of the Far North. By the sound of their voices he knew that they had flown far that day and were tired. One bird was in the lead and this he knew to be his old friend, Honker. Straight over his head they passed and as Peter listened to their voices he felt within him the very spirit of the Far North, that great, wild, lonely land which he had never seen but of which he had so often heard.

As Peter watched, Honker suddenly turned and headed in the direction of the Big River. Then he began to slant down, his flock following him. And presently they disappeared behind the trees along the bank of the Great River. Peter gave a happy little sigh. "They are going to spend the night there," thought he. "When the moon comes up, I will run over there, for they will come ashore and I know just where. Now that they have arrived I know that winter is not far away. Honker's voice is as sure a sign of the coming of winter as is Winsome Bluebird's that spring will soon be here."

Peter could hardly wait for the coming of the Black Shadows, and just as soon as they had crept out over the Green Meadows he started for the Big River. He knew just where to go, because he knew that Honker and his friends would rest and spend the night in the same place they had stopped at the year before. He knew that they would remain out in the middle of the Big River until the Black Shadows had made it quite safe for them to swim in. He reached the bank of the Big River just as sweet Mistress Moon was beginning to throw her silvery light over the Great World. There was a sandy bar in the Great River at this point, and Peter squatted on the bank just where this sandy bar began.

It seemed to Peter that he had sat there half the night, but really it was only a short time, before he heard a low signal out in the Black Shadows which covered the middle of the Big River. It was the voice of Honker. Then Peter saw little silvery lines moving on the water and presently a dozen great shapes appeared in the moonlight. Honker and his friends were swimming in. The long neck of each of those great birds was stretched to its full height, and Peter knew that each bird was listening for the slightest suspicious sound. Slowly they drew near, Honker in the lead. They were a picture of perfect caution. When they reached the sandy bar they remained quiet, looking and listening for some time. Then, sure that all was safe, Honker gave a low signal and at once a low gabbling began as the big birds relaxed their watchfulness and came out on the sandy bar, all save one. That one was the guard, and he remained with neck erect on watch. Some swam in among the rushes growing in the water very near to where Peter was sitting and began to feed. Others sat on the sandy bar and dressed their feathers. Honker himself came ashore close to where Peter was sitting.

"Oh, Honker," cried Peter, "I'm so glad you're back here safe and sound."

Honker gave a little start, but instantly recognizing Peter, came over close to him. As he stood there in the moonlight he was truly handsome. His throat and a large patch on each side of his head were white. The rest of his head and long, slim neck were black. His short tail was also black. His back, wings, breast and sides were a soft grayish-brown. He was white around the base of his tail and he wore a white collar.

"Hello, Peter," said he. "It is good to have an old friend greet me. I certainly am glad to be back safe and sound, for the hunters with terrible guns have been at almost every one of our resting places, and it has been hard work to get enough to eat. It is a relief to find one place where there are no terrible guns."

"Have you come far?" asked Peter.

"Very far, Peter; very far," replied Honker. "And we still have very far to go. I shall be thankful when the journey is over, for on me depends the safety of all those with me, and it is a great responsibility."

"Will winter soon be here?" asked Peter eagerly.

"Rough Brother North Wind and Jack Frost were right behind us," replied Honker. "You know we stay in the Far North just as long as we can. Already the place where we nested is frozen and covered with snow. For the first part of the journey we kept only just ahead of the snow and ice, but as we drew near to where men make their homes we were forced to make longer journeys each day, for the places where it is safe to feed and rest are few and far between. Now we shall hurry on until we reach the place in the far-away South where we will make our winter home."

Just then Honker was interrupted by wild, strange sounds from the middle of the Great River. It sounded like crazy laughter. Peter jumped at the sound, but Honker merely chuckled. "It's Dippy the Loon," said he. "He spent the summer in the Far North not far from us. He started south just before we did."

"I wish he would come in here so that I can get a good look at him and make his acquaintance," said Peter.

"He may, but I doubt it," replied Honker. "He and his mate are great people to keep by themselves. Then, too, they don't have to come ashore for food. You know Dippy feeds altogether on fish. He really has an easier time on the long journey than we do, because he can get his food without running so much risk of being shot by the terrible hunters. He practically lives on the water. He's about the most awkward fellow on land of any one I know."

"Why should he be any more awkward on land then you?" asked Peter, his curiosity aroused at once.

"Because," replied Honker, "Old Mother Nature has given him very short legs and has placed them so far back on his body that he can't keep his balance to walk, and has to use his wings and bill to help him over the ground. On shore he is about the most helpless thing you can imagine. But on water he is another fellow altogether. He's just as much at home under water as on top. My, how that fellow can dive! When he sees the flash of a gun he will get under water before the shot can reach him. That's where he has the advantage of us Geese. You know we can't dive. He could swim clear across this river under water if he wanted to, and he can go so fast under water that he can catch a fish. It is because his legs have been placed so far back that he can swim so fast. You know his feet are nothing but big paddles. Another funny thing is that he can sink right down in the water when he wants to, with nothing but his head out. I envy him that. It would be a lot easier for us Geese to escape the dreadful hunters if we could sink down that way."

"Has he a bill like yours?" asked Peter innocently.

"Of course not," replied Honker. "Didn't I tell you that he lives on fish? How do you suppose he would hold on to his slippery fish if he had a broad bill like mine? His bill is stout, straight and sharp pointed. He is rather a handsome fellow. He is pretty nearly as big as I am, and his back, wings, tail and neck are black with bluish or greenish appearance in the sun. His back and wings are spotted with white, and there are streaks of white on his throat and the sides of his neck. On his breast and below he is all white. You certainly ought to get acquainted with Dippy, Peter, for there isn't anybody quite like him."

"I'd like to," replied Peter. "But if he never comes to shore, how can I? I guess I will have to be content to know him just by his voice. I certainly never will forget that. It's about as crazy sounding as the voice of Old Man Coyote, and that is saying a great deal."

"There's one thing I forgot to tell you," said Honker. "Dippy can't fly from the land; he must be on the water in order to get up in the air."

"You can, can't you?" asked Peter.

"Of course I can," replied Honker. "Why, we Geese get a lot of our food on land. When it is safe to do so we visit the grain fields and pick up the grain that has been shaken out during harvest. Of course we couldn't do that if we couldn't fly from the land. We can rise from either land or water equally well. Now if you'll excuse me, Peter, I'll take a nap. My, but I'm tired! And I've got a long journey to-morrow."

So Peter politely bade Honker and his relatives good-night and left them in peace on the sandy bar in the Big River.

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Wolf and the Lamb

A stray Lamb stood drinking early one morning on the bank of a woodland stream. That very same morning a hungry Wolf came by farther up the stream, hunting for something to eat. He soon got his eyes on the Lamb. As a rule Mr. Wolf snapped up such delicious morsels without making any bones about it, but this Lamb looked so very helpless and innocent that the Wolf felt he ought to have some kind of an excuse for taking its life.

"How dare you paddle around in my stream and stir up all the mud!" he shouted fiercely. "You deserve to be punished severely for your rashness!"

"But, your highness," replied the trembling Lamb, "do not be angry! I cannot possibly muddy the water you are drinking up there. Remember, you are upstream and I am downstream."

"You do muddy it!" retorted the Wolf savagely. "And besides, I have heard that you told lies about me last year!"

"How could I have done so?" pleaded the Lamb. "I wasn't born until this year."

"If it wasn't you, it was your brother!"

"I have no brothers.

"Well, then," snarled the Wolf, "It was someone in your family anyway. But no matter who it was, I do not intend to be talked out of my breakfast." And without more words the Wolf seized the poor Lamb and carried her off to the forest.

The tyrant can always find an excuse for his tyranny.

The unjust will not listen to the reasoning of the innocent.

 

The Forge in the Forest  by Padraic Colum

AIR: THE SECOND STORY

"The last story!" the King said. The piece of special iron was put into the fire; but the apprentice-smith who blew the fire with the bellows was not to be found. One of the brothers came forward; he took up the bellows and he blew upon the fire, and then, as the Air stirred up the Fire, he began to tell the second story that had to do with the Air:

 

The Forge in the Forest  by Padraic Colum

Bellerophon

FTEN he watched the eagle in the air; as his gaze followed it on its way he would shout out his own name, "Bellerophon, Bellerophon!" As his name came back to him from the high rocks it seemed to him to be a prophecy of the time when he, too, would mount up and go the way of the eagle. He owned a bright sword and he knew that his spirit was braver and stronger than the spirits of those who were around him. And yet he had to serve a grudging King, and fresh labours and harassments came to him every day.

Once as he came back from his labour, the eyes of King Proetus's Queen rested upon the bright youth. "How beautiful he is, this Bellerophon," the Queen said. She spoke to him and would have him speak to her. But Bellerophon turned from Proetus's Queen—Proetus whom he had to serve. Then the Queen went to King Proetus, and, falsely accusing Bellerophon, had him sent away. But she had him sent away from slavery into dangers. He was commanded to go to the King of Lykia, and he went bearing tablets that told that King to thrust him into danger and still more danger.

"Thou must slay the Chimaera for me," said the King of Lykia; "thou must slay the Chimaera that appears in the sky and affrights all of us." Even then the Chimaera appeared in the sky. It had the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and the tail of a dragon. It filled the bright sky with horror and darkness. Then Bellerophon vowed that he would slay the monster; he would slay it, not because the King commanded him to slay it, but because the monster filled the beautiful depths that he loved with blackness. "I will slay the Chimaera for thee, O King," Bellerophon said, and he laid his hand on his bright sword as he spoke, "I will slay the Chimaera, and I will bring its lion's head into thy hall."

But how would he come to the Chimaera that went through the bright spaces of the sky? It came upon the tops of high mountains, and there Bellerophon would come upon it and slay it. But even as he sharpened his bright sword to go to the mountains and seek the Chimaera there, a whisper came to Bellerophon and told him that he should mount up to slay the Chimaera. And the whisper told him of a horse that grazed on far pastures, the horse Pegasus that had wings. And if he could come upon Pegasus and bridle him and mount him he could slay with his bright sword the Chimaera in the sky.

Then Bellerophon went forth bearing his sword and carrying the bridle that would hold Pegasus, the winged horse. He went forth, and in his own wild pastures he came upon Pegasus. The youth saw the winged horse feeding upon lotuses and springing across the water-courses. White was Pegasus, with white wings and dainty hoofs, and a heavy mane that tossed as he bounded along. It was easy to see that no bridle had ever gone upon Pegasus.

All day Bellerophon, the strong youth, followed after Pegasus. The horse bounded away, hardly noticing his pursuer. On the second day Bellerophon came suddenly upon Pegasus. He was drinking at a certain spring. Bellerophon seized the winged horse by the mane, and strove to hold him. But Pegasus trampled and kicked and at last broke away from Bellerophon. Afterwards he saw the winged horse only in the air, or drinking with his head raised from the spring every moment.

Often when he was worn out with watching and the chase, it would seem to Bellerophon that he never would be able to capture the horse Pegasus; he never would be able to slay the Chimaera, and he would have to go back and bear whatever doom the King of Lykia would lay upon him. And then he would see the sky being filled with the blackness and horror of the Chimaera, and he would resolve once more that he would be the one who would slay the monster.

One night a dream came to him. The goddess Pallas Athene appeared in his dream, and she said to him that any mortal who had such resolve as he had and who strove as he strove to carry out his resolve would have help from the immortals. She whispered to him of a philtre that would tame the horse Pegasus. Then he awoke, and he found in the hollow of his shield a cup that had a liquid in it—a liquid that was red like burning iron.

Bellerophon waited, hidden, at the spring that Pegasus came to. He seized the horse by the mane, and he poured into his mouth and between his teeth the liquid that he had found. Then Pegasus became tame under his hand. He put the bridle upon him. With the bright sword in his hand he mounted up to slay the Chimaera that even then filled the sky with blackness and horror.

And now he was in the air at last. As he went above the earth he shouted out his name, "Bellerophon, Bellerophon!" He knew now how magnificent that name was—the name for the rider of the skies, the conqueror of the Chimaera. He rose above where the eagle flew. He looked down and saw the fields and houses and towns of men. He would always soar above them, Bellerophon thought.

He saw the Chimaera near him, the monster that had the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and the tail of a dragon. Pegasus screamed, and would have kept back from the monster. But Bellerophon rode to meet the darkening thing. It breathed out fire that scorched him. But Bellerophon fought with it, using his bright sword. At last he struck into its body and brought the Chimaera from the sky down to the ground.

He rode Pegasus beside where it lay. He sprang off and cut the lion-head off the monster that lay there.

He cut the lion‑head off the monster that lay there.

Then Pegasus, screaming because the monster's blood had come upon him, reddening his white sides, fled away. Bellerophon, as he saw the winged horse go, knew that he could never recapture him, and knew that he could never again soar above the fields and the houses and the towns of men.

Into the hall of the King of Lykia he went, bringing the lion-head of the Chimaera. And then, because he saw an eagle soaring in the blue of the air, he wept. Before him, as he knew, there were long and weary wanderings over the face of the earth. He wept, knowing what was gone from him and what was before him. And then he rejoiced, for he knew that the pure spaces over him would never again be filled with the blackness and horror of the Chimaera.

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Make a Bold Rescue

I KNEW that the tide would not be at its highest again before night. So I thought that I would arm myself, and, as soon as it was dark, would venture out and learn more about my strange visitors if I could.

I looked at my guns and got everything ready, and then sat down to wait.

The day, as I have said, was very hot. The three men who had been prisoners still sat under a tree by the shore. But all the rest were in the woods. No doubt they would rest in some shady place until the sun went down.

At about two o'clock I became so uneasy that I could wait no longer.

"Friday," I said, "let us go out and see what we can do."

You should have seen us as we marched out of the castle.

I had two guns on my shoulders and Friday had three. I had on my goatskin coat and my great hat that I have told you about. At my side was a naked sword, and in my belt were two huge pistols.

I must have looked very fierce.

We went quietly down the hill, keeping ourselves hidden among the trees. At last, when we were quite near the three men, I jumped suddenly out before them and cried, "What are you, gentlemen?"

Never were men more surprised.

They sprang to their feet, but they could not speak a word. In fact, they were on the point of running away from me when I cried: "Hold, gentlemen! Do not be afraid. I am a friend. I bring help."

"Then, indeed," said one of them, "you must have been sent from heaven; for our case is hopeless."

"All help is from heaven, sir," I said; and then I briefly told them how I had seen them brought to the shore.

"I am an Englishman," I said, "and I stand ready to help you. I have one servant, and we are well armed. Tell us what is your case, and how we may serve you."

"Our case," said the foremost of the three men, "is too long to tell you now; for our enemies are very near. I was the captain of the ship that lies at anchor offshore. Three days ago the sailors all rose against me. They made me their prisoner. They seized upon the ship, for they wanted to become pirates.

"They were about to kill me; but this morning they decided to leave me on this island to die. The men who are with me, they are doomed to the same fate. One is my mate, the other a passenger.

"Being brought ashore here, we had no hope but to perish. For it did not seem to us that any one could live in such a desolate place."

"But where are those cruel enemies of yours?" I asked. "Do you know where they are gone?"

"They are there, sir," he said, pointing to a grove not far away. "They are sleeping in the shade. If they should wake and see you with us, they would kill us all."

"Have they any firearms?" I asked.

"Only two muskets," he answered, "and one of these they have left in the boat."

"Then trust everything to me," I said. "If they are asleep it will be easy to kill them all. But I think it will be better to make them our prisoners."

The captain then told me that there were two very wicked fellows among them who were the ringleaders.

"It is they who have made all this trouble," he said. "If they and two others could be overcome the rest would come back and do their duty. Indeed, I am sure that many of them have gone into this business against their will."

 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Hiawatha's Childhood

By the shores of Gitchee Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. Dark behind it rose the forest, Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, Rose the firs with cones upon them; Bright before it beat the water, Beat the clear and sunny water, Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water. There the wrinkled old Nokomis Nursed the little Hiawatha, Rocked him in his linden cradle, Bedded soft in moss and rushes, Safely bound with reindeer sinews; Stilled his fretful wail by saying, "Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!" Lulled him into slumber, singing, "Ewa-yea! my little owlet! Who is this that lights the wigwam? With his great eyes lights the wigwam? Ewa-yea! my little owlet!" Many things Nokomis taught him Of the stars that shine in heaven; Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses; Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs, Flaring far away to northward In the frosty nights of winter; Showed the broad, white road in heaven, Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, Running straight across the heavens, Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. At the door, on summer evenings, Sat the little Hiawatha; Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, Heard the lapping of the water, Sounds of music, words of wonder; "Minne-wawa!" said the pine-trees, "Mudway-aushka!" said the water; Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, Flitting through the dusk of evening, With the twinkle of its candle Lighting up the brakes and bushes, And he sang the song of children. Sang the song Nokomis taught him: "Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, Little, flitting, white-fire insect, Little, dancing, white-fire creature, Light me with your little candle, Ere upon my bed I lay me, Ere in sleep I close my eyelids!" Saw the moon rise from the water Rippling, rounding from the water, Saw the flecks and shadows on it, Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" And the good Nokomis answered: "Once a warrior, very angry, Seized his grandmother, and threw her Up into the sky at midnight; Right against the moon he threw her; 'Tis her body that you see there." Saw the rainbow in the heaven, In the eastern sky, the rainbow, Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" And the good Nokomis answered: " 'Tis the heaven of flowers you see there; All the wild-flowers of the forest, All the lilies of the prairie, When on earth they fade and perish, Blossom in that heaven above us." When he heard the owls at midnight, Hooting, laughing in the forest, "What is that?" he cried, in terror; "What is that," he said, "Nokomis?" And the good Nokomis answered: "That is but the owl and owlet, Talking in their native language, Talking, scolding at each other." Then the little Hiawatha Learned of every bird its language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How they built their nests in summer, Where they hid themselves in winter, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens." Of all beasts he learned the language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How the beavers built their lodges, Where the squirrels hid their acorns, How the reindeer ran so swiftly, Why the rabbit was so timid, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

Columbus in Chains

"When shall the world forget Thy glory and our debt, Indomitable soul." —Watson (Columbus).

W HILE Columbus was pleading his cause in Spain and preparing for another expedition, Vasco da Gama was sailing for the first time round the dreaded Cape. And it is curious to think that he made the coast of India just ten days before Columbus sailed for the third time for the New World he had discovered. Thus India and the East were to Portugal, at this time, what America and the West were to Spain.

It was in the month of May 1498 when Columbus started off again. After passing the Cape Verde Islands he steered to the south-west, hoping to make for new islands to the south of Cuba and Hayti. He soon found himself in a dead-calm sea. The air was like a furnace, the tar melted from off the ships, the seams yawned, the salt meat went bad, the sailors lost strength and spirits, and Columbus himself lay in raging fever. He had reluctantly to alter his course and steer to the north again.

It was three months since they left Spain, when a sailor from the mast-head saw land. Three mountains seemed to rise up out of the sea; and when Columbus reached the island—for island it was—he called it the Trinity, or Trinidad, which name it bears to-day. Then he sailed between this island and the mainland, little knowing that the land was South America, the great continent for which he had been searching all these long years.

Here he obtained a large quantity of pearls from the natives, and he would gladly have spent longer in the neighbourhood, but his stores were at an end, and he himself was nearly blind with eyes worn out with over-watching and anxiety. Passing through the narrow straits between Trinidad and the mainland, he was nearly wrecked. A foaming roaring current rushed through the narrow passage, which Columbus called the Dragon's Mouth.

But he reached Hayti in safety, to be received with open arms by his brother, who had been ruling over the little Spanish colony in his absence. Things had gone ill with the colony, and Columbus did not improve matters by his presence. He was no statesman, no leader of men. He punished the leading colonists, he made slaves of the natives, and took other measures for reducing the colony to order. Complaints again reached the king and queen, who at once sent out a Spaniard to replace Columbus in his command. This high-handed knight at once put Columbus in chains and shut him up in a fortress. One day an officer entered, and Columbus thought they were going to hang him.

"Whither are you taking me?" he asked hopelessly.

"To the ship, your excellency, to embark," was the answer.

"To embark? Do you speak the truth?" asked the admiral of the ocean sea.

"Indeed it is true," answered the officer.

He was taken on board a ship, and in October 1500 sailed once more for home. The captain would have taken off his chains, but Columbus refused.

"No," he said proudly; "by royal order I am in chains. I will wear them till my king and queen order them to be taken off, when I will keep them as relics of the reward of my service."

It is said that the eyes of Queen Isabella filled with tears as the white-haired discoverer stood before her, his face lined with suffering. As for Columbus himself, his long pent-up feelings overcame him, and in an agony of weeping he threw himself at her feet.

Once more he was restored to favour; once more he was given ships to sail again for the new country: but there was no more success in store for Christopher Columbus.

His fourth voyage revealed little new. Driven to seek shelter in the harbour of Hayti, he was refused an entrance by the new governor of the island which he—Columbus—had given to the world. Still his dream never left him. He must reach India, he must find the home of Marco Polo's Great Khan, before he died. He still believed that Cuba was the coast of Asia. And he was to die in this belief.

He had shown the way to the West: it was for others to follow. Hardships, disaster, failure—these were now to be his lot. He returned to Spain a broken man, only to hear the news that the Queen of Spain was dead. She had befriended him when no one else was ready to believe in him, she had understood his sufferings and mingled her tears with his. Now he was friendless. Not only this—he was penniless.

"I receive nothing of the money that was due to me," he says pitifully, as he nears the end; "I live by borrowing. After twenty years of toil and peril, I do not own a roof in Spain."

"I, lying here, bedridden and alone, Cast off, put by, scouted by court and king, The first discoverer starves."

And so Christopher Columbus sailed forth on his "one last voyage."

He died in May 1506, still dreaming of some vaster Spain he yet might give his adopted country,—"the mightiest, wealthiest realm on earth,"—but all unconscious of the great continent of America, which he had made known to the wondering world.

 

Merry Tales  by Eleanor L. Skinner

The Jackal and the Alligator

East Indian Tale

A LITTLE Jackal, who was very fond of crabs and bits of fish and whatever else he could find, went down to the riverside one morning in search of something for his dinner. He ran up and down the bank, here and there, but he could find nothing to eat. At last, near some tall bulrushes and under clear, shallow water he saw a little crab who was sidling along as fast as his legs could carry him. The little jackal was so very hungry that, without looking, he put his paw into the water after the crab. "Snap! "A great big alligator who lived in the river, had the paw in his jaws.

"Oh, dear," thought the little jackal, "a big alligator has my paw in his mouth. In another minute he will drag me down under the water and swallow me. What can I do?" Then a thought came to the little jackal, "I'll fool that old alligator and get away from him." So he called out in a very cheerful voice, "Clever Alligator! Clever Alligator! To catch hold of that bulrush root for my paw! I hope you will find it very tender."

The old alligator was so hidden among the bulrushes that he could scarcely see anything. On hearing the little jackal call out he said to himself, "Dear me, I thought I had caught hold of the jackal's paw; but there he is calling out in a cheerful voice. I suppose I have made a mistake." So saying he opened his mouth and let the little jackal go.

The jackal ran away as fast as he could. When he was at a safe distance he called out, "O wise Alligator! O wise Alligator! So you let me go again." The alligator was very angry, but the little jackal had run too far away to be caught.

The next day the jackal returned to the riverside to get his dinner as before. The old alligator was nowhere to be seen, but the little jackal thought it best not to take any chances, so he called out, "Wherever I go to look for my dinner, I search for the nice little fat crabs that come peeping up through the mud. Then I put my paw down and catch them. I wish I could see one now."

The old alligator was down in the mud at the bottom of the river, and he heard every word the jackal said. He thought to himself, "Aha! I'll just show the tip of my nose up through the mud. He'll take it for a little fat crab and put his paw in to catch me. As soon as he does so, I'll gobble him up!" So he popped the little point of his nose out of the mud and waited. No sooner did the jackal see the tip of the alligator's nose than he called out, "O Friend Alligator, so there you are. No dinner for me here, thank you." And off he ran and fished for his dinner a long, long way from that place. The old alligator snapped his jaws again and again. He was very angry at missing his dinner a second time, and he made up his mind not to let the jackal escape again.

The following day, the little jackal went down to the waterside as usual to look for crabs. He was rather afraid to go too near the river's edge, for he felt sure the old enemy was hiding somewhere. So he stayed back at a safe distance and called out,

"Where are all the little crabs gone? There is not one here and I am very hungry. When I don't see them on the shore or peeping up through the mud I see them blowing bubble, bubble, bubble, and all the little bubbles go pop! pop! pop!" The old alligator lying low in the mud heard this and he said to himself, "I can fool that little jackal easy enough this  time. I'll pretend to be a little crab." Then he began to blow, puff, puff! Bubble, bubble, bubble! And all the great bubbles rushed to the top of the river, and burst there, and the water whirled and whirled round and round just above the place where the old alligator lay hidden. It didn't take the jackal long to know who was underneath those bubbles, and off he ran, as fast as he could go, calling out,

"Thank you, kind Alligator, thank you, thank you! Indeed it is very kind of you to show me just where you are."

The old alligator was furious at being deceived by the little jackal once more. "Next time I will be very cunning," he said. So, for a long time he waited and waited for the jackal. to come to the riverside, but the jackal never returned.

"I shall be caught and eaten by that wicked old alligator some day if I am not careful. I must content myself to do without crabs." He went no more to the river, but stayed in the jungle and ate wild figs and roots which he dug up with his paws.

When the alligator found this out he was angry again, and he determined to try to catch the jackal on land. So he crawled over the ground to a place where the largest of the wild fig trees grew. He made a great heap of the fallen figs and hid himself under it, and there he waited for the jackal. No sooner did the cunning little animal spy the great pile of figs than he thought, "Oh, ho, that looks much like my friend the alligator. I'll see." So he called out,

"The little wild figs I like best always tumble down from the tree, and roll here and there as the wind drives them. That great heap of figs is quite still. They can not be good figs. I will not eat one of them."

The old alligator thought, "Oh, ho! How suspicious this jackal is. I will make the figs roll about a little, then he will come and eat them."

So the great beast shook himself and all the little figs went roll, roll, roll, this way and that, farther than the most blustering wind could have driven them. The jackal knew who was under the heap. Away he scampered, calling back, "Thank you, Mr. Alligator, for letting me know you are there! I should scarcely have guessed it." The alligator hearing this was so angry that he ran after the jackal, but the jackal ran away too quickly to be caught.

The old alligator was now in a rage. "I will not let him make fun of me another time and then run away out of my reach. I will show him I can be more cunning than he thinks," he declared.

Early the next morning he crawled as fast as he could till he came to the little jackal's den. The jackal was away, and so he crept in and hid himself to wait until the little animal should return. By and by the jackal came home. He looked all about the place, for the ground around his house was torn up as though some very heavy animal had been crawling there.

"Dear me," he said. Then he saw that the earth on each side of the door of his den had been knocked down as if something very big had tried to squeeze through it.

"I certainly will not go inside until I know who has gone in there." So he called out, "Little house, why do you not give me an answer when I call? You always call out to me if all is safe and right. Is anything wrong that you do not speak?"

Then the alligator who was inside thought, "I must pretend to be the little house and call out. He will not come in unless he thinks all is right in here." So he called out in as pleasant a voice as he could, "Sweet little Jackal." When the little jackal heard that he was frightened indeed.

"So that dreadful old alligator is in my house. I must try to kill him if I can, or he will certainly make an end of me some day."

Then he answered, "Thank you, my dear little house. I like to hear your pretty voice. I am coming in a minute, but first I must collect some firewood to cook my dinner." As fast as he could, he gathered all the dry branches and bits of sticks and piled them up close to the mouth of the den. The old alligator inside kept as quiet as a mouse, but he could not help laughing a little to himself, "So I have deceived that little jackal at last. In a few minutes he will run in here, and then, won't I snap him up!"

When the jackal had gathered as many sticks as he could find, he ran back and placed the sticks all round the outside of his den. Then he set fire to them. The great fire blazed up, and the smoke filled the den and smothered that wicked old alligator.

 

Walter de la Mare

Earth Folk

The cat she walks on padded claws, The wolf on the hills lays stealthy paws, Feathered birds in the rain-sweet sky At their ease in the air, flit low, flit high. The oak's blind, tender roots pierce deep, His green crest towers, dimmed in sleep, Under the stars whose thrones are set Where never prince hath journeyed yet.

 

The Bears of Blue River  by Charles Major

The Black Gully

Part 2 of 2

Upon entering the cave a torch had been lighted, and by the light of the torch, which Polly held, the primings of the guns were examined, knives and hatchets were made ready for immediate use, and out the hunters sallied in pursuit of the Fire Bear.

On account of the ice upon the rocks it was determined that Polly should carry the torch with him. Aside from the dangers of the slippery path, there was another reason for carrying the torch. Fire attracts the attention of wild animals, and often prevents them from running away from the hunter. This is especially true of deer. So Polly carried the torch, and a fatal burden it proved to be for him. After the hunters had emerged from the cave, they at once started toward the river, and upon passing a little spur of the hill they beheld at a distance of two or three hundred yards the Fire Bear, glowing like a fiery heap against the black bank of night. He was running rapidly up the stream toward Black Gully, which came down to the river's edge between high cliffs. This was the place I described to you a few pages back. Balser and Polly had seen Black Gully before, and had noticed how dark, deep, and forbidding it was. It had seemed to them to be a fitting place for the revels of witches, demons, snakes, and monsters of all sorts, and they thought surely it was haunted, if any place ever was. They feared the spot even in the daytime.

Polly, who was ingenious with a pocket-knife, had carved out three whistles, and in the bowl of each was a pea. These whistles produced a shrill noise when blown upon, which could be heard at a great distance, and each hunter carried one fastened to a string about his neck. In case the boys should be separated, one long whistle was to be sounded for the purpose of bringing them together; three whistles should mean that the bear had been seen, and one short one was to be the cry for help. When Balser saw the bear he blew a shrill blast upon his whistle to attract the brute's attention. The ruse produced the desired effect, for the bear stopped. His curiosity evidently was aroused by the noise and by the sight of the fire, and he remained standing for a moment or two while the boys ran forward as rapidly as the slippery rocks would permit. Soon they were within a hundred yards of the bear; then fifty, forty, thirty, twenty. Still the Fire Bear did not move. His glowing form stood before them like a pillar of fire, the only object that could be seen in the darkness that surrounded him. He seemed to be the incarnation of all that was brave and demoniac. When within twenty yards of the bear Balser said hurriedly to his companions:—

"Halt! I'll shoot first, and you fellows hold your fire and shoot one at a time, after me. Don't shoot till I tell you, and take good aim. Polly, I'll hold your torch when I want you to shoot." Polly held the torch in one hand and his gun in the other, and fear was working great havoc with his usefulness. Balser continued: "It's so dark we can't see the sights of our guns, and if we're not careful we may all miss the bear, or still worse, we may only wound him. Hold up the torch, Polly, so I can see the sights of my gun."

Balser's voice seemed to attract the bear's attention more even than did the torch, and he pricked up his short fiery ears as if to ask, "What are you talking about?" When Balser spoke next it was with a tongue of fire, and the words came from his gun. The bear seemed to understand the gun's language better than that of Balser, for he gave forth in answer a terrific growl of rage, and bit savagely at the wound which Balser had inflicted. Alas! It was only a wound; for Balser's bullet, instead of piercing the bear's heart, had hit him upon the hind quarters.

"I've only wounded him," cried Balser, and the note of terror in his voice seemed to create a panic in the breasts of Tom and Polly, who at once raised their guns and fired. Of course they both missed the bear, and before they could lower their guns the monster was upon them.

Balser was in front, and received the full force of the brute's ferocious charge. The boy went down under the bear's mighty rush, and before he had time to draw his knife, or to disengage his hatchet from his belt, the infuriated animal was standing over him. As Balser fell his hand caught a rough piece of soft wood which was lying upon the ground, and with this he tried to beat the bear upon the head. The bear, of course, hardly felt the blows which Balser dealt with the piece of wood, and it seemed that another terrible proof was about to be given of the fatal consequences of looking upon the Fire Bear. Tom and Polly had both run when the bear charged, but Tom quickly came to Balser's relief, while Polly remained at a safe distance. The bear was reaching for Balser's throat, but by some fortunate chance he caught between his jaws the piece of wood with which Balser had been vainly striking him; and doubtless thinking that the wood was a part of Balser, the bear bit it and shook it ferociously. When Tom came up to the scene of conflict he struck the bear upon the head with the sharp edge of his hatchet, and chopped out one of his eyes. The pain of the wound seemed to double the bear's fury, and he sprang over Balser's prostrate form toward Tom. The bear rose upon his haunches and faced Tom, who manfully struck at him with his hatchet, and never thought of running. Ah! Tom was a brave one when the necessity for bravery arose. But Tom's courage was better than his judgment, for in a moment he was felled to the ground by a stroke from the bear's paw, and the bear was standing over him, growling and bleeding terribly. Polly had come nearer and his torch threw a ghastly glamour over the terrible scene. As in the fight with Balser, the bear tried to catch Tom's throat between his jaws; but here the soft piece of wood which Balser had grasped when he fell proved a friend indeed, for the bear had bitten it so savagely that his teeth had been embedded in its soft fibre, and it acted as a gag in his mouth. He could neither open nor close his jaws. After a few frantic efforts to bite Tom, the bear seemed to discover where the trouble was, and tried to push the wood out of his mouth with his paws. This gave Tom a longed-for opportunity, of which he was not slow to take advantage, and he quickly drew himself from under the bear, rose to his feet, and ran away. In the meantime Balser rose from the ground and reached the bear just as Tom started to run. Balser knew by that time that he had no chance of success in a hand-to-hand conflict with the brute. So he struck the bear a blow upon the head with his hatchet as he passed, and followed Tom at a very rapid speed. Balser at once determined that he and Tom and Polly should reach a place of safety, quickly load their guns, and return to the attack. In a moment he looked back, and saw the bear still struggling to free his mouth from the piece of wood which had saved two lives that night. As the bear was not pursuing them, Balser concluded to halt; and he and Tom loaded their guns, while Polly held the torch on high to furnish light. Polly's feeble wits had almost fled, and he seemed unconscious of what was going on about him. He did mechanically whatever Balser told him to do, but his eyes had a far-away look, and it was evident that the events of the night had paralyzed his poor, weak brain. When the guns were loaded Balser and Tom hurried forward toward the bear and poor Polly followed, bearing his torch. Bang! went Balser's gun, and the bear rose upon his hind feet, making the cliffs and ravines echo with his terrible growls.

"Take good aim, Tom; hold up the torch, Polly," said Balser. "Fire!" and the bear fell over on his back and seemed to be dead. Polly and Tom started toward the bear, but Balser cried out. "Stop! He may not be dead yet. We'll give him another volley. We've got him now, sure, if we're careful." Tom and Polly stopped, and it was fortunate for them that they did so; for in an instant the bear was on his feet, apparently none the worse for the ill-usage the boys had given him. The Fire Bear stood for a little time undetermined whether to attack the boys again or to run. After halting for a moment between two opinions, he concluded to retreat, and with the piece of wood still in his mouth, he started at a rapid gait toward Black Gully, a hundred yards away.

"Load, Tom; load quick. Hold the torch, Polly," cried Balser. And again the guns were loaded, while poor demented Polly held the torch.

The bear moved away rapidly, and in a moment the boys were following him with loaded guns. When the brute reached the mouth of Black Gully he entered it. Evidently his home was in that uncanny place.

"Quick, quick, Polly!" cried Balser; and within a moment after the bear had entered Black Gully his pursuers were at the mouth of the ravine, making ready for another attack. Balser gave a shrill blast upon his whistle, and the bear turned for a moment, and deliberately sat down upon his haunches not fifty yards away. The place looked so black and dismal that the boys at first feared to enter, but soon their courage come to their rescue, and they marched in, with Polly in the lead. The bear moved farther up the gully toward an overhanging cliff, whose dark, rugged outlines were faintly illumined by the light of Polly's torch. The jutting rocks seemed like monster faces, and the bare roots of the trees were like the horny fingers and the bony arms of fiends. The boys followed the bear, and when he came to a halt near the cliff and again sat upon his haunches, it was evident that the Fire Bear's end was near at hand. How frightful it all appeared! There sat the Fire Bear, like a burning demon, sullen and motionless, giving forth, every few seconds, deep guttural growls that reverberated through the dark cavernous place. Not a star was seen, nor a gleam of light did the overcast sky afford. There stood poor, piteous Polly, all his senses fled and gone, unconsciously holding his torch above his head. The light of the torch seemed to give life to the shadows of the place, and a sense of fear stole over Balser that he could not resist.

"Let's shoot him again, and get out of this awful place," said Balser.

"You bet I'm willing to get out," said Tom, his teeth chattering, notwithstanding his wonted courage.

"Hold the torch, Polly," cried Balser, and Polly raised the torch. The boys were within fifteen yards of the bear, and each took deliberate aim and fired. The bear moaned and fell forward. Then Balser and Tom started rapidly toward the mouth of the gully. When they had almost reached the opening they looked back for Polly, who they thought was following them, but there he stood where they had left him, a hundred yards behind them.

Balser called, "Polly! Polly!" but Polly did not move. Then Tom blew his whistle, and Polly started, not toward them, alas! but toward the bear.

"Don't go to him, Polly," cried Balser. "He may not be dead. We've had enough of him to-night for goodness' sake! We'll come back to-morrow and find him dead." But Polly continued walking slowly toward the bear.

"Polly! Polly! Come back!" cried both the boys. But Polly by that time was within ten feet of the bear, holding his torch and moving with the step of one unconscious of what he was doing. A few steps more and Polly was by the side of the terrible Fire Bear. The bear revived for a moment, and seemed conscious that an enemy was near him. With a last mighty effort he rose to his feet and struck Polly a blow with his paw which felled him to the ground. When Polly fell, the Fire Bear fell upon him, and Balser and Tom started to rescue their unfortunate friend. Then it was that a terrible thing happened. When Polly's torch dropped from his hand a blue flame three or four feet in height sprang from the ground just beyond the bear. The fire ran upon the ground for a short distance like a serpent of flame, and shot like a flash of chain lightning half-way up the side of the cliff. The dark, jutting rocks—huge demon faces covered with ice—glistened in the light of the blaze, and the place seemed to have been transformed into a veritable genii's cavern. The flames sank away for a moment with a low, moaning sound, and then came up again the colour of roses and of blood. A great rumbling noise was heard coming from the bowels of the earth, and a tongue of fire shot twenty feet into the air. This was more than flesh and blood could endure, and Balser and Tom ran for their lives, leaving their poor, demented friend behind them to perish. Out the boys went through the mouth of the gully, and across the river they sped upon the ice. They felt the earth tremble beneath their feet, and they heard the frightful rumbling again; then a loud explosion, like the boom of a hundred cannons, and the country for miles around was lighted as if by the mid-day sun. Then they looked back and beheld a sight which no man could forget to the day of his death. They saw a bright red flame a hundred yards in diameter and two hundred feet high leap from the Black Gully above the top of the cliffs. After a moment great rocks, and pieces of earth half as large as a house began to fall upon every side of them, as if a mighty volcano had burst forth; and the boys clung to each other in fear and trembling, and felt sure that judgment day had come.

After the rocks had ceased to fall, the boys, almost dead with fright, walked a short distance down the river and crossed upon the ice. The fire was still burning in the Black Gully, and there was no need of Polly's torch to help them see the slippery path among the rocks.

The boys soon found the cave in which the horses were stabled. They lost no time in mounting, and quickly started home, leading between them the horse which had been ridden by Polly. Poor Polly was never seen again. Even after the fire in the Black Gully had receded into the bowels of the earth whence it had come, nothing was found of his body nor that of the Fire Bear. They had each been burned to cinder.

Many of the Blue River people did not believe that the Fire Bear derived its fiery appearance from supernatural causes. They suggested that the bear probably had made its bed of decayed wood containing foxfire, and that its fur was covered with phosphorus which glowed like the light of the firefly after night. The explosion was caused by a "pocket" of natural gas which became ignited when Polly's torch fell to the ground by the side of the Fire Bear.

 

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?

 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

The Winter Robin

Now is that sad time of year When no flower or leaf is here; When in misty Southern ways Oriole and jay have flown, And of all sweet birds, alone The robin stays. So give thanks at Christmas-tide; Hopes of springtime yet abide! See, in spite of darksome days, Wind and rain and bitter chill, Snow, and sleet-hung branches, still The robin stays!

 

Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

Absalom in the Wood; David on the Throne

II Samuel xvii: 24, to xx: 26.

Part 2 of 2

The word soon went forth that the king, instead of rejoicing over the victory, was weeping over his son. The soldiers came stealing back to the city, not as conquerors, but as if they had been defeated. Every one felt sorry for the king, who sat in the room over the gate, with his face covered, and crying out, "O Absalom, my son! my son, my son Absalom!"

But Joab saw that such great sorrow as the king showed was not good for his cause. He came to David, and said to him, "You have put to shame this day all those who have fought for you and saved your life. You have shown that you love those who hate you, and that you hate those who love you. You have said by your actions that your princes and your servants, who have been true to you, are nothing to you; and that if Absalom had lived and we had all died, you would have been better pleased. Now rise up, and act like a man, and show regard for those who have fought for you. I swear to you in the name of the Lord, that unless you do this, not a man will stay on your side, and that will be worse for you than all the harm that has ever come upon you in all your life before this day!"

Then David rose up, and washed away his tears, and put on his robes, and took his seat in the gate as a king. After this he came from Mahanaim to the river Jordan, and there all the people met him, to bring him back to his throne in Jerusalem.

Among the first to come was Shimei, the man who had cursed David and thrown stones at him as he was flying from Absalom. He fell on his face, and confessed his crime, and begged for mercy. Abishai, Joab's brother, said, "Shall not Shimei be put to death, because he cursed the king, the Lord's anointed?"

But David said, "Not a man shall be put to death this day in Israel, for to-day I am king once more over Israel. You shall not be slain, Shimei; I pledge you the word of a king."

And Ziba, the servant of Mephibosheth, was there with his sons and his followers; and Mephibosheth was there also to meet the king. And Mephibosheth had not dressed his lame feet, nor trimmed his beard, nor washed his clothes, from the day when David had left Jerusalem until the day when he returned in peace. And David said to him, "Mephibosheth, why did you not offer to go with me?"

"My lord, O king," said Mephibosheth, "my servant deceived me. He said, 'You are lame, and cannot go; but I will go in your name with the king, and will help him.' And he has done me wrong with the king; but what matters it all, now that the king has come again?"

David said, "You and Ziba may divide the land and the property."

And Mephibosheth said, "Let him have it all, now that the king has come in peace to his own house!"

The army of Absalom had melted away, and was scattered throughout all Israel. David was still displeased with Joab, the chief of his army, because he had slain Absalom, contrary to David's orders. He sent a message to Amasa, who had been the commander of Absalom's army, and who was, like Joab and Abishai, David's own nephew. He said to Amasa, "You are of my own family, of my bone and my flesh, and you shall be the general in place of Joab."

Joab and his brother were strong men, not willing to submit to David's rule; and David thought that he would be safer on his throne if they did not hold so much power. Also, David thought that to make Amasa general would please not only those who had been friends to Absalom, but many more of the people, for many feared and hated Joab.

At the river Jordan almost the whole tribe of Judah were gathered to bring the king back to Jerusalem. But this did not please the men of the other tribes. They said to the men of Judah, "You act as though you were the only friends of the king in all the land! We, too, have some right to David."

The men of Judah said, "The king is of our own tribe, and is one of us. We come to meet him because we love him."

But the people of the other tribes were still offended, and many of them went to their homes in anger. The tribe of Ephraim, in the middle of the land, was very jealous of the tribe of Judah, and unwilling to come again under David's rule. One man in Ephraim, Sheba, the son of Bichri, began a new rebellion against David, which for a time threatened again to overthrow David's power.

Amasa, the new commander of the army, called out his men to put down Sheba's rebellion. But he was slow in gathering his army, and Joab, the old general, went forth with a band of his own followers. Joab met Amasa, pretending to be his friend, and killed him, and then took the command. He shut up Sheba in a city far in the north, and finally caused him to be slain. So at last every enemy was put down; and David sat again in peace upon his throne. But Joab, whom David feared and hated because of many evil deeds that he had done, was, as before, the commander of the army and in great power. Joab was faithful to David, and was a strong helper to David's throne. Without Joab's courage and skill in David's cause David might have failed in some of his wars, and especially in the war against Absalom's followers. But Joab was cruel and wicked; and he was so strong that David could not control him. David felt that he was not fully the king while Joab lived.

But few people knew how David felt toward Joab; and in appearance the throne of David was now as strong as it had ever been; and David's last years were years of peace and of power.

 

The Sandman: His Sea Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Albatross Story

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

The wharf was Captain Jonathan's and Captain Jacob's and they owned the ships that sailed from it; and, after their ships had been sailing from that wharf in the little city for a good many years, they changed their office to Boston. After that their ships sailed from a wharf in Boston.

Once, in the long ago, little Jacob and little Sol had gone in the brig Industry  on a voyage to far countries; and they had been to the countries and had sailed again for home, but they had not got out of the warm oceans. And one morning little Jacob and little Sol came on deck together. They didn't race through their breakfast as they had been used to doing, because Captain Solomon had put a stop to that. And, as soon as they got on deck, they looked all around to see what was up that morning. Far away they saw the upper sails of a ship that was going the same way they were, but they didn't see anything else except the blue water, although they looked very carefully out ahead and on both sides. But, right astern of the ship, and pretty near, was a great, enormous bird.

The bird was so near that the little boys could see it very well, and they could see what color it was, and the shape of its bill, but they couldn't see its back nor the top of its head, because the bird was above them. If they had climbed up on the mast they could have seen its back, but they didn't think of that then. The bird was all white, so far as they could see, and it had a bill that was rather long and straight, and was hooked at the end. And the bird just sailed along and waved a little, up and down, but it didn't move its wings, so far as the boys could see, and they watched it for a long time.

Its wing were enormous. Little Sol thought they were almost as long as the main-top-gallant yard if you could measure them spread out, as the bird was sailing. And little Jacob looked very wise and he said that he didn't know how long the main-top-gallant yard was, but he should think they might measure two fathom and a half from tip to tip. And little Jacob felt rather proud when he had said that, because he had guessed in fathoms.

Little Sol looked rather scornful and said "Huh!" And then little Jacob asked him what kind of a bird it was, and little Sol didn't know. Then little Jacob said "Huh!" So they went to ask Mr. Steele or Captain Solomon. Captain Solomon was standing right behind them, and he was smiling because he had heard what the boys said. And he said that the bird was an albatross, and that little Jacob was pretty nearly right about the length of its wings. Little Sol was taken down a peg and didn't say anything.

Then Captain Solomon went on to say that albatrosses often followed ships for days together, and the sailors never could see that they had to move their wings, but they sailed along just as fast as the ship sailed. He had seen lots of them in his time, but he had never seen them do anything else but sail, just as that one was doing then. And how they managed it, he didn't know, and nobody else knew, so far as he had ever heard.

Then little Sol asked what the bird was following the ship for. And Captain Solomon said that he supposed that the albatross was following the ship to get the scraps that the cook threw overboard. At least, he didn't know any other reason, and the albatross took the scraps, anyway. They were like sharks in that way.

Then little Sol asked him if they couldn't catch the albatross with a hook and a piece of pork, as they had caught the shark. And Captain Solomon said that they could, but that Sol had better not try it, if he knew what was good for him; for the sailors thought that it always brought the worst kind of luck to a ship to kill an albatross, and he didn't know but they were right. And little Jacob was glad Captain Solomon said that, for he didn't want the albatross killed, but he would rather watch it sailing along with the ship.

So nobody tried to do any harm to the albatross, but the men were all glad that it was there. And the little boys watched it almost all of that day. And the next day it was there, and they watched it, and they watched it the day after the next, too; but the morning after that it wasn't there.

Little Jacob was sorry that it had gone, and the sailors were sorry, and they said that there would be a change of weather. And little Jacob went down into the cabin to write all about the albatross in the logbook and to see the barometer, to see whether it said that the weather would change. The barometer was what Captain Solomon called "the glass," and people could tell, by looking at it, whether it was going to be stormy or not.

And that's all.

 

The Sandman: His Sea Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Derelict Story

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

The wharf was Captain Jonathan's and Captain Jacob's, and they owned the ships that sailed from it; and, after their ships had been sailing from that wharf in the little city for a good many years, they changed their office to Boston.

Once, in the long ago, the brig Industry  was tied up at a wharf in Boston. The wharf was much longer than any wharf in Boston is now, for they have filled up the dock that was there with stones and dirt, and they have put more stones and dirt on the top of the old wharf and under it, and they have built a street there, so that the wharf is not half so long as it used to be. And Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob had their office on India Street, not very far from the head of the wharf, as it used to be, so that they could go to their ships easily and the captains could go to them.

The Industry  had aboard all the things that the sailors would eat and the water that they would drink; and the cargo was all stowed, and the sailors were all on the ship and the sails were loosed. And Captain Solomon came from the office of Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob, and he walked down the wharf and he went aboard the ship. Then the sailors cast off the ropes that had held her, and they hoisted the sails and sailed away. They sailed out of the harbor and past the islands and into the bay and then into the great ocean, and Boston was left far astern.

And, when they had been gone from Boston nearly a week, the sailors fixed the sails so that the wind would blow on them the right way, and then they didn't have to change them for a long time, for they were in the part of the ocean that the trade winds blow over. In this part of the ocean the winds blow nearly always from about north-east, so that they are fair winds for a ship that is going south. That is one reason why ships don't always go the way that you would think would be the shortest, for it may be that, by going a way that is a little longer, they will be helped so much by the winds that they will get to the place where they are going sooner than if they went a shorter way.

And there is another reason why ships do not always go the shortest way. In some parts of the ocean the ocean water is moving in one direction and in other parts of the ocean the water is moving in another direction. So, if a captain knows about these ocean currents, he can sail in that part of the ocean where the water is moving in the direction that he wants to go, and the ocean and the winds will both help the ship. Every captain of a ship knows about these ocean currents and these winds, and chooses the part of the ocean where they will help his ship along. Captain Solomon knew all about them.

So the Industry  sailed along, and she had got almost to the place where she would be past the trade winds; and it had got to be the evening of that day, and the sun had set a long time, but the moon had just risen. And Captain Solomon was standing by the rail, and he was watching the moon and the reflection of the moonlight on the water, and he was thinking that he wished the Industry  could sail right up that broad path of moonlight forever; for it was very beautiful. Captain Solomon had such thoughts sometimes, but he didn't tell anybody about them, for they would think he was crazy, and the mates and the sailors wouldn't like to sail in any ship that he was the captain of. And while he was thinking these thoughts he was startled by the cry of the lookout who was on the forecastle near the bow.

Captain Solomon was watching the moon.

"Hard a-port! Hard a-port!"

And Captain Solomon gave one great jump for the wheel. "Hard a-port, you lubber!" he cried. "Can't you hear?"

And he grabbed the wheel and whirled it over, and the ship swung off, but she didn't swing very quickly, for the Industry  wasn't very quick at minding her helm. But she did mind it in time, and just as she swung off she shot past something floating. And Captain Solomon looked and he saw that the floating thing was the hull of a great ship. The masts were all gone close to the deck and the hulk barely showed above the water, so that the waves washed over it, although there wasn't much of a sea and the waves weren't high at all. And when he saw that they were safely past the wreck, he turned the wheel the other way, and brought the Industry  back again, and he had the sailors change some of the sails so that she wouldn't go ahead.

Then he called the sailor who had been on the forecastle, looking out, and he gave that sailor a blowing up, and he was very angry and he blew the man sky-high. He said that it was nothing but luck that they weren't all sent to the bottom, for the Industry  was heading straight for the floating hulk, and if they had struck it, their chances wouldn't have been worth one of his grandmother's cookies. And he said some other things; and the sailor didn't answer back, for it is not a good plan to answer back to the captain, especially if that captain was Captain Solomon and was angry. But he seemed ashamed and slunk back muttering that he wasn't blind and he was keeping as good a lookout as could be expected, and nobody could have imagined that there would be that old hulk right in their course, anyway. But Captain Solomon didn't hear him, which was lucky for him.

Then Captain Solomon ordered the mate to have out a boat and go and see what the hulk was, and whether, by chance, there was anybody aboard of it, or anything to tell when she had been abandoned. And he told the mate to take with him a good supply of oil and some oakum and to set fire to the wreck as soon as he was through with her. And the mate had the sailors get out the boat, and he took the oakum and a big bucket of oil, and he was rowed away to the wreck, that was about a quarter of a mile away by that time and shining in the moonlight. And Captain Solomon saw the boat come near the wreck and make fast under her stern, and he saw the mate go on board.

The mate went a little way down the cabin stairs, but he couldn't go all the way down because the cabin was full of water that washed to and fro as the hulk rolled in the ocean. And nobody was there. And the mate looked everywhere that he could go, and he found nobody. He couldn't look into the cook's galley, because the galley had been washed overboard; but he looked into the forecastle, and that had water in it, too, washing to and fro over the floor. But he saw that the clothes of the sailors were all gone except one thing which was washing about in the water on the floor, that looked as if it had been there a long time, and he couldn't make out what it was.

So he went back to the stern and asked the sailors if they could make out the name or the port of the ship on the stern for every ship has its name and the name of the city where it belongs painted on the stern. And the sailors said that there wasn't enough of the name left to tell what it was, but it seemed to be a French name. So the mate went back and he put three piles of oakum, one up in the bow, and one in the stern, and one half way between the two. And he soaked the oakum with oil and he poured oil on everything that was dry, and he set fire from the lantern which he carried. Then he hurried to get off and into the boat, and the sailors cast off. And, before they got off, the mate saw that there was seaweed high up on the hulk, which showed that she had drifted about, as she was, for a long time. And the fire blazed up, and they hurried to get away from the wreck.

The fire blazed up, higher and higher, as the boat went back to the Industry, so that it was roaring by the time the sailors climbed aboard. And they hoisted the boat up, and put it in its place, and Captain Solomon had the sailors change the sails so that the ship would go ahead on her course. And the mate was on the quarter deck, telling Captain Solomon what he had seen. When the mate had got through Captain Solomon thought for a long time.

"That's the Frenchman that was abandoned off Hatteras more 'n a year ago," said Captain Solomon at last. "They thought she was sinking. She must have been carried by the currents up towards Norway, maybe, and then down past the west coast of France and Spain. I've heard of derelicts doing that, but I've never seen it before."

And the mate didn't say anything, but they watched the wreck burning. It burned fiercely, but the flames didn't blaze very high, for she hadn't any masts nor any rigging. And the light of the fire made the moonlight look pale and white. And they watched her getting farther and farther away as the Industry  sailed on her course.

"I hope," said Captain Solomon, "that there's something aboard of her to sink her."

And just as he said that they saw the light of the fire go out suddenly, and where it had been there was nothing but some smoke in the air and the moon was shining brightly all around.

And that's all.

 

James Whitcomb Riley

The Raggedy Man

O the Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa; An' he's the goodest man ever you saw! He comes to our house every day, An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay; An' he opens the shed—an' we all ist laugh When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf; An' nen—ef our hired girl says he can— He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann.— Ain't he a' awful good Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! W'y, The Raggedy Man—he's ist so good, He splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood; An' nen he spades in our garden, too, An' does most things 'at boys  can't do.— He clumbed clean up in our big tree An' shooked a' apple down fer me— An' 'nother 'n', too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann— An' 'nother 'n', too, fer The Raggedy Man.— Ain't he a' awful kind Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! An' The Raggedy Man one time say he Pick' roast' rambos from a' orchurd-tree, An' et 'em—all ist roast' an' hot!— An' it's so, too!—'cause a corn-crib got Afire one time an' all burn' down On "The Smoot Farm," 'bout four mile from town— On "The Smoot Farm"! Yes—an' the hired han' 'At worked there nen 'uz The Raggedy Man!— Ain't he the beatin'est Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! The Raggedy Man's so good an' kind He'll be our "horsey," an' "haw" an' mind Ever'thing 'at you make him do— An' won't run off—'less you want him to! I drived him wunst way down our lane An' he got skeered, when it 'menced to rain, An' ist rared up an' squealed and run Purt' nigh away!—an' it's all in fun! Nen he skeered ag'in  at a' old tin can ... Whoa! y' old runaway Raggedy Man! Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! An' The Raggedy Man, he knows most rhymes, An' tells 'em, ef I be good, sometimes: Knows 'bout Giunts, an' Griffuns, an' Elves, An' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swallers the'rselves: An', wite by the pump in our pasture-lot, He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got, 'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' can Turn into me, er 'Lizabuth Ann! Er Ma, er Pa, er The Raggedy Man! Ain't he a funny old Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! An' wunst, when The Raggedy Man come late, An' pigs ist root' thue the garden-gate, He 'tend like the pigs 'uz bears  an' said, "Old Bear-shooter'll shoot 'em dead!" An' race' an' chase' 'em, an' they'd ist run When he pint his hoe at 'em like it's a gun An' go "Bang!—Bang!" nen 'tend he stan' An' load up his gun ag'in! Raggedy Man! He's an old Bear-Shooter Raggedy Man! Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! An' sometimes The Raggedy Man lets on We're little prince-children, an' old King's gone To git more money, an' lef' us there— And Robbers  is ist thick ever'where; An' nen—ef we all won't cry, fer shore— The Raggedy Man he'll come and " 'splore The Castul-halls," an' steal the "gold"— An' steal us,  too, an' grab an' hold An' pack us off to his old "Cave"!—An' Haymow's the "cave" o' The Raggedy Man!— Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! The Raggedy Man—one time, when he Wuz makin' a little bow-'n'-orry fer me, Says "When you're  big like your Pa is, Air you  go' to keep a fine store like his— An' be a rich merchunt—an' wear fine clothes?— Er what air  you go' to be, goodness knows?" An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann, An' I says " 'M go' to be a Raggedy Man!— I'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man!" Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!