a 
 
 \ ^/V 
 
 DEP 
 
 No, ^0 ^ 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 Microsoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/childlifeinliterOOmcdorich 
 
CHILD LIFE 
 
 IN LITERATURE 
 
 A FOURTH READER 
 
 BY 
 
 ETTA AUSTIN BLAISDELL 
 
 AND 
 
 MARY FRANCES BLAISDELL 
 
 AUTHORS OF " CHILD LIFE," " CHILD LIFE IN TALE AND 
 FABLE," AND "CHILD LIFE IN MANY LANDS" 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 
 
 1908 
 
 All rights refierved 
 
jf.-t-Xm*: 
 
 COPTEIGHT, 1900, 
 
 Bt the macmillan company. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped May, 1900. Reprinted Apifl, 
 1901 ; April, 1902; April, 1903; May, 1904; September, 1905 
 January, November, 1906 ; April, 1908. 
 
 J\S Ui 
 
PREFACE 
 
 This book, the fourth of the Child Life Series, has 
 been compiled for the purpose of giving children material 
 from the best available literature, and through this mate- 
 rial aiding them to acquire a taste for reading genuinely 
 good books. 
 
 Many of these selections are made from classic litera- 
 ture ; all are of recognized value. As the name of 
 the book implies, the selections are not made indiscrimi- 
 nately, but with the definite purpose of introducing the 
 animate child to the child of fiction. 
 
 Alice, Tom, Gluck, Cosette, Aladdin, Jackanapes, and 
 Tiny Tim should be as familiar to boys and girls as 
 are their playmates. What better can we do for the 
 children than to give them these life-long friends ! 
 
 The poem entitled ^' Wynken, Blynken, and Nod,'* by 
 Eugene Field, is used by permission of and by arrange- 
 ment with Charles Scribner's Sons. 
 
 541800 
 
NOTE TO TEACHERS 
 
 As soon as the children begin to read with fluency 
 and understanding they begin to enjoy reading. This 
 is the time to lead them to acquire a taste for good 
 reading, but a carefully prepared book is of little use 
 without the cooperation of the teacher. 
 
 In order to interest boys and girls in the literature 
 from which these selections are made, take books from 
 the library for them to read and discuss, encourage home 
 reading, and collect a few books as the beginning of a 
 school library. Are not good books as valuable as good 
 pictures ? 
 
 Interest yourself in the books your pupils are reading, 
 suggest books for them to read, ask them to read aloud 
 a short selection from a book they have read, teach them 
 to find a good selection, ask them to learn quotations 
 and short poems hy heart, teach them to select quotations 
 worth knowing; call attention to a fine description, to 
 a thought well expressed ; in fact, use every opportunity 
 for leading the children to love the true, the good, and 
 the beautiful in literature as well as in nature and art. 
 
 4 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAQl! 
 
 Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Lewis Carroll . . . . o « . . 9 
 I. The Mad Tea-Party. 
 II. The Dormouse's Tale. 
 
 Nurse's Song William Blake 24 
 
 The Rainbow William Wordsworth 25 
 
 Lullaby of an Infant Chief . . . Sir Walter Scott 26 
 
 The Snow-Image Nathaniel Hawthorne 27 
 
 I. The Image. 
 II. The Awakening. 
 
 The First Snow-Fail James Russell Lowell 43 
 
 At the Back of the North Wind . George Macdonald ...... 46 
 
 I. The Better Land. 
 II. Diamond goes home. 
 
 A Boy's Wish William Allingham 59 
 
 Tiny Tim's Christmas Dinner . . Charles Dickens 61 
 
 The Little Lame Prince .... Dinah Mulock Craik 68 
 
 L The Tower 
 IL The Flight. 
 
 A Laughing Song William Blake . * 83 
 
 Song John Keats 84 
 
 Jackanapes Juliana Horatia Ewing .... 85 
 
 L Lollo. 
 II. Jackanapes' Grandfather. 
 
 Duty Ralph Waldo Emerson .... 97 
 
 Hiawatha's Childhood Henry Wadsworth Longfelloiv . . 99 
 
 Rollo at Work Jacob Abbott ........ 103 
 
 Bird Songs Samuel Taylor Coleridge .... Ill 
 
 6 
 
^ 6 8«- 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Tom, the Water-Baby Charles Kingsley 112 
 
 I. In the River. 
 II. To the Sea. 
 
 Casablanca Felicia D. Hemans 122 
 
 Gluck's Visitor John Ruskin 124 
 
 I. The First Visit. 
 II. The Second Visit. 
 
 Wynken, Blynken, and Nod . . . Eugene Field 142 
 
 Christ and the Little Ones 145 
 
 A Christmas Carol 146 
 
 Cosette Victor Hugo 148 
 
 I. Cosette Works. 
 II. Cosette Plays. 
 
 The Captain's Daughter .... James T, Fields 163 
 
 Maggie Tulliver George Eliot 165 
 
 I. Maggie runs away. 
 II. Maggie goes home. 
 
 Lorna Doone and John Ridd . . . Richard D. Blackmore 180 
 
 I. John Ridd. 
 II. Lorna Doone. 
 
 The Barefoot Boy John Greenleaf Whittier .... 195 
 
 Alice through the Looking-Glass . Lewis Carroll 197 
 
 I. Tweedledum and Tweedledee. 
 IL The Battle. 
 
 The Lamp of Aladdin 212 
 
 I. The Magician. 
 IL The Genie. 
 
 The Story of Joseph 225 
 
 Notes 231 
 
 Vocabulary 236 
 
KEY TO PRONUNCIATION 
 
 a 
 
 as in 
 
 made 
 
 
 
 as in 
 
 old 
 
 a 
 
 u 
 
 rat 
 
 5 
 
 a 
 
 6n 
 
 a 
 
 a 
 
 ask 
 
 6 
 
 u 
 
 love 
 
 a 
 
 a 
 
 far 
 
 
 
 u 
 
 move 
 
 a 
 
 a 
 
 ail 
 
 8 
 
 a 
 
 fSr 
 
 a 
 
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 care 
 
 
 
 a 
 
 parlor 
 
 § 
 
 u 
 
 above 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 as in 
 
 tise 
 
 e 
 
 as in 
 
 me 
 
 ii 
 
 u 
 
 cup 
 
 e 
 
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 let 
 
 ^ 
 
 iC 
 
 full 
 
 e 
 
 u 
 
 her 
 
 
 
 
 e 
 
 cc 
 
 hundred 
 
 00 
 
 as in boot 
 
 
 
 
 00 
 
 a 
 
 foot 
 
 i 
 
 as in 
 
 ride 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 u 
 
 pm 
 
 9 
 
 as in 
 
 miQe 
 
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 fir 
 
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 bank 
 
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 fly 
 
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 cage 
 
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 pretty 
 
 2 
 
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 eyeg 
 
CHILD LIFE m U^E^AmM^li 
 
 A FOURTH READER 
 
 3>»iC 
 
 ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND 
 
 I. THE MAD TEA-PARTY 
 
 mush'room con ver sa'tion in ter rupt' 
 
 tin com 'fort abl^ Dor'mouse tre^'cl^ 
 
 cti n os'i ty dre^d'f lil ly ex tr^6r'di na ry 
 
 ,d\ ^' \ LICE had not gone far before she 
 came in sight of the house of the 
 March Hare. She thought it 
 must be the right house, 
 because the chimneys 
 were shaped like ears and 
 the roof was thatched 
 with fur. 
 
 It was so large a house, 
 that she did not like to 
 go nearer till she had 
 nibbled some more of the 
 left-hand bit of mush- 
 
:- - , . V - v^ - >, -36 10 8«- 
 
 '- -\->^ -X \^ * V - -^ 
 
 14 lPCHE)8Si^ ^^ herself to about two feet high. 
 
 Even then she walked up towards it rather tim- 
 idly, saying to herself ''Suppose it should be 
 raving mad after all ! I almost wish I'd gone 
 to see the Hatter instead ! '' 
 
 There was a table set out under a tree in front 
 of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter 
 were having tea at it. A Dormouse was sitting 
 between them, fast asleep, and the other two were 
 using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, 
 and talking over its head. 
 
 ''Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,'^ 
 thought Alice ; " only as it's asleep, I suppose 
 it doesn't mind." 
 
 The table was a large one, but the three were 
 all crowded together at one corner of it. "No 
 room ! No room! " they cried out when they saw 
 Alice coming. ^^There^s plenty of room!" said 
 Alice, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at 
 one end of the table. 
 
 "Have some cake," said the March Hare. 
 
 Alice looked all round the table, but there 
 was nothing on it but tea. "I don't see any 
 cake," she remarked. 
 
^ lie«- 
 
 *' There isn^t any/^ said the March Hare. 
 
 ^'Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it/' 
 said Alice angrily. 
 
 '' It wasn't very civil of you to sit down with- 
 out being invited," said the March Hare. 
 
 *'I didn't know it was your table," said Alice. 
 '*It's laid for a great many more than three." 
 
 ''Your hair wants cutting," said the Hatter. 
 He had been looking at Alice for some time with 
 great curiosity, and this was his first speech. 
 
 '-You should learn not to make personal re- 
 marks," said Alice. ''It's very rude." 
 
-« 12 8«- 
 
 The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on 
 hearing this; but all he said was *'Why is a 
 raven like a writing-desk?^' 
 
 '' Come, we shall have some fun now ! '^ thought 
 Alice. '' I am glad they've begun asking riddles 
 — I believe I can guess that/' she added 
 aloud. 
 
 **Do you mean that you think you can find 
 out the answer to it?" said the March Hare. 
 
 '* Exactly so," said Alice. 
 
 ^^Then you should say what you mean," the 
 March Hare went on. 
 
 ''I do," Alice hastily replied; '*at least — at 
 least I mean what I say — that's the same thing, 
 you know." 
 
 '' Not the same thing a bit ! " said the Hatter. 
 *' Why, you might just as well say that ' I see 
 what I eat' is the same thing as *I eat what I 
 see ' ! " 
 
 "• You might just as well say," added the March 
 Hare, " that ^ I like what I get ' is the same thing 
 as ' I get what I like ' ! " 
 
 *^ You might just as well say," added the Dor 
 mouse, which seemed to be talking in its sleep. 
 
^ 13 8«- 
 
 '' that 'I breathe when I sleep ' is the same thing 
 as ' I sleep when I breathe M ^' 
 
 ''It is the same thing with you,'' said the 
 Hatter, and here the conversation dropped, and 
 the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice 
 thought over all she could remember about 
 ravens and writing-desks, which wasn't much. 
 
 The Hatter was the first to break the silence. 
 ''What day of the month is it? " he said, turning 
 to Alice. He had taken his watch out of his 
 pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking 
 it every now and then, and holding it to his 
 ear. 
 
 Alice considered a little, and then said "The 
 fourth." 
 
 "Two days wrong!" sighed the Hatter. "I 
 told you butter wouldn't suit the works ! " he 
 added, looking angrily at the March Hare. 
 
 "It was the best butter," the March Hare 
 meekly replied. 
 
 "Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as 
 well," the Hatter grumbled. "You shouldn't 
 have put it in with the bread-knife." 
 
 The March Hare took the watch and looked at 
 
^ 14 8«- 
 
 it gloomily : then he dipped it into his cup of 
 tea, and looked at it again. He could think of 
 nothing better to say than his first remark, ** It 
 was the best butter, you know/' 
 
 Alice had been looking over his shoulder with 
 some curiosity. '' What a funny watch ! '^ she 
 remarked. '' It tells the day of the month, and 
 doesn't tell what o'clock it is ! " 
 
 ^^ Why should it? " muttered the Hatter. " Does 
 your watch tell you what year it is?" 
 
 *'0f course not," Alice replied. *'But that's 
 because it stays the same year for such a long 
 time together." 
 
 *' Which is just the case with mme," said the 
 Hatter. 
 
 Alice felt very much puzzled. The Hatter's 
 remark seemed to her to have no sort of meaning 
 in it, and yet it was certainly English. *' I don't 
 quite understand you," she said politely. 
 
 II. THE dormouse's TALE 
 
 *'The Dormouse is asleep again," said the 
 
 Hatter, and he poured a little tea upon its nose. 
 
 The Dormouse shook its head and said, with- 
 
-« 15 Be- 
 out opening its eyes, " Of course, of course : just 
 what I was going to remark myself/' 
 
 '^Have you guessed the riddle yet?" the 
 Hatter said, turning to Alice again. 
 
 ''No, I give it up,'' Alice replied. ''What's 
 the answer?" 
 
 "I haven't the slightest idea," said the Hatter. 
 
 "Nor I," said the March Hare. 
 
 Alice sighed. " I think you might do some- 
 thing better with the time," she said, "than 
 wasting it in asking riddles that have no 
 answers." 
 
 " If you knew Time as well as I do," said the 
 Hatter, "you wouldn't talk about wasting it 
 It's Mm:' 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," said Alice. 
 
 "Of course you don't! " the Hatter said, toss- 
 ing his head. " I dare say you never even spoke 
 to Time ! " 
 
 "Perhaps not," Alice replied; "but I know 
 I have to beat time when I learn music." 
 
 "Ah! That accounts for it," said the Hatter. 
 " He won't stand beating. Now, if you only kept 
 on good terms with him, he'd do almost anything 
 
-^ 16 8«- 
 
 you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose 
 it were nine o'clock in the morning, just time to 
 begin lessons : you'd only have to whisper a hint 
 to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! 
 Half-past one, time for dinner ! '' 
 
 ('' I only wish it were,'^ the March Hare said 
 to itself in a whisper.) 
 
 ''That would be grand, certainly,'^ said Alice; 
 ''but then — I shouldn't be hungry for it, you 
 know." 
 
 "Not at first, perhaps," said the Hatter: "but 
 you could keep it to half-past one as long as you 
 liked." 
 
 "Is that the way you manage? " Alice asked. 
 
 The Hatter shook his head. "Not I!" he 
 replied. " We quarrelled last March — just before 
 lie went mad, you know — " (pointing with his 
 teaspoon at the March Hare,) " — it was at the 
 great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and 
 I had to sing, — 
 
 ^Twinkle, twinkle^ little hat I 
 How I wonder what you're at ! ^ 
 
 You know the song, perhaps ? " 
 
^ 17 S«- 
 
 *rve heard something like it," said Alice. 
 ''It goes on, you know,'^ the Hatter continued^ 
 in this way, — 
 
 ^Up above the world you fly ^ 
 Like a tea-tray in the sky. 
 Twinkle, twinkle — ^" 
 
 Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began 
 singing in its sleep, '' Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, 
 twinkle — " and went on so long that they had 
 to pinch it to make it stop. 
 
