Text of Plan #938
  WEEK 30  

  Monday  


The Adventures of Johnny Chuck  by Thornton Burgess

Johnny Chuck Turns Tramp

J OHNNY CHUCK had turned tramp. Yes, Sir, Johnny Chuck had turned tramp. It was a funny thing to do, but he had done it. He didn't know why he had done it, excepting that he had become dissatisfied and discontented and unhappy in his old home. And then, almost without thinking what he was doing, he had told Jimmy Skunk that he could have the house he had worked so hard to build the summer before and of which he had been so proud. Then Johnny Chuck had swaggered away down the Lone Little Path without once looking back at the home he was leaving.

Where was he going? Well, to tell the truth, Johnny didn't know. He was going to see the world, and perhaps when he had seen the world, he would build him a new house. So as long as he was in sight of Jimmy Skunk, he swaggered along quite as if he was used to traveling about, without any snug house to go to at night. But right down in his heart Johnny Chuck didn't feel half so bold as he pretended.

You see, not since he was a little Chuck and had run away from old Mother Chuck with Peter Rabbit, had he ever been very far from his own door-step. He had always been content to grow fat and roly-poly right near his own home, and listen to the tales of the great world from Jimmy Skunk and Peter Rabbit and Bobby Coon and Unc' Billy Possum, all of whom are great travelers.

But now, here he was, actually setting forth, and without a home to come back to! You see, he had made up his mind that no matter what happened, he wouldn't come back, after having given his house to Jimmy Skunk.

When he had reached a place where he thought Jimmy Skunk couldn't see him, Johnny Chuck turned and looked back, and a queer little feeling seemed to make a lump that filled his throat and choked him. The fact is, Johnny Chuck already began to feel homesick. But he swallowed very hard and tried to make himself think that he was having a splendid time. He stopped looking back and started on, and as he tramped along, he tried to sing a song he had once heard Jimmy Skunk sing:

"The world may stretch full far and wide—

What matters that to me?

I'll tramp it up; I'll tramp it down!

For I am bold and free."

It was a very brave little song, but Johnny Chuck didn't feel half so brave and bold as he tried to think he did. Already he was beginning to wonder where he should spend the night. Then he thought of old Whitetail the Marshhawk, who had given him such a fright and had so nearly caught him when he was a little fellow. The thought made him look around hastily, and there was old Whitetail himself, sailing back and forth hungrily just ahead of him. A great fear took possession of Johnny Chuck, and he made himself as flat as possible in the grass, for there was no place to hide. He made up his mind that anyway he would fight.

Nearer and nearer came old Whitetail! Finally he passed right over Johnny Chuck. But he didn't offer to touch him. Indeed, it seemed to Johnny that old Whitetail actually grinned and winked at him. And right then all his fear left him.

"Pooh!" said Johnny Chuck scornfully. "Who's afraid of him!" He suddenly realized that he was no longer a helpless little Chuck who couldn't take care of himself, but big and strong, with sharp teeth with which his old enemy had no mind to make a closer acquaintance, when there were mice and snakes to be caught without fighting. So he puffed out his chest and went on, and actually began to enjoy himself, and almost wished for a chance to show how big and strong he was.

 



The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

Pairs or Pears

Twelve pairs hanging high,

Twelve knights riding by,

Each knight took a pear,

And yet left a dozen there.

 


  WEEK 30  

  Tuesday  


Bobby and the Big Road  by Maud Lindsay

Blackberry-Picking

F ATHER came home from town one day with a bright, new, little tin bucket for Bobby.

"This is for you to put blackberries in when we go blackberry-picking," he said.

"Are we going blackberry-picking?" asked Bobby.

"Yes indeed!" said Father. "We are going blackberry-picking whenever Mother can go with us. I passed some blackberry-bushes to-day that were filled with juicy ripe berries, and they made me think of blackberry roll."

Mother said she was ready to go blackberry-picking that very afternoon; and they were soon on their way.

Mother carried a large tin bucket to put her berries in, and so did Father; and Bobby carried his little new tin bucket. It was as light as a feather, and it glistened like silver when the sun shone on it.

"I shall fill it to the very top with blackberries," Bobby declared.

By and by they came to the blackberry-bushes which were full of ripe berries just as Father had said. There were enough juicy berries for a dozen blackberry rolls.

The first blackberry that Bobby picked went into his mouth instead of the little tin bucket. Oh, what a sweet berry it was! He thought he must taste another, and another!


[Illustration]

Oh, what a sweet berry it was!

And what do you think? When it was time to go home Mother's bucket was full of blackberries, and Father's bucket was full of blackberries, but the little tin bucket that shone like silver was not even half full. You can imagine how Bobby felt then.

"The next time I go blackberry-picking I'll fill my bucket before I eat a single berry," he said.

And that is just what he did. The very next day he went berrying again and brought back his little tin bucket filled to the brim with juicy ripe berries.

 



Bobby and the Big Road  by Maud Lindsay

Bobby Nimble-Toes

O NCE when Father was away in the city Bobby went all by himself to the little town where the road began, to get Mother a spool of thread.

