Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

Pinocchio Leaves for the "Land of Boobies"

P INOCCHIO, as was natural, asked the Fairy's permission to go round the town to make the invitations; and the Fairy said to him:

"Go if you like and invite your companions for the breakfast to-morrow, but remember to return home before dark. Have you understood?"

"I promise to be back in an hour," answered the puppet.

"Take care, Pinocchio! Boys are always very ready to promise; but generally they are little given to keep their word."

"But I am not like other boys. When I say a thing, I do it."

"We shall see. If you are disobedient, so much the worse for you."

"Why?"

"Because boys who do not listen to the advice of those who know more than they do always meet with some misfortune or other."

"I have experienced that," said Pinocchio. "But I shall never make that mistake again."

"We shall see if that is true."

Without saying more the puppet took leave of his good Fairy, who was like a mamma to him, and went out of the house singing and dancing.

In less than an hour all his friends were invited. Some accepted at once heartily; others at first required pressing; but when they heard that the rolls to be eaten with the coffee were to be buttered on both sides, they ended by saying:

"We will come also, to do you a pleasure."

Now I must tell you that amongst Pinocchio's friends and schoolfellows there was one that he greatly preferred and was very fond of. This boy's name was Romeo; but he always went by the nickname of Candlewick, because he was so thin, straight, and bright like the new wick of a little nightlight.

Candlewick was the laziest and the naughtiest boy in the school; but Pinocchio was devoted to him. He had indeed gone at once to his house to invite him to the breakfast, but he had not found him. He returned a second time, but Candlewick was not there. He went a third time, but it was in vain. Where could he search for him? He looked here, there, and everywhere, and at last he saw him hiding in the porch of a peasant's cottage.

"What are you doing there?" asked Pinocchio, coming up to him.

"I am waiting for midnight, to start. . . ."

"Why, where are you going?"

"Very far, very far, very far away."

"And I have been three times to your house to look for you."

"What did you want with me?"

"Do you not know the great event? Have you not heard of my good fortune?"

"What is it?"

"To-morrow I cease to be a puppet, and I become a boy like you, and like all the other boys."

"Much good may it do you."

"To-morrow, therefore, I expect you to breakfast at my house."

"But when I tell you that I am going away to-night."

"At what o'clock?"

"In a short time."

"And where are you going?"

"I am going to live in a country . . . the most delightful country in the world: a real land of Cocagne! . . ."

"And how is it called?"

"It is called the 'Land of Boobies.' Why do you not come too?"

"I? No, never!"

"You are wrong, Pinocchio. Believe me, if you do not come you will repent it. Where could you find a better country for us boys? There are no schools there: there are no masters: there are no books. In that delightful land nobody ever studies. On Thursday there is never school and every week consists of six Thursdays and one Sunday. Only think, the autumn holidays begin on the 1st of January and finish on the last day of December. That is the country for me! That is what all civilised countries should be like! . . ."

"But how are the days spent in the 'Land of Boobies'?"

"They are spent in play and amusement from morning till night. When night comes you go to bed, and recommence the same life in the morning. What do you think of it?"

"Hum! . . ." said Pinocchio and he shook his head slightly as much as to say, "That is a life that I also would willingly lead."

"Well, will you go with me? Yes or no? Resolve quickly."

"No, no, no, and again no. I promised my good Fairy to become a well-conducted boy, and I will keep my word. And as I see that the sun is setting I must leave you at once and run away. Good-bye, and a pleasant journey to you."

"Where are you rushing off to in such a hurry?"

"Home. My good Fairy wishes me to be back before dark."

"Wait another two minutes."

"It will make me too late."

"Only two minutes."

"And if the Fairy scolds me?"

"Let her scold. When she has scolded well she will hold her tongue," said that rascal Candlewick.

"And what are you going to do? Are you going alone or with companions?"

"Alone? We shall be more than a hundred boys."

"And do you make the journey on foot?"

"A coach will pass by shortly which is to take me to that happy country."

"What would I not give for the coach to pass by now! . . ."

"Why?"

"That I might see you all start together."

"Stay here a little longer and you will see us."

"No, no, I must go home."

"Wait another two minutes."

"I have already delayed too long. The Fairy will be anxious about me."

"Poor Fairy! Is she afraid that the bats will eat you?"

"But now," continued Pinocchio, are you really certain that there are no schools in that country? . . ."

"Not even the shadow of one."

"And no masters either? . . ."

"Not one."

"And no one is ever made to study?"

"Never, never, never!"

"What a delightful country!" said Pinocchio, his mouth watering. "What a delightful country! I have never been there, but I can quite imagine it. . . ."

"Why will you not come also?"

"It is useless to tempt me. I promised my good Fairy to become a sensible boy, and I will not break my word."

"Good-bye, then, and give my compliments to all the boys at the gymnasiums, and also to those of the lyceums, if you meet them in the street."

"Good-bye, Candlewick: a pleasant journey to you, amuse yourself, and think sometimes of your friends."

Thus saying the puppet made two steps to go, but then stopped, and turning to his friend he inquired:

"But are you quite certain that in that country all the weeks consist of six Thursdays and one Sunday?"

"Most certain."

"But do you know for certain that the holidays begin on the 1st of January and finish on the last day of December?"

"Assuredly."

"What a delightful country!" repeated Pinocchio, looking enchanted.

"What a delightful country! . . . What a delightful country!"

Then, with a resolute air, he added in a great hurry:

"This time really good-bye, and a pleasant journey to you."

"Good-bye."

"When do you start?"

"Shortly."

"What a pity! If really it wanted only an hour to the time of your start, I should be almost tempted to wait."

"And the Fairy?"

"It is already late. . . . If I return home an hour sooner or an hour later it will be all the same."

"Poor Pinocchio! And if the Fairy scolds you?"

"I must have patience! I will let her scold. When she has scolded well she will hold her tongue."

In the meantime night had come on and it was quite dark. Suddenly they saw in the distance a small light moving . . . and they heard a noise of talking, and the sound of a trumpet, but so small and feeble that it resembled the hum of a mosquito.

"Here it is!" shouted Candlewick, jumping to his feet.

"What is it?" asked Pinocchio in a whisper.

"It is the coach coming to take me. Now will you come, yes or no?"

"But is it really true," asked the puppet, "that in that country boys are never obliged to study?"

"Never, never, never!"

"What a delightful country! . . . What a delightful country! . . . What a delightful country!"

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Building a House of Logs

While the others were hunting here and there for the gold which it had been said could be picked up in Virginia as one gathers acorns in the old world, Captain Smith set about making a house of logs such as would protect him from the storms of winter as well as from the summer sun.

This he did by laying four logs on the ground in the form of a square, and so cutting notches in the ends of each that when it was placed on the top of another, and at right angles with it, the hewn portions would interlock, one with the other, holding all firmly in place. On top of these, other huge tree trunks were laid with the same notching of the ends.

It was a vast amount of labor, thus to roll up the heavy logs in the form of a square until a pen or box had been made as high as a man's head, and then over that was built a roof of logs fastened together with wooden pins, or pegs, for iron nails were all too scarce and costly to be used for such purpose.

When the house had been built thus far, the roof was formed of no more than four or five logs on which a thatching of grass was to be laid later, and the ends, in what might be called the "peak of the roof," were open to the weather. Then it was that roughly hewn planks, or logs split into three or four strips, called puncheons, were pegged with wooden nails on the sides, or ends, where doors or windows were to be made.

Then the space inside this framework was sawed out, and behold you had a doorway, or the opening for a window, to be filled in afterward as time and material with which to work might permit.

After this had been done, the ends under the roof were covered with yet more logs, sawn to the proper length and pegged together, until, save for the crevices between the timbers, the whole gave protection against the weather.