 "Well, rd hardly finished the first verse,'' said 
 the Hatter, ''when the Queen cried out 'He's 
 murdering the time ! Off with his head ! ' " 
 
-« 18 8«- 
 
 '' How dreadfully savage ! '' exclaimed Alice. 
 
 '' And ever since tliat/^ the Hatter went on in a 
 mournful tone, *'lie won^t do a thing I ask! It's 
 always six o'clock now.'' 
 
 A bright idea came into Alice's head. ** Is that 
 the reason so many tea-things are put out here? " 
 she asked. 
 
 '' Yes, that's it," said the Hatter with a sigh. 
 *' It's always tea-time, and we've no time to wash 
 the things between whiles." 
 
 ''Then you keep moving round, I suppose?" 
 said Alice. 
 
 ''Exactly so," said the Hatter: "as the things 
 get used up." 
 
 "But what happens when you come to the 
 beginning again? " Alice ventured to ask. 
 
 " Suppose we change the subject," the March 
 Hare interrupted, yawning. " I'm getting tired 
 of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story." 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't know one," said Alice, 
 rather alarmed at the proposal. 
 
 "Then the Dormouse shall!" they both cried. 
 " Wake up. Dormouse! " And they pinched it on 
 both sides at once. 
 
-98 19 8«- 
 
 TiiO Dormouse slowly opened its eyes. *'I 
 wasn't asleep/' it said in a hoarse, feeble voice, 
 ^'I heard every word you fellows were saying/' 
 
 ' Tell us a story ! '' said the March Hare. 
 
 ■* Yes, please do ! '' pleaded Alice. 
 
 **And be quick about it,'' added the Hatter, 
 '*or you'll be asleep again before it's done." 
 
 ** Once upon a time there were three little sis- 
 ters," the Dormouse began in a great hurry ; '' and 
 their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie ; and they 
 lived at the bottom of a well — " 
 
 *'What did they live on?" said Alice, who 
 always took a great interest in questions of eat- 
 ing and drinking. 
 
 **They lived on treacle," said the Dormouse, 
 after thinking a minute or two. 
 
 *'They couldn't have done that, you know," 
 Alice gently remarked. *' They'd have been ill." 
 
 '' So they were," said the Dormouse ; ''veri/ ill." 
 
 Alice tried a little to fancy to herself what 
 such an extraordinary way of living would be 
 like, but it puzzled her too much. So she went 
 on, *'But why did they live at the bottom of 
 a well?" 
 
-58 20 8«- 
 
 ''Take some more tea/^ the March Hare said to 
 Alice, very earnestly. 
 
 ''Fve had nothing yet/' Alice replied in an 
 offended tone, ''so I can't take more." 
 
 " You mean you can't take less,^' said the Hatter : 
 *'it's very easy to take more than nothing." 
 
 " Nobody asked your opinion," said Alice. 
 
 "Who's making personal remarks now?" the 
 Hatter asked. 
 
 Alice did not quite know what to say to this : 
 so she helped herself to some tea and bread-and- 
 butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and 
 repeated her question. "Why did they live at 
 the bottom of a well ? " 
 
 The Dormouse again took a minute to think 
 about it, and then said, "It was a treacle-well." 
 
 " There's no such thing ! " Alice was beginning 
 very angrily, but the Hatter and the March Hare 
 went " Sh ! Sh ! " and the Dormouse remarked 
 "If you can't be civil, you'd better finish the 
 story for yourself." 
 
 " No, please go on ! " Alice said very humbly. 
 " I won't interrupt you again. I dare say there 
 may be o/^e." 
 
^ 21 8«- 
 
 ** One, indeed ! '' said the Dormouse indignantly. 
 However, he consented to go on. ** And so these 
 three little sisters — they were learning to draw, 
 you know — '' 
 
 ''What did they draw?'' said Alice, quite for- 
 getting her promise. 
 
 ''Treacle,^' said the Dormouse, without consid- 
 ering at all, this time. 
 
 "I want a clean cup,^' interrupted the Hatter: 
 ''let's all move one place on." 
 
 He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse 
 followed him. The March Hare moved into the 
 Dormouse's place, and Alice rather unwillingly 
 took the place of the March Hare. The Hatter 
 was the only one who got any advantage from 
 the change ; and Alice was a good deal worse off 
 than before, as the March Hare had just upset 
 the milk-jug into his plate. 
 
 Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse 
 again, so she said, "But I don't understand. 
 Where did they draw the treacle from?" 
 
 •'Tou can draw water out of a water-well," 
 said the Hatter; "so I should think you could 
 draw treacle out of a treacle-well — eh, stupid?" 
 
^ 22 8«- 
 
 ''But they were in the well/^ Alice said to the 
 Dormouse, not choosing to notice this last re- 
 mark. 
 
 " Of course they were/' said the Dormouse : 
 ''well in.'' 
 
 This answer so confused poor Alice, that she 
 let the Dormouse go on for some time without 
 interrupting it. 
 
 "They were learning to draw," the Dormouse 
 went on, yawning and rubbing its eyes, for it 
 was getting very sleepy; "and they drew all 
 manner of things — everything that begins with 
 an M— " 
 ^ "Why with an M?" said Alice. 
 
 "Why not?" said the March Hare. 
 
 Alice was silent. 
 
 The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, 
 and was going off into a doze; but, on being 
 pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again with 
 a little shriek, and went on: " — that begins 
 with an M, such as mouse-traps, and the moon, 
 and memory, and muchness — you know you say 
 things are ' much of a muchness ' — did you ever 
 see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness? " 
 
■^ ^o B^ 
 
 "'^ 
 
 **Eeally, now you ask me/' said Alice, very 
 much confused, ''I don't think — " 
 
 ^'Then you shouldn't talk," said the Hatter. 
 
 This piece of rudeness was more than Alice 
 could bear. She got up in great disgust, and 
 walked off. The Dormouse fell asleep instantly, 
 and neither of the others took the least notice 
 of her going, though she looked back once or 
 twice, half hoping that they would call after her. 
 The last time she saw them, they were trying 
 to put the Dormouse into the teapot. 
 
 — Lewis Carroll. 
 
-^ 24 8«- 
 
 NURSE'S SONG 
 
 When the voices of children are heard on the 
 green 
 
 And laughing is heard on the hill, 
 My heart is at rest within my breast, 
 
 And everything else is still. 
 
 Then come home, my children, the sun is gone 
 down, 
 
 And the dews of night arise ; 
 Come, come, leave off play, and let us away 
 
 Till the morning appears in the skies. 
 
-« 25 9«- 
 
 No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, 
 
 And we cannot go to sleep ; 
 Besides, in the sky the little birds fly, 
 
 And the hills are all covered with sheep. 
 
 Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, 
 
 And then go home to bed. 
 The little ones leaped and shouted and laughed 
 
 And all the hills echoed. 
 
 — William Blake. 
 
 THE RAINBOW 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold 
 
 A rainbow in the sky : 
 So was it when my life began ; 
 So is it now I am a man ; 
 So be it when I shall grow old, 
 
 Or let me die ! 
 The child is father of the man ; 
 And I could wish my days to be 
 Bound each to each by natural piety. 
 
 — William Wordsworth 
 
LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF 
 
 0, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, 
 
 Thy mother a lady both lovely and bright ; 
 
 The woods and the glens, from the towers which 
 
 we see, 
 Th^y all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. 
 
 0, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows 
 It calls but the warders that guard thy repose ; 
 Their bows would be bended, their blades would 
 
 be red. 
 Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. 
 
 0, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come. 
 When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and 
 
 drum ; 
 Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, 
 For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. 
 
 — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
-« 27 8«- 
 
 Pe'o lif 
 
 as'pect 
 grav'i ty 
 floim'der^d 
 hearth 
 
 THE SNOW-IMAGE 
 
 ere at'ing 
 del'i cat^ 
 twrii^lit 
 rtid'di ness 
 im agi na'tion 
 
 I. THE IMAGE 
 
 a void'ed 
 ex pla na'tion 
 de par'ttir^ 
 thim'bl^ 
 dis solved' 
 
 One afternoon on a cold winter's 
 day, when the sun shone with chilly 
 brightness after a long 
 storm, two children asked 
 leave of their mother to 
 out and play in 
 the new-fallen 
 snow. 
 The elder child 
 was a little girl, 
 whom her parents 
 used to call Violet. 
 Her brother was known 
 by the title of Peony, on 
 account of the ruddiness .of his round little face, 
 
^ 28 8«- 
 
 which made everybody think of sunshine and 
 great red flowers. 
 
 As I began with saying, Violet and Peony 
 begged their mother to let them run out and 
 play in the new snow. Though it had looked 
 so dismal drifting down out of the gray sky, it 
 had a cheerful aspect, now that the sun was shin- 
 ing on it. 
 
 The children lived in the city, and had no wider 
 play-place than a little garden in front of the 
 house, divided by a white fence from the street, 
 with a pear-tree and two or three plum-trees in it, 
 and some rose-bushes just in front of the parlor- 
 windows. The trees and shrubs, however, were 
 now leafless, and their twigs were covered with 
 the light snow. 
 
 '' Yes, Violet, — yes, my little Peony,'' said their 
 kind mother; ''you may go out and play in the 
 new snow.'' 
 
 Then the good lady bundled up her darlings in 
 woollen jackets, and put comforters round their 
 necks and worsted mittens on their hands, and 
 gave them a kiss apiece, by way of a spell to keep 
 away Jack Frost. Forth went the two children. 
 
^ 29 6<- 
 
 with a hop-skip-and-jump that carried them at 
 once into the very heart of a huge snow-drift. 
 Violet emerged like a snow-bunting, but little 
 Peony floundered out with his round face in full 
 bloom. Then what a merry time they had ! 
 
 At last, when they had frosted one another all 
 over with handfuls of snow, Violet, after laughing 
 heartily at little Peony's figure, was struck with a 
 new idea. 
 
 *' You look exactly like a snow-image. Peony,'' 
 said she, '' if your cheeks were not so red. And 
 that puts me in mind ! Let us make an image 
 out of snow, — an image of a little girl, — and it 
 shall be our sister, and shall run about and play 
 with us all winter long. Won't it be nice ? " 
 
 ''Oh, yes!" cried Peony, ''that will be nice! 
 And mamma shall see it ! " 
 
 "Yes," answered Violet; "mamma shall see 
 the new little girl. But she must not make her 
 come into the warm parlor ; for, you know% our 
 little snow-sister will not love the warmth." 
 
 And then the children began this work of mak- 
 ing a snow-image that should run about; while 
 their mother, who was sitting at the window and 
 
^ 30 9«- 
 
 overheard some of their talk, could not help smil- 
 ing at the gravity with which they set about it. 
 They really seemed to imagine that there would 
 be no difficulty in creating a live little girl out of 
 the snow. 
 
 The mother gazed at the children a moment; 
 then she went on with her work. What it was 
 I have forgotten ; but she was either trimming a 
 bonnet for Violet, or darning a pair of stockings 
 for Peony. She could not help turning her head 
 to the window, however, to see how the children 
 got on with their snow-image. 
 
 It was a pleasant sight to see those bright little 
 souls at their task. Moreover, it was really won- 
 derful to observe how skilfully they managed the 
 matter. Violet told Peony what to do, while, with 
 her own delicate fingers she shaped the snow fig- 
 ure. It seemed, in fact, not so much to be made 
 by the children, as to grow up under their hands, 
 while they were playing and prattling about it. 
 
 Their mother was quite surprised at this ; and 
 the longer she looked, the more and more sur- 
 prised she grew. 
 
 *' Peony, Peony !^^ cried Violet to her brother, 
 
-« 31 8«- 
 
 who had gone to another part of the garden, 
 ''bring me some of that fresh snow, from the 
 farthest corner, where we have not been tram- 
 pling. I want to shape our little snow-sister's 
 bosom with it. You know that part must be 
 quite pure, just as it came out of the sky ! '' 
 
 ''Here it is, Violet !'' answered Peony, as he 
 came floundering through the drift. " Here is 
 the snow for her little bosom. Violet, how 
 beau-ti-ful she begins to look ! '^ 
 
 "Yes,'' said Violet, ''our snow-sister does look 
 very lovely. I did not know. Peony, that we 
 could make such a sweet little girl as this.'' 
 
 The mother, as she listened, thought how de- 
 lightful it would be, if fairies, or, still better, if 
 angel-children were to come from Paradise, and 
 play with her own darlings, and help them to 
 make their snow-image. 
 
 Violet and Peony would not be aware of their 
 playmates, — only they would see that the image 
 grew very beautiful while they worked at it, and 
 would think that they themselves had done it all. 
 
 " My little girl and boy deserve such playmates, 
 if children ever did! " said the mother to herself; 
 
-« 32 8<- 
 
 and then she smiled again at her own motherly 
 pride. 
 
 '' Peony, Peony ! '^ cried Violet ; for her brother 
 was again at the 
 other side of the .,. ^;y 
 arden. ''Bring ^\\^^k^^'!J^'\4 
 
 g 
 
 me those light ' 
 
 wreaths of snow , hj 
 
 that have rested 
 
 on the lower 
 
 branches of the 
 
 pear-tree. You can climb 
 
 on the snow-drift and reach .^ 
 
 them easily. I must have^ 
 
 them to make some ringlets lor 
 
 our snow-sister's head ! '^ 
 
 ''Here they are, Violet !'' answered the little 
 boy. " Take care you don't break them. Well 
 done ! Well done ! How pretty ! '' 
 
 "Does she not look sweetly?'' said Violet. 
 " Now we must have some shining bits of ice, 
 to make the brightness of her eyes. Mamma 
 will see how beautiful she is ; but papa will say, 
 ' Nonsense ! — Come in out of the cold ! ' " 
 
-jS 33 8«- 
 
 *^Let us call Mamma to look out/' said Peony; 
 and then he shouted, "Mamma! Mamma!! 
 Mamma ! ! ! Look out, and see what a nice little 
 girl we are making.'' 
 
 The mother put down her work, for an instant, 
 and looked out of the window. She saw Violet 
 and Peony still at work ; Peony bringing fresh 
 snow, and Violet making the figure. And as she 
 looked at the snow-child, the mother thought to 
 herself that never before was there a snow-figure 
 so well made, nor ever such a dear little boy and 
 girl to make it. .^ 
 
 She sat down again to her work, and made as 
 much haste with it as possible ; because twilight 
 would soon come, and Peony's frock was not yet 
 finished. Faster and faster, therefore, went her 
 flying fingers. The children also kept busily at 
 work in the garden, and still the mother listened, 
 whenever she could hear a word. 
 