He wasn't a bit afraid of losing his way. All he had to do was to follow the Big Road straight from his own door into the little village street where the stores were. That was easy to do.

Mother thought he would be sure to meet somebody on the road, so many people went to town every day; but the only traveler that Bobby saw was a fuzzy brown caterpillar. Bobby could not wait to keep company with such a slow-poke as a caterpillar,—not when he was running on an errand for his mother!

He danced and skipped along the road as if he were on springs. When he came to the plum thicket where Father and he sometimes got ripe plums he did not stop to look for a single one.

He did not even peep at the young birds in the thrushes' nest that Father had found in the hedge; and though there were white-haired dandelions in plenty along the road he did not stop to ask one of them if his mother needed him at home. He knew she did, without asking anything or anybody.

He went to town so quickly and came back so quickly that Mother could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw him coming with the spool of thread in his hand.

When Father came home that night and heard what a fine errand boy Bobby was, he made a rhyme about him. This is the rhyme:

Little Bobby Nimble-toes

Like a little bird he goes.

When he's sent on errands—My!

How his little feet do fly!

Can it be—do you suppose—

He has wings upon his toes?

 



Mother Goose  by Frederick Richardson

Old Woman under the Hill


[Illustration]

 


  WEEK 30  

  Wednesday  


Appley Dapply's Nursery Rhymes  by Beatrix Potter

Appley Dapply's Nursery Rhymes

[Illustration]

Appley Dapply, a little brown mouse,

Goes to the cupboard in somebody's house.

[Illustration]

In somebody's cupboard

There's everything nice,

Cake, cheese, jam, biscuits,

—All charming for mice!

[Illustration]

Appley Dapply has little sharp eyes,

And Appley Dapply is so  fond of pies!

[Illustration]

Now who is this knocking

At Cottontail's door?

Tap tappit! Tap tappit!

She's heard it before?

[Illustration]

And when she peeps out

there is nobody there,

But a present of carrots

put down on the stair.

[Illustration]

Hark! I hear it again!

Tap, tap, tappit! Tap tappit!

Why—I really believe it's

A little black rabbit!


[Illustration]

Old Mr. Pricklepin has never a cushion

to stick his pins in,

His nose is black and

his beard is gray,

And he lives in an ash stump

over the way.

[Illustration]

You know the old woman

Who lived in the shoe?

And had so many children

She didn't know what to do?

[Illustration]

I think if she lived in a little shoe-house—

That little old woman was surely a mouse!

[Illustration]

Diggory Diggory Delvet!

A little old man in black velvet;

He digs and he delves—

You can see for yourselves

The mounds dug by Diggory Delvet.

[Illustration]

Gravy and potatoes

In a good brown pot—

Put them in the oven,

and serve them very hot!

[Illustration]

There once was an amiable

guinea-pig,

Who brushed back his hair like

a periwig—

[Illustration]

He wore a sweet tie,

As blue as the sky—

[Illustration]

And his whiskers and buttons

Were very big.

 



The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

Belleisle

At the siege of Belleisle

I was there all the while,

All the while, all the while,

At the siege of Belleisle.

 


  WEEK 30  

  Thursday  


Among the Meadow People  by Clara Dillingham Pierson

The Dignified Walking-Sticks

[Illustration]

T HREE WALKING-STICKS from the forest had come to live in the big maple tree near the middle of the meadow. Nobody knew exactly why they had left the forest, where all their sisters and cousins and aunts lived. Perhaps they were not happy with their relatives. But then, if one is a Walking-Stick, you know, one does not care so very much about one's family.

These Walking-Sticks had grown up the best way they could, with no father or mother to care for them. They had never been taught to do anything useful, or to think much about other people. When they were hungry they ate some leaves, and never thought what they should eat the next time that they happened to be hungry. When they were tired they went to sleep, and when they had slept enough they awakened. They had nothing to do but to eat and sleep, and they did not often take the trouble to think. They felt that they were a little better than those meadow people who rushed and scrambled and worked from morning until night, and they showed very plainly how they felt. They said it was not genteel to hurry, no matter what happened.

One day the Tree Frog was under the tree when the large Brown Walking-Stick decided to lay some eggs. He saw her dropping them carelessly around on the ground, and asked, "Do you never fix a place for your eggs?"

"A place?" said the Brown Walking-Stick, waving her long and slender feelers to and fro. "A place? Oh, no! I think they will hatch where they are. It is too much trouble to find a place."

"Puk-r-r-rup!" said the Tree Frog. "Some mothers do not think it too much trouble to be careful where they lay eggs."

"That may be," said the Brown Walking-Stick, "but they do not belong to our family." She spoke as if those who did not belong to her family, might be good but could never be genteel. She had once told her brother, the Five-Legged Walking-Stick, that she would not want to live if she could not be genteel. She thought the meadow people very common.

The Five-Legged Walking-Stick looked much like his sister. He had the same long, slender body, the same long feelers, and the same sort of long, slender legs. If you had passed them in a hay-field, you would surely have thought each a stem of hay, unless you happened to see them move. The other Walking-Stick, their friend, was younger and green. You would have thought her a blade of grass.