Then came the work of thatching the roof, which was done by the branches of trees, dried grass, or bark. My master put on first a layer of branches from which the leaves had been stripped, and over that we laid coarse grass to the depth of six or eight inches, binding the same down with small saplings running from one side to the other, to the number of ten on each slope of the roof.

To me was given the task of closing up the crevices between the logs with mud and grass mixed, and this I did the better because Nathaniel Peacock worked with me, doing his full share of the labor.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Keeping House

When we came ashore from the ships, no one claimed Nathaniel as servant, and he, burning to be in my company, asked Captain Smith's permission to enter his employ. My master replied that it had not been in his mind there should be servants and lords in this new world of Virginia, where one was supposed to be on the same footing as another; but if Nathaniel were minded to live under the same roof with us, and would cheerfully perform his full share of the labor, it might be as he desired.

Because our house was the first to be put up in the new village, and, being made of logs, was by far the best shelter, even in comparison with the tents of cloth, Nathaniel and I decided that it should be the most homelike, if indeed that could be compassed where were no women to keep things cleanly.

I am in doubt as to whether Captain Smith, great traveler and brave adventurer though he was, had even realized that with only men to perform the household duties, there would be much lack of comfort.

The floor of the house was only the bare earth beaten down hard. We lads made brooms, by tying the twigs of trees to a stick, which was not what might be called a good makeshift, and yet with such we kept the inside of our home far more cleanly than were some of the tents.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Lack of Cleanliness in the Village

There were many who believed, because there were no women in our midst, we should spare our labor in the way of keeping cleanly, and before we had been in the new village a week, the floors of many of the dwellings were littered with dirt of various kinds, until that which should have been a home, looked more like a place in which swine are kept.

From the very first day we came ashore, good Master Hunt went about urging that great effort be made to keep the houses, and the paths around them, cleanly, saying that unless we did so, there was like to be a sickness come among us. With some his preaching did good, but by far the greater number, and these chiefly to be found among the self-called gentlemen, gave no heed.

It was as if these lazy ones delighted in filth. Again and again have I seen one or another throw the scrapings of the trencher bowls just outside the door of the tent or hut, where those who came or went must of a necessity tread upon them, and one need not struggle hard to realize what soon was the condition of the village.

After a heavy shower many of the paths were covered ankle deep with filth of all kinds, and when the sun shone warm and bright, the stench was too horrible to be described by ordinary words.

 

Anonymous

Twinkling Bugs

When the sun sinks under the world's red rim, And the river fades till its shores are dim, And the trees are dark where the shadows lie, Then they go by, By, By— The twinkling bugs go by. They trim their lamps through the daylight hours, For each bug rubs and rubs and scours, To have his bright as the stars in the sky, When they go by, By, By— The twinkling bugs go by. They hide so well through the whole long day, You never can find one, search as you may; You never need look till fades the sky, Then they go by, By, By— Then twinkling bugs go by.

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

The Sword of Damocles

T HERE was once a king whose name was Di-o-nys´i-us. He was so unjust and cruel that he won for himself the name of tyrant. He knew that almost everybody hated him, and so he was always in dread lest some one should take his life.

But he was very rich, and he lived in a fine palace where there were many beautiful and costly things, and he was waited upon by a host of servants who were always ready to do his bidding. One day a friend of his, whose name was Dam´o-cles, said to him,—

"How happy you must be! You have here everything that any man could wish."

"Perhaps you would like to change places with me," said the tyrant.

"No, not that, O king!" said Dam-o-cles; "but I think, that, if I could only have your riches and your pleas-ures for one day, I should not want any greater hap-pi-ness."

"Very well," said the tyrant. "You shall have them."

And so, the next day, Damocles was led into the palace, and all the servants were bidden to treat him as their master. He sat down at a table in the banquet hall, and rich foods were placed before him. Nothing was wanting that could give him pleasure. There were costly wines, and beautiful flowers, and rare perfumes, and de-light-ful music. He rested himself among soft cushions, and felt that he was the happiest man in all the world.

Then he chanced to raise his eyes toward the ceiling. What was it that was dangling above him, with its point almost touching his head? It was a sharp sword, and it was hung by only a single horse-hair. What if the hair should break? There was danger every moment that it would do so.

The Sword of Damocles

The smile faded from the lips of Damocles. His face became ashy pale. His hands trembled. He wanted no more food; he could drink no more wine; he took no more delight in the music. He longed to be out of the palace, and away, he cared not where.

"What is the matter?" said the tyrant.

"That sword! that sword!" cried Damocles. He was so badly frightened that he dared not move.

"Yes," said Di-o-nys-i-us, "I know there is a sword above your head, and that it may fall at any moment. But why should that trouble you? I have a sword over my head all the time. I am every moment in dread lest something may cause me to lose my life."

"Let me go," said Damocles. "I now see that I was mis-tak-en, and that the rich and pow-er-ful are not so happy as they seem. Let me go back to my old home in the poor little cot-tage among the mountains."

And so long as he lived, he never again wanted to be rich, or to change places, even for a moment, with the king.

 

Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

Some Very Small Snails

"I wish we had a little pet snail!" said Nan.

Uncle Tom told her, "There are snails in the marsh at the farm. I will take you to visit them."

Don and Nan went to the farm with Uncle Tom on Saturday.

"It is easy to find some snails in the day time," said Uncle Tom. "But these hide while it is light."

"It will be fun to visit them at night!" said Don.

They found a snail moving on a sedge leaf.

"You may have it for a pet," said Uncle Tom, "if you will give it all the food it needs."

Nan put the snail into a glass that had a cover. Then she dug up a young sedge for it.

Don put some mud from the marsh into the glass.

Uncle Tom gave the snail some soft white leaves and stems and roots that he found under a wet stone in the marsh.

The snail laid some eggs on the mud. They were nearly round and they had no shells.

The baby snails lived in the eggs until they were three weeks old. Tiny shells grew on their backs before they came out of the eggs.

The young snails were so small no one could see them very well. They looked like moving specks.

Uncle Tom gave Don and Nan a reading glass to help them see the snails.

He said, "A reading glass is not flat. It is thicker in the middle than around the edge. Some people use one to read small letters in a book."

They looked at the grown snail and the young snails through the reading glass.

Each snail had one flat foot. It put its foot out of its shell to creep. The foot was soft and wet. The snail could creep up the side of the glass.

It had four feelers in front. They looked like tiny soft horns. Two were longer than the others.

Each snail had two dark eyes. They were on the ends of the longer feelers.

The snail could pull its eyes inside of its feelers. It could pull its feelers inside of its body. It could pull its body inside of its shell.

So it had a good way to hide. It could hide in its own shell.

 

George MacDonald

Little White Lily

Little White Lily Sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone. Little White Lily Sunshine has fed; Little White Lily Is lifting her head. Little White Lily Said: "It is good— Little White Lily's Clothing and food." Little White Lily Dressed like a bride! Shining with whiteness, And crownèd beside! Little White Lily Drooping with pain, Waiting and waiting For the wet rain. Little White Lily Holdeth her cup; Rain is fast falling And filling it up. Little White Lily Said: "Good again,— When I am thirsty To have the nice rain. Now I am stronger, Now I am cool; Heat cannot burn me, My veins are so full." Little White Lily Smells very sweet; On her head sunshine, Rain at her feet. Thanks to the sunshine, Thanks to the rain, Little White Lily Is happy again.

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

Some Big Mouths

B OOM! Peter Rabbit jumped as if he had been shot. It was all so sudden and unexpected that Peter jumped before he had time to think. Then he looked foolish. He felt foolish. He had been scared when there was nothing to be afraid of.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha!" tittered Jenny Wren. "What are you jumping for, Peter Rabbit? That was only Boomer the Nighthawk."

"I know it just as well as you do, Jenny Wren," retorted Peter rather crossly. "You know being suddenly startled is apt to make people feel cross. If I had seen him anywhere about he wouldn't have made me jump. It was the unexpectedness of it. I don't see what he is out now for, anyway, It isn't even dusk yet, and I thought him a night bird."

"So he is," retorted Jenny Wren. "Anyway, he is a bird of the evening, and that amounts to the same thing. But just because he likes the evening best isn't any reason why he shouldn't come out in the daylight, is it?"

"No-o," replied Peter rather slowly. "I don't suppose it is."

"Of course it isn't," declared Jenny Wren. "I see Boomer late in the afternoon nearly every day. On cloudy days I often see him early in the afternoon. He's a queer fellow, is Boomer. Such a mouth as he has! I suppose it is very handy to have a big mouth if one must catch all one's food in the air, but it certainly isn't pretty when it is wide open."

"I never saw a mouth yet that was pretty when it was wide open," retorted Peter, who was still feeling a little put out. "I've never noticed that Boomer has a particularly big mouth."

"Well he has, whether you've noticed it or not," retorted Jenny Wren sharply. "He's got a little bit of a bill, but a great big mouth. I don't see what folks call him a Hawk for when he isn't a Hawk at all. He is no more of a Hawk than I am, and goodness knows I'm not even related to the Hawk family."

"I believe you told me the other day that Boomer is related to Sooty the Chimney Swift," said Peter.

Jenny nodded vigorously. "So I did, Peter," she replied. "I'm glad you have such a good memory. Boomer and Sooty are sort of second cousins. There is Boomer now, way up in the sky. I do wish he'd dive and scare some one else."

Peter tipped his head 'way back. High up in the blue, blue sky was a bird which at that distance looked something like a much overgrown Swallow. He was circling and darting about this way and that. Even while Peter watched he half closed his wings and shot down with such speed that Peter actually held his breath. It looked very, very much as if Boomer would dash himself to pieces. Just before he reached the earth he suddenly opened those wings and turned upward. At the instant he turned, the booming sound which had so startled Peter was heard. It was made by the rushing of the wind through the larger feathers of his wings as he checked himself.

In this dive Boomer had come near enough for Peter to get a good look at him. His coat seemed to be a mixture of brown and gray, very soft looking. His wings were brown with a patch of white on each. There was a white patch on his throat and a band of white near the end of his tail.

"He's rather handsome, don't you think?" asked Jenny Wren.

"He certainly is," replied Peter. "Do you happen to know what kind of a nest the Nighthawks build, Jenny?"

"They don't build any." Jenny Wren was a picture of scorn as she said this. "They don't built any nests at all. It can't be because they are lazy for I don't know of any birds that hunt harder for their living than do Boomer and Mrs. Boomer."

"But if there isn't any nest where does Mrs. Boomer lay her eggs?" cried Peter. "I think you must be mistaken, Jenny Wren. They must have some  kind of a nest. Of course they must."

"Didn't I say they don't have a nest?" sputtered Jenny. "Mrs. Nighthawk doesn't lay but two eggs, anyway. Perhaps she thinks it isn't worth while building a nest for just two eggs. Anyway, she lays them on the ground or on a flat rock and lets it go at that. She isn't quite as bad as Sally Sly the Cowbird, for she does sit on those eggs and she is a good mother. But just think of those Nighthawk children never having any home! It doesn't seem to me right and it never will. Did you ever see Boomer in a tree?"

BOOMER THE NIGHTHAWK Look for him in the air late in the afternoon.

Peter shook his head. "I've seen him on the ground," said he, "but I never have seen him in a tree. Why did you ask, Jenny Wren?"

"To find out how well you have used your eyes," snapped Jenny. "I just wanted to see if you had noticed anything peculiar about the way he sits in a tree. But as long as you haven't seen him in a tree I may as well tell you that he doesn't sit as most birds do. He sits lengthwise of a branch. He never sits across it as the rest of us do."

"How funny!" exclaimed Peter. "I suppose that is Boomer making that queer noise we hear."

"Yes," replied Jenny. "He certainly does like to use his voice. They tell me that some folks call him Bullbat, though why they should call him either Bat or Hawk is beyond me. I suppose you know his cousin, Whip-poor-will."

"I should say I do," replied Peter. "He's enough to drive one crazy when he begins to shout 'Whip poor Will' close at hand. That voice of his goes through me so that I want to stop both ears. There isn't a person of my acquaintance who can say a thing over and over, over and over, so many times without stopping for breath. Do I understand that he is cousin to Boomer?"

"He is a sort of second cousin, the same as Sooty the Chimney Swift," explained Jenny Wren. "They look enough alike to be own cousins. Whip-poor-will has just the same kind of a big mouth and he is dressed very much like Boomer, save that there are no white patches on his wings."

"I've noticed that," said Peter. "That is one way I can tell them apart."

"So you noticed that much, did you?" cried Jenny. "It does you credit, Peter. It does you credit. I wonder if you also noticed Whip-poor-will's whiskers."

"Whiskers!" cried Peter. "Who ever heard of a bird having whiskers? You can stuff a lot down me, Jenny Wren, but there are some things I cannot swallow, and bird whiskers is one of them."

"Nobody asked you to swallow them. Nobody wants you to swallow them," snapped Jenny. "I don't know why a bird shouldn't have whiskers just as well as you, Peter Rabbit. Anyway, Whip-poor-will has them and that is all there is to it. It doesn't make any difference whether you believe in them or not, they are there. And I guess Whip-poor-will finds them just as useful as you find yours, and a little more so. I know this much, that if I had to catch all my food in the air I'd want whiskers and lots of them so that the insects would get tangled in them. I suppose that's what Whip-poor-will's are for."

"I beg your pardon, Jenny Wren," said Peter very humbly. "Of course Whip-poor-will has whiskers if you say so. By the way, do the Whip-poor-wills do any better in the matter of a nest than the Nighthawks?"

"Not a bit," replied Jenny Wren. "Mrs. Whip-poor-will lays her eggs right on the ground, but usually in the Green Forest where it is dark and lonesome. Like Mrs. Nighthawk, she lays only two. It's the same way with another second cousin, Chuck-will's-widow."

"Who?" cried Peter, wrinkling his brows.

"Chuck-will's-widow," Jenny Wren fairly shouted it. "Don't you know Chuck-will's-widow?"

Peter shook his head. "I never heard of such a bird," he confessed.

"That's what comes of never having traveled," retorted Jenny Wren. "If you'd ever been in the South the way I have you would know Chuck-will's-widow. He looks a whole lot like the other two we've been talking about, but has even a bigger mouth. What's more, he has whiskers with branches. Now you needn't look as if you doubted that, Peter Rabbit; it's so. In his habits he's just like his cousins, no nest and only two eggs. I never saw people so afraid to raise a real family. If the Wrens didn't do better than that, I don't know what would become of us." You know Jenny usually has a family of six or eight.

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Boys and the Frogs

Some Boys were playing one day at the edge of a pond in which lived a family of Frogs. The Boys amused themselves by throwing stones into the pond so as to make them skip on top of the water.

The stones were flying thick and fast and the Boys were enjoying themselves very much; but the poor Frogs in the pond were trembling with fear.

At last one of the Frogs, the oldest and bravest, put his head out of the water, and said, "Oh, please, dear children, stop your cruel play! Though it may be fun for you, it means death to us!"

Always stop to think whether your fun may not be the cause of another's unhappiness.

 

The Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said  by Padraic Colum

The Giant and the Birds

Part 1 of 2

T HE Cock scraped and the Hens scraped and when the Hens went away the Cock scraped by himself. He called the Hens back, and they all scraped deeper and deeper. Then something was shown; it was bright and round, and the Cock and the three Hens scraped until the whole of it was to be seen. It was a great ring of brass.

"Tell us how you knew the bright thing was there, Hero-son of my heart?" said the Little Slate-colored Hen that was the Cock's mother.

"Do, do," said the Feather-legged Hen.

"Tell us, Top of Wisdom," said the Blue Hen.

"You all know," said the Cock, "that the earth rocks underneath the place where I crow in the morning."

"We know, O Unvanquishable," said the three Hens.

"The earth never rocked here," said the Cock, "hence I knew that something powerful was under the ground at this place. It was the ring of brass. Now it will be found and brought into the house. And when I stand here and crow in the morning the earth will rock as it does in every other place in the world."

"It will, it will," said the Feather-legged Hen.

"It must, O Top of Valor," said the Blue Hen.

"And you will tell us how the ring of brass came to be there, Hero-son of my heart," said the Little Slate-colored Hen that was the Cock's mother.

"In the course of the evening I may do so," said the Cock condescendingly.

When they were beside the sunny wall, the Hens on the ground scattering dust over their feathers and their lord standing on one leg with his comb hanging over one eye the Cock said "No Cock of our breed ever told this story before. They would not frighten the hens with it. However, since you have persuaded me I will tell you the tale. My grandfather told it to my father who told it to me. It is the story of the Big Man who came to this place and who wore the ring of brass that we uncovered to-day."

He did not put it over his head as you might think from the size of the ring. No. He wore it on his arm. Never was a bigger man seen by anyone living. The whole countryside stood outside their houses to see him come over the hills. When he came to where the stones are he stooped down to take a drink and he drank the well dry. The people came out of the house to meet him, and he spoke to them, and out of what he said to them they drew his story.

As I am to a Bantam, the Big Man was to the other men of the country. And if they were surprised at his bigness, he was astonished at their smallness. For he came from a time when all were as big as he. A hundred and a hundred years before he had hunted with his companions, and he was then called, not Big Man, but Little Fawn.

And one day—a hundred and a hundred years ago it was—he had gone to chase a deer. The deer fled into a cave. He followed with his hounds and his sword, his trumpet and his missile-ball. He went astray and fell asleep in the Cave. And when he wakened up, his hounds were heaps of dust beside him. He went into the world, and he found that his companions were dead for a hundred and a hundred years and that the men of the earth had become smaller and smaller. In the Cave he left his sword and his trumpet and his missile-ball.

The Cock put his two feet on the ground and shook his red comb from over his left to over his right eye. Then said he, Everyone in the house was friendly to Little Fawn except one person—Murrish the Cook-woman. From the first day he came there were disputes between them. "Big men have big appetites," said she to him the day he came, "and so to-night I will give you two eggs for your supper." But when she handed him the eggs Little Fawn said "It was not the eggs of the hedge-sparrow we were wont to eat in my time." "Eggs of the hedge-sparrow!" said Murrish, "I have handed you the biggest eggs laid by the best hens in the country." "In my time there were bigger eggs in the nest of the hedge-sparrow," said Little Fawn.

The next day she gave him a barley-cake for his breakfast. He ate it and then sent the boy—Ardan was his nameto ask what else she was going to give him.

"Give him!" said Murrish the Cook-woman, "I have given him a whole barley cake, and that is enough for two men's breakfasts."

"Tell her," said Little Fawn, "that I often saw an ivy-leaf that was as big as her barley cake."

"Tell him," said Murrish the Cook-woman, "that I am not here to listen to old mens' romances."

Now when he heard that his words were taken as old men's romances Little Fawn was an angry man. He was hungry, for the food he got did not stay his appetite, but what Murrish said in doubt of his word gave him more hurt than his hunger did. For in his day and amongst his companions a lie was never told and nothing a man said was ever doubted.

The next day he sent back the dish for more butter.

"Tell him," said Murrish the cook-woman, "that I put a whole pat of butter on his dish—enough to do two men for two days."

"Tell her," said Little Fawn, "that often I saw a rowan berry that was bigger as her pat of butter."

"The child just out of the cradle would not believe that story," said Murrish the cook-woman.

She sent him a quarter of mutton for his dinner. Little Fawn told Ardan to ask Murrish for more, as the dinner she gave him left him hungry still.

"Did he not get a whole quarter of mutton for his dinner?" said Murrish.

"A whole quarter of mutton, did she say?" said Little Fawn. "Often I saw a quarter of a blackbird that was bigger than her quarter of mutton."

"A quarter of a blackbird bigger than my quarter of mutton! Tell him that if he never lied before, he lies now," said Murrish.

"Does she say that?" said Little Fawn. "Then I swear I shall never rest in the house nor be easy in my mind until I bring her an ivy leaf that is as big as her barley loaf, and a rowan berry that is as big as her pat of butter, and if I bring these," said he, " it may not be needful for me to get her the blackbird that is as big in one quarter as the quarter of mutton that she gave me for my dinner."

There and then he went from the house and Ardan the boy went with him. They went east and they went west, they went towards the north and towards the south, but no ivy leaf did they find that was as big as a barley loaf, and no rowan berry did they see that was as big as a pat of butter. Little Fawn was troubled and down-cast. They came back to the house, and Murrish the Cook-woman was pleased when she heard from Ardan that they found no ivy leaf and saw no rowan berry that was as big as her barley loaf or her pat of butter." There is only one thing I can do now," said Little Fawn," and that is to bring her the blackbird that is as big in one quarter as the quarter of mutton she gave me for my dinner. And that," said he to Ardan, "will take time and trouble and the meeting of danger to bring about."

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Am Happy as a King

I HAD now had adventures enough for a time, and I felt very happy to be at home with my goats and other pets.

A few years before, I had started with keeping three kids that I had caught. Now I had a herd of three and forty goats, some of them young, some old.

I kept them in five little fields that I had fenced, at the foot of my castle hill. I never had any lack of meat and I had plenty of milk, too.

Indeed, I had gone so far as to set up a little dairy, and sometimes my goats gave me a gallon or two of milk in a day.

Before coming to the island I had never milked a cow, much less a goat. I had never seen butter made, or even cheese. But I learned how to do everything of the kind. And now I had more butter and cheese than I could eat.

After dinner it was my custom to go out for a stroll. How proud I was of my little kingdom!

If you had seen me then, you would not have laughed. You would have been frightened. For a stranger-looking fellow you never saw.

Be pleased to take a picture of me.

On my head was a big cap made of goatskin. It was very tall and without shape. A flap hung down from the back of it to keep the rain off my neck.

I wore a short jacket of goatskin and a pair of knee breeches of the same.

I had neither stockings nor shoes. But I wore around my legs and feet some queer things that I called buskins. They were made of goatskin, too, and were of great use when walking among briers or stones.

Around my waist I had a broad belt of rawhide. I had no need of sword or dagger; and so I carried in this belt a little saw and a hatchet.

Another belt, which hung over my shoulder, held my powderhorn and shot pouch.

On my back was slung a basket. On my shoulder was my gun. Above my head I carried my great clumsy, ugly umbrella.

My face was as dark as mahogany. It was tanned by the sun and browned by the hot winds.

My beard was at one time a yard long. But I soon grew tired of it and cut it pretty short. Yet even then it looked grizzly enough, I assure you.

It is not a very handsome picture, is it?

But do not blame me. I dressed as well as I could. I kept myself clean. I tried to be worthy of respect, even though no one saw me.

I looked over my little kingdom and was proud and happy.

You would have laughed to see me and my family when dinner time came.

First there was myself, Robinson Crusoe, king of the island. I was the lord of everything I could see.

Then, like a king, I dined alone, with my servants looking on.

No one was allowed to talk to me but Poll Parrot, who sat on the back of my chair and waited for what I would give him.

My dog was now so old and feeble that he could hardly stir. He sat always at my right hand and wagged his tail if I did but snap my finger.

My two cats waited, one on each side of the table, to see what I would give them.

These two cats were not the same that I had brought from the ship. Those were dead, long ago, of old age. But they had left many kittens.

Indeed, there had come to be so many cats that I was forced to drive them away. All but these two had gone into the woods and become very wild.

 

Anonymous

Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean

O Columbia, the gem of the ocean, The home of the brave and the free, The shrine of each patriot's devotion, A world offers homage to thee. Thy mandates make heroes assemble, When Liberty's form stands in view; Thy banners make tyranny tremble— When borne by the red, white, and blue! When borne by the red, white, and blue, When borne by the red, white, and blue, Thy banners make tyranny tremble, When borne by the red, white, and blue. When war winged its wide desolation, And threatened the land to deform, The ark then of Freedom's foundation, Columbia, rode safe through the storm; With her garlands of vict'ry around her, When so bravely she bore her brave crew, With her flag proudly floating before her, The boast of the red, white, and blue. The boast of the red, white and blue, The boast of the red, white, and blue, With her flag proudly floating before her, The boast of the red, white and blue. The star-spangled banner bring hither, O'er Columbia's true sons let it wave; May the wreaths they have won never wither, Nor its stars cease to shine on the brave. May thy service united ne'er sever, But hold to the colors so true; The army and navy forever, Three cheers for the red, white, and blue! Three cheers for the red, white, and blue! Three cheers for the red, white, and blue! The army and navy forever, Three cheers for the red, white, and blue.

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

Dante's Great Poem

"The poet is a heroic figure belonging to all ages." —Carlyle.

W HILE Marco Polo was living his curious life in the Chinese Court of the Great Khan, there was growing up in Florence a man who was to become famous for all time. This Italian, Dante, was to be the spokesman of the Middle Ages: he was to be the voice of the last ten silent centuries—a very landmark of history.

Of his life itself there is but little worthy of record. He first makes his appearance at the age of nine—a shy, sensitive boy with large dark dreamy eyes and a curly head full of the strangest fancies.

One day at a children's party in Florence, Dante met the little Beatrice, simply enough dressed in a crimson frock. To the dreamy poet-boy the little girl was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and from that day she became, what knighthood was to the young men of the Middle Ages, his ideal, something he must live to be worthy of. Though Beatrice died when Dante was yet a young man of twenty-four, he kept her as his ideal right through his life; and as she plays a large part in his life, so she plays a large part in his great poem.

He was educated after the fashion of his day, but with no printed books his knowledge was necessarily limited. All that he learnt was in Latin, which was the language of all learned people at this time. He served in the wars of his country, for Florence was torn by strife and divided by party; and Dante loved Florence as Socrates had loved Athens. The State accepted his talents and devotion, and by the time he was thirty-five he had risen to a post of honour in the city.

Then disturbances arose, feeling ran high, parties were divided; and the result was that Dante, in the full vigour of his manhood, was exiled from his own city, doomed henceforth to a life of woe and wandering. Not only was he banished from Florence, but if caught he was to be burnt alive. Later it was proposed that Dante should apologise, pay a fine to the State, and return.

"If I cannot return without calling myself guilty, I will never return," answered this man with fixed stern pride.

For Dante now there was no home in the world. He wandered from place to place, from patron to patron, always working to get back to his beloved Florence, but in vain.

"How hard is the path," he exclaims bitterly.

Hard it was indeed. Alone, friendless, hopeless, cast out of his home for ever, to wander over the face of the cold earth, with no living heart to love him, no kindred soul to comfort him, Dante now turned his thoughts to another world, and tried to imagine what it would all be like. And so, brooding over the unknown in speechless gloom, he bursts forth at last into the wonderful song we delight in to this day, known as the Divine Comedy.

It was the story of a vision Dante supposed he saw—a vision of Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise. It took him years to write, for it was written with pain and toil, with "his heart's blood." None could hinder him now, he had found his work to do, he would not rest till that work was done.

"Follow thou thy star," he could say to himself in his extremest need; "thou shalt not fail of a glorious haven."

He has passed from the cold world of reality into the spirit world, and all the Christianity that had been creeping over Europe during the Middle Ages is summed up in Dante's great poem.

But not only is this Divine Comedy of Dante's the first great Christian poem, but it is the opening of a new European era of song, the beginning of a language and a national literature. For it is written in the Italian language, the language of the people, and not in Latin or Greek, the language of the learned only. A few books had been translated into the language of the people by Alfred the Great of England and other scholars, a few songs had been composed in the language of France. But no great work had been written in any of the languages of modern Europe till Dante wrote his great poem in the language of Italy.

So he did more for his country than he can ever have expected to do, when he left it sorrowing and alone, for he laid the foundation of the union of divided Italy. The people in the cities, such as Venice, Milan, and Genoa, were eager to claim Dante as a countryman, one who spoke and wrote in the language of their country. He had become the one world-voice.

The great work done, the poet died, still an exile, it is said, broken-hearted. In the vision of his life he had reached Paradise and had seen again the Beatrice whom he loved, his goal and his ideal.

Here we must leave the poet, but from out the long ages Dante still speaks for those to hear who will:—

"I will be thy guide And bring thee hence by an eternal place."

 

Nursery Tales from Many Lands  by Eleanor L. and Ada M. Skinner

Peter, Basil, and the Fox

Once upon a time there was an old man and he had a cat and a cock.

The cat became tired of living with the old man and said to the cock, "Let's go into the forest; it's nicer there."

And the cock said, "Very well."

So off they went.

In the forest they found an old hut, and they went there to live. Then the cat went off to find food. While he was away a fox passed the hut and scented the cock. The fox sat down by the hut and began to sing,

"Little cock, little cock, With the golden comb And the silken beard, Look out of the window. I will give you some porridge In a painted spoon."

The cock listened and wondered who was singing so sweetly. So he opened the window and looked out into the road and the fox caught him.

Then the fox trotted off home with the cock in his teeth. The cock became so frightened that he started crying and calling out,

"The fox is carrying me off, Beyond the thick forests, Beyond the blue seas, And beyond the high hills, To a far-away country And to strange lands. Pussy cat, brother, Save me from him!"

The cat heard the cries of the cock and started after the fox. And when the fox saw the cat coming after him he dropped the cock and ran away. So the cat and the cock ran back to their hut.

The next day the cat went off again to find food. "Now, mind, Brother Peter," he said, "don't trust the fox. Don't open the window or he'll carry you off again, and I shall be far away and shall not hear you."

As soon as the cat had gone, up came the fox. He sat down under the window and began singing,

"Little cock, little cock, With the golden comb And the silken beard, Look out of your window And I'll give you some peas."

The cock thought he'd like some peas, but he tried hard not to look out of the window.

"That's all very fine," he thought, but you can't deceive me, Mr. Fox."

And the fox kept on singing,

"Look out of your window And I'll give you some peas— A whole basketful."

And the cock walked up and down the hut and kept saying to himself,

"I won't look out! I won't look out! I won't look out!"

And the fox began singing again,

"Just outside a farmhouse The hill slopes away, And there stands a little sledge That goes driving all alone."

And the cock thought, "What sort of sledge, in all the world, can it be that goes all by itself. I must have a look with the corner of one eye."

But as soon as the cock opened the window the fox snapped him up before he knew what had happened. And however much he cried out for his Brother Basil the cat did not hear him. He was too far away. And the fox carried off the cock beyond the fir-trees and ate him up.

When the cat came home he found the door shut. So he began to run around the hut and call to the cock, saying,

"Open, Brother Peter, and let your Brother Basil come in."

Then he saw that the window was open and that there was no one inside. So he knew that the fox had carried off his Brother Peter, and he started off to look for him. And lo and behold! all he found was some feathers. Then he sat down and wept bitter tears. After that he felt lonely living in the forest without the cock. So he went back to the old man in the village, and wasn't the old man pleased to see him!

Russian Nursery Tale

 

Walter de la Mare

The Song of the Mad Prince

Who said, "Peacock Pie?" The old King to the sparrow: Who said, "Crops are ripe?" Rust to the harrow: Who said, "Where sleeps she now?' Where rests she now her head, Bathed in eve's loveliness"?— That's what I said. Who said, "Ay, mum's the word"? Sexton to willow: Who said, "Green dusk for dreams, Moss for a pillow"? Who said, "All Time's delight Hath she for narrow bed; Life's troubled bubble broken"?— That's what I said.

 

Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

"Understood Aunt Frances"

Part 4 of 4

The last of the red and gold leaves were slowly drifting to the ground as Betsy and Uncle Henry drove back from the station after seeing Aunt Frances off. They were not silent this time, as when they had gone to meet her. They were talking cheerfully together, laying their plans for the winter which was so near. "I must begin to bank the house tomorrow," mused Uncle Henry. "And those apples have got to go to the cider-mill, right now. Don't you want to ride over on top of them, Betsy, and see 'em made into cider?"

"Oh, my, yes!" said Betsy, "that will be fine! And I must put away Deborah's summer clothes and get Cousin Ann to help me make some warm ones, if I'm going to take her to school in cold weather."

As they drove into the yard, they saw Eleanor coming from the direction of the barn with something big and heavy in her mouth. She held her head as high as she could, but even so, her burden dragged on the ground, bumping softly against the rough places on the path. "Look!" said Betsy. "Just see that great rat Eleanor has caught!"

Uncle Henry squinted his old eyes toward the cat for a moment and laughed. "We're not the only ones that are getting ready for winter," he remarked.

Betsy did not know what he meant and climbed hastily over the wheel and ran to see. As she approached Eleanor, the cat laid her burden down with an air of relief and looked trustfully into her little mistress's face. Why, it was one of the kittens! Eleanor was bringing it to the house. Oh, of course! they mustn't stay out there in that cold hayloft now the cold weather was drawing near. Betsy picked up the little sprawling thing, trying with weak legs to get around over the rough ground. She carried it carefully toward the house, Eleanor walking sinuously by her side and "talking" in little singing, purring miauws  to explain her ideas of kitten-comfort. Betsy felt that she quite understood her. "Yes, Eleanor, a nice little basket behind the stove with a warm piece of an old blanket in it. Yes, I'll fix it for you. It'll be lovely to have the whole family there. And I'll bring the other one in for you."

But evidently Eleanor did not understand little-girl talk as well as Betsy understood cat-talk, for a little later, as Betsy turned from the nest she was making in the corner behind the stove, Eleanor was missing; and when she ran out toward the barn she met her again, her head strained painfully back, dragging another fat, heavy kitten, who curled his pink feet up as high as he could in a vain effort not to have them knock against the stones. "Now, Eleanor," said Betsy, a little put out, "you don't trust me enough! I was going to get it all right!"

"Well," said Aunt Abigail, as they came into the kitchen, "now you must begin to teach them to drink."

"Goodness!" said Betsy, "don't they know how to drink already?"

"You try them and see," said Aunt Abigail with a mysterious smile.

So when Uncle Henry brought the pails full of fragrant, warm milk into the house, Betsy poured out some in a saucer and put the kittens up to it. She and Molly squatted down on their heels to watch, and before long they were laughing so that they were rolling on the kitchen floor. At first the kittens looked every way but at the milk, seeming to see everything but what was under their noses. Then Graykin (that was Betsy's) absent-mindedly walked right through the saucer, emerging with very wet feet and a very much aggrieved and astonished expression. Molly screamed with laughter to see him shake his little pink toes and finally sit down seriously to lick them clean. Then White-bib (Molly's) put his head down to the saucer.

"There! Mine is smarter than yours!" said Molly. But White-bib went on putting his head down, down, down, clear into the milk nearly up to his eyes, although he looked very frightened and miserable. Then he jerked it up quickly and sneezed and sneezed and sneezed, such deliciously funny little baby sneezes! He pawed and pawed at his little pink nose with his little pink paw until Eleanor took pity on him and came to wash him off. In the midst of this process she saw the milk, and left off to lap it up eagerly; and in a jiffy she had drunk every drop and was licking the saucer loudly with her raspy tongue. And that was the end of the kittens' first lesson.

That evening, as they sat around the lamp, Eleanor came and got up in Betsy's lap just like old times. Betsy was playing checkers with Uncle Henry and interrupted the game to welcome the cat back delightedly. But Eleanor was uneasy, and kept stopping her toilet to prick up her ears and look restlessly toward the basket, where the kittens lay curled so closely together that they looked like one soft ball of gray fur. By and by Eleanor jumped down heavily and went back to the basket. She stayed there only a moment, standing over the kittens and licking them convulsively, and then she came back and got up in Betsy's lap again.

"What ails that cat?" said Cousin Ann, noting this pacing and restlessness.

"Maybe she wants Betsy to hold her kittens, too," suggested Aunt Abigail.

"Oh, I'd love to!" said Betsy, spreading out her knees to make her lap bigger.

"But I want my own White-bib myself!" said Molly, looking up from the beads she was stringing.

"Well, maybe Eleanor would let you settle it that way," said Cousin Ann.

The little girls ran over to the basket and brought back each her own kitten. Eleanor watched them anxiously, but as soon as they sat down she jumped up happily into Betsy's lap and curled down close to little Graykin. This time she was completely satisfied, and her loud purring filled the room with a peaceable murmur.

"There, now you're fixed for the winter," said Aunt Abigail.

By and by, after Cousin Ann had popped some corn, old Shep got off the couch and came to stand by Betsy's knee to get an occasional handful. Eleanor opened one eye, recognized a friend, and shut it sleepily. But the little kitten woke up in terrible alarm to see that hideous monster so near him, and prepared to sell his life dearly. He bristled up his ridiculous little tail, opened his absurd, little pink mouth in a soft, baby s—s—s—,  and struck savagely at old Shep's good-natured face with a soft little paw. Betsy felt her heart overflow with amusement and pride in the intrepid little morsel. She burst into laughter, but she picked it up and held it lovingly close to her cheek. What fun it was going to be to see those kittens grow up!

Old Shep padded back softly to the couch, his toe-nails clicking on the floor, hoisted himself heavily up, and went to sleep. The kitten subsided into a ball again. Eleanor stirred and stretched in her sleep and laid her head in utter trust on her little mistress's hand. After that Betsy moved the checkers only with her other hand.

In the intervals of the game, while Uncle Henry was pondering over his moves, the little girl looked down at her pets and listened absently to the keen autumnal wind that swept around the old house, shaking the shutters and rattling the windows. A stick of wood in the stove burned in two and fell together with a soft, whispering sound. The lamp cast a steady radiance on Uncle Henry bent seriously over the checker-board, on Molly's blooming, round cheeks and bright hair, on Aunt Abigail's rosy, cheerful, wrinkled old face, and on Cousin Ann's quiet, clear, dark eyes. . . .

That room was full to the brim of something beautiful, and Betsy knew what it was. Its name was Happiness.

 

The Adventures of Unc' Billy Possum  by Thornton Burgess

Four Little Scamps Plan Mischief

"Some folks think they're mighty smart— Oh, la me! Oh, la me! Like the knave who stole the tart— Oh, la me! Oh, la me! Some folks will waken up some day— And find they can't fool Mr. Jay!"

S AMMY JAY was mightily pleased with himself. He had found out all about Peter Rabbit's plan to give Unc' Billy Possum a surprise party when his family came up from "Ol' Virginny." He had found out that all the little forest and meadow people but himself and his cousin, Blacky the Crow, and Reddy Fox and Shadow the Weasel had been invited, and that each was to bring something good to eat. Sammy Jay smacked his lips as he thought of this. Then he looked up at jolly, round, red Mr. Sun and winked.

Now on all the Green Meadows and in all the Green Forest, there live no greater scamps than Sammy Jay and Blacky the Crow and Reddy Fox and Shadow the Weasel. The worst of it is, they are not honest. They steal whenever they get a chance, and always they try to get others into trouble. That was why Peter Rabbit had left them out, when he planned his surprise party for Unc' Billy Possum.

Sammy Jay called the three others together under the Lone Pine and told them all about Peter Rabbit's plan and how they had been left out. Of course Blacky the Crow and Reddy Fox and Shadow the Weasel were angry, very angry indeed, for no one likes to be left out of a good time. The more Sammy Jay told them, the angrier they grew; and the angrier they grew, the more Sammy Jay chuckled, way down inside. Sammy had a plan, and the angrier the others grew, the more likely were they to help him.

"You wait till I catch Peter Rabbit!" said Reddy Fox and showed all his teeth. He quite forgot that, despite all his smartness, he never yet had caught Peter Rabbit.

Blacky the Crow scratched his head thoughtfully. "We can spoil his surprise by telling Unc' Billy Possum all about it beforehand," said he.

Sammy Jay winked at each of the others. He cleared his throat and looked all around, to make sure that no one else was near. Then he leaned forward and whispered: "Let's invite ourselves to the party."

"What do you mean?" exclaimed the others, all together.

"What do you mean?" exclaimed the others, all together.

"Just what I say," replied Sammy. "We'll be the real surprise. Before the party begins, you will hide close to where it is to be. When everybody has got there and brought all the good things to eat, I'll come flying along and scream: 'Here comes Bowser the Hound!' Of course every one will run away, and we'll have all the good things to eat."

"Haw! haw! haw! The very thing! We'll all be there," cried Blacky the Crow.

The four little scamps shook hands and separated. As they went across the Green Meadows, Sammy Jay's voice floated back to the Lone Pine. He was singing, although he has a very poor voice for singing, and this was his song:

"Some folks think they're mighty smart— Oh, la me! Oh, la me! Like the knave who stole the tart— Oh, la me! Oh, la me! Some folks will waken up some day— And find they can't fool Mr. Jay!"

"Is that so? Really now, I want to know," said old Mr. Toad, crawling from under the very piece of bark on which Sammy Jay had sat when he told his plan. Then old Mr. Toad winked slowly and solemnly at jolly, round, red Mr. Sun and started off to find Peter Rabbit.

 

Christina Georgina Rossetti

An Emerald Is as Green as Grass

An emerald is as green as grass; A ruby red as blood; A sapphire shines as blue as heaven; A flint lies in the mud. A diamond is a brilliant stone, To catch the world's desire; An opal holds a fiery spark; But a flint holds fire.

 

Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

The Shepherd Boy's Fight with the Giant

I Samuel xvii: 1 to 54.

LL through the reign of Saul there was constant war with the Philistines, who lived upon the lowlands west of Israel. At one time, when David was still with his sheep, a few years after he had been anointed by Samuel, the camp of the Philistines and the Israelites were set against each other on opposite sides of the valley of Elah ready to fight each other. In the army of Israel were the three oldest brothers of David, who were soldiers under King Saul.

Every day a giant came out of the camp of the Philistines, and dared some one to come from the Israelites' camp and fight with him. The giant's name was Goliath. He was nine feet high; and he wore armor from head to foot, and carried a spear twice as long and as heavy as any other man could hold; and his shield-bearer walked before him. He came every day and called out across the little valley:

"I am a Philistine, and you are servants of Saul. Now choose one of your men, and let him come out and fight with me. If I kill him, then you shall submit to us; and if he kills me, then we will give up to you. Come, now, send out your man!"

But no man in the army, not even King Saul, dared to go out and fight with the giant. The Israelites were mostly farmers and shepherds, and were not fond of war, as were the Philistines. Then, too, very few of the Israelites had swords and spears, except such rude weapons as they could make out of their farming tools. Forty days the camps stood against each other, and the Philistine giant continued his call.

One day old Jesse, the father of David, sent David from Bethlehem to visit his three brothers in the army. David came, spoke to his brothers, and gave them a present from his father. While he was talking with them, Goliath, the giant, came out as before in front of the camp, calling for some one to fight with him.

The Israelites said to one another, "If any man will go out and kill this Philistine, the king will give him a great reward and a high rank; and the kings' daughter shall be his wife."

And David said, "Who is this man that speaks in this proud manner against the armies of the living God? Why does not some one go out and kill him?"

David's brother Eliab said to him, "What are you doing here, leaving your sheep in the field? I know that you have come down just to see the battle."

But David did not care for his brother's angry words. He was thinking out some way to kill this boasting giant. While all the men were in terror, this boy thought of a plan. He believed that he knew how to bring down the big warrior, with all his armor. Finally, David said:

"If no one else will go, I will go out and fight with this enemy of the Lord's people."

They brought David before King Saul. Some years had passed since Saul had met David, and he had grown from a boy to a man, so that Saul did not know him as the shepherd who had played on the harp before him in other days.

Saul said to David, "You cannot fight with this giant. You are very young; and he is a man of war, trained from his youth."

And David answered King Saul, "I am only a shepherd, but I have fought with lions and bears, when they have tried to steal my sheep. And I am not afraid to fight with this Philistine. The Lord saved me from the lion's jaw and the bear's paw, and he will save me from this enemy, for I shall fight for the Lord and his people."

Then Saul put his own armor on David, a helmet on his head, and a coat of mail on his body, and a sword at his waist. But Saul was almost a giant, and his armor was far too large for David. David said:

"I am not used to fighting with such weapons as these. Let me fight in my own way."

So David took off Saul's armor; for David's plan to fight the giant did not need an armor, but did need a quick eye, a clear head, a sure aim, and a bold heart; and all these David had, for God had given them to him. David's plan was very wise. It was to make Goliath think that his enemy was too weak for him to be on his guard against him; and while so far away that the giant could not reach him with sword or spear, to strike him down with a weapon which the giant would not expect, and would not be prepared for.

David took his shepherd's staff in his hand, as though that were to be his weapon. But out of sight, in a bag under his mantle, he had five smooth stones carefully chosen, and a sling,—the weapon he knew how to use. Then he came out to meet the Philistine. The giant looked down on the youth and despised him, and laughed at him.

"Am I a dog," he said, "that this boy comes to me with a staff! I will give his body to the birds of the air and the beasts of the field."

And the Philistine cursed David by the gods of his people. And David answered him:

"You come against me with a sword and a spear and a dart; but I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel. This day will the Lord give you into my hand; I will strike you down, and take off your head; and the host of the Philistines shall be dead bodies, to be eaten by the birds and the beasts; so that all may know that there is a God in Israel, and that he can save in other ways besides with sword and spear."

And David ran toward the Philistine, as if to fight him with his shepherd's staff. But when he was just near enough for a good aim he took out his sling, and hurled a stone aimed at the giant's forehead. David's aim was good, the stone struck the Philistine in his forehead. It stunned him, and he fell to the ground.

David running to meet Goliath.

While the two armies stood wondering, and scarcely knowing what had caused the giant to fall so suddenly, David ran forward, drew out the giant's own sword, and cut off his head.

Then the Philistines knew that their great warrior in whom they trusted was dead. They turned to fly back to their own land; and the Israelites followed after them, and killed them by the hundred and thousand, even to the gates of their own city of Gath.

So in that day David won a great victory; and stood before all the land as the one who had saved his people from their enemies.

 

The Boxcar Children  by Gertrude Chandler Warner

Caught

"T HEY never will go with you in this world," declared Mrs. McAllister finally to the distracted grandfather, "unless you give us time to break the news gradually. And above all, when Violet is so ill."

"Couldn't I see them?" begged the man, almost like a boy. "I could pretend I was a friend of yours, visiting you, who liked children. I would promise not to tell them until you consented."

"That might do," said Dr. McAllister. "If they grew to like you before they knew who you were, it would make things easier, certainly."

So James Henry Cordyce's chauffeur was sent for a gold-monogrammed suitcase and his young man to wait upon him, and Irish Mary held up her hands in despair when she learned for whom she must cook.

"Don't you worry, Mary Bridget Flynn," said Dr. McAllister with emphasis. "You could cook for the King of England! Just make one of your peach shortcakes for lunch and broil a chicken, and I'll answer for him."

When lunch time came J. H. Cordyce saw all his grandchildren except Violet. He smiled with delight when he saw Jess coming down the stairs in her womanly fashion. Henry shook hands with him before he sat down, but he kept glancing at the stranger all through the meal.

"Where have I seen that man before?" he thought.

Mrs. McAllister had given the children's names clearly when she introduced them—Jess, Benny, and Henry. Henry James, she had added. But she had not added the man's name.

"She forgot," thought Jess. "Because she knows him so well, she thinks we do."

But although nameless, the stranger caught their attention. He told them wonderful stories about a steel rail which held up an entire bridge until the people had time to get off, about his collie dog, about a cucumber in his garden, growing inside of a glass bottle. Henry was interested. Benny was fascinated.

"I'd like to see the cucumber," said Benny, pausing in the middle of his shortcake.

"Would you, indeed?" said Mr. Cordyce, delighted. "Some day, if Mrs. McAllister is willing, you and I will ride over to my garden and pick it."

"And we'll bring it to Violet?" asked Benny, waiting breathlessly for an answer.

"We'll bring it to Violet," agreed Mr. Cordyce, resuming his shortcake.

After lunch he went to sleep in the easy-chair in the doctor's big office. That is, he threw his head back and shut his eyes, and breathed very heavily. Jess went through the room once with ice water, humming, for Violet was better. But the moment she saw the stranger asleep, she stopped her singing abruptly and tiptoed the rest of the way. Then as suddenly she turned around and came back, and very carefully shoved a cushion under the man's feet. It was so gently done that even if he had been really asleep, he would never have wakened. As it was, he could not resist opening one eye the slightest crack to see the bright chestnut hair as it passed out of sight.

"No," he thought to himself, "if she really hated me, she would never have done that."

But the children were very far from hating him. They liked him immensely. And when at last, one day, he was allowed to see Violet, and came softly into her room with a nosegay of fragrant English double violets, for her, they loved him. He won all their hearts when he patted her dark head and told her very simply that he was sorry she had been sick.

It would be hard to say that J. H. Cordyce ever had a favorite grandchild, but certainly his manner with Violet was very gentle. It was clear to every one, even to the anxious nurse, that the stranger was not tiring the sick child. He told her in a pleasant everyday voice about his garden and his greenhouses where the violets came from—about the old Swede gardener who always said he must "vater the wi-lets."

"I'd love to see him," said Violet earnestly.

"How long you going to stay here?" Benny piped up.

It was not altogether a polite question, but it was clear to them all that Benny wanted him to stay, so they all laughed.

"As long as they'll let me, my boy," answered the stranger quietly. Then he left the sick room, for he knew he should not stay long.

But something in the man's last sentence rang in Henry's ears. He repeated it over and over in his mind, trying to remember where he had heard that same voice say "my boy." He made an excuse to work in the flower beds along the veranda, in order to glance occasionally at the man's face, as he sat under a tree reading.

Often Henry thought he had caught hold of his truant memory. Then the man turned his head and he lost it again altogether. But suddenly it came to him, as the man smiled over his book—it was the man who had shaken hands with him on the day of the race! And he had said, "I like your spirit, my boy." That was it.

Henry sat down out of sight and weeded geraniums for a few moments. It is a wonder he did not pull up geraniums instead of weeds, his mind was so far away.

"I didn't remember him at first, because I was so jolly excited when he shook hands with me," decided Henry. Then he was apparently thunderstruck afresh. He sat with his weeder on his knee and his mouth open. "He's the man who passed me the cup with the wings!" He stole another look around the corner, and this satisfied him. "Same man exactly," he said.

When he had finished the flower bed he thought he heard the young doctor moving in the office. He stuck his head in the open door. The doctor sat at his desk, taking notes from a book.

"Do you know who presented the prizes Field Day?" asked Henry curiously. "Know what his name was?"

"James Cordyce, of the Steel Mills," replied the doctor carelessly. "J. H. Cordyce—over in Greenfield."

Dr. McAllister, to all appearances, returned to his notes. His eyes were lowered, at any rate. But for Henry the skies were reeling. He withdrew his head and sat still on the step. That delightful man his grandfather?  It was impossible. He was too young, to begin with. Henry expected a white-haired gentleman with a cane and a terrible voice. But all the time, he knew in his soul that it was not only possible, but really true. He recalled the man's reply to Benny's direct question—he had said he was going to stay as long as they would let him. Could it be that the man knew them without introducing himself? A perfect torrent of thoughts assailed Henry as he sat crouched on the office steps. It was clear to him now that Mrs. McAllister had failed to mention his name on purpose. It was a wonder Benny hadn't asked what it was, long before this. He noticed that the man was getting out of his chair under the trees.

"It's now or never," thought Henry. "I've got to know!"

He walked eagerly after the man who was going toward the garden with his back turned. Henry easily caught up with him, breathing with difficulty. The man turned around.

"Are you James Henry Cordyce of Greenfield?" panted Henry.

"I am, my boy," returned the man with a long look. "Does that question of yours mean that you know that I know that you are Henry James Cordyce?"

"Yes," said Henry, simply.

The man's eyes filled with tears, and J. H. Cordyce of the Steel Mills shook hands for the third time with his grandson, H. J. Cordyce of the Home for Tramps.

 

Phoebe Cary

The Chicken's Mistake

A little downy chicken one day Asked leave to go on the water, Where she saw a duck with her brood at play, Swimming and splashing about her. Indeed, she began to peep and cry, When her mother wouldn't let her: "If ducks can swim there, why can't I; Are they any bigger or better?" Then the old hen answered, "Listen to me, And hush your foolish talking; Just look at your feet and you will see They were only made for walking." But chicky wistfully eyed the brook, And didn't half believe her, For she seemed to say by a knowing look, "Such stories couldn't deceive her." And as her mother was scratching the ground, She muttered lower and lower, "I know I can go there and not get drowned, And so I think I'll show her." Then she made a plunge where the stream was deep, And saw too late her blunder: For she hadn't hardly time to peep Till her foolish head went under. And now I hope her fate will show The child, my story reading, That those who are older sometimes know What you will do well in heeding. That each content in his place should dwell, And envy not his brother; And any part that is acted well Is just as good as another. For we all have our proper sphere below, And this is a truth worth knowing: You will come to grief if you try to go Where you never were made for going.