 She was amused to see how their imagination 
 had got mixed up with what they were doing, and 
 how they were carried away by it. They seemed 
 to think that the snow-child would run about 
 and play with them. 
 
-« 34 B«- 
 
 
 '^<?<£.=C^'^sN^<;;: 
 
 ■« 
 
 THE SNOW-IMAGE 
 
8 35 8«- 
 
 '' What a nice playmate she will be for us, all 
 winter long!'' said Violet. "I hope Papa will 
 not be afraid of her giving us a cold! Sha'n't 
 you love her dearly, Peony?'' 
 
 '' Oh yes ! " cried Peony. '' And I will hug her, 
 and she shall sit down close by me, and drink 
 some of my warm milk ! " 
 
 ''Oh no. Peony!" answered Violet, with grave 
 wisdom. "That will not do at all. Warm milk 
 will not be good for our little snow-sister. Little 
 snow-people, like her, eat nothing but icicles. No, 
 no. Peony ; we must not give her anything warm 
 to drink ! " 
 
 II. THE AWAKENING 
 
 There was a minute or two of silence; for 
 Peony, whose short legs were never weary, had 
 gone again to the other side of the garden. All of 
 a sudden, Violet cried out, "Look here. Peony! 
 Come quickly ! A light has been shining on her 
 cheeks out of that rose-colored cloud! And the 
 color does not go away ! Is not that beautiful?" 
 
 "Yes; it is beau-ti-ful," answered Peony. " Oh 
 Violet, only look at her hair ! It is all like gold." 
 
^ 36 S<- 
 
 '' Oh yes,'^ said Violet, '' that color, you know, 
 comes from the golden clouds that we see up there 
 in the sky. She is almost finished now. But her 
 lips must be made very red, — redder than her 
 cheeks. Perhaps, Peony, it will make them red 
 if we both kiss them ! '^ 
 
 So the mother heard two smart little smacks, as 
 if both her children were kissing the snow-image 
 on its frozen mouth. But, as this did not seem 
 to make the lips quite red enough, Violet proposed 
 that the snow-child should kiss Peony's scarlet 
 cheek. 
 
 ** Come, little snow-sister, kiss me ! '' cried Peony. 
 
 ''There! she has kissed you,'' added Violet, 
 " and now her lips are very red. And she blushed 
 a little, too ! " 
 
 " Oh, what a cold kiss ! " cried Peony. 
 
 Just then, there came a breeze of the pure west 
 wind sweeping through the garden and rattling 
 the parlor-windows. It sounded so wintry cold 
 that the mother was about to tap on the window- 
 pane with her thimble finger, to summon the two 
 children in, when they both cried out to her with 
 one voice, — 
 
-« 37 e«- 
 
 *' Mamma, Mamma! we have finished our little 
 snow-sister, and she is running about the garden 
 with us ! Dear Mamma! please look out and see 
 what a sweet playmate we have." 
 
 The mother looked out of the window; and 
 what do you think she saw there ? 
 
 If you will believe me, there was a small figure 
 of a girl, dressed all in white, playing about the 
 garden with the two children. 
 
 The mother thought it must certainly be the 
 daughter of one of the neighbors ; so she wexit to 
 the door to ask her to come into the parlor; for 
 now that the sun had set it was growing very 
 cold. 
 
 She called Violet, and whispered to her : ''Violet, 
 my darling, what is the child's name ? Does she 
 live near us? " 
 
 '' Why, dearest Mamma," answered Violet, ''this 
 is our little snow-sister, whom we have just been 
 making! " 
 
 "Yes, dear Mamma," cried Peony, "this is our 
 snow-image ! Is it not a dear little sister? " 
 
 At this instant a flock of snow-birds came 
 flitting through the air. As was natural, they 
 
^ 38 8«- 
 
 avoided Violet and Peony, but they flew at once 
 to the white-robed child, fluttered about her head, 
 lighted on her shoulders, and seemed to claim her 
 as an old friend. 
 
 She was as glad to see these little birds as they 
 were to see her, and welcomed them by holding 
 out both her hands. They all tried to light on 
 her two palms and ten small fingers and thumbs, 
 crowding one another off, with an immense flutter- 
 ing of their tiny wings. 
 
 Violet and Peony stood laughing at this pretty 
 sight ; for they enjoyed the merry time which 
 their new playmate was having with these small- 
 winged friends, almost as much as if they them- 
 selves took part in it. 
 
 *' Violet,'^ said her mother, '' tell me the truth, 
 without any jest. Who is this little girl? ^' 
 
 ** My darling Mamma, ^^ answered Violet, " I have 
 told you truly who she is. It is our little snow- 
 image, which Peony and I have been making. 
 Peony will tell you so, as well as I.'' 
 
 "Yes, Mamma,'^ said Peony, "this is our little 
 snow-child. Is she not a nice one ? But, Mamma, 
 her hand is so very cold ! '/ 
 
-« 39 8«- 
 
 Just then the father of Violet and Peony 
 appeared. He saw the little white stranger run- 
 ning to and fro in the garden like a dancing snow- 
 wreath, and the flock of snow-birds fluttering 
 about her head. 
 
 ''What little girl may that be?'' he inquired/ 
 '' Surely her mother must be crazy to let her go 
 out in such cold weather, with only that white 
 gown and those thin slippers ! '' 
 
 " My dear husband,'' said his wife, '' I know no 
 more about the little thing than you do. Violet 
 and Peony insist that she is nothing but a snow- 
 image, which they have been busy about in the 
 garden almost all the afternoon." 
 
 As she said this, the mother glanced toward the 
 spot where the children's snow-image had been 
 made. What was her surprise to find that there 
 was not a trace of so much labor ! — no image at 
 all ! — no piled up heap of snow ! — nothing what- 
 ever, but the prints of little footsteps. 
 
 '' This is very strange ! " said she. 
 
 ''What is strange, dear Mother? " asked Violet. 
 " Dear Father, do you not see how it is ? This is 
 our snow-image, which Peony and I have made, 
 
-« 40 8«- 
 
 because we wanted another playmate. Did we 
 not, Peony? ^' 
 
 ''Yes, Papa,^^ said Peony. ''This is our little 
 snow-sister. Is she not beau-ti-ful? But she 
 gave me such a cold kiss ! '' 
 
 "Nonsense, children! Do not tell me of mak- 
 ing live figures out of snow,'' cried their father. 
 "Come, Wife; this little stranger must not stay 
 out in the cold a moment longer. We will bring 
 her into the parlor; and you shall give her a 
 supper of warm bread and milk, and make her as 
 comfortable as you can. Meanwhile, I will inquire 
 among the neighbors, or send the city-crier about 
 the streets to give notice of a lost child." 
 
 " Dear Father,'' cried Violet, " it is true what I 
 have been telling you ! This is our little snow- 
 girl, and she cannot live unless she breathes the 
 cold west-wind. Do not make her come into the 
 hot room ! " 
 
 " Not bring her in ! " exclaimed the kind-hearted 
 man. "Why, you are. crazy, my little Violet! — 
 quite crazy, my small Peony! She is so cold, 
 already, that her hand has almost frozen mine, in 
 spite of my thick gloves. Would you have her 
 
-« 41 8«- 
 
 freeze to death ? No wonder she looks like snow. 
 She is half frozen, poor little thing, but a good 
 fire will make her all right/' 
 
 So the good man placed the snow-child on the 
 hearth-rug, in front of the hissing and fuming 
 stove. 
 
 '' Now she will be comfortable ! '' cried Mr. Lind- 
 sey, rubbing his hands and looking about him 
 with the pleasantest smile you ever saw. ^' Make 
 yourself at home, my child.'' 
 
 Sad, sad and drooping, looked the little white 
 maiden, as she stood on the hearth-rug, with the 
 hot blast of the stove striking her. 
 
 Once she glanced toward the windows, and 
 caught sight of the snow-covered roofs and the 
 glittering stars. The bleak wind rattled the win- 
 dow-panes as if it were calling her to come forth ; 
 but there stood the snow-child, drooping, before 
 the hot stove. 
 
 The mother went in search of a shawl and 
 stockings, and good Mr. Lindsey took his depart- 
 ure, shutting the parlor-door carefully behind him. 
 But he had barely reached the street-gate, when 
 he was recalled by the screams of Violet and 
 
-« 42 8«- 
 
 Peony, and the rapping of a thimbled finger 
 against the parlor window. 
 
 " Husband ! Husband ! '' cried his wife, '' there 
 is no need of going for the child^s parents ! ^' 
 
 s *' We told you so. Father! '^ cried Violet 
 
 and Peony, as he reentered the 
 parlor. ** You would bring her 
 in; and now our poor — dear 
 — beau-ti-ful little snow-sister 
 is thawed ! ^' 
 
 And their own sweet little 
 faces were already dissolved 
 in tears ; so that their father, 
 seeing what strange things 
 may sometimes happen, felt 
 not a little anxious lest his 
 children might be going to 
 thaw too ! That would be a sad misfortune ! 
 
 In his surprise, he asked his wife for an expla- 
 nation. She could only reply, that, being called 
 to the parlor by the cries of Violet and Peony, she 
 found no trace of the little maid, except a heap 
 of snow, which, while she was gazing at it, melted 
 away upon the hearth-rug. 
 
-« 43 8«- 
 
 ^^And there you see all that is left of it! '' she 
 added, pointing to a pool of water in front of the 
 stove. 
 
 "• Yes, Father,'^ said Violet, looking sadly at him 
 through her tears, '* there is all that is left of our 
 dear little snow-sister! ^' 
 
 — Nathaniel Hawthorne 
 
 THE FIRST SNOW-FALL 
 
 The snow had begun in the gloaming, 
 
 And busily all the night 
 Had been heaping field and highway 
 
 With a silence deep and white. 
 
 Every pine and fir and hemlock 
 Wore ermine too dear for an earl, 
 
 And the poorest twig on the elm-tree 
 Was ridged inch deep with pearl. 
 
 From sheds new-roofed with Carrara 
 Came Chanticleer's muflled crow, 
 
 The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, 
 And still fluttered down the snow. 
 
-« 44 9«- 
 
 I stood and watched by the window 
 The noiseless work of the sky, 
 
 And the sudden flurries of snow-birds^ 
 Like brown leaves whirling by. 
 
 I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn 
 Where a little headstone stood ; 
 
 How the flakes were folding it gently, 
 As did robins the babes in the wood. 
 
 Up spoke our own little Mabel, 
 
 Saying, ''Father, who makes it snow? 
 
 And I told of the good All-Father 
 Who cares for us here below. 
 
 Again I looked at the snow-fall, 
 And thought of the leaden sky 
 
 That arched o^er our first great sorrow. 
 When that mound was heaped so high 
 
 I remembered the gradual patience 
 That fell from that cloud like snow. 
 
 Flake by flake, healing and hiding 
 The scar of our deep-plunged woe. 
 
-« 45 8<- 
 
 And again to the child I whispered, 
 
 *'The snow that husheth all, 
 Darling, the merciful Father 
 
 Alone can make it fall !'^ 
 
 Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her ; 
 
 And she, kissing back, could not know 
 That my kiss was given to her sister. 
 
 Folded close under deepening snow. 
 
 — - Jambs Russell Lowbll. 
 
 ^IWc^<i 
 
•^ 46 Sc- 
 
 at THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND 
 
 van'ish^d 
 
 cav'erns 
 
 a maz0'ment 
 
 jag'u ar 
 
 we^'s^l 
 
 con clud'ed 
 
 gla'cier 
 
 per SIS ted 
 
 lej^'pard 
 
 mis'sions 
 
 oc'cu pl^d 
 
 gle^m'ing 
 
 I. THE BETTER LAND 
 
 When Diamond 
 came to himself 
 after he fell, he 
 found himself at 
 the back of the 
 North Wind. 
 
 North Wind her- 
 self was nowhere 
 to be seen. Neither 
 was there any snow 
 or ice within sight. 
 The sun too had 
 vanished ; but that 
 was no matter, for 
 there was plenty 
 
^ 47 8«- 
 
 of a still, rayless light. Where it came from he 
 never found out ; but he thought it belonged to 
 the country itself. 
 
 Sometimes he thought it came out of the flowers, 
 which were very bright, but had no strong color. 
 
 He said the river — for all agree that there is 
 a river there — flowed not only through, but over 
 grass ; its channel, instead of being rock, stones, 
 pebbles, or anything else, was of pure meadow 
 grass, not very long. 
 
 He insisted that if it did not sing tunes in 
 people's ears, it sang tunes in their heads, in 
 proof of which I may mention that, in the trou- 
 bles which followed. Diamond was often heard 
 singing; and when asked what he was singing, 
 would answer, '' One of the tunes the river at the 
 back of the North Wind sang.'' 
 
 And I may as well say, at once, that Diamond 
 never told these things to any one but — no, I 
 had better not say who it was ; but whoever it 
 was told me, and I thought it would be well to 
 write them for my child-readers. 
 
 He could not say that he was very happy there, 
 for he had neither his father nor mother with 
 
^ 48 8«- 
 
 him, but he felt so still and quiet and patient and 
 contented, that, as far as the feeling went, it was 
 something better than happiness. Nothing went 
 wrong at the back of the North Wind. Neither 
 was anything quite right, he thought. Only every- 
 thing was going to be right some day. 
 
 When the person he told about it asked him 
 whether he saw anybody he knew there, he 
 answered, '' Only a little girl belonging to the 
 gardener, who thought he had lost her, but he was 
 mistaken, for there she was safe enough, and was 
 to come back some day, as I came back, if they 
 would only wait.^' 
 
 *^ Did you talk to her, Diamond? '' 
 
 '' No. Nobody talks there. They only look at 
 each other, and understand everything.'' 
 
 *as it cold there?'' 
 
 -No." 
 
 'as it hot?" 
 
 ^^No." 
 
 ''What is it, then?" 
 
 "You never think about such things there." 
 
 " What a queer place it must be ! " 
 
 *' It's a very good place," 
 
'' Do you wish to go back again ? '' 
 
 *'No: I don't think I have ever left it; I feel 
 it here, somewhere/' 
 
 '' Did the people there look pleased? '' 
 
 ''Yes — quite pleased, only a little sad.'' 
 
 '' Then they didn't look glad ? " 
 
 ''They looked as if they were waiting to be 
 gladder some day." 
 
 This was how Diamond used to answer questions 
 about that country. And now I will take up the 
 story again, and tell you how he got back to this 
 country. 
 
 When one at the back of the North Wind wished 
 to know how things were going with any one he 
 loved, he had to go to a certain tree, climb the 
 stem, and sit down in the branches. In a few 
 minutes, if he kept very still, he would see what 
 was going on with the people he loved. 
 
 One day when Diamond was sitting in this tree, 
 he began to long very much to get home again, 
 and no wonder, for he saw his mother crying. 
 
 But how was he to set about it ? If he could 
 only see North Wind ! But the moment he was 
 at her back, she was gone altogether from his 
 
-« 50 B«- 
 
 sight. He had never seen her back. She might 
 be sitting on her doorstep still, looking southwards, 
 and waiting, white and thin and blue-eyed, until 
 she was wanted. 
 
 Or she might have again become a mighty 
 creature, with power to do that which was de- 
 manded of her, and gone far away upon many 
 missions. She must be somewhere, however. He 
 could not go home without her, and, therefore, he 
 must find her. 
 
 She could never have intended to leave him 
 always away from his mother. If there had been 
 any danger of that, she would have told him, and 
 given him his choice about going. For North 
 Wind was honest. How to find North Wind, 
 therefore, occupied all his thoughts. 
 
 In his anxiety about his mother, he used to 
 climb the tree every day, and sit in its branches. 
 
 One day he was sitting on one of the outer 
 branches of the tree looking southwards after his 
 home. Far away was a blue, shining sea dotted 
 with gleaming and sparkling specks of white. 
 Those were the icebergs. 
 
 Nearer, he saw a great range of snow-capped 
 
^ 51 8<- 
 
 mountains, and down below him, the lovely 
 meadow-grass* of the country, with the stream 
 flowing and flowing through it, away towards the 
 sea. 
 
 As he looked he began to wonder, for the whole 
 country lay beneath him, like a map, and that 
 which was near him looked just as small as that 
 which he knew to be many miles away. The 
 ridge of ice and snow which bounded it appeared 
 but a few yards off, and no larger than a row of 
 pebbles on the sea-shore. 
 
 He thought he could see North Wind, seated as 
 he had left her, on the other side. Hastily he 
 descended the tree, and to his amazement found 
 that the map of the country still lay at his 
 feet. 
 
 He stood in it. With one stride he had crossed 
 the river ; with another, he had reached the ridge 
 of ice ; with the third, he stepped over its peaks, 
 and sank wearily down at North Wind's knees. 
 For there she sat at her doorstep. The peaks of 
 the great ridge of ice were as lofty as ever behind 
 her, and the country at her back had vanished 
 from Diamond's view. 
 
^ 52 8«- 
 
 II. DIAMOND GOES HOME 
 
 North Wind was as still as Diamond had left 
 her. Her pale face was as white as the snow; 
 
 her eyes were as 
 blue as the cav- 
 erns in the ice. 
 The instant 
 Diamond touched 
 her, her face be- 
 gan to change 
 like that of one 
 waking from 
 sleep. Light be- 
 gan to shine from 
 the blue of her 
 eyes. A moment 
 more, and she 
 laid her hand 
 on Diamond's 
 head, and began playing with his hair. Diamond 
 took hold of her hand, and laid his face to it. 
 She gave a little start. 
 
 *'How very alive you are, child!'' she said. 
 '' Come nearer to me." 
 
-« 53 6«- 
 
 By the help of the stones all around he climbed 
 beside her, and laid himself in her arms. She 
 gave a great sigh, slowly lifted her arms, and 
 folded them about him until she clasped him 
 close. 
 
 '' Have you been sitting here ever since I went 
 through you, dear North Wind? '^ asked Diamond, 
 stroking her hand. 
 
 ** Yes,'' she answered, looking at him with her 
 old kindness. 
 
 '' Aren't you very tired ? " 
 
 *'No; I've often had to sit longer. Do you 
 know how long you have been? " 
 
 " Oh ! years and years," answered Diamond. 
 
 **Tou have been just seven days," returned 
 North Wind. 
 
 ''I thought I had been a hundred years!" 
 exclaimed Diamond. 
 
 " Yes, I dare say," replied North Wind. ''You've 
 been away from here seven days ; but how long 
 you may have been in there is quite another thing. 
 Behind my back and before my face things are so 
 different! They don't go at all by the same 
 rule." 
 
-« 54 8^ 
 
 *^ I'm very glad/' said Diamond, after thinking 
 awhile. 
 
 '' Why ? '' asked North Wind. 
 
 *^ Because I've been such a long time there, and 
 such a little while away from my mother and 
 father, and my little sister." 
 
 '' But we mustn't talk any longer. We must be 
 oflf now in a few minutes." 
 
 Next moment Diamond found himself sitting 
 alone on the rock. North Wind had gone. A 
 creature like a great bumble-bee flew past his 
 face ; but it could not be one, for there were no 
 insects among the ice. 
 
 It passed him again and again, flying in circles 
 around him, and he concluded that it must be 
 North Wind herself, no bigger than Tom Thumb 
 when his mother put him in the nutshell lined 
 with flannel. 
 
 A moment more, and she perched on his shoulder. 
 '^ Come, Diamond," she said in his ear, '' we must 
 go now." 
 
 Diamond could just see her by turning his head 
 as far as he could, but only with one eye, for his 
 nose came between her and the other. 
 
^ 55 8«- 
 
 •'Won't you take me in your arms and carry 
 me? '^ he said. 
 
 '' Yes," replied North Wind, **I will carry you, 
 but you shall walk a little first." 
 
 She jumped from his shoulder, but when 
 Diamond looked for her on the ground he could 
 see nothing but a little brown spider with long 
 legs that made its way over the ice and snow 
 towards the south. 
 
 It ran very fast indeed, for a spider, but Dia- 
 mond ran a long way before it, and then sat down 
 and waited for it. 
 
 It was up with him sooner than he had expected, 
 however, and it had grown a good deal. And the 
 spider grew and grew and went faster and faster, 
 till all at once Diamond discovered that it was 
 not a spider he was chasing, but a weasel; and 
 away glided the weasel ; and away went Diamond 
 after it. He had to run as fast as he could to 
 keep up with it. 
 
 The weasel grew and grew till all at once 
 Diamond saw that it was not a weasel but a cat. 
 And away went the cat, and Diamond ran on and 
 on after it. 
 
^ 56 8«- 
 
 When he had run half a mile he found the cat 
 waiting for him, sitting up and washing her face 
 so as not to lose time. And away went the cat 
 again, and Diamond after it. 
 
 The next time he came up with the cat he 
 found it was a hunting-leopard. The hunting- 
 leopard grew to a jaguar, all covered with spots 
 like eyes. 
 
 The jaguar grew to a Bengal tiger. At none of 
 them was Diamond afraid, for he had been at 
 North Wind's back, and he could be afraid of her 
 no longer, whatever she did or grew. 
 
 The tiger flew over the snow in a straight line 
 for the south, growing less and less to Diamond's 
 eyes, until it was only a black speck upon the 
 whiteness ; and then it vanished altogether, leav- 
 ing the little boy alone. 
 
 Now Diamond felt that he would rather not run 
 any farther, and that the ice was very rough. 
 Besides, he was near the clififs that bounded the 
 sea, so he began to walk. 
 
 '' North Wind will come back to me,'' he said 
 to himself. '' I know that she will, for I cannot 
 go much farther without her," 
 
-« 57 8«- 
 
 '' You dear boy ! Here I am ! '^ said North 
 Wind's voice, behind him. ''I will carry you 
 now, if you wish.'' 
 
 Diamond turned, and saw her as he liked best 
 to see her, stand- 
 ing beside him, a 
 tall lady, with her 
 long hair flowing 
 overher shoulders. 
 
 " Where's the 
 tiger, and the 
 leopard, and the 
 cat?" he asked, 
 for he knew all 
 the creatures from 
 his picture-books. 
 **But, of course,'' 
 he added, '* you 
 were the tiger. 
 I was puzzled and 
 forgot. I saw it such a long way off before 
 me, and when I turned around there you were 
 behind me. It's so odd, you know." 
 
 '' It must look very odd to you. Diamond ; I see 
 
^ 58 8«- 
 
 that. But it's no more odd to me than to break 
 an old pine tree in two.'^ 
 
 '* Well, that's odd enough," said Diamond. 
 
 *' So it is ! I forgot. Well, none of these things 
 are odder to me than it is to you to eat bread 
 and butter." 
 
 ''Well, that's odd too, when I think of it," per- 
 sisted Diamond. '' I should like a slice of bread 
 and butter! I'm afraid to say how long it is — 
 how long it seems to me, that is — since I had 
 anything to eat." 
 
 *' Come, then," said North Wind, stooping and 
 holding out her arms. ''You shall have some 
 bread and butter very soon. I am glad to find 
 that you want some." 
 
 Diamond held up his hands to meet hers, and 
 was safe in her arms. North Wind bounded into 
 the air. Her tresses began to lift and rise, and 
 spread and stream, and flow and flutter ; and with 
 a roar from her hair, and an answering roar from 
 one of the great glaciers behind them, whose slow 
 torrent tumbled two or three icebergs at once into 
 the waves at their feet. North Wind and Diamond 
 went flying southwards. -gborgk macdonald 
 
-« 59 3«- 
 
 A BOY'S WISH 
 
 Ring-ting ! I wish I were a Primrose, 
 
 A bright yellow Primrose blowing in the Spring ! 
 
 The stooping boughs above me, 
 
 The wandering bee to love me, 
 The fern and moss to creep across, 
 
 And the Elm-tree for our king ! 
 
 Nay — stay ! I wish I were an Elm-tree, 
 A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay ! 
 The winds would set them dancing. 
 The sun and moonshine glance in. 
 The birds would house among the boughs, 
 And sweetly sing! 
 
-»8 60 6«- 
 
 Oh — no ! I wish I were a Eobin, 
 
 A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go ; 
 
 Through forest, field, or garden. 
 
 And ask no leave or pardon. 
 Till Winter comes with icy thumbs 
 
 To rufile up our wing! 
 
 Well-tell ! Where should I fly to, 
 
 Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell ? 
 
 Before a day was over. 
 
 Home comes the rover. 
 For Mother's kiss, — sweeter this 
 
 Than any other thing ! 
 
 — William Allingham. 
 
^ 61 SA- 
 
 TINY TIM'S CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
 Cratch'it 
 &s sis'ted 
 
 •com'for ter 
 
 disappoin'ted 
 crip'pl^ 
 es cort'ed 
 ex cit^'ment 
 
 It was Christ- 
 mas-day, and Bob 
 Cratchit had taken 
 Tiny Tim to church 
 for the first time. 
 
 While he was gone /^ 
 Mrs. Cratchit, assisted 
 by Belinda Cratchit, had 
 laid the cloth and set the 
 table; while Master Peter - " 
 Cratchit plunged a fork ~^ 
 into the saucepan of potatoes. 
 
 thre^d'-bar^ 
 is'sued 
 la]/ln'dress 
 re ecji'o^d 
 
 :r^. 
 
-« 62 8«- 
 
 Now two smaller Cratcliits, boy and girl, came 
 running in, screaming that outside the baker's 
 they had smelled the goose, and known it for 
 their own. 
 
 These young Cratchits danced about the table, 
 while Master Peter Cratchit blew the fire, until 
 the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at 
 the saucepan lid to be let out and peeled. 
 
 ''What has become of your father,'' said Mrs. 
 Cratchit. ''And your brother. Tiny Tim! And 
 Martha wasn't as late last Christmas-day by half 
 an hour." 
 
 "Here's Martha, Mother! " said a girl, appearing 
 as she spoke. 
 
 " Here's Martha, Mother ! " cried the two young 
 Cratchits. "Hurra ! There's such a goose, Martha! " 
 
 "Why, bless your heart, my dear, how late you 
 are ! " said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen 
 times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet for 
 her. 
 
 " We had a great deal of work to finish up last 
 night," replied the girl, " and had to clear away 
 this morning. Mother! " 
 
 "Well, never mind, as long as you are here," 
 
said Mrs. Cratchit. " Sit down before the fire, 
 my dear, and warm yourself/' 
 
 " No, no! There's Father coming, '^ cried the two 
 young Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. 
 
 '' Hide, Martha, hide ! '' 
 
 So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, 
 the father, with at least three feet of comforter 
 hanging down before him ; and his threadbare 
 clothes darned up and brushed, and Tiny Tim 
 upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a 
 little crutch, and had his legs supported by an 
 iron frame ! 
 
 '' Why, Where's our Martha? '^ cried Bob Cratchit, 
 looking round. 
 
 *'Not coming, '^ said Mrs. Cratchit. 
 
 *' Not coming ! '^ said Bob. '' Not coming upon 
 Christmas-day ! '' 
 
 Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if 
 it were only in joke ; so she came out from behind 
 the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the 
 two young Cratchits caught up Tiny Tim and 
 carried him off into the wash-house, that he might 
 hear the pudding singing in the kettle. 
 
 **And how did little Tim behave? '' asked Mrs. 
 
-»6 64 8«- 
 
 Cratchit, when Bob had hugged his daughter to 
 his heart's content. 
 
 **As good as gold/' said Bob, ''and better. 
 Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself 
 so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever 
 heard. He told me that he hoped the people saw 
 him in the church, because he was a cripple, and 
 it might be pleasant to them to remember upon 
 Christmas-day, who made lame beggars walk, and 
 blind men see." 
 
 Bob's voice trembled when he told them this, 
 and trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim 
 was growing strong and hearty. 
 
 His active little crutch was heard upon the 
 floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another 
 word was spoken, escorted by his brother and 
 sister to his stool before the fire. Then Master 
 Peter and the two young Cratchits went to bring 
 the goose, with which they soon returned in high 
 glee. 
 
 Such excitement followed that you might have 
 thought a goose the rarest of all birds; and in 
 truth it was something very like it in that house. 
 Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand 
 
•^ 65 8«- 
 
 in a little saucepan) hissing hot. Master Peter 
 mashed the potatoes ; Miss Belinda sweetened the 
 apple-sauce ; Martha dusted the hot plates ; Bob 
 took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the 
 table. 
 
 The two young Cratchits set chairs for every- 
 body, not forgetting themselves. Then, climbing 
 into their chairs, they held their fingers over their 
 lips, lest they should call for goose before their 
 turn came to be helped. 
 
 At last the dishes were set on, and grace was 
 said. It was followed by a breathless pause, as 
 Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving- 
 knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast. When 
 she did, and when the long-expected gush of stuff- 
 ing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all 
 round the board. Even Tiny Tim, excited by the 
 two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the 
 handle of his knife, and feebly cried, " Hurra! '^ 
 
 There never was such a goose. Bob said he 
 didn^t believe there ever w^as such a goose cooked. 
 Its tenderness, flavor, and size were wonderful to 
 think of. With apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, 
 it was enough dinner for the whole family. 
 
-98 66 8«- 
 
 Indeed, as Mrs. Cratch it said with great delight 
 (looking at one small bone upon the dish), they 
 hadn't eaten all of it yet. But every one had had 
 enough, even the youngest Cratchits. But now, 
 the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. 
 Cratchit left the room to take the pudding up and 
 bring it in. 
 
 Suppose it should not be done enough ! Sup- 
 pose it should break in turning out! Suppose 
 somebody should have climbed over the wall of 
 the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were 
 merry with the goose ! 
 
 Halloo ! A great deal of steam ! The pudding 
 was out of the kettle. A smell like a washing- 
 day. That was the cloth. A smell like an eating- 
 house and a baker's next door to each other, with 
 a laundress's next door to that! That was the 
 pudding ! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered 
 — flushed, but smiling proudly — with the pud- 
 ding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and 
 firm, and decked with Christmas holly. 
 
 Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said 
 it was the best pudding he had ever seen. Every- 
 body had something to say about it, but nobody 
 
^ 67 B«- 
 
 said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a 
 large family. 
 
 At last the dinner was all done, the hearth 
 swept, and the lire made. All the Cratchit family 
 drew round the hearth, and watched the chest- 
 nuts on the fire as they sputtered and cracked. 
 Then Bob said, '' Merry Christmas to us all, my 
 dears. God bless us! '^ 
 
 " God bless us every one ! '^ said Tiny Tim, the 
 last of all. 
 
 — Charles Dickens. 
 
^ 68 8«- 
 
 THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE 
 
 for lorn' de^f '-mut^ gx ceed'ing ly 
 
 par'a pet Do'lor par tic'u lar ly 
 
 stra^n^d im ag'i na bl^ sen sa'tion 
 
 protec'tion spec'tacl^s quiv'ering 
 
 I. THE TOWER 
 
 One winter night, when all the plain was white 
 with moonlight, a tall black horse was seen cross- 
 ing it. The horse was ridden by a man also big 
 and equally black, carrying before him on the 
 saddle a woman and a child. 
 
 The woman was to inhabit the lonely tower 
 with the child, and was allowed to live as long 
 as' the child lived — no longer. 
 
 The child was only a little boy, with a sweet, 
 sleepy smile — he had been very tired with his 
 long journey — and clinging arms, which held 
 tight to the man's neck, for he was rather fright- 
 ened, and the face, black as it was, looked kindly 
 at him. He was very helpless, too, with his poor, 
 small, shrivelled legs, which could neither stand 
 nor run away. 
 
^ 69 8«- 
 
 This forlorn little boy was Prince Dolor, and he 
 was being sent away from home under the charge 
 of the woman and the black man. The latter was 
 deaf and dumb, so he could neither tell nor repeat 
 anything. 
 
 When they reached the foot of the tower, there 
 was light enough to see a huge chain dangling 
 from the parapet, but dangling only half way. 
 The deaf-mute took from his saddle-bag a ladder, 
 arranged in pieces like a puzzle, fitted it together, 
 and lifted it up to meet the chain. 
 
 Then he mounted to the top of the tower, and 
 slung from it a chair, in which the woman and the 
 child placed themselves and were drawn up, never 
 to come down again as long as they lived. Leav- 
 ing them there, the man descended the ladder, 
 took it to pieces again and placed it in his pack, 
 mounted his horse, and disappeared across the 
 plain. 
 
 Every month they used to watch for him, 
 appearing like a speck in the distance. He 
 fastened his horse to the foot of the tower and 
 climbed it as before, laden with provisions and 
 many other things. He always saw the Prince, 
 
-« 70 3«- 
 
 to make sure that the 
 child was alive and well, 
 and then he went away 
 until the following month. 
 While his first child- 
 hood lasted, Prince Dolor 
 was happy enough. He 
 had every luxury that even 
 a prince could need, and 
 his nurse was very kind to 
 him. 
 
 He played about from 
 room to room ; learned to 
 crawl like a fly and to 
 jump like a frog, and to 
 run about on all-fours 
 almost as fast as a puppy. 
 In fact, he was very much 
 like a puppy or kitten, — 
 as thoughtless and as 
 merry. 
 
 As he grew older he 
 often sat at the windows and watched the sky 
 above and the ground below, with the storms 
 
^ 71 8«- 
 
 sweeping over, and the sunshine coming and 
 going, and the shadows of the clouds running 
 races across the barren plain. 
 
 By and by he began to learn lessons, and as he 
 had nothing else to do, he got on very rapidly. 
 When he could read, he spent most of the day 
 with the books which the man brought him, books 
 which told him of everything in the outside world, 
 and filled him with a desire to see it. 
 
 From this time a change came over the boy. 
 He began to look sad and thin. His nurse had 
 been forbidden to tell him anything about him- 
 self, who he was, or what he might have been. 
 He knew he was Prince Dolor, because she always 
 called him ''My Prince,'^ and ''Your Royal High- 
 ness,'^ but what a prince was he had not the least 
 idea. He had no idea of 
 anything in the world, 
 except what he found in 
 his books. 
 
 He sat one 
 day surround- 
 ed by them, 
 having built 
 
^ 72 8«- 
 
 them up around him like a castle wall. He had 
 been reading them half the day, but feeling all 
 the Avhile that to read about things which you 
 never can see is like hearing about a beautiful 
 dinner while you are starving. 
 
 '' Oh, I wish I had some cne to tell me about 
 these things! some one that would be fond of 
 me,'' he said. ''Yes, I wish I had a person, a 
 real live person, who would be fond of me and 
 kind to me. Oh, I want some one — dreadfully, 
 dreadfully ! '' 
 
 As he spoke, there sounded behind him a slight 
 tap-tap-tap, as of a stick or a cane, and twisting 
 himself round, he saw — what do you think he 
 saw? 
 
 A little woman, no bigger than himself. Her 
 hair was gray, and her dress was gray, and there 
 was a gray shadow over her wherever she moved. 
 But she had the sweetest smile, and the prettiest 
 hands, and when she spoke, it was in the softest 
 voice imaginable. 
 
 '' My dear little boy,'' she said, " my own little 
 boy, I could not come to you until you had said you 
 wanted me ; but now you do want me, here I am." 
 
-« 73 8<- 
 
 '* And you are very welcome, madam/' replied 
 the Prince, trying to speak politely, as princes 
 always did in books. '' I am exceedingly obliged 
 to you. May I ask who you are? Perhaps my 
 mother? '^ 
 
 " No," said the visitor, with a tender smile. 
 *' No, I am not your mother, though she was a 
 dear friend of mine ; and you are as like her as 
 you can be.'' 
 
 "Will you tell her to come and see me, then? " 
 
 "She cannot; but I dare say she knows all 
 about you. And she loves you very much — and 
 so do I ; and I wish to help you all I can. I am 
 your godmother." 
 
 " Hurrah ! " cried the little Prince ; " I am glad 
 I belong to you, for I like you very much. Will 
 you come and play with me? " 
 
 So they sat down together and played. By and 
 by they began to talk. 
 
 " Are you very dull here? " asked the little old 
 woman. 
 
 "Not particularly, thank you. Godmother. I 
 have plenty to eat and drink, and my lessons to 
 do, and my books to read — plenty of books." 
 
-« 74 6«- 
 
 *' And you want nothing? '^ 
 
 ^' Nothing. Yes — perhaps — if you please, 
 Godmother, could you bring me just one more 
 thing ?'^ 
 
 ''What sort of thing?'' 
 
 '' A little boy to play with/' 
 
 The old woman looked very sad. ^' That is just 
 the thing which I cannot give you, but I will give 
 you something to amuse you — something that 
 will take you wherever you wish to go, and show 
 you all that you wish to see." 
 
 ''What is it?" 
 
 " A travelling cloak." 
 
 When the Prince heard this he looked very 
 sad. "I don't want a cloak," he said, "for I 
 never go out. I can't walk, you know, but I 
 can creep and hop. Sometimes nurse lifts me 
 up on the roof, and carries me round the para- 
 pet ; but that is all." 
 
 "The more reason why you should ride," said 
 his godmother, laying the cloak down beside him. 
 Then she kissed him, bade him "Good-by" in her 
 sweet, soft voice, and left him as she had found 
 him, sitting among his books. 
 
-»8 75 8«- 
 
 II. THE FLIGHT 
 
 Prince Dolor took the cloak and began to untie 
 the knots, when something strange happened. 
 The cloak began to undo itself. Slowly unfolding, 
 it laid itself down on the carpet, a rim turned up 
 all around it, and it grew and grew until it 
 was large enough for one person to sit in very 
 comfortably. 
 
 With one of his 
 active leaps the 
 Prince sprang into 
 the middle of the 
 cloak, where he sat 
 down, wrapped his 
 arms round his knees, 
 and waited to see what would 
 happen next. 
 
 In a moment the cloak rose, 
 slowly and steadily, till it 
 nearly touched the skylight. Prince Dolor's 
 head would have bumped against the glass if he 
 had not put up his hands and opened the skylight. 
 
 The minute the window was opened, the cloak 
 
^ 76 8«- 
 
 sailed out into the clear, fresh air, with nothing 
 between it and the cloudless blue sky. 
 
 Prince Dolor had never felt such a delightful 
 sensation before. I can understand it. Cannot 
 you? Did you never think, while watching the 
 birds in their flight across the evening sky, how 
 pleasant it must feel to be up there, able to hear 
 and see everything below? 
 
 Something like this was the happiness of the 
 little lame Prince when he left the Hopeless Tower, 
 and found himself, for the first time, in the pure 
 open air, with the sky above him and the earth 
 below. 
 
 The happy little fellow, floating in the air in his 
 magic cloak, saw all sorts of wonderful things — 
 or they seemed wonderful to him, who had 
 hitherto seen nothing at all. 
 
 First, there were the flowers that grew on the 
 plain, and, whenever the cloak came near enough, 
 he strained his eyes to look at them ; they were 
 tiny, but very beautiful. 
 
 '' I wonder, '^ thought the Prince, '' whether I 
 could see better through a pair of glasses like 
 those my nurse reads with.'' 
 
-^ 77 8«- 
 
 Immediately he felt something queer and hard 
 fixing itself to the bridge of his nose. It was a 
 pair of the prettiest gold spectacles ever seen, and 
 looking downward, he could see every blade of 
 grass, every tiny bud and flower — nay, even the 
 insects that walked over them. 
 
 '' Thank you, thank you ! '' he cried, hoping that 
 his dear godmother, who he felt sure had given 
 him this new present, would hear him. 
 
 He amused himself for a long time with the 
 glasses, gazing down upon the grass and flowers. 
 
 Then, just to rest his eyes, he turned them up 
 to the sky — the blue, bright, empty sky which 
 he had looked at so often and seen nothing. 
 
 Now surely there was something. A long, 
 black wavy line moving in the distance, not as 
 the clouds move, but as if it were alive. Looking 
 at it through his spectacles, he soon discovered 
 that it really was alive ; being a long string of 
 birds, flying one after the other toward the south. 
 
 "They must be birds of passage,^' cried the 
 boy, who had read a little about them in his 
 books. " Oh, how I should like to see them quite 
 close, and to know where they are going ! '^ 
 
-^ 78 8«- 
 
 THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE 
 
^ 79 8«- 
 
 At once the cloak gave a bound forward, and 
 presently he found himself high in the air, in the 
 very middle of that band of travellers who had 
 no magic cloak to travel on — nothing but their 
 wings. 
 
 '' Oh, I wish I were going with you, you lovely 
 creatures,^^ cried the little boy. '^Fm getting so 
 tired of this dull plain, and the dreary and lonely 
 tower. Pretty swallows, dear swallows! tell me 
 what it looks like — the beautiful, wonderful 
 world !'^ 
 
 But the swallows flew past him silently and 
 slowly; and the child looked after them with 
 envy. For a long time he followed with his eyes 
 the faint black line as it floated away. Then he 
 settled himself down in the centre of the cloak, 
 feeling sad and lonely. 
 
 *' Oh, Godmother!^' he said at last; **dear 
 Godmother, all these things that I have seen I 
 like very much, but I should like better to see 
 some one like myself. Couldn't you show me just 
 one little boy?'' 
 
 There was a sigh behind him, — it might have 
 been the wind, — and the cloak remained so long 
 
^ 80 8«- 
 
 motionless in the air that he was afraid his god- 
 mother had forgotten him. Suddenly a shrill 
 whistle startled him, and looking down he saw 
 something — neither a sheep nor a horse nor a 
 cow — nothing upon four legs. 
 
 This creature had only two ; but they were long, 
 straight, and strong. And it had an active body, 
 and a curly head of black hair set upon its 
 shoulders. It was a boy, a shepherd-boy, about 
 the Prince's own age — but, oh! so different. 
 
 As the Prince looked, the boy stretched himself, 
 for he had been half asleep, while his dog, who 
 had been guarding the sheep, began to jump upon 
 him and bark with delight. 
 
 **Down, Snap, down! Let's warm ourselves 
 with a race,'' the Prince heard him say. 
 
 They started off together, boy and dog — shout- 
 ing and barking, till it was doubtful which made 
 the most noise or ran the fastest. And what a 
 pleasure it seemed to both of them ! 
 
 How the boy skimmed along the ground, his 
 cheeks glowing, and his hair flying, and his legs — 
 oh, what a pair of legs he had ! 
 
 Prince Dolor watched him for a while, and then 
 
^ 81 8«- 
 
 his pale face grew paler, his lips began to quiver, 
 and his eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "How nice it must be to run like that!^' he 
 said softly, thinking that never — no, never — 
 would he be able to do the same. '' I think I 
 would rather not look at him again, ^^ and he drew 
 himself back into the centre of his cloak and took 
 off his gold spectacles. 
 
 He sat a long time thus, or it seemed a long 
 time to him, when suddenly through the silence, 
 up from below, there rose a delightful sound. 
 
 It was the song of a skylark, mounting higher 
 and higher from the ground, till it came so close 
 that Prince Dolor could distinguish its quivering 
 wings and tiny body. 
 
 *' Oh, you beautiful, beautiful bird ! ^' cried he ; 
 ''I should dearly like to take you in and cuddle 
 you. That is, if I could, if I dared. ^' 
 
 The lark soared and soared, and the Prince 
 forgot all his sadness and pain, everything in the 
 world except the lark. He was just wondering if 
 it would soar out of sight and what he should do 
 when it was gone, when it folded its wings and 
 dropped right into his hand. 
 
-« 82 8«- 
 
 How happy the Prince was now ! He had 
 something that no one else had, something all 
 his own ! As the cloak travelled on, the little 
 lark hopped from his hand to his shoulder and 
 kissed him with its dainty beak as if it loved him. 
 
 When he came in sight of Hopeless Tower, a 
 painful thought came to him. " My pretty bird,'' 
 he said, "what am I to do with you? If I take 
 you into my room and shut you up there, what 
 will become of you ? No, my dear bird, I will not 
 keep you shut up in the tower ; I would rather do 
 without you altogether. Fly away, my beautiful 
 bird. Good-by, my merry, merry bird.'' 
 
 Opening his two hands, he let the lark go. 
 It perched on the rim of the cloak a moment, 
 then away it flew, far up into the blue sky. 
 
 But when Prince Dolor had eaten his supper 
 and gone quietly to bed, he heard outside the 
 window a faint carol. 
 
 The dear little lark! It had not flown away, 
 after all. It hovered about the tower all night, 
 and, whenever he listened, he heard it singing. 
 
 That night the little Prince went to sleep as 
 happy as a king. _p,^^, mulock craik. 
 
^ 83 8«- 
 
 ^ LAUGHING SONG 
 
 When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, 
 And the dimpling stream runs laughing by, 
 When the air does laugh with our merry wit, 
 And the green hill laughs with the noise of it ; 
 
 When the meadows laugh w^ith lively green. 
 And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene ; 
 When Mary and Susan and Emily 
 With their sweet round mouths sing, '' Ha, ha, he! " 
 
 When the painted birds laugh in the shade, 
 When our table with cherries and nuts is spread : 
 Come live, and be merry, and join with me 
 To sing the sweet chorus of '' Ha, ha, he ! '^ 
 
 — William Blake. 
 
-^ 84 S«- 
 
 SONG 
 
 I had a dove and the sweet dove died ; 
 
 And I have thought it died of grieving : 
 
 Oh, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied 
 
 With a silken thread of my own hands' weaving. 
 
 Sweet little red feet ! why should you die — 
 
 Why would you leave me, sweet bird ! why ? 
 
 You lived alone in the forest-tree ; 
 
 Why, pretty thing ! would you not live with me ? 
 
 I kissed you oft and gave you white peas ; 
 
 Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees ? 
 
 — John Keats. 
 
-« 85 6«- 
 
 car'ni v^l 
 car'a van 
 co'co^ nut 
 be hav'ior 
 m^^s'uring 
 
 JACKANAPES 
 
 som'er sa]ilt 
 dis pos^d' 
 shirimg 
 rePic 
 miri tary 
 
 I. LOLLO 
 
 rap'ttir^ 
 whirri gig 
 spurned 
 opportun'i ty 
 Wa'terloo 
 
 Two Donkeys and the Geese lived on the Green, 
 and all other residents of any social standing 
 lived in houses around it. The houses had no 
 names. Everybody's address was ''The Green,'' 
 
-« 86 8«- 
 
 but the Postman and the people of the place 
 knew where each family lived. 
 
 As to the rest of the world, what has one to do 
 with the rest of the world when he is safe at 
 home on his own Goose Green? Besides, if a 
 stranger did come on any business, he might ask 
 his way at the shop. 
 
 Once a year the Goose Green became the scene 
 of a carnival. First of all, carts and caravans 
 were rumbling along, day and night. 
 
 Jackanapes could hear them as he lay in bed, 
 and could hardly sleep for wondering what booths 
 and whirligigs he should find when he and his dog 
 Spitfire went out after breakfast. 
 
 He seldom had to wait so long, however, for 
 news of the Fair. The Postman knew the win- 
 dow out of which Jackanapes^ yellow head would 
 come, and was ready with his report. 
 
 " Koyal Theatre, Master Jackanapes, in the old 
 place, but be careful of the seats, sir; they^re 
 rickettier than ever. Two sweets and a ginger 
 beer under the oak tree, and the Flying Boats are 
 just coming along the road. ^^ 
 
 The Gray Goose always ran away at the first 
 
-« 87 »- 
 
 approach of the caravans, and never came back 
 to the Green till there was nothing left of the 
 Fair but footmarks and oyster-shells. 
 
 Grass soon grew over the footprints, and chil- 
 dren took the oyster-shells to trim their gardens 
 with ; but one year there remained another relic of 
 Fair-time in which Jackanapes was very much 
 interested. 
 
 '^The Green '^ was part of a common, where 
 gypsies sometimes camped, especially after the 
 Fair. And it was after the Fair that Jackanapes, 
 out rambling by himself, was knocked over by the 
 gypsy^s son riding the gypsy's red-haired pony at 
 breakneck pace across the common. 
 
 Jackanapes got up and shook himself, none the 
 worse except for being heels over head in love 
 with the red-haired pony. What a rate he went 
 at ! How he spurned the ground with his nimble 
 feet ! How his red coat shone in the sunshine ! 
 And what bright eyes peeped out of his dark fore- 
 lock as it was blown by the wind ! 
 
 The gypsy boy had had a fright, and he was 
 willing enough to reward Jackanapes for not hav- 
 ing been hurt, by allowing him to have a ride. 
 
^ 88 8«- 
 
 ''Do you mean to kill the little gentleman? '^ 
 screamed the gypsy mother, who came up just as 
 Jackanapes and the pony set off. 
 
 '' He would get on/^ replied her son. '' It'll not 
 kill him. He'll fall on his yellow head, and it's 
 tough as a cocoanut." 
 
 But Jackanapes did not fall. He stuck to the 
 red-haired pony ; and oh, the delight of this wild 
 gallop with flesh and blood! Just as his legs 
 were beginning to feel as if he did not feel 
 them, the gypsy boy cried, ''LoUo!" Bound 
 went the pony so quickly that Jackanapes had to 
 cling to his neck, and did not recover himself 
 before Lollo stopped where they had started. 
 
 " Is his name Lollo? " asked Jackanapes. 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 " What does Lollo mean ? " 
 
 "Red." 
 
 " Is Lollo your pony? " 
 
 "No. My father's," and the gypsy boy led Lollo 
 away. 
 
 At the first opportunity Jackanapes stole away 
 again to the common. This time he saw the 
 gypsy father, smoking a dirty pipe. 
 
^ 89 8«- 
 
 '^LoUo is your pony, isn^t he?'^ said Jacka- 
 napes. 
 
 -Yes.'^ 
 
 '' He's a very nice one.'' 
 
 '* He's a racer.'' 
 
 '' You don't want to sell him, do you? '' 
 
 '' Fifteen pounds," said the gypsy father. Jack- 
 anapes sighed and went home again. 
 
 A few days later, Miss Jessamine spoke very 
 seriously to Jackanapes. She told him that his 
 grandfather, the General, was coming to the 
 Green, and that he must be on his very best 
 behavior during the visit. He must keep his 
 clothes and his hands clean, not put sticky 
 things in his pockets, keep his hair smooth, 
 not burst in at the parlor door, and not talk at 
 the top of his voice. He must be sure to say 
 "Sir" to the General, and be careful about 
 rubbing his shoes on the door-mat. 
 
 II. jackanapes' grandfather 
 
 The General arrived; and for the first day all 
 went well. Jackanapes began to feel more at 
 
-« 90 9«- 
 
 ease with his grandfather, and disposed to talk 
 with him, as he did with the Postman. All that 
 the General felt it would take too long to tell ; 
 but he was disposed to talk with Jackanapes. 
 
 "A very pretty place, '^ he said, looking out 
 of the window at the Green. 
 
 ''You should see it in Fair-week, sir," said 
 Jackanapes, shaking his yellow hair, as he leaned 
 back in one of the two arm-chairs in which they 
 sat. 
 
 "A fine time, eh?" said the General, with a 
 twinkle in his eye. 
 
 Jackanapes shook his hair once more. "I en- 
 joyed this last one the best of all," he said; "I 
 had so much money." 
 
 "It's not a common complaint in these bad 
 times. How much had you?" 
 
 "I had two shillings. A new shilling aunty 
 gave me, an eleven pence I had saved up, and a 
 penny from the Postman, — sir ! ^^ added Jack- 
 anapes with a jerk, having forgotten it. 
 
 " And now I suppose you've not got a penny in 
 your pocket, sir? " inquired the General. 
 
 " Yes, I have," said Jackanapes. " Two pennies. 
 
"^ yi 8*^ 
 
 They are saving up." And Jackanapes jingled 
 them with his hand. 
 
 '' You don't want money except at Fair-time, I 
 suppose?'' said the General. 
 
 Jackanapes shook his head. 
 
 **If I could have as much as I want, I should 
 know what to buy," said he. 
 
 " How much do you want, if you could get it? " 
 
*^ Wait a minute, sir, till I think what twopence 
 from fifteen pounds leaves. Two from nothing 
 you can't, but borrow twelve. Two from twelve, 
 ten, and carry one. Please remember ten, sir, 
 when I ask you. One from nothing you can't, 
 borrow twenty. One from twenty, nineteen, and 
 carry one. One from fifteen, fourteen. Fourteen 
 pounds, nineteen and — what did I tell you to 
 remember?'' 
 
 *'Ten," said the General. 
 
 ** Fourteen pounds, nineteen shillings and ten- 
 pence, then, is what I want," said Jackanapes. 
 
 " What do you want all that money for ? " 
 
 " To buy LoUo with. Lollo means red, sir. The 
 gypsy's red-haired pony, sir. Oh, he is beauti- 
 ful ! You should see his coat in the sunshine ! 
 You should see his mane ! You should see his 
 tail ! Such little feet, sir, and they go like light- 
 ning! But he's a racer, and the gypsy wants 
 fifteen pounds for him." 
 
 ''If he's a racer you couldn't ride him, could 
 you?'' 
 
 '' No — 0, sir, but I can stick to him. I did the 
 other day," 
 
" Did you ! Well, Fm fond of riding myself ; and 
 if the beast is as good as you say, lie might suit 
 me/' 
 
 '' You're too tall for LoUo, I think/' said Jack- 
 anapes, measuring his grandfather with his eye. 
 
 **I can double up my legs, I suppose. We'll 
 have a look at him to-morrow." 
 
 ^* Don't you weigh a good deal? " asked Jacka- 
 napes. 
 
 '' Chiefly waistcoats," said the General, slapping 
 the breast of his military coat. ''We'll have the 
 little racer on the Green the first thing in the 
 morning. Glad you mentioned it. Grandson ; glad 
 you mentioned it." 
 
 The General was as good as his word. Next 
 morning the gypsy and Lollo, Miss Jessamine, 
 Jackanapes, and his grandfather, and his dog Spit- 
 fire, were all gathered at one end of the Green in 
 a group. This so aroused the curiosity of Mrs. 
 Johnson, as she saw it from one of her upper 
 windows, that she and the children took their 
 morning walk earlier than usual. 
 
 The General talked to the gypsy, and Jacka- 
 napes fondled Lollo' s mane, and did not know 
 
-^ 94 9«- 
 
 whether he should be more glad or sorry if his 
 grandfather bought him. 
 
 *' Jackanapes!'' 
 
 ^^Tes, sir!'' 
 
 ''I've bought Lollo, but I believe you were 
 right. He hardly stands high enough for me. If 
 you can ride him to the other end of the Green, 
 I'll give him to you." 
 
 How Jackanapes tumbled on to Lollo' s back he 
 never knew. He had just gathered up the reins 
 when the gypsy father took him by the arm. 
 
 "If you want to make Lollo go fast, my little 
 gentleman — " 
 
 ''I can make him go!" said Jackanapes, and 
 drawing from his pocket a trumpet he had bought 
 at the Fair, he blew a blast both loud and shrill. 
 
 Away went Lollo, and away went Jackanapes' 
 hat. His golden hair flew out, and his cheeks 
 shone red. Away went Spitfire, mad with the 
 rapture of the race and the wind in his silky ears. 
 Away went the geese, the cocks, the hens, and the 
 whole family of Johnson. Lucy clung to her 
 mamma, Jane saved Emily by the gathers of her 
 gown, and Tony saved himself by a somersault. 
 
-98 95 8«- 
 
 The Gray Goose was just returning when Jacka- 
 napes and Lollo rode back, Spitfire panting behind. 
 
 '' Good, my little gentleman, good ! '^ said the 
 gypsy. ^'Tou were born to the saddle. All you 
 want is to learn the whisper. Come here ! '' 
 
 *'What was that fellow talking about, Grand- 
 son ? '^ asked the General, an hour later, when they 
 were sitting in the window in two arm-chairs. 
 
 *'I can^t tell you, sir. It's a secret.'' 
 
 **You must love your aunt very much, Jacka- 
 napes?" 
 
 *'I do, sir," said Jackanapes, warmly. 
 
 '' And whom do you love next best to your aunt ? " 
 
 Jackanapes answered quite readily, ''The Post- 
 man." 
 
 "Why the Postman?" 
 
 "He knew my father," said Jackanapes, "and 
 he tells me about him and about his black mare. 
 My father was a soldier, a brave soldier. He died 
 at Waterloo. When I grow up I want to be a 
 soldier, too." 
 ' "So you shall, my boy; so you shall." 
 
 " Thank you, Grandfather. Aunty doesn't want 
 me to be a soldier, for fear of being killed." 
 
. ** Would she have you get into a feather-bed 
 and stay there? Why, you might be killed by a 
 thunderbolt, if you were a butter merchant ! '^ 
 
 */So I might. I shall tell her so. What a 
 funny fellow you are, sir! Do you think my 
 father knew the gypsy^s secret? The Postman 
 says he used to whisper to his black mare.'' 
 
 ■^ ^ri •••■■''': 
 
 "Tour father was taught to ride, as a child, by 
 one of those horsemen of the East who swoop 
 and dart and wheel about a plain like swallows 
 in autumn. Grandson ! love me a little, too. I 
 
-^ 91 Q^ 
 
 can tell you more about your father than the 
 Postman can/^ 
 
 "I do love you/' said Jackanapes. ^' I love you 
 very much, and I will try to be very good. But I 
 should like to be a soldier. '^ 
 
 ''You shall, my boy; you shall. And if you 
 live to be an honor to your country, this old heart 
 shall grow young again with pride for you ; and 
 if you die in the service of your country — well, 
 sir, it can but break for you ! '' 
 
 — Juliana Horatia Ewing. 
 
 DUTY 
 
 So nigh is grandeur to our dust, 
 
 So near is God to man. 
 When Duty whispers low, "Thou must," 
 
 The youth replies, " I can.'' 
 
 — RALt>H Waldo Emerson. 
 
-« 98 8«- 
 
 HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS 
 
-^ 99 8«- 
 
 HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD 
 
 By the shores of Gitchee Gumee, 
 By the shining Big-Sea-Water, 
 Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, 
 Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
 Dark behind it rose the forest, 
 Kose the black and gloomy pine-trees, 
 Kose the firs with cones upon them ; 
 Bright before it beat the water. 
 Beat the clear and sunny water. 
 Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water. 
 
 There the wrinkled, old Nokomis 
 Nursed the little Hiawatha, 
 Eocked him in his linden cradle ; 
 Stilled his fretful wail by saying, 
 '' Hush ! the Naked Bear will get thee! '' 
 Lulled him into slumber, singing, 
 '' Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! 
 Who is this, that lights the wigwam ? 
 With his great eyes lights the wigwam ? 
 Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! '^ 
 
 Many things Nokomis taught him 
 Of the stars that shine in heaven ; 
 
-^ 100 8«- 
 
 Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, 
 
 Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses ; 
 
 Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, 
 
 Warriors with their plumes and war-chibs, 
 
 Flaring far away to northward 
 
 In the frosty nights of Winter ; 
 
 Showed the broad, white road in heaven, 
 
 Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows. 
 
 Running straight across the heavens. 
 
 Crowded 'with the ghosts, the shadows. 
 
 At the door on summer evenings 
 Sat the little Hiawatha, 
 Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, 
 Heard the lapping of the water. 
 Sounds of music, words of wonder ; 
 '' Minne-wawa ! '^ said the pine-trees, 
 *' Mudway-aushka ! '' said the water. 
 
 Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, 
 Flitting through the dusk of evening, 
 With the twinkle of its candle 
 Lighting up the brakes and bushes ; 
 And he sang the song of children, 
 Sang the song Nokomis taught him : 
 " Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, 
 
-^ 101 9«- >^;. ;V ; v\ 
 
 Little, flitting, white-fire insect,^ /A I/: V \. 
 
 Little, dancing, white-fire creature, 
 
 Light me with your little candle, 
 
 Ere upon my bed I lay me. 
 
 Ere in sleep I close my eyelids ! '^ 
 
 Saw the moon rise from the water 
 Rippling, rounding from the water. 
 Saw the flecks and shadows on it, 
 Whispered, '' What is that, Nokomis? '^ 
 And the good Nokomis answered : 
 ** Once a warrior, very angry, 
 Seized his grandmother, and threw her 
 Up into the sky at midnight ; 
 Right against the moon he threw her ; 
 'Tis her body that you see there/' 
 
 Saw the rainbow in the heaven, 
 In the eastern sky the rainbow. 
 Whispered, ^' What is that, Nokomis?'' 
 And the good Nokomis answered : 
 ** 'Tis the heaven of flowers you see there 
 All the wild-flowers of the forest. 
 All the lilies of the prairie. 
 When on earth they fade and perish, 
 Blossom in that heaven above us.'' 
 
-^ 102 8€- 
 
 •. i^.iYv'hen he heard the owls at midnight, 
 Hooting, laughing in the forest, 
 *^ What is that? '^ he cried, in terror; 
 **What is that,'' he said, '^Nokorais? '' 
 And the good Nokomis answered • 
 '' That is but the owl and owlet. 
 Talking in their native language, 
 Talking, scolding at each other." 
 
 Then the little Hiawatha 
 Learned of every bird its language, 
 Learned their names and all their secrets, 
 How they built their nests in Summer, 
 Where they hid themselves in Winter, 
 Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
 Called them " Hiawatha's Chickens." 
 
 Of all beasts he learned the language, 
 Learned their names and all their secrets, 
 How the beavers built their lodges, 
 Where the squirrels hid their acorns. 
 How the reindeer ran so swiftly. 
 Why the rabbit was so timid. 
 Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
 Called them ''Hiawatha's Brothers." 
 
 — Hbnry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
-^ 103 8«- 
 
 har'nes sing 
 ste^d'ily 
 in'jury 
 m ten'dmg 
 
 ROLLO AT WORK 
 
 plat'form 
 po si'tion 
 pas'ttir^ 
 se'ri citis 
 
 reg'tilarly 
 bruised 
 un liick'i ly 
 won'der^d 
 
 Rollo went into the yard one morning, and 
 found his father just getting into the wagon to go 
 away. Jonas stood by the horse, having just fin- 
 ished harnessing him. 
 
 *' Father/' said Rollo, '^I can work. You thought 
 
-^ 104 8«- 
 
 I could not work, but I can. I am going to work 
 to-day while you are gone/' 
 
 "Are you?'' said his father. "Very well; I 
 shall be glad to have you." 
 
 " What would you like to have me do? " 
 
 " Oh, you may pick up chips," said his father, 
 " or you may pile that short wood in the shed." 
 
 When his father had gone, Rollo went into the 
 house for a basket. His mother gave him one, 
 which he said was just big enough, and he went 
 out into the yard to begin his work. 
 
 He sat down on the chips, and began picking 
 them up and throwing them into his basket. He 
 soon filled it, and emptied it into the bin ; then 
 he began to fill it again. 
 
 When he got the basket nearly full the second 
 time, he thought he was tired, and that it would 
 be a good plan to take a rest ; and he would go 
 and see Jonas a little while. 
 
 "Well, Rollo," said Jonas, "how do you get 
 along with your work? " 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Rollo ; " I have been pick- 
 ing up chips all the time since I went away from 
 you." 
 
-^ 105 B^ 
 
 ^' And how many have you got in ? '^ said Jonas. 
 
 ' Guess," said Rollo. 
 
 '' Six basketfuls/' said Jonas. 
 
 "No," said Rollo. 
 
 ''Eight." 
 
 ''No; not so many." 
 
 "How many then?" said Jonas, who began to 
 be tired of guessing. 
 
 " Two ; that is, I have got one in, and the other 
 is almost full." 
 
 "Only two?" said Jonas. "Then you cannot 
 have worked very steadily. Come here, and I will 
 show you how to work." 
 
 Jonas walked along to the chips, and asked 
 Rollo to fill his basket and carry it, and then 
 come back, and he would tell him. 
 
 Rollo filled the basket, carried it to the bin, 
 and came back very soon. Jonas told him to 
 fill it again as full as it was before. 
 
 "There," said Jonas, when it was done, "now 
 it is as full as the other was, and I think you 
 have been less than two minutes in doing it. 
 We will call it two minutes. Two minutes for 
 each basketful would make thirty basketfuls in 
 
-^ 106 »- 
 
 an hour. I don't think there are more than 
 thirty basketfuls in all ; so that, if you work 
 steadily, you would get them all into the bin in 
 an hour.'' 
 
 '' In an hour? " said Kollo. '' Could I get them 
 all in in an hour? " 
 
 '' Yes," said Jonas, ''I have no doubt you can." 
 Then he went to the field, leav- 
 ing Rollo to 
 h^'^ go on with 
 his thirty bas- 
 kets. Rollo 
 thought it 
 would be a fine 
 thing to get the 
 chips all in be- 
 fore his father 
 
 ^' ' should come home 
 
 
 ^^ • and he went to work 
 very busily, filling 
 his basket the third time. 
 
 ''I can do it quicker," said he to himself. ''I 
 can fill the basket a great deal faster than that. 
 I will get it all done in half an hour." 
 
-^ 107 Q^ 
 
 Before he had picked up many chips, however, 
 he happened to think that the wheelbarrow would 
 be a better thing to get them in with. ''Men 
 always use a wheelbarrow/' he said to himself, 
 " and why should not I? '' 
 
 So he turned the chips out of his basket, and 
 went after the wheelbarrow. He thought he 
 would take a big load in it, and so he filled it 
 almost full. Then he took hold of the handles, 
 and tried to lift it. He found it very heavy. He 
 tried again and succeeded in raising it from the 
 ground a little; but unluckily, as wheelbarrows 
 are apt to do when the load is too heavy for the 
 workman, it tipped down to one side, and though 
 Rollo used all his strength to save it, it was in 
 vain. 
 
 Over went the wheelbarrow, and about half of 
 the chips were poured out upon the ground again. 
 
 " Oh dear ! '' said EoUo ; " I wish this wheel- 
 barrow were not so heavy.'' 
 
 After a few minutes he tipped the wheelbarrow 
 back, which he could easily do now that the load 
 was half out, and thought he would wheel those 
 chips along, and take the rest next time. 
 
-^ 108 8«- 
 
 He wheeled the load along until he came to the 
 edge of the platform which was before the shed 
 door, where he was to carry in his chips. Of 
 course he could not get the wheel up such a high 
 step ; so he sat down on the edge of the platform, 
 not knowing what to do next. 
 
 '' I will not pick up chips any more. I will pile 
 the wood,^^ he said to himself. '* Father told me 
 that I might either pick up chips or pile the wood. 
 I shall not have anything to carry or to wheel at 
 all, and it will be much easier.^' 
 
 So he left his wheelbarrow where it was, at the 
 edge of the platform, intending to ask Jonas to 
 get it up for him when he should come home. 
 
 He went into the shed, and began to pile the 
 wood. It was feome very short, small wood, pre- 
 pared for a stove in his mother's chamber, and he 
 knew where his father wished to have it piled — 
 back against the side of the shed, near where the 
 wood was lying. Jonas had thrown it there in a 
 heap as he had sawed and split it. 
 
 He began to lay the wood regularly upon the 
 ground where his pile was to be, and for a few 
 minutes worked very busily. 
 
^ 109 8^ 
 
 Soon Jonas came in. " How do you get along 
 with your chips? '^ he asked. 
 
 " Oh, not very well. I want you to help me get 
 the wheelbarrow up on the platform. ^^ 
 
 ''The wheelbarrow! ^' said Jonas. "Are you 
 doing it with the wheelbarrow? ^' 
 
 " No, I am not picking up chips now at all. I 
 am piling wood. I did have the wheelbarrow.^^ 
 
 Just then the cow walked through the yard and 
 out of the gate into the field, and Jonas said he 
 must go at once to drive her into the pasture, and 
 put up the fence, so he could not stop to help 
 Eollo about the chips ; but he would look in and 
 see if he was piling the wood right. 
 
 "That will do very well,'^ said he, "only you 
 must put the biggest ends of the sticks outward, 
 or it will tumble down.'' 
 
 Rollo piled a little more, and as he piled he 
 wondered what Jonas meant by telling him to put 
 the largest ends outward. He took up a stick 
 and laid it on both ways, first with the big end 
 against the side of the shed, then with it in front. 
 
 He did not see but that the stick lay as steadily 
 in one position as in the other. 
 
-^ 110 8«- 
 
 '* Jonas was mistaken/' said he. '' It is better 
 to put the big ends back. Then they are out of 
 sight, and the pile looks handsomer.'' 
 
 So he went on, putting the sticks upon the pile 
 with the biggest ends back against the shed. By 
 this means the back side of the pile began soon to 
 be the highest, and the wood slanted forward, so 
 as to be quite unsteady. 
 
 RoUo could not imagine what made his pile act 
 so. He thought he would put on one stick more, 
 and then leave it. But, as he was putting on the 
 stick, he found that the whole pile was very un- 
 steady. He put his hand upon it, and shook it a 
 little, to see if it were going to fall, when he found 
 it was coming upon him. 
 
 As he stepped suddenly back, he tumbled over 
 the wood which was lying on the ground, and a 
 large part of the pile came down upon him. 
 
 He screamed out with fright and pain, for he 
 bruised himself a little in falling. 
 
 That evening, when his father came home, Rollo 
 said, '' Father, you were right, after all; I donH 
 know how to work." 
 
 — Jacob Abbott. 
 
-^ 111 8e- 
 
 BIRD SONGS 
 
 Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, 
 
 the dove, 
 The linnet, and thrush say *^I love, and I love! '^ 
 In the winter they^re silent, the wind is so strong; 
 What it says I don^t know, but it sings a loud 
 
 song. 
 But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm 
 
 weather. 
 And singing and loving — all come back together. 
 But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love. 
 The green fields below him, the blue sky above. 
 That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he, 
 ''I love my Love, and my Love loves me.^^ 
 
 —Samuel Taylor CoLERrooB. 
 
■^ 112 8«- 
 
 TOM, THE WATER-BABY 
 
 drag'gn-fly 
 
 there'for^ 
 
 tor'rent 
 
 doz'ing 
 
 bur'ro^s 
 
 ter'ri er 
 dis con ten'ted 
 quar'rel soin^ 
 Chesh'ir^ 
 
 thou'sandth 
 
 J." 
 
 I. IN THE RIVER 
 
 ad ven'tur0 
 sajm'on 
 com pan'ions 
 thun'der-storm 
 
 One day Tom had a new 
 adventure. He was sitting 
 on a water-lily leaf, he and 
 his friend the dragon-fly, 
 watching the gnats dance. 
 The dragon-fly had eaten as 
 many as he wanted, and was 
 sitting quite still and sleepy, 
 for it was very hot and bright. 
 
 The gnats danced a foot 
 over his head quite happily, 
 and a large black fly settled 
 within an inch of his nose 
 and began washing his own 
 face and combing his hair with his paws. But the 
 
-^ 113 8«- 
 
 dragon-fly never stirred, and kept on chatting to 
 Tom about the times when he lived under the water. 
 
 Suddenly Tom heard the strangest noise up the 
 stream. He looked up the water, and there he 
 saw a sight as strange as the noise ; a great ball 
 rolling over and over down the stream, seeming 
 one moment of soft brown fur, and the next of 
 shining glass. 
 
 Yet it was not a ball ; for sometimes it broke 
 up and streamed away into pieces, and then it 
 joined again ; and all the while the noise came out 
 of it louder and louder. 
 
 Tom asked the dragon-fly what it could be ; but 
 of course, with his short sight, he could not even 
 see it, though it was not ten yards away. So Tom 
 started off to see for himself ; and when he came 
 near, the ball turned out to be four or five beauti- 
 ful otters, many times larger than Tom, who were 
 swimming about, and rolling and diving, and 
 twisting and scratching in the most charming 
 fashion that ever was seen. 
 
 But when the biggest of them saw Tom, she 
 darted out from the rest, and cried in the water- 
 language sharply enough, '' Quick, children, here is 
 
^ 114 8«- 
 
 something to eat, indeed ! '' and came at poor 
 Tom, showing such a wicked pair of eyes and 
 such a set of sharp teeth in a grinning mouth, 
 
 that Tom, who had thought her very handsome, 
 said to himself, ** Handsome is that handsome 
 does," and slipped in between the water-lily roots 
 as fast as he could, and then turned around and 
 laughed at her. 
 
 ** Come out,'' said the wicked old otter, *' or it 
 will be worse for you/' 
 
 But Tom looked at her from between two thick 
 roots, and shook them with all his might. 
 
^ 115 8«- 
 
 **Come away, children/' said the otter. "It is 
 not worth eating, after all. It is only an eft, which 
 nothing eats." 
 
 *' I am not an eft ! '' said Tom. " Efts have tails." 
 
 "You are an eft," said the otter. ''I see your 
 two hands quite plainly, and I know that you have 
 a tail." 
 
 **I tell you I have not," said Tom. "Look 
 here ! " and he turned his pretty little self quite 
 round ; and sure enough, he had no more tail than 
 you have. 
 
 The otter might have got out of it by saying 
 that Tom was a frog ; but like a great many other 
 people, when she had once said a thing she stood 
 to it, right or wrong. 
 
 "I say you are an eft," said the otter, "and 
 therefore you are, and not fit food for gentlefolk 
 like me and my children ; you may stay there till 
 the salmon eat you." (She knew the salmon 
 would not, but she wished to frighten poor Tom.) 
 
 " What are salmon ? " asked Tom. 
 
 " Fish, you eft ; great fish, nice to eat. They 
 are the lords of the fish, and we are lords of the 
 salmon ; " and she laughed again. " They are 
 
-^ 116 B^ 
 
 coming soon, children, coming soon; 1 can smell 
 the rain coming up off the sea. Then hurrah for 
 fresh salmon and plenty of eating all day long.'' 
 
 The otter grew so proud that she turned head 
 over heels twice, and then stood upright half out 
 of the water, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 
 
 ^' And where do they come from? '' asked Tom. 
 
 '' Out of the sea, eft, — the great wide sea, where 
 they might stay and be safe if they liked.'' 
 
 Then the otter sailed away down the brook, and 
 Tom saw her no more for that time. And lucky 
 it was for her that she did so ; for no sooner was 
 she gone than down the bank came seven little 
 rough terrier dogs, snuffing and yapping, grubbing 
 and splashing, in full cry after the otter. 
 
 Tom hid among the water-lilies till they were 
 gone; for he could not guess that they were the 
 water-fairies come to help him. 
 
 But he could not help thinking of what the 
 otter had said about the great river and the broad 
 sea. As he thought, he longed to go and see 
 them. He could not tell why ; but the more he 
 thought, the more he grew discontented with the 
 narrow little stream in which he lived, and with' 
 
-»9 117 St- 
 all his companions. He wished to get out into the 
 wide, wide world, and enjoy all the wonderful 
 sights of which he was sure it was full. 
 
 Once he set off to go down the stream, but the 
 stream was very low, and when he came to the 
 shallows he could not keep under water, for there 
 was no water left to keep under. So the sun 
 burned his back and made him sick ; and he went 
 back again and lay quiet in the pool for a whole 
 week more. 
 
 II. TO THE SEA 
 
 Then on the evening of a very hot day he saw 
 a wonderful sight. 
 
 He had been very stupid all day, and so had 
 the trout ; for they would not move an inch to 
 take a fly, though there were thousands on the 
 water; but lay dozing on the bottom under the 
 shade of the stones. Tom lay dozing too, and was 
 glad to cuddle their smooth, cool sides, for the 
 water was warm and unpleasant. 
 
 Toward evening it grew suddenly dark, and Tom 
 looked up and saw a blanket of black clouds lying 
 across the valley above his head. He felt not 
 
-« 118 S«- 
 
 quite frightened, but very still ; for everything was 
 still. There was not a whisper of wind nor a 
 chirp of a bird to be heard. 
 
 Next a few drops of rain fell into the water. 
 One hit Tom on the nose, and made him pop his 
 head down quickly enough. 
 
 Then the thunder roared, and the lightning 
 flashed from cloud to cloud, and cliff to cliff, till 
 the rocks in the stream seemed to shake. 
 
 Tom looked up at it through the water, and 
 thought it the finest thing he ever saw in his life. 
 
 Out of the water he dare not put his head ; for 
 the rain came down by bucketsful, and the hail fell 
 like shot on the stream, and churned it into foam. 
 
 Soon the stream rose and rushed dow^n, higher 
 and higher, full of beetles and sticks and straws. 
 
 Tom could hardly stand against the stream, and 
 hid behind a rock. But the trout did not hide ; 
 for out they rushed from among the stones, and 
 began gobbling the beetles and leeches in the 
 most greedy and quarrelsome way; swimming 
 about with great worms in their mouths, tugging 
 and kicking to get them away from each other. 
 
 By the flashes of lightning Tom saw a new 
 
-^ 119 Q^ 
 
 sight — all the bottom of the stream alive with 
 great eels, turning and twisting along, all down 
 stream and away. They had been hiding for 
 weeks past in the cracks of the rocks and in 
 burrows in the mud. Tom had hardly ever seen 
 them except now and then at night; but now 
 they were all out, and went hurrying past him so 
 fiercely and wildly that he was quite frightened. 
 
 As they hurried past he could hear them say to 
 each other, "We must hurry! We must hurry! 
 What a jolly thunder-storm ! Down to the sea! 
 Down to the sea ! " 
 
-^ 120 8«- 
 
 Then the otter came by with all her brood, 
 twining and sweeping along as fast as the eels 
 themselves. 
 
 She spied Tom as she came by and said, *'Now 
 is your time, eft, if you wish to see the world. 
 Come along, children, never mind those eels ; we 
 shall breakfast on salmon to-morrow. Down to 
 the sea ! Down to the sea ! ^^ 
 
 Then came a flash brighter than all the rest, 
 and by the light of it — in the thousandth part of 
 a second they were gone again — but he had seen 
 them, he was certain of it — three beautiful little 
 white girls, with their arms twined round each 
 other's necks, floating down the torrent, as they 
 sang, '' Down to the sea ! Down to the sea ! '' 
 
 " Oh, stay ! Wait for me ! ^' cried Tom ; but they 
 were gone. Yet he could hear their voices clear 
 and sweet through the roar of thunder and water 
 and wind, singing as they died away, '' Down to 
 the sea ! '' 
 
 ''Down to the sea?'' said Tom. ''Everything 
 is going to the sea, and I will go, too. Good-by 
 trout." 
 
 Now down the rushing stream he went, guided 
 
-^ 121 8«- 
 
 by the bright flashes of the storm; past tall 
 birch-fringed rocks, which shone out one moment 
 as clear as day, and the next were dark as night. 
 
 Past dark coves under the banks, from which 
 great trout rushed out on Tom, thinking him to 
 be good to eat, but turned back quickly, for the 
 fairies sent them home again with a scolding for 
 daring to meddle with a water-baby. Along deep 
 reaches, where the white water-lilies tossed and 
 flapped beneath the wind and hail ; past sleeping 
 villages ; under dark bridges, and away and away 
 to the sea. 
 
 Tom could not stop, and did not care to stop ; 
 he would see the great world below, and the 
 salmon, and the breakers, and the wide, wide sea. 
 
 — Charles Kingslby. 
 
-^ 122 8i- 
 
 CASABIANCA 
 
 The boy stood on the burning deck, 
 
 Whence all but he had fled ; 
 The flame that lit the battle's wreck, 
 
 Shone round him o'er the dead ; 
 Yet beautiful and bright he stood, 
 
 As born to rule the storm ; 
 A creature of heroic blood, 
 
 A proud though child-like form. 
 
 The flames rolled on — he would not go 
 
 Without his father's word ; 
 That father, faint in death below. 
 
 His voice no longer heard. 
 He called aloud : '' Say, Father, say 
 
 If yet my task is done ! '' 
 He knew not that the chieftain lay 
 
 Unconscious of his son. 
 
 *' Speak, Father ! '' once again he cried, 
 
 '' If I may yet be gone ! '' 
 And but the booming shots replied. 
 
 And fast the flames rolled on. 
 
-^ 123 Q^ 
 
 Upon his brow he felt their breath, 
 
 And in his waving hair ; 
 And looked from that lone post of death, 
 
 In still, yet brave despair; 
 
 And shouted but once more aloud, 
 
 ^' My Father ! must I stay ? '' 
 While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud 
 
 The wreathing fires made way. 
 They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, 
 
 They caught the flag on high, 
 And streamed above the gallant child, 
 
 Like banners in the sky. 
 
 There came a burst of thunder-sound — 
 
 The boy — ! where was he ? 
 — Ask of the winds that far around 
 
 With fragments strewed the sea, 
 With mast, and helm, and pennon fair 
 
 That well had borne their part — 
 But the noblest thing that perished there 
 
 Was that young faithful heart ! 
 
 — Felicia D. Hemans 
 
-^ 124 8«- 
 
 Styr'i a 
 Gluck 
 mus tach'es 
 c6rk'screw§ 
 
 GLUCK'S VISITOR 
 
 jtntic'kl^ 
 ap poin'ted 
 e nor'mj^us 
 iim brel'la 
 tre men'djius 
 
 I. THE FIRST VISIT 
 
 smoth'er 0d 
 gen'er j^iis 
 gin'ders 
 shgrter 
 en graved' 
 
 In the mountains of Styria there was, in olden 
 time, a very fertile valleyo It was surrounded on 
 all sides by steep and rocky mountains, which 
 were always covered with snow. 
 
 But the clouds were drawn so constantly to the 
 snowy hills that, in time of drought, when all the 
 country round was burnt up, there was still rain 
 in the little valley. 
 
 Its crops were so heavy, and its hay so high, 
 and its apples so red, and its grapes so blue, and 
 its honey so sweet, that it was called the Treasure 
 Valley. 
 
 The whole of this little valley belonged to 
 three brothers called 'Schwartz, Hans, and Gluck. 
 
-^ 125 8«- 
 
 Schwartz and Hans, the two older brothers, were 
 very ugly men. They lived by farming the 
 Treasure Valley, and very good farmers they were. 
 
 They killed everything that did not pay for its 
 eating. They shot the blackbirds because they 
 pecked the fruit ; they poisoned the crickets for 
 eating the crumbs in the kitchen ; and smothered 
 the locusts, which used to sing all summer in the 
 lime trees. 
 
 They worked their servants without any wages, 
 till they would not work any more, then quarrelled 
 with them, and turned them out of doors without 
 paying them. 
 
 It would have been odd if with such a farm 
 and such a way of farming they didn't get very 
 rich ; and very rich they did get. They generally 
 kept their corn until it was dear, and then sold it 
 for twice its value ; they had heaps of gold lying 
 about on their floors, yet it was never known that 
 they had given so much as a penny or a crust in 
 charity. 
 
 The youngest brother, Gluck, was about twelve 
 years old, fair, blue-eyed, and kind to every living 
 thing. He did not, of course, agree very well with 
 
■^ 126 S«- 
 
 his brothers; or, rather, they did not agree with 
 him. He was usually appointed to the office of 
 turnspit, — when there was anything to roast, 
 which was not often ; for the brothers were hardly 
 more generous to themselves than to other people. 
 
 At other times he used to clean the shoes, 
 floors, and sometimes the plates, — occasionally 
 getting what was left upon them for his supper. 
 
 Things went on in this manner for a long time. 
 At last came a very w^et summer, and everything 
 went wrong in the country around. The hay had 
 just been made when the haystacks were floated 
 down to the sea by a flood. The vines were cut 
 to pieces by the hail; the corn was killed by a 
 blight ; only in the Treasure Valley, as usual, all 
 was safe. 
 
 As it had rain when there was rain nowhere 
 else, so it had sun when there was sun nowhere 
 else. Everybody came to buy corn at the farm, 
 and went away cursing the Black Brothers. They 
 asked what they liked and got it, except from the 
 poor people, who could only beg, and several of 
 whom were starved at their very door. 
 
 It was drawing toward winter, and very cold 
 
-^ 127 9«- 
 
 weather, when one day the two older brothers 
 went out, with their usual warning to little Gluck, 
 who was left to turn the roast, that he was to let 
 nobody in and give nothing out. 
 
 Gluck sat down quite close to the fire, for it 
 was raining very hard, and the kitchen walls were 
 by no means dry or comfortable-looking. He 
 turned and turned, and the roast got nice and 
 brown. 
 
 '' What a pity,^' thought Gluck, '' that my broth- 
 ers never ask anybody to dinner ! Fm sure when 
 they have such a nice piece of mutton as this, 
 and nobody else has so much as a dry piece of 
 bread, it would do their hearts good to have some- 
 body to eat it with them.^' 
 
 Just as he spoke there came a double knock at 
 the house door, yet heavy and dull, as though the 
 knocker had been tied up, — more like a puflf than 
 a knock. 
 
 *' It must be the wind,^' said Gluck; '* nobody 
 else would dare to knock double knocks at our 
 door." 
 
 No, it wasn't the wind; there it came again, 
 very hard, and what was surprising, the knocker 
 
-^ 128 B^ 
 
 seemed to be in a hurry, and not in the least 
 afraid. Gluck went to the window, opened it, and 
 put his head out to see who it was. 
 
 It was the most extraordinary looking gentle- 
 man he had ever seen in his life. He had a 
 very large nose, slightly brass-colored ; his cheeks 
 were very round and very red ; his eyes twinkled 
 merrily through long eyelashes, his mustaches 
 curled twice round like a corkscrew on each 
 
-« 129 B-- 
 side of his mouth, and his hair hung down over 
 his shoulders. ' 
 
 He was about four feet six in height, and wore 
 an enormous black coat, which must have been 
 very much too long in calm weather, as the wind 
 carried it out from his shoulders to about four 
 times his own length. 
 
 Gluck was terribly frightened at the appearance 
 of his visitor, and looked at him without speaking 
 a word. But the old gentleman, turning round to 
 look after his fly-away cloak, caught sight of 
 Gluck' s little yellow head jammed in the window, 
 with its mouth and eyes very wide open indeed. 
 
 ''Hello!'' said the little gentleman, ''that's not 
 the way to answer the door. I'm wet; let me in." 
 
 To do the little gentleman justice, he was wet. 
 His feather hung down, dripping like an umbrella; 
 and from the ends of his mustaches the water 
 was running into his waistcoat pockets, and out 
 again like a mill stream. 
 
 "I beg pardon, sir!" said Gluck. "I'm very 
 sorry, but I really can't." 
 
 "Can't what? " said the old gentleman. 
 
 "I can't let you in, sir, — I can't, indeed; my 
 
^ 130 B«- 
 
 brothers would beat me to death, sir, if I thought 
 of such a thing. What do you want, sir ? ^' