Text of Plan #426
  WEEK 7  


America First  by Lawton B. Evans

The Lost Colony of Roanoke

WHEN Sir Walter Raleigh tried a third time to plant a colony on Roanoke Island, he sent across the ocean farmers, mechanics and carpenters, with their wives, thinking that families would be more content to stay than single men. The expedition was in charge of Captain John White.

The colonists landed on the island, built houses and forts, planted gardens, and cultivated the fields. Raleigh had advised them to make friends with the Indians. So, when one of the Chiefs came in, Captain White greeted him, and gave him some cheap jewelry, a gaudy handkerchief, and a knife as presents. He then asked the Indian to kneel down while he conferred on him the title of Lord of Roanoke.

All went well with the little colony. The houses were ready for the coming winter, the crops were growing, and the Indians were friendly. There was great rejoicing when it was announced that Mrs. Dare, the daughter of the Governor, had a little baby girl, the first white child of English parents to be born in America.

Governor White thought he might safely sail back to England in order to get some supplies for the winter; he planned to return to his colony in a few weeks. So he went to England, leaving his happy people on Roanoke Island. But, when he reached England, he found that country in a state of great excitement over the threatened Spanish invasion.

It seems that a bold Englishman, Sir Francis Drake, had sailed into the harbor of Cadiz, in Spain, and had burned or captured all the ships there. This had made the Spaniards angry, especially as he had said, "I have singed the beard of the Spanish King."

The King of Spain fitted out a great fleet intended to destroy the English navy; he would land an army on English soil and plunder England herself! The fleet consisted of about one hundred and thirty ships, with 30,000 soldiers and sailors. It would not be considered wonderful in these days, but it was considered a great fleet then, and was called the "Invincible Armada."

This expedition created consternation in England, and everybody was hurried on board ships to fight the Spaniards. Hardly had the Armada sailed out of the harbor before a severe storm scattered the English ships; so that, later on, Drake and the other English sea captains fought the enemy singly. Fortunately, the English ships were light and were able to sail all around the big, heavy Spanish ships, doing them much damage and not suffering much themselves. The Armada circled the British Isles, meeting storm after storm, and pursued and harried by the English. At last the great fleet was broken up in a terrible gale, many of the ships were lost, and the great Armada came to nought.

It took a long time for all this to happen, and, in the meanwhile, Governor White could not get back to his colony at Roanoke. One ship was fitted out and ready to sail, but the Government seized it and sent it off to fight the Spaniards. Another ship was made ready, and actually sailed, but the Captain turned pirate, and went after Spanish vessels in the West Indies. It was nearly three years before Governor White found himself on board his own ship, on his way to the colonists and to his little granddaughter.

We can imagine the feelings of the old Captain as he sailed over the seas, wondering what had become of his friends and family, and how they had fared all this time. They had looked for him to return to them in a few months, and here it was nearly three years!

Land was sighted one day just after dark, and a light glimmered on shore. "That must be the home of one of the colonists," exclaimed the Governor. Hastily, a boat was lowered and he was rowed to shore. On landing, his men with him looked about, called aloud, blew trumpets and fired off their guns, but there was not a sight or a sound of any of the colonists.

All night they searched, and next day. At last they came to a few huts, broken down and long unused; there were also some torn bits of clothing scattered about. No signs could be found of any colonists having been near in a great while. On a tree near by was carved the word, croatan.


On a tree nearby was carved the word 'Croatan'.

Governor White, when he saw this, thought he knew what had become of the colonists, because he had told them that if, for any cause, it was necessary for them to move away, they should carve on a tree or door-post the name of the place to which they were going. Croatan was the name of a tribe of Indians, and the Governor at once thought his colonists had gone to the island where those Indians lived.

He tried to reach this island, but storms arose and blew him off his path. Besides which, his crew demanded that he return home. So he set sail for England, leaving the lost colony to its fate. From that day to this no one has ever known what became of the lost colony of Roanoke, or of the little baby girl whose eyes first saw the light on the soil of America.


Among the Meadow People  by Clara Dillingham Pierson

A Puzzled Cicada


S EVENTEEN years is a long, long time to be getting ready to fly; yet that is what the Seventeen-year Locusts, or Cicadas, have to expect. First, they lie for a long time in eggs, down in the earth. Then, when they awaken, and crawl out of their shells, they must grow strong enough to dig before they can make their way out to where the beautiful green grass is growing and waving in the wind.

The Cicada who got so very much puzzled had not been long out of his home in the warm, brown earth. He was the only Cicada anywhere around, and it was very lonely for him. However, he did not mind that so much when he was eating, or singing, or resting in the sunshine, and as he was either eating, or singing, or resting in the sunshine most of the time, he got along fairly well.

Because he was young and healthy he grew fast. He grew so very fast that after a while he began to feel heavy and stiff, and more like sitting still than like crawling around. Beside all this, his skin got tight, and you can imagine how uncomfortable it must be to have one's skin too tight. He was sitting on the branch of a bush one day, thinking about the wonderful great world, when—pop!—his skin had cracked open right down the middle of his back! The poor Cicada was badly frightened at first, but then it seemed so good and roomy that he took a deep breath, and—pop!—the crack was longer still!

The Cicada found that he had another whole skin under the outside one which had cracked, so he thought, "How much cooler and more comfortable I shall be if I crawl out of this broken covering," and out he crawled.

It wasn't very easy work, because he didn't have anybody to help him. He had to hook the claws of his outer skin into the bark of the branch, hook them in so hard that they couldn't pull out, and then he began to wriggle out of the back of his own skin. It was exceedingly hard work, and the hardest of all was the pulling his legs out of their cases. He was so tired when he got free that he could hardly think, and his new skin was so soft and tender that he felt limp and queer. He found that he had wings of a pretty green, the same color as his legs. He knew these wings must have been growing under his old skin, and he stretched them slowly out to see how big they were. This was in the morning, and after he had stretched his wings he went to sleep for a long time.

When he awakened, the sun was in the western sky, and he tried to think who he was. He looked at himself, and instead of being green he was a dull brown and black. Then he saw his old skin clinging to the branch and staring him in the face. It was just the same shape as when he was in it, and he thought for a minute that he was dreaming. He rubbed his head hard with his front legs to make sure he was awake, and then he began to wonder which one he was. Sometimes he thought that the old skin which clung to the bush was the Cicada that had lain so long in the ground, and sometimes he thought that the soft, fat, new-looking one was the Cicada. Or were both of them the Cicada? If he were only one of the two, what would he do with the other?

While he was wondering about this in a sleepy way, an old Cicada from across the river flew down beside him. He thought he would ask her, so he waved his feelers as politely as he knew how, and said, "Excuse me, Madam Cicada, for I am much puzzled. It took me seventeen years to grow into a strong, crawling Cicada, and then in one day I separated. The thinking, moving part of me is here, but the outside shell of me is there on that branch. Now, which part is the real Cicada?"

"Why, that is easy enough," said the Madam Cicada; "You are you,  of course. The part that you cast off and left clinging to the branch was very useful once. It kept you warm on cold days and cool on warm days, and you needed it while you were only a crawling creature. But when your wings were ready to carry you off to a higher and happier life, then the skin that had been a help was in your way, and you did right to wriggle out of it. It is no longer useful to you. Leave it where it is and fly off to enjoy your new life. You will never have trouble if you remember that the thinking part is the real you."

And then Madam Cicada and her new friend flew away to her home over the river, and he saw many strange sights before he returned to the meadow.



London Bridge

London bridge is broken down,

Dance over, my Lady Lee;

London bridge is broken down,

With a gay lady.

How shall we build it up again?

Dance over, my Lady Lee;

How shall we build it up again?

With a gay lady.

Build it up with silver and gold,

Dance over, my Lady Lee;

Build it up with silver and gold,

With a gay lady.

Silver and gold will be stolen away,

Dance over, my Lady Lee;

Silver and gold will be stolen away,

With a gay lady.

Build it up again with iron and steel,

Dance over, my Lady Lee;

Build it up with iron and steel,

With a gay lady.

Iron and steel will bend and bow,

Dance over, my Lady Lee;

Iron and steel will bend and bow,

With a gay lady.

Build it up with wood and clay,

Dance over, my Lady Lee;

Build it up with wood and clay,

With a gay lady.

Wood and clay will wash away,

Dance over, my Lady Lee;

Wood and clay will wash away,

With a gay lady.

Build it up with stone so strong,

Dance over, my Lady Lee;

Huzza! 't will last for ages long,

With a gay lady.


  WEEK 7  


Our Island Saints  by Amy Steedman

Saint David

THERE is an old legend which tells us that the good Saint Patrick, before he returned to the Green Island where he had been a slave, stayed for a while in Wales and thought to make his home there. He loved its wild mountains and deep glens dearly, its dancing streams and purple cliffs rising so straight from the edge of the blue sea. There was much work there, too, waiting to be done, and he thought that he was the man to do it. But one evening, as he sat at sundown upon the steep rock of Cam Ilidi, a messenger of God was sent in a vision to change his purpose. It was a fitting time and place for a heavenly vision. Below him the heathery moors sloped down to the edge of the sea, whose blue waters stretched out their shining glory of sapphire and gold in the sunset glow, and above in the sky the clouds were flinging wide their banners of rose and crimson. So full was the very air of wondrous light and colour that the angel who stood beside him seemed but a part of the shining glory.

"Dost thou see," said the angel, "beyond yon golden sea, a dim blue line beneath the sunset edge? That is the land where thou shalt dwell and wage thy warfare for God, the land from whence thou shalt enter into thy rest. This country is not for thee, but is reserved for one who shall be born thirty years hence." So it was that Saint Patrick went to Ireland, while Wales waited for the saint whom God should send.

Full thirty years then passed away before Saint David, patron saint of Wales, was born. His father, it is said, was kin to King Arthur, and his mother was a poor Irish nun. Leaving her monastery, the gentle nun went to live in a cottage at the edge of the cliffs, above a little bay which is still called by her name. Here, while the wild winds dashed the spray far up the cliffs and shrieked like demons around the little cottage, her baby was born.

Perhaps the favourite name of all others in Wales has ever been David or Dewi. Sometimes it is spelt Dafyd, and the old nickname "Taffy" may have been the way which English tongues pronounced it. It was this name of David which they gave to the baby born in the wind-swept cottage that stormy night, little guessing that it was to be the name of the patron saint of Wales.

Like other children wild and free, he grew up strong and hardy; learned to climb the rocks like a young goat and to live his life out of doors, the sky above for his roof and the thymy grass for his carpet. But that was when he was but a little boy. Growing older, there were lessons to be learned and duties to be done, and so young David was sent to be tamed and taught at the monastery school.

Paulinus, his master, loved the boy, and found him quick to learn and easy to teach. In the old stories of Saint David's life there is not much told of his childhood, but it is said that "David grew up full of grace and lovely to be looked at. And he learned at school the psalms, lessons of the whole year, mass and communion; and there his fellow disciples saw a dove with a golden beak playing about his lips, and singing the hymns of God."

Pure lips from which no ugly word ever fell, kindly speech that turned quarrels into friendliness, straightforward truth and honour, that was what his companions noted when they watched young David, and this was why perhaps they spoke of the dove with golden beak that played about his lips.

One other thing the old story tells about the boy. Paulinus the master suffered once from a dreadful pain in his eyes. For a time he could see nothing and feel nothing but his misery, and he did not know when David came and stood beside him in pitying silence. But presently he felt cool hands laid on his aching eyes, a tender touch that gently stroked the hot suffering eyelids until in some miraculous fashion it charmed the pain away.

As the Master of old in Galilee brought peace and healing by the touch of His kind hand, it is not strange that those who walk closest in His footprints should have learned from Him the virtue that lies in a tender loving touch.

There were rough times to be faced when David grew to manhood and became the head of his monastery. Not only was the land continually plundered by foreign foes, but there were still many bards and chieftains who hated Christianity and looked upon David as their foe. The love of music and poetry was as strong in the land as the love of the sword, and these bards were the teachers of the people, poets who sang of the great deeds of heroes, and told in flowing verse of their victories and defeats. Thus it was a great matter to win these bards to the service of Christ, and David counted it a great victory when they listened to his teaching and were willing to enter Christ's service. The monasteries welcomed them eagerly, knowing that the music of their harps lifted men's souls to heaven.

So the banner of Christ floated more and more triumphantly over the land, and one by one the monasteries were founded by David, and filled with men eager to take service under that banner. It was no easy life that tempted men to become monks in those days. Saint David's rule was so strict that only those who were willing to endure hardness could have found pleasure in living as they did. Clothes rough and coarse, made from the skins of animals, food of the simplest, work of some sort from morning till night, this was what Saint David's followers willingly endured. Every moment of the day had its duties, either prayer or hard work in the fields. Instead of oxen or horses, the monks themselves were harnessed to the plough, and patiently plodded through the work given to them to do.

But through it all the love of beauty and music and poetry was never crushed out, but rather grew stronger in these simple monks. One thing they loved above all, and that was to make copies of the Holy Book, and each one strove to make his copy as fair and exquisite as skill could achieve. So much did they love this work that a special rule was obliged to be made, which ordered that when the church bell rang the brothers were to stop work at once, the sentence be left unfinished, and even the word left half written. Instant obedience was one of the first things David's monks learned, and it taught them how to conquer the world.

Upon the same rock of Saint Patrick's vision David built his own beloved monastery, and there, in sight of the sea he loved and those purple hills of glory, he too received the heavenly messenger and heard the summons, "Friend, come up higher."


READING-LITERATURE: The Primer  by Harriette Taylor Treadwell

The Boy and the Goat



A little boy had a goat.

The goat ran away.

He ran into the woods.

He found some grass.

He wanted to eat the grass.


The little boy wanted to go home.

The goat would not go home.

The little boy said, "I can not go home. My goat ran into the woods. He will not go home."

Then the boy began to cry.


A rabbit came by.

He said, "Why do you cry, little boy?"

The boy said, "I cry because my goat ran away. He ran into the woods. He will not go home."


The rabbit said, "Do not cry, little boy. I can make the goat go home."

The rabbit ran into the woods.

He ran after the goat.

The goat would not go home.

Then the rabbit began to cry.


A squirrel came by.

He said, "Why do you cry, little rabbit?"

The rabbit said, "I cry because the little boy cries.

The little boy cries because the goat will not go home."


The squirrel said, "Do not cry, little boy. I can make the goat go home."

The squirrel ran into the woods.

He ran after the goat.

The goat would not go home.

Then the squirrel began to cry.


A fox came by.

He said, "Why do you cry, little squirrel?"

The squirrel said, "I cry because the rabbit cries.

The rabbit cries because the boy cries.

The boy cries because the goat will not go home."


The fox said, "Do not cry, little boy. I can make the goat go home."

The fox ran into the woods.

He ran after the goat.

The goat would not go home.

Then the fox began to cry.


A little bee flew by.

It said, "Why do you cry, little fox?"

The fox said, "I cry because the squirrel cries.

The squirrel cries because the rabbit cries.

The rabbit cries because the boy cries.

The boy cries because the goat will not go home."


The little bee said, "Do not cry, little boy. I can make the goat go home."

The fox laughed and said, "I can not make the goat go home. Can a little bee make it go home?"

Then the fox laughed and laughed.


The little bee flew into the woods.

It said, "Buzz, buzz."

The goat said, "A bee can sting. I will run."

The goat ran home.

Then the little boy laughed.

He said, "Thank you, little bee."



A Farmer Went Riding

A farmer went riding upon his gray mare,

Bumpety, bumpety, bump!

With his daughter behind him so rosy and fair,

Lumpety, lumpety, lump!

A raven cried, "Croak!" and they all tumbled down,

Bumpety, bumpety, bump!

The mare broke her knees and the farmer his crown,

Lumpety, lumpety, lump!

The mischievous raven flew laughing away,

Bumpety, bumpety, bump!

And vowed he would serve them the same the next day,

Lumpety, lumpety, lump!


  WEEK 7  


Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

Bruce and the Spider

THERE was once a king of Scot-land whose name was Robert Bruce. He had need to be both brave and wise, for the times in which he lived were wild and rude. The King of England was at war with him, and had led a great army into Scotland to drive him out of the land.

Battle after battle had been fought. Six times had Bruce led his brave little army against his foes; and six times had his men been beaten, and driven into flight. At last his army was scat-tered, and he was forced to hide himself in the woods and in lonely places among the moun-tains.

One rainy day, Bruce lay on the ground under a rude shed, lis-ten-ing to the patter of the drops on the roof above him. He was tired and sick at heart, and ready to give up all hope. It seemed to him that there was no use for him to try to do anything more.

As he lay thinking, he saw a spider over his head, making ready to weave her web. He watched her as she toiled slowly and with great care. Six times she tried to throw her frail thread from one beam to another, and six times it fell short.

"Poor thing!" said Bruce: "you, too, know what it is to fail."

But the spider did not lose hope with the sixth failure. With still more care, she made ready to try for the seventh time. Bruce almost forgot his own troubles as he watched her swing herself out upon the slender line. Would she fail again? No! The thread was carried safely to the beam, and fas-tened there.

"I, too, will try a seventh time!" cried Bruce.

He arose and called his men together. He told them of his plans, and sent them out with mes-sa-ges of cheer to his dis-heart-ened people. Soon there was an army of brave Scotch-men around him. Another battle was fought, and the King of England was glad to go back into his own country.

I have heard it said, that, after that day, no one by the name of Bruce would ever hurt a spider. The lesson which the little crea-ture had taught the king was never for-got-ten.


Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

The Black Douglas

IN Scotland, in the time of King Robert Bruce, there lived a brave man whose name was Doug-las. His hair and beard were black and long, and his face was tanned and dark; and for this reason people nicknamed him the Black Douglas. He was a good friend of the king, and one of his strongest helpers.

In the war with the English, who were trying to drive Bruce from Scotland, the Black Douglas did many brave deeds; and the English people became very much afraid of him. By and by the fear of him spread all through the land. Nothing could frighten an English lad more than to tell him that the Black Douglas was not far away. Women would tell their chil-dren, when they were naughty, that the Black Douglas would get them; and this would make them very quiet and good.

There was a large cas-tle in Scotland which the English had taken early in the war. The Scot-tish soldiers wanted very much to take it again, and the Black Douglas and his men went one day to see what they could do. It happened to be a hol-i-day, and most of the English soldiers in the cas-tle were eating and drinking and having a merry time. But they had left watch-men on the wall to see that the Scottish soldiers did not come upon them un-a-wares; and so they felt quite safe.

In the e-ven-ing, when it was growing dark, the wife of one of the soldiers went up on the wall with her child in her arms. As she looked over into the fields below the castle, she saw some dark objects moving toward the foot of the wall. In the dusk, she could not make out what they were, and so she pointed them out to one of the watch-men.

"Pooh, pooh!" said the watchman. "Those are nothing to frighten us. They are the farmer's cat-tle, trying to find their way home. The farmer himself is en-joy-ing the hol-i-day, and he has for-gotten to bring them in. If the Douglas should happen this way before morning, he will be sorry for his care-less-ness."

But the dark objects were not cattle. They were the Black Douglas and his men, creeping on hands and feet toward the foot of the castle wall. Some of them were dragging ladders behind them through the grass. They would soon be climbing to the top of the wall. None of the English soldiers dreamed that they were within many miles of the place.

The woman watched them until the last one had passed around a corner out of sight. She was not afraid, for in the dark-en-ing twi-light they looked indeed like cattle. After a little while she began to sing to her child:—

"Hush ye, hush ye, little pet ye,

Hush ye, hush ye, do not fret ye,

The Black Douglas shall not get ye."

All at once a gruff voice was heard behind her, saying, "Don't be so sure about that!"


"Don't be so sure about that!"

She looked around, and there stood the Black Douglas himself. At the same moment a Scottish soldier climbed off a ladder and leaped upon the wall; and then there came another and another and another, until the wall was covered with them. Soon there was hot fighting in every part of the castle. But the English were so taken by surprise that they could not do much. Many of them were killed, and in a little while the Black Douglas and his men were the masters of the castle, which by right be-longed to them.

As for the woman and her child, the Black Douglas would not suffer any one to harm them. After a while they went back to England; and whether the mother made up any more songs about the Black Douglas I cannot tell.


The Dutch Twins  by Lucy Fitch Perkins

One Sunday

Part 2 of 2

When church was over and they were out on the street again, Grandmother said,

"Now you are coming home with me to stay all night."

"Really and truly?" said the Twins. "And may we go with Grandfather to carry the milk in the morning?"

"Yes," said Grandfather, "and Kit may drive the dogs."

Kit jumped right up and down, he was so happy even if it was Sunday.

"May I too?—May I too?" asked Kat.

"You are a girl," said Grandfather. "You may ride in the wagon."

"Oh, I wish to-morrow would come right away," said Kat.

Then Kit and Kat said good-bye to Father Vedder and went home with Grandmother and Grandfather.

They lived on a little street in the town, where the houses stood in a row close together. The houses were built of brick and had wooden shutters at the windows, and they were so clean they shone in the sun.


This is a picture of Grandmother's house and of Grandmother and Kit and Kat going in. The door opened right into the kitchen.

Grandmother put away her shawl and psalm book and scent bottle as soon as she was home. Then she put on a big apron and drew out the round table.

She boiled the kettle and made coffee; and, when it was done, she set the coffee-pot on a pretty little porcelain stove on the table to keep hot. She got out bread and cheese and smoked beef and, best of all, a plate of little cakes.

Then they all four sat down to eat. I will not tell you how many cakes Kit and Kat ate, but it was a good many.

After dinner, Grandmother put away the things, and Kat helped her.

Kit sat beside Grandfather in the doorway while he smoked. Pretty soon Grandfather said,

"Bring me my accordeon, Kit."

Kit ran to the press in the corner. He knew where the accordeon was kept.

Then Grandfather took the accordeon, tipped his head back, shut his eyes and began to play, beating time with one foot. Kat heard the music and came out too.

She and Kit sat down on the doorstep, one on each side of Grandfather, to listen.


Grandfather played six tunes.

Then Grandmother said,

"Why don't we go to the woods to hear the band play?"

"No reason at all," said Grandfather. So very soon they were on their way to a grove on the edge of the town.

In the grove a band was playing; and just as the Twins and Grandfather and Grandmother came up, it began to play the national hymn of Holland. All the people began to sing. There were a great many people in the grove, and they all sang as loud as they could; so there was a great sound. Grandfather and Grandmother and Kit and Kat all sang too; for they all knew every word of the hymn.

This is what they sang:—

Let him in whom old Dutch blood flows,

Untainted, free and strong;

Whose heart for Prince and Country glows,

Now join us in our song;

Let him with us lift up his voice,

And sing in patriot band,

The song at which all hearts rejoice,

For Prince and Fatherland,

For Prince and Fatherland.

We brothers, true unto a man,

Will sing the old song yet;

Away with him who ever can

His Prince or Land forget!

A human heart glowed in him ne'er,

We turn from him our hand,

Who callous hears the song and prayer,

For Prince and Fatherland,

For Prince and Fatherland.

Preserve, O God, the dear old ground

Thou to our fathers gave;

The land where we a cradle found,

And where we'll find a grave!

We call, O Lord, to Thee on high,

As near death's door we stand,

Oh! Safety, blessing to our cry

For Prince and Fatherland,

For Prince and Fatherland.

Loud ring thro' all rejoicings here,

Our prayer, O Lord, to Thee;

Preserve our Prince, his house so dear

To Holland great and free!

From youth thro' life, be this our song,

Till near to death we stand:

O God, preserve our sov'reign long,

Our Prince and Fatherland,

Our Prince and Fatherland.

Now, while the people were singing with all their might, and the band was playing, and Kit and Kat were having the most beautiful time they had ever had in their whole lives, what do you think happened?


Down the long drive through the trees came a great, splendid carriage, drawn by a pair of beautiful white horses with wavy white tails and manes. There were two soldiers on horseback riding in front of the carriage, and the driver of the carriage was dressed in blue and orange livery.

The carriage was open, and in it sat a beautiful, smiling young lady. Beside her sat her husband; and a nurse, in the other seat, held a baby in her arms.

When the people saw the carriage and the lady, they waved their caps and shouted, "Long live the Queen!"

"Look! Look! Kit and Kat," said Grandfather. "It is your dear Queen Wilhelmina, and Prince Henry and the little Princess! Wave your hands!"


Kit and Kat waved with all their might, but they were so short, and the people crowded beside the driveway so, that neither of them could see. Then Grandfather caught Kit and lifted him up high, and Grandmother did the same with Kat.

It was fine to be up so high. Kit and Kat could see everything better than anyone else there. And when the carriage came by, the queen saw Kit and Kat! She smiled at them, and the nurse held the little Princess up high for them to see! Kit and Kat threw kisses to the little Princess; and the Princess waved her baby hand to Kit and Kat; and then they were all gone—like a bright dream.

But the soldiers were better to see even than queens, Kit thought. Kat thought the baby—any baby—was nicer than either.

When the carriage was out of sight, Grandfather and Grandmother set the Twins down on the ground. Everyone began to talk about the Queen, about how sweet she was, and how good; and the band played, and everybody was as happy as they could possibly be.

By and by it was time to go home; for, Grandfather said, "Dutch girls and boys must learn to get up early in the morning, especially Twins that are going out with the milk cart."

So they went back to Grandfather Winkle's house; and Grandmother put them to bed in a little cupboard like their own at home, after they had had some supper. And the last thing Kat said that night was,

"O Kit, just to think that to-day we saw the Queen and the soldiers, and the Queen's baby, and to-morrow we are going to drive in the milk cart! What a beautiful world it is!"


Just as they were dropping off to sleep, they heard a great noise in the street.

"Clap, clap, clap," it sounded, eight times.

"There goes the Klapper-man," said Grandmother Winkle. "Eight o'clock, and time all honest folk were abed."



A Frog He Would A-Wooing Go

A Frog he would a-wooing go,

Whether his mother would let him or no,

So off he set in his coat and hat,

And on the way he met a Rat.

"Please, Mr. Rat, will you go with me,

Good Mrs. Mousie for to see?"

When they came to the door of Mousie's hole,

They gave a loud knock, and they gave a loud call.

"Please, Mrs. Mouse, are you within?"

"Oh, yes, dear sirs, I am sitting to spin."

"Please, Mrs. Mouse, will you give us some beer,

For Froggy and I are fond of good cheer?"

"Please, Mr. Frog, will you give us a song,

But let it be something that's not very long?"

But while they were making a terrible din,

The cat and her kittens came tumbling in.

The cat she seized Mr. Rat by the crown,

The kittens they pulled Mrs. Mousie down.

This put Mr. Frog in a terrible fright,

He took up his hat and he wished them good-night.

But as Froggy was crossing over a brook,

A lily-white duck came and swallowed him up;

And that was the end of One, Two, and Three,—

The Rat, the Mouse, and the little Froggie.


  WEEK 7  


Stories of Siegfried Told to the Children  by Mary Macgregor

Siegfried Goes to the Cave

The ship in which Siegfried set sail drifted on before the wind, while those in Queen Brunhild's castle marvelled, for no one was to be seen on board. This was because the hero had again donned his Cloak of Darkness.

On and on sailed the little ship until at length it drew near to the land of the Nibelungs. Then Siegfried left his vessel and again climbed the mountain-side, where long before he had cut off the heads of the little Nibelung princes.

He reached the cave into which he had thrust the treasure, and knocked loudly at the door. The cave was the entrance to Nibelheim the dark, little town beneath the glad, green grass.

Siegfried might have entered the cave, but he knocked that he might see if his treasure were well guarded.

Then the porter, who was a great giant, when he heard the knock buckled on his armour and opened the door. Seeing, as he thought in his haste, a strange knight standing before him he fell upon him with a bar of iron. So strong was the giant that it was with difficulty that the Prince overcame him and bound him hand and foot.

Alberich meanwhile had heard the mighty blows, which indeed had shaken Nibelheim to its foundations.

Now the dwarf had sworn fealty to Siegfried, and when he, as the giant had done, mistook the Prince for a stranger, he seized a heavy whip with a gold handle and rushed upon him, smiting his shield with the knotted whip until it fell to pieces.

Too pleased that his treasures were so well defended to be angry, Siegfried now seized the little dwarf by his beard, and pulled it so long and so hard that Alberich was forced to cry for mercy. Then Siegfried bound him hand and foot as he had done the giant.

Alberich, poor little dwarf, gnashed his teeth with rage. Who would guard the treasure now, and who would warn his master that a strong man had found his way to Nibelheim?

But in the midst of his fears he heard the stranger's merry laugh. Nay, it was no stranger, none but the hero Prince could laugh thus merrily.

"I am Siegfried your master," then said the Prince. "I did but test thy faithfulness, Alberich," and laughing still, the hero undid the cords with which he had bound the giant and the dwarf.

"Call me here quickly the Nibelung warriors," cried Siegfried, "for I have need of them." And soon thirty thousand warriors stood before him in shining armour.

Choosing one thousand of the strongest and biggest, the Prince marched with them down to the sea-shore. There they embarked in ships and sailed away to Isenland.

Now it chanced that Queen Brunhild was walking on the terrace of her sea-guarded castle with King Gunther when she saw a number of sails approaching.

"Whose can these ships be?" she cried in quick alarm.

"These are my warriors who have followed me from Burgundy," answered the King, for thus had Siegfried bidden him speak.

"We will go to welcome the fleet," said Brunhild, and together they met the brave Nibelung army and lodged them in Isenland.

"Now will I give of my silver and my gold to my liegemen and to Gunther's warriors," said Queen Brunhild, and she held out the keys of her treasury to Dankwart that he might do her will. But so lavishly did the knight bestow her gold and her costly gems and her rich raiment upon the warriors that the Queen grew angry.

"Nought shall I have left to take with me to Rhineland," she cried aloud in her vexation.

"In Burgundy," answered Hagen, "there is gold enough and to spare. Thou wilt not need the treasures of Isenland."

But these words did not content the Queen. She would certainly take at least twenty coffers of gold as well as jewels and silks with her to King Gunther's land.

At length, leaving Isenland to the care of her brother, Queen Brunhild, with twenty hundred of her own warriors as a body-guard, with eighty-six dames and one hundred maidens, set out for the royal city of Worms.

For nine days the great company journeyed homeward, and then King Gunther entreated Siegfried to be his herald to Worms.

"Beg Queen Uté and the Princess Kriemhild," said the King, "beg them to ride forth to meet my bride and to prepare to hold high festival in honour of the wedding feast."

Thus Siegfried with four-and-twenty knights sailed on more swiftly than the other ships, and landing at the mouth of the river Rhine, rode hastily toward the royal city.

The Queen and her daughter, clad in their robes of state, received the hero, and his heart was glad, for once again he stood in the presence of his dear lady, Kriemhild.

"Be welcome, my Lord Siegfried," she cried, "thou worthy knight, be welcome. But where is my brother? Has he been vanquished by the warrior Queen? Oh, woe is me if he is lost, woe is me that ever I was born," and the tears rolled down the maiden's cheeks.

"Nay, now," said the Prince, "thy brother is well and of good cheer. I have come, a herald of glad tidings. For even now the King is on his way to Worms, bringing with him his hard-won bride."

Then the Princess dried her tears, and graciously did she bid the hero to sit by her side.

"I would I might give thee a reward for thy services," said the gentle maiden, "but too rich art thou to receive my gold."

"A gift from thy hands would gladden my heart," said the gallant Prince.

Blithely then did Kriemhild send for four-and-twenty buckles, all inlaid with precious stones, and these did she give to Siegfried.

Siegfried bent low before the lady Kriemhild, for well did he love the gracious giver, yet would he not keep for himself her gifts, but gave them, in his courtesy, to her four-and-twenty maidens.


Siegfried bent low before the lady Kriemhild

Then the Prince told Queen Uté that the King begged her and the Princess to ride forth from Worms to greet his bride, and to prepare to hold high festival in the royal city.

"It shall be done even as the King desires," said the Queen, while Kriemhild sat silent, smiling with gladness, because her knight Sir Siegfried had come home.


Stories of Siegfried Told to the Children  by Mary Macgregor

The Wedding Feast

In joy and merriment the days flew by, while the court at Worms prepared to hold high festival in honour of King Gunther's matchless bride.

As the royal ships drew near Queen Uté and the Princess Kriemhild, accompanied by many a gallant knight, rode along the banks of the Rhine to greet Queen Brunhild.

Already the King had disembarked, and was leading his bride toward his gracious mother. Courteously did Queen Uté welcome the stranger, while Kriemhild kissed her and clasped her in her arms.

Some as they gazed upon the lovely maidens said that the warlike Queen Brunhild was more beautiful than the gentle Princess Kriemhild, but others, and these were the wiser, said that none could excel the peerless sister of the King.

In the great plain of Worms silk tents and gay pavilions had been placed. And there the ladies took shelter from the heat, while before them knights and warriors held a gay tournament. Then in the cool of the evening, a gallant train of lords and ladies, they rode toward the castle at Worms.

Queen Uté and her daughter went to their own apartments, while the King with Brunhild went into the banqueting hall where the wedding feast was spread.

But ere the feast had begun, Siegfried came and stood before the King.

"Sire," he said, "hast thou forgotten thy promise, that when Brunhild entered the royal city thy lady sister should be my bride?"

"Nay," cried the King, "my royal word do I ever keep," and going out into the hall he sent for the Princess.

"Dear sister," said Gunther, as she bowed before him, "I have pledged my word to a warrior that thou wilt become his bride, wilt thou help me to keep my promise?" Now Siegfried was standing by the King's side as he spoke.

Then the gentle maiden answered meekly, "Thy will, dear brother, is ever mine. I will take as lord him to whom thou hast promised my hand." And she glanced shyly at Siegfried, for surely this was the warrior to whom her royal brother had pledged his word.

Right glad then was the King, and Siegfried grew rosy with delight as he received the lady's troth. Then together they went to the banqueting hall, and on a throne next to King Gunther sat the hero-prince, the lady Kriemhild by his side.

But when Brunhild saw the King's beautiful sister sitting on a throne with Siegfried by her side, she began to weep.

"Why dost thou weep, fair lady?" said King Gunther. "Are not my lands, my castles, and all my warriors thine? Dim not thy bright eyes with thy tears."

"I may well weep," said Queen Brunhild, "because thy sister has plighted her troth to one who is but a vassal of thine own. Thy sister is worthy of a prince."

"Weep not," cried the King, "and when the banquet is ended I will tell thee how it is that Siegfried has won the hand of my lady sister."

"Nay," cried the impatient Queen, "thou must tell me without delay or never will I be thy wife," and Brunhild arose and stepped down from the throne.

King Gunther was displeased with the Queen's impatience, yet lest his guests should be disturbed, he answered her quickly:

"The hero Siegfried has as many castles as have I, and his realms are broader. In truth he is no vassal of mine. Ere long he will be King of the Netherlands."

Brunhild could but hide her anger now, yet in her heart she disliked Siegfried more than she had done before. It did not please her that he should be a greater king than Gunther.

When the banquet was ended, the wedding was celebrated, and the King placed a crown upon the brow of the haughty bride, for now she was his wife, and Queen of his fair realm of Burgundy.

Siegfried too was wedded to the maiden whom he loved so well, and though he had no crown to place upon her brow, the Princess was well content.

As wedding gifts the hero gave to his dear wife the treasure he had won from the Nibelungs, also the girdle and the ring which he had taken from Brunhild in her contests with King Gunther.

With his merry laugh Siegfried told his wife how he had fought for her royal brother, himself unseen, because he had on his Cloak of Darkness. And Kriemhild listening thought never had she known so fair, so brave a knight.

For fourteen days the wedding festivities never ceased. Then King Gunther and Prince Siegfried scattered costly gifts among their guests, so that they returned to their own lands in great glee.

No sooner were the guests departed than Siegfried also began to make ready to journey to his own country. Fain would he take his beautiful wife to see Siegmund and Sieglinde, and to dwell in the land over which one day he would be king.

Kriemhild, too, was glad to go to her dear lord's country. Taking a loving farewell of her lady mother, Queen Uté, and of her royal brothers, with five hundred knights of Burgundy and thirty-two Burgundian maids, Kriemhild rode away, Sir Siegfried by her side.


Among the Meadow People  by Clara Dillingham Pierson

The Tree Frog's Story


I N all the meadow there was nobody who could tell such interesting stories as the old Tree Frog. Even the Garter Snake, who had been there the longest, and the old Cricket, who had lived in the farm-yard, could tell no such exciting tales as the Tree Frog. All the wonderful things of which he told had happened before he came to the meadow, and while he was still a young Frog. None of his friends had known him then, but he was an honest fellow, and they were sure that everything he told was true: besides, they must be true, for how could a body ever think out such remarkable tales from his own head?

When he first came to his home by the elm tree he was very thin, and looked as though he had been sick. The Katydids who stayed near said that he croaked in his sleep, and that, you know, is not what well and happy Frogs should do.

One day when many of the meadow people were gathered around him, he told them his story. "When I was a little fellow," he said, "I was strong and well, and could leap farther than any other Frog of my size. I was hatched in the pond beyond the farm-house, and ate my way from the egg to the water outside like any other Frog. Perhaps I ought to say, 'like any other Tadpole,' for, of course, I began life as a Tadpole. I played and ate with my brothers and sisters, and little dreamed what trouble was in store for me when I grew up. We were all in a hurry to be Frogs, and often talked of what we would do and how far we would travel when we were grown.

"Oh, how happy we were then! I remember the day when my hind legs began to grow, and how the other Tadpoles crowded around me in the water and swam close to me to feel the two little bunches that were to be legs. My fore legs did not grow until later, and these bunches came just in front of my tail."

"Your tail!" cried a puzzled young Cricket; "why, you haven't any tail!"

"I did have when I was a Tadpole," said the Tree Frog. "I had a beautiful, wiggly little tail with which to swim through the waters of the pond; but as my legs grew larger and stronger, my tail grew littler and weaker, until there wasn't any tail left. By the time my tail was gone I had four good legs, and could breathe through both my nose and my skin. The knobs on the ends of my toes were sticky, so that I could climb a tree, and then I was ready to start on my travels. Some of the other Frogs started with me, but they stopped along the way, and at last I was alone.

"I was a bold young fellow, and when I saw a great white thing among the trees up yonder, I made up my mind to see what it was. There was a great red thing in the yard beside it, but I liked the white one better. I hopped along as fast as I could, for I did not then know enough to be afraid. I got close up to them both, and saw strange, big creatures going in and out of the red thing—the barn, as I afterward found it was called. The largest creatures had four legs, and some of them had horns. The smaller creatures had only two legs on which to walk, and two other limbs of some sort with which they lifted and carried things. The queerest thing about it was, that the smaller creatures seemed to make the larger ones do whatever they wanted them to. They even made some of them help do their work. You may not believe me, but what I tell you is true. I saw two of the larger ones tied to a great load of dried grass and pulling it into the barn.

"As you may guess, I stayed there a long time, watching these strange creatures work. Then I went over toward the white thing, and that, I found out, was the farm-house. Here were more of the two-legged creatures, but they were dressed differently from those in the barn. There were some bright-colored flowers near the house, and I crawled in among them. There I rested until sunset, and then began my evening song. While I was singing, one of the people from the house came out and found me. She picked me up and carried me inside. Oh, how frightened I was! My heart thumped as though it would burst, and I tried my best to get away from her. She didn't hurt me at all, but she would not let me go.

"She put me in a very queer prison. At first, when she put me down on a stone in some water, I did not know that I was in prison. I tried to hop away, and—bump! went my head against something. Yet when I drew back, I could see no wall there. I tried it again and again, and every time I hurt my head. I tell you the truth, my friends, those walls were made of something which one could see through."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed all the meadow people; "wonderful, indeed!"

"And at the top," continued the Tree Frog, "was something white over the doorway into my prison. In the bottom were water and a stone, and from the bottom to the top was a ladder. There I had to live for most of the summer. I had enough to eat; but anybody who has been free cannot be happy shut in. I watched my chance, and three times I got out when the little door was not quite closed. Twice I was caught and put back. In the pleasant weather, of course, I went to the top of the ladder, and when it was going to rain I would go down again. Every time that I went up or down, those dreadful creatures would put their faces up close to my prison, and I could hear a roaring sound which meant they were talking and laughing.

"The last time I got out, I hid near the door of the house, and although they hunted and hunted for me, they didn't find me. After they stopped hunting, the wind blew the door open, and I hopped out."

"You don't say!" exclaimed a Grasshopper.

"Yes, I hopped out and scrambled away through the grass as fast as ever I could. You people who have never been in prison cannot think how happy I was. It seemed to me that just stretching my legs was enough to make me wild with joy. Well, I came right here, and you were all kind to me, but for a long time I could not sleep without dreaming that I was back in prison, and I would croak in my sleep at the thought of it."

"I heard you," cried the Katydid, "and I wondered what was the matter."

"Matter enough," said the Tree Frog. "It makes my skin dry to think of it now. And, friends, the best way I can ever repay your kindness to me, is to tell you to never, never, never, never go near the farm-house."

And they all answered, "We never will."



The Light-Hearted Fairy

Oh, who is so merry, so merry, heigh ho!

As the light-hearted fairy, heigh ho,

Heigh ho!

He dances and sings

To the sound of his wings,

With a hey, and a heigh, and a ho!

Oh, who is so merry, so airy, heigh ho!

As the light-headed fairy, heigh ho,

Heigh ho!

His nectar he sips

From the primroses' lips,

With a hey, and a heigh, and a ho!

Oh, who is so merry, so merry, heigh ho!

As the light-footed fairy, heigh ho,

Heigh ho!

His night is the noon,

And his sun is the moon,

With a hey, and a heigh, and a ho!


  WEEK 7  


Stories of Great Americans for Little Americans  by Edward Eggleston

Franklin's Whistle

WHEN Franklin was an old man, he wrote a cu-ri-ous letter. In that letter he told a story. It was about some-thing that happened to him when he was a boy.


Here is the story put into verses, so that you will re-member it better. Some day you can read the story as Franklin told it himself. You will hear people say, "He paid too much for the whistle." The saying came from this story.

Too Much for the Whistle

As Ben with pennies in his pocket

Went strolling down the street,

"Toot-toot! toot-toot!" there came a whistle

From a boy he chanced to meet,

Whistling fit to burst his buttons,

Blowing hard and stepping high.

Then Benny said, "I'll buy your whistle;"

But "Toot! toot-toot!" was the reply.

But Benny counted out his pennies,

The whistling boy began to smile;

With one last toot he gave the whistle

To Ben, and took his penny pile.

Now homeward goes the whistling Benny,

As proud as any foolish boy,

And in his pockets not a penny,

But in his mouth a noisy toy.

"Ah, Benny, Benny!" cries his mother,

"I cannot stand your ugly noise."

"Stop, Benny, Benny!" says his father,

"I cannot talk, you drown my voice."

At last the whistling boy remembers

How much his money might have bought.

"Too many pennies for a whistle,"

Too many pennies for a whistle

Is what we all pay, you and I,

Just for a little foolish pleasure

Pay a price that's quite too high.


Jataka Tales  by Ellen C. Babbitt

The Quarrel of the Quails

O NCE upon a time many quails lived together in a forest. The wisest of them all was their leader.

A man lived near the forest and earned his living by catching quails and selling them. Day after day he listened to the note of the leader calling the quails. By and by this man, the fowler, was able to call the quails together. Hearing the note the quails thought it was their leader who called.

When they were crowded together, the fowler threw his net over them and off he went into the town, where he soon sold all the quails that he had caught.

The wise leader saw the plan of the fowler for catching the quails. He called the birds to him and said, "This fowler is carrying away so many of us, we must put a stop to it. I have thought of a plan; it is this: The next time the fowler throws a net over you, each of you must put your head through one of the little holes in the net. Then all of you together must fly away to the nearest thorn-bush. You can leave the net on the thorn-bush and be free yourselves."

The quails said that was a very good plan and they would try it the next time the fowler threw the net over them.

The very next day the fowler came and called them together. Then he threw the net over them. The quails lifted the net and flew away with it to the nearest thorn-bush where they left it. They flew back to their leader to tell him how well his plan had worked.

The fowler was busy until evening getting his net off the thorns and he went home empty-handed. The next day the same thing happened, and the next. His wife was angry because he did not bring home any money, but the fowler said, "The fact is those quails are working together now. The moment my net is over them, off they fly with it, leaving it on a thorn-bush. As soon as the quails begin to quarrel I shall be able to catch them."


The quails lifted the net and flew away with it.

Not long after this, one of the quails in alighting on their feeding ground, trod by accident on another's head. "Who trod on my head?" angrily cried the second. "I did; but I didn't mean to. Don't be angry," said the first quail, but the second quail was angry and said mean things.

Soon all the quails had taken sides in this quarrel. When the fowler came that day he flung his net over them, and this time instead of flying off with it, one side said, "Now, you lift the net," and the other side said, "Lift it yourself."

"You try to make us lift it all," said the quails on one side. "No, we don't!" said the others, "you begin and we will help," but neither side began.

So the quails quarreled, and while they were quarreling the fowler caught them all in his net. He took them to town and sold them for a good price.


The fowler caught them all in his net.


Robert Louis Stevenson


Of speckled eggs the birdie sings

And nests among the trees;

The sailor sings of ropes and things

In ships upon the seas.

The children sing in far Japan,

The children sing in Spain;

The organ with the organ man

Is singing in the rain.