It is true that the brother had the same kind of legs as his sister, but he did not have the same number. When he was young and green he had six, then came a dreadful day when a hungry Nuthatch saw him, flew down, caught him, and carried him up a tree. He knew just what to expect, so when the Nuthatch set him down on the bark to look at him, he unhooked his feet from the bark and tumbled to the ground. The Nuthatch tried to catch him and broke off one of his legs, but she never found him again, although she looked and looked and looked. That was because he crawled into a clump of ferns and kept very still.

His sister came and looked at him and said, "Now if you were only a Spider it would not be long before you would have six legs again."

Her brother waved first one feeler and then the other, and said: "Do you think I would be a Spider for the sake of growing legs? I would rather be a Walking-Stick without any legs than to be a Spider with a hundred." Of course you know Spiders never do have a hundred, and a Walking-Stick wouldn't be walking without any, but that was just his way of speaking, and it showed what kind of insect he was. His relatives all waved their feelers, one at a time, and said, "Ah, he has the true Walking-Stick spirit!" Then they paid no more attention to him, and after a while he and his sister and their green little friend left the forest for the meadow.

On the day when the grass was cut, they had sat quietly in their trees and looked genteel. Their feelers were held quite close together, and they did not move their feet at all, only swayed their bodies gracefully from side to side. Now they were on the ground, hunting through the flat piles of cut grass for some fresh and juicy bits to eat. The Tree Frog was also out, sitting in a cool, damp corner of the grass rows. The young Grasshoppers were kicking up their feet, the Ants were scrambling around as busy as ever, and life went on quite as though neither men nor Horses had ever entered the meadow.

"See!" cried a Spider who was busily looking after her web, "there comes a Horse drawing something, and the farmer sitting on it and driving."

When the Horse was well into the meadow, the farmer moved a bar, and the queer-looking machine began to kick the grass this way and that with its many stiff and shining legs. A frisky young Grasshopper kicked in the same way, and happened—just happened, of course—to knock over two of his friends. Then there was a great scrambling and the Crickets frolicked with them. The young Walking-Stick thought it looked like great fun and almost wished herself some other kind of insect, so that she could tumble around in the same way. She did not quite wish it, you understand, and would never have thought of it if she had turned brown.

"Ah," said the Five-Legged Walking-Stick, "what scrambling! How very common!"

"Yes, indeed!" said his sister. "Why can't they learn to move slowly and gracefully? Perhaps they can't help being fat, but they might at least act genteel."

"What is it to be genteel?" asked a Grasshopper suddenly. He had heard every word that the Walking-Stick said.

"Why," said the Five-Legged Walking-Stick, "it is just to be genteel. To act as you see us act, and to——"

Just here the hay-tedder passed over them, and every one of the Walking-Sticks was sent flying through the air and landed on his back. The Grasshoppers declare that the Walking-Sticks tumbled and kicked and flopped around in a dreadfully common way until they were right side up. "Why," said the Measuring Worm, "you act like anybody else when the hay-tedder comes along!"

The Walking-Sticks looked very uncomfortable, and the brother and sister could not think of anything to say. It was the young green one who spoke at last. "I think," said she, "that it is much easier to act genteel when one is right side up."

 



A Book of Nursery Rhymes  by Francis D. Bedford

Mistress Mary

[Illustration]
[Illustration]
 


  WEEK 30  

  Friday  


About Harriet  by Clara Whitehill Hunt

What Harriet Did on Wednesday

[Illustration]

A LMOST before her eyes were open on Wednesday morning Harriet called out:—

"What are we going to do to-day, Mother dear?"

And Mother answered:—

"Wait until you've eaten your breakfast, honey, and then we'll see."

Harriet jumped out of bed very quickly at that. She suspected that something nice was going to happen if she ate a good, hearty breakfast. You see, Harriet was not often a hungry little girl, and when she knew that there was to be a picnic or something else very gay she was too excited to eat at all. So Mother did not usually tell of any exciting plan until after breakfast.

This morning Harriet resolved to eat—oh, ever so much, so that Mother would decide it was safe to do the nice thing that she probably had in her mind. So Harriet ate and ate till Father joked her and poked her and said he thought she would taste as good, roasted, as a fat little stuffed pig. And finally, as Harriet kept eating and eating, her Mother laughed and said:—

"There, there, dear! You've eaten enough to last until noon! What do you say to going downtown this morning, shopping, and eating our lunch in Lerner's restaurant?"

"Oh, goody, goody!" shrieked Harriet.

So Mother knew that that meant Harriet liked the plan very much.

It did not take Mother and Harriet long after breakfast to get ready. They liked to start early when they were going shopping, so as to be in the stores before crowds of people came and made it hot and uncomfortable while they did their errands.

Harriet did not carry her pink sunshade to-day. Mother said it would be in the way downtown, where there were high stairs to climb and a great many people on the streets to jostle against them.

After a short walk down one street and over another, they came to the Elevated Railroad station. In Harriet's city the streets are so full of wagons and trolleys and motor-cars, and there are so many, many people who must travel long distances from their homes every day to get to their offices and stores and schools, that the men who make the railroads have to build some of them up in the air and some of them down under the ground! Just think of that! Under the ground they dig a long, long tunnel and lay the tracks through the tunnel, and the trains go swiftly back and forth in this long hole in the ground; and when little boys and girls ride in these underground cars and look out of the windows they can't see anything except the sides of the tunnel and the lights flashing by—no shops or horses or people or trees or anything. The railroad under the ground is called the "Subway."

There is another kind of railroad made of tracks and trains high up on great strong bridges miles and miles long through the streets. This is called the "Elevated Railroad." People often call it the "L." Harriet and her Mother were going downtown on the "L."

First they had to climb a long flight of stairs. This was slow work for Harriet's short legs. When they got to the top they stopped a minute to get their breath again. Then Mother paid the fare through a little opening in a window where a woman or a man sits all day and all night to collect fares. Then the woman unlocked the turnstile and Mother passed through it, but Harriet walked under a rail, because she was so little Mother did not have to pay a fare for her.

Now they were out on the long platform and soon the train came rushing in and they got aboard. As soon as all the passengers were in the cars, the guards on the platforms at the ends of each car slammed the gates, to shut the people in; then one guard after another reached up and pulled a rope which rang a bell to tell the motorman, "All right! Go ahead!" Then the train started.

Harriet climbed up on the seat and kneeled with her face toward the window so as to see everything they passed as they flew along. It was such fun to be up so high that you could look into third-story windows of people's houses or stores. Sometimes there were little children looking out of those high windows. Sometimes Harriet looked into a big room filled with men bent over sewing machines making coats and trousers. Sometimes she saw a room filled with girls at desks, typewriting as fast as they could make their fingers fly. Once Harriet caught a glimpse down a side street of a roof which some little children's father had made into a nice outdoor playroom. The roof had a fence around it, so the babies could not fall off, and there was an awning over the top, so it would not be too hot; and the children had their toys out there, and plants growing in boxes, and it was really a lovely play place for little city children, but of course not half  as nice as the country.

Presently the guard called out, "Ellum and Dutton!" (He meant Elm and Dutton Streets, but the guards always said "Ellum.") This was the station near the large stores, so when the train stopped and the guard opened the gates, Harriet and her Mother stepped out upon the platform. They walked very slowly down the long stairs and then they waited at the curb for a chance to cross the street.

It was a very busy street and a very noisy one at this corner. Overhead the Elevated trains every few minutes made a great noise. In the middle of the road the trolley cars ran so close together that there was a continuous "Clang! Clang! Clang!" of the motormen's gongs. There was a steady stream of heavy wagons and automobiles rumbling and whizzing by. There were people crowding down into the Subway. No wonder there had to be a mounted police at the corner to keep the wagons and cars from getting all snarled up and the people from getting run over.

Harriet loved the mounted police. Their horses were so beautiful and so intelligent. The officers were so big and handsome, their uniforms so splendid, and they sat so straight upon their horses. They stood in the midst of the roar and the rush and with one lift of the hand they made all the drivers and motormen stop their cars instantly to let a little girl and her Mother pass in safety across the street. When Harriet's fairy tales told about a mighty king or emperor whose slightest wish was instantly obeyed by his subjects, she always thought of her beloved mounted police.

When Harriet and Mother had safely reached the other side of the street, they found themselves almost at the big front door of Lerner's store where Mother always did most of her shopping.

This morning they went first into the shoe department. They sat down on the slippery leather seat and Mother bought for herself a pair of low shoes having rubber soles and heels. This is the best kind of shoe to wear if you are going to climb over slippery rocks in Maine. Harriet had to have a pair of "sneakers" too.

Then they went down to the basement of the store. This was an immense place. You could buy trunks, toys, kitchenware, bathroom supplies, tools, lamps, china, dishes—it would fill a book to tell all the things in Lerner's basement.

Mother was buying supplies this morning for the bungalow: paper towels and napkins, wooden plates for picnics, cooking dishes for the kitchen, and many other things.

All these supplies, with what Mother would buy in other departments, would be sent by Lerner's shipping department up to a little town in Maine where Captain Barber's steamboat would get the supplies and carry them over to the bungalow.

When Mother had finished shopping in the basement they started to go upstairs.

"Oh, Mother!" said Harriet, "please let's ride up on the revolving stairs."

So they went to the place where one could step on to what looked something like a narrow chain sidewalk, which did not stay still, but which was moving uphill all the time. And when you stepped on this sidewalk, you did not have to climb at all; you stood still and the walk itself climbed. When you got up to the main floor you stepped off the funny stair, and there you were. Harriet loved it. Her Mother would not let her ride down on this revolving stair, for fear she might get dizzy and fall.

Next Mother and Harriet got into the big elevator and rode up to the fourth floor to the furniture department. Mother wanted to buy two big, comfortable willow chairs for the bungalow living-room. While Mother was making up her mind what to choose, Harriet thought she would try to sit in every chair in the furniture department, but, dear me! It would have taken her almost all day to do that, Mr. Lerner had so many chairs to sell. There were drawing-room chairs and library chairs and dining-room chairs, bedroom chairs, kitchen chairs, and office chairs, leather chairs, satin-cushioned chairs, rocking-chairs, babies' high chairs, red, brown, yellow, and green chairs—and that isn't half the kinds there were in that great huge chair department! Harriet's knees were all tired out with climbing by the time Mother had decided on her chairs, and when they came to their next stopping-place Harriet was glad to sit still on the stool by the counter while Mother chose the flowered cretonne which was to cover the cushions for her chairs.

In other departments they bought middy blouses for Harriet and for her Mother too, and thread and needles and pins and writing paper and envelopes and stockings and other things besides.

At last Mother said, "There, I'd better stop, or Father won't have money enough left to buy our tickets to Maine!"

But of course Harriet knew that Mother was joking. Father always said they would go to Maine if they had to go barefoot!

Now it was lunch-time, so, after tidying up in the ladies' dressing-room, they got into the big elevator again and were carried up to Lerner's restaurant on the fifth floor. A great, big room was filled with little tables covered with shining silver and pretty dishes. There were many ladies and a few gentlemen and some little children at these tables. There were neat-looking waitresses flying here and there bringing trays of food to the people.

Harriet and Mother found a seat near a window. If you looked out of the window the "L" seemed very far below, and the people on the sidewalks looked very small.

Soon a pretty waitress brought a card on which was printed the names of all sorts of good things to eat. Mother chose from this card Harriet's favorite soup, then tomato and lettuce salad, rolls and butter, milk for Harriet and tea for Mother—and strawberry ice cream for both!


[Illustration]

Oh, but that lunch tasted good! Harriet was just as hungry as if she hadn't stuffed herself at breakfast time. The pretty waitress smiled when Harriet gave a little squeal on seeing the ice cream. There wasn't one speck of pink cream left on the plate when Harriet had finished with it, you may be sure.

After lunch Mother said, "If you're not too tired we might walk along looking into the windows a little while before we go home."

Of course Harriet was not too tired, so they went out into the noisy street again. It was even more crowded than it had been in the earlier part of the morning, so many people during the lunch hour were hurrying to their eating-places. Suddenly Harriet heard at a distance a furious "Clang! Clang!" and the people exclaimed, "Fire!" and Harriet's Mother quickly drew her into a doorway out of the crowd. Then you should have seen that street! The wagons and automobiles, quick as a wink, drew themselves close to the curbstone and stood still, the trolley cars stopped running, people who had been crossing the street flew to the sidewalks, and in an instant a fire engine dashed by and then came another and another engine, and it was perfectly wonderful to see them go so fast through that crowded street and not run over a single thing. Lots of the people ran after the engines, to see the fire, but Harriet and her Mother kept close in their place of safety, and presently the cars started again and everything moved on as before the excitement.

They walked by the "5 and 10 cent store," a place Harriet loved, because it was so easy to buy Christmas presents there for a great many people, even if one were a little girl with not much money to spend. They did not go into this store to-day.

Next they passed a window all fixed up to look like a camp. There was a real tent with a flap open showing the cot and camp-chair and trunk and other furnishings inside. There were figures of men and boys dressed in campers' clothes, some of the figures cooking a meal, others fishing, others chopping kindlings for the fire. This window was to let people know that in this store you could buy fish poles and tents and folding stoves and axes and khaki trousers and rainproof hats and everything a camper could possibly need. Harriet gazed a long time at this window.

A little farther on she gave such a shriek of delight that several people on the sidewalk turned and smiled. It was a florist's window that pleased Harriet so much. In this window was a Japanese garden, which looked so exactly like the garden where Taro and Take, the "Japanese Twins," lived, that Harriet was too happy for words in looking at it.


[Illustration]

There was a little winding stream with tiny curved bridges crossing it, there were queer little teahouses on little islands, there were tiny trees and tiny Japanese people standing in the garden, there were wee swans on the water—oh, it was a beautiful sight! Harriet drank it in with joy and Mother let her stand almost as long as she wished before saying:—

"Now, dear, I think we must go home."

Harriet, clinging to her Mother's hand, walked along looking backward at little Japan, and when they turned from a last look Harriet threw kisses back, for love of Taro and Take.

When they got into the "L," Harriet was too tired to care to look out of the windows and she was very willing to take a long nap when they reached home. After dinner she called for one story out of the "Japanese Twins," and then she was quite ready to be put into her little crib, where she dropped off to sleep before she had finished saying her prayers.


So this is the end of the Sixth Story about Harriet and what she did on Wednesday.

 



The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

Old King Cole

Old King Cole

Was a merry old soul,

And a merry old soul was he;

He called for his pipe,

And he called for his bowl,

And he called for his fiddlers three!

And every fiddler, he had a fine fiddle,

And a very fine fiddle had he.

"Twee tweedle dee, tweedle dee," went the fiddlers.

Oh, there's none so rare

As can compare

With King Cole and his fiddlers three.

 


  WEEK 30  

  Saturday  


The Sandman: His House Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Shingle and Clapboard Story

O NCE upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

One day he wandered up to the corner of the road that he lived on.

He wasn't allowed to go beyond that corner, and his mother didn't like to have him go so far as the corner.

But he was pretending, and he didn't know how far he had come.

He played in the gravel of the gutter for a long time, and he was talking nearly all the time.

His cat was there, taking little runs away, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air. Then she would lie down on her back and play with the air, and then she always jumped up in a great hurry and ran back to David and rubbed against him.

But David wasn't talking to his cat, and he wasn't talking to himself.

He was talking to the pretend child who was his playmate and who had come there holding to the other handle of his cart and helping him drag it.

And he was so busy that he didn't notice the great wagon that was just about to turn the corner.

The driver called to him.

"Hey, little boy! Don't get run over."

David scrambled up on the sidewalk before he even looked, for he remembered to be careful.

Then he looked, and he saw a big wagon that was drawn by two horses, and the wagon was loaded with short, shiny boards, tied together in bundles, and on top of the bundles of short, shiny boards were bundles of shingles, a great many of them.

David knew what shingles looked like when they came in bundles, but he wondered what the shiny, short boards were.

But he didn't ask, because the horses were almost trotting, they were walking so fast, and the driver seemed to be pretty busy.

He supposed that the shingles and things were going to the new house, and he watched the wagon until it stopped there.

Then he took up the handle of his cart, and he walked off with it as fast as he could walk, and then he began to run, and his shovel and his hoe rattled so that you would have thought they would rattle out.

The pretend child didn't go with David, for he had forgotten all about her.

Sometimes the child was a girl and sometimes it was a boy but it was a girl that morning. She was left in the gutter at the corner.

And David didn't call his cat, and the cat stayed at the corner for a while, and first she looked at the pretend little girl and then she looked after David, and she didn't know which to go with.

But at last she went running after David, and she caught up with him, and she ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

When David got to the house, he found the wagon there, and the horses were standing still, and the driver was throwing off the bundles of shingles and another man was piling them up.

They had got almost to the shiny, short boards.

And the foreman was there, and he was putting something down with a very short pencil in a little old book.

"Hello," said David. "What are—"

But the foreman interrupted him.

"Just wait a minute, Davie, until I get these checked up."

So David waited a long time, but the wagon was unloaded at last, and the little book put in the foreman's pocket.

"Now, Davie," the foreman said, "what was it that you were asking me?"

"I was asking what are these," said David, putting his hand on a bundle of the shiny boards.

"Those are clapboards, Davie."

The foreman stooped down and pointed to the house.

"You see they have begun to put them on the outside of the walls of the house, but we had to have some more. You see that one edge of a clapboard is thin and the other edge is thick."

He pulled one of the clapboards from a bundle and showed David.

"The thick edges go over the thin edges, very much like shingles, and they keep the rain and the wind out. You know about shingles?"

David nodded doubtfully.

"I don't know whether I do or not."

"Well," the foreman said, "you ought to know about them. Those two men have just begun to shingle the piazza roof. If you can wait a few minutes, I'll take you up there. You aren't very busy this morning, are you?"

David smiled and shook his head.

The foreman smiled too.

"You wait right here, and I'll come and get you pretty soon."

So David waited, and while he was waiting he watched the men putting on clapboards.

They had begun at the top and had got about hallway down that side.

The side of the house was all covered with red stuff which looked something like cloth and something like thick paper. It was paper, and it rippled and waved in the wind.

The men were putting the clapboards on outside of that red paper.

A man had a pile of clapboards beside him, and he took one up and he lifted the edge of the one above, and he tucked the thin edge of the clapboard that he held in his hand under the edge that he had lifted and he gave it little taps with his hammer until it was in the right place, and then he drove fine nails through the thick edge that he had lifted, and through the thin edge of the clapboard beneath, and into the wall of the house.

Then he took up another clapboard and put it close up to the one that he had just fastened, with its thin edge tucked under the thick edge of the one above.

The men put on clapboards very fast, and David was so interested in seeing them do it that he forgot that the foreman had not come back for him.

He had gone up nearer, so as to see just how the clapboards went on, when he heard the foreman's voice behind him.

"Well, Davie," said the foreman, "do you think you could put on clapboards as fast as that?"

David shook his head.

"No, I couldn't."

"Perhaps not. But come on, and we'll see what you can do with shingles."

And the foreman took David's small hand in his big one, and they went to where a ladder stood leaning against the edge of the piazza roof.

A little way below the edge of the roof there was a rough sort of a platform, made of two boards laid on some other boards that were nailed to the posts of the piazza and to long sticks which went up and down and had their ends resting on the ground.

This was what the carpenters called a staging or scaffolding, and when they got through their work, they would take it down.

"Now, Davie," said the foreman, "you take hold of the rungs and climb up. It's a pretty long stretch for little legs, but I'll hold you, and I won't let you fall. Don't look down. Look up."

So David took hold of a rung and stretched his leg as high as it would go, and he managed to get his foot on the first rung.

Then he pulled himself up and reached up with one hand and took hold of the next rung; and then he put his other hand up, and he stretched his leg up as high as it would go, and he stepped up another rung.

The rungs of a ladder are the little round sticks that go across that you put your feet on.

David climbed very slowly, and he was rather scared at first; but he felt the foreman's arm around him, and the foreman kept just behind him, so that he stopped being scared.

And he climbed a little faster, and he came to the platform.

"Now, what shall I do?" he asked.

"Now you hold your breath," the foreman said, "and I'll put you over on to the staging."

So Davie held his breath and one of the shingle men came and held him by the arms when the foreman had set him down upon the boards.

Then the foreman stepped upon the staging and put his arm around David again.

"There!" said the foreman. "You've climbed your first ladder. Now we'll see about the shingling."

There was a whole bundle of shingles on the staging, and another bundle that had been opened, and the shingle men had thrown a good many of these shingles up on the roof, so that they would be handy.

And David saw that there were three rows of shingles on already, and that a string was stretched tight across the last row; and the string was chalky-looking, and blue.

"They're just going to mark another row," the foreman said. "You watch."

Then one of the shingle men lifted the stretched string between his thumb and his forefinger, and he let it go, and it snapped down hard upon the shingles.

And they took the string away, and there was a blue line all along the row of shingles. "What is that?" David asked.

"Chalk, Davie. They put chalk on the string by rubbing a lump of chalk on it. That line shows where the edge of the next row of shingles goes.

"And they lay the shingles on so that each crack in the row beneath is covered. The shingles are different widths, you see, and they can always find one that fits up close to the next one and covers a crack.

"If the cracks were not covered, the rain would get through and the roof would leak.

"Now let's see if you can lay shingles. Pick out one that you think will be right to cover the crack in the row beneath, and lay it down close up to the last one and with its thick edge to that blue line."

David was rather excited at the thought that he was to lay the shingles.

"Shall I?" he asked.

The foreman nodded, and he pointed to a shingle.

"Try that one."

So David took the one that the foreman pointed at, and he laid it down as well as he could, close up to the last one which the shingle man had put on, and with its thick edge at the blue line.

It took him some time, because he had never laid shingles before; but the shingle man had only to change it a tiny bit, and then he drove in two nails about halfway up toward the thin edge.

And David took another shingle which the foreman pointed at, and he fitted it in its place a little more quickly, and the shingle man didn't have to change that one at all, but drove the nails with hardly more than two blows of his hammer.

So David kept on laying shingles, and the shingle man nailed them.

At first the foreman pointed to the right shingles; but, after a while, he didn't point, but David chose them himself.

And they finished that row, and they began the next.

"I'm afraid, Davie," the foreman said, "that we'll have to go down now. Aren't you ready to go?"

David was getting a little bit tired, for the shingle man nailed his shingles before he could wink, and he felt hurried all the time.

So he said that he was ready, and the foreman took him under his arm and carried him down the ladder that way.

"Good-bye," he called to the shingle men as he was going down.

"Good-bye," the shingle men called to David. "We're much obliged."

"You're welcome," David called back to the shingle men.

Then he was set down on the ground, and he was rather glad to feel the ground again.

And his cat came running, with her bushy tail straight up in the air, and David started off.

"Where are you going so fast?" the foreman asked.

David stopped for a moment.

"I've got to go home now."

"To tell your mother that you've been shingling?"

David nodded, and he smiled shyly.

"Well, good-bye, Davie," the foreman said.

"Good-bye," said David.

And he turned again and ran to his cart, and he took up the handle.

And he started walking as fast as he could, dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom, and his cat ran on ahead; and she ran right up the front steps and in at the door, and David came after.

But he left his cart in the path.

And that's all of the shingle story.

 



Mother Goose  by Frederick Richardson

Old King Cole


[Illustration]

 


  WEEK 30  

  Sunday  


The Nursery Book of Bible Stories  by Amy Steedman

Parables, or Stories

E VERY one loves stories, and Jesus, as He taught the people, knew this. So He often wrapped up some special lesson in the form of a story, and hid the beautiful truth deep in its heart. Only those who looked carefully and listened with their hearts as well as their ears, found the hidden meaning of these stories, or parables, as they are called.

It was not the learned and the rich who crowded round most eagerly to listen to the Master's stories. It was to the poor, weary, toilworn people that Jesus loved to speak His comforting words. Many of these people were not at all good; but that was just the reason why they wanted help, and needed to be taught to try and live a whiter, purer life.

It was once when He was among a crowd of these poor, sinful people, who were listening with eager, wistful faces to His words of kindness and hope, that He told the story of the Prodigal Son.

"There was once a father who had two sons," the story began. The elder was hard-working, steady, and obedient, one who never gave his father any trouble, but always did his duty. But the younger was a headstrong, difficult boy, idle and self-willed, fond of pleasure, and determined to have his own way. He did not want to work and earn his own living; he thought he had a perfect right to the money which belonged to his father.

"Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me," he said one day. He could not even wait until at his father's death he would receive his share. No, he wanted it now, and he did not stop to think how such a request must hurt his kind father.

The father knew that it was no use telling him how foolish and wrong he was. The headstrong, selfish boy must learn that lesson another way. So he quietly divided all his money, and gave the younger son his share.

There was nothing now to keep the boy at home. His home and his father meant nothing to him compared to pleasure and adventure. So he set off on a long journey to a far-away country, carrying his money with him.

At first everything was as delightful as he could wish. He had nothing to do from morning till night but to plan how he could best enjoy himself. The companions who gathered round him were ready to flatter him and help him spend his money. The flowery path of pleasure was very pleasant to tread.

But by-and-by everything changed. The gay banquets, the riot of delights, came to an end. All his money was spent. All his friends, as they had called themselves, left him. They had no longer any use for him when he had nothing more to give them.

There he was, all alone, a stranger in a strange land. And how was he to live? He had never learned to do skilled work, and it was not easy to begin to earn his living now. There was a great famine, too, in the land, and food was very scarce. Day by day things grew darker and darker. And at last he was so hungry and so poor that he was thankful to hire himself out as a swineherd, and go into the fields to feed pigs. The wages for that kind of work were very small, not nearly enough to buy him his daily bread; and often as he watched the pigs grubbing amongst their food, he was hungry enough to envy them, and to wish he could have a share of the husks upon which they fed.


[Illustration]

The Prodigal's Awakening

Thoughts of home now began to haunt him. How kind and patient his father had been. What a comfortable, happy place home seemed, looking back upon it now. The very servants there were better fed, and not so hard-worked as he was.

And then suddenly one day, when these thoughts were crowding in upon him, he saw quite clearly, as if by a sudden flash of light, how wrong and foolish he had been from the very beginning. Out there in the fields, while the pigs grunted and fed around him, and there was no one to listen to him, he cried out loud the new thought that had come into his mind: "I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants."

It was not an easy thing to go humbly back, to say he had been wrong and ask for forgiveness, but it was the only way. And day by day the longing to see his father, and to tell him how sorry he was, grew stronger and stronger. He was ready to suffer any punishment, if only he might live at home again.

It was a long journey, but at last the poor, hungry, ragged boy came within sight of home. It was time now to take his courage in both hands, and go to meet his father.

But while he was still a long way off his father saw him. Perhaps he had been watching for that return, feeling sure that some day his boy would come back. He did not wait now for him to come humbly to the door. His heart was so full of pity and love that he ran out to meet him, and before the boy could say a word his father's arms were round him, and he felt his father's kiss of forgiveness and welcome.

"Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son," the words came from the boy's trembling lips. He was more ashamed now than ever. But the father did not even talk of forgiveness; that was too well understood.

"Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him," he commanded the servants; "and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry: for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found."

So there was feasting and rejoicing, and only the elder brother was vexed and angry. He did not like to see his wasteful, undutiful brother welcomed back into the home; he thought he deserved to be punished, and that the reward should have been given to the one who had stayed at home and done his duty.

Looking round upon the listening faces, Jesus, as He finished the story, saw many of His Father's poor, sinful children, who had been just as wicked and foolish as that younger son. He longed for them to know that their Father in Heaven was as pitiful and ready to forgive them as was the father in the story, even though the self-righteous scribes and Pharisees would have them punished as they deserved.

Those clever lawyers and priests who so carefully kept the law needed their lesson too, and it was to one of these that He told the story of the Good Samaritan, that they might learn the lesson of love to their neighbour.

There was a man one day, the story began, who set out to travel along the road which led from Jerusalem to Jericho. It was a wild road, where robbers often lurked, ready to swoop down on any unsuspecting traveller if he happened to be alone and unarmed.

This man was going along the road, never dreaming of danger, when suddenly the robbers sprang out from behind the rocks and fell upon him. They took away from him everything he possessed, even his clothes, and hurt him so sorely that, when they went off and left him by the roadside, he was half dead.

Presently there came along the road one of the priests from the beautiful Temple, and he saw the poor wounded traveller lying there. But it was none of his business, he thought; he did not know the man or care about him. So he carefully drew aside, and passed by on the opposite side of the road. Then another man came along, one who also called himself a servant of God. He went close to the poor traveller and looked at him thoughtfully, but did not touch him or put out a hand to help him. It was not his duty to attend to wounded travellers, and no one could expect him to do more than his duty, and so he passed on.

The poor man would certainly have been left there to die if another traveller had not found him later on. This traveller was not a Jew, but a Samaritan and quite a stranger. He was not specially learned or anxious to do his duty. He never thought of duty as he looked at the poor stripped and wounded figure so sorely in need of help. Very gently he raised the traveller's head and bound up his gaping wounds; and then, lifting him upon the ass, he led him carefully along that dangerous road until an inn was reached. There the poor man was carefully tended; and as all his money had been stolen, the good, kind stranger paid the innkeeper himself before he left.


[Illustration]

The Good Samaritan

"Now," said Jesus to the learned man who had listened to the story, "which of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves?"

"He that showed mercy on him," came the answer at once. The lawyer was quick to see the lesson Jesus would teach, but that was no use unless he learnt to practise the mercy He spoke of.

And so, "Go and do thou likewise," was the warning that fell from the Master's lips, as the story ended.

 



The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

See, See

See, see! What shall I see?

A horse's head where his tail should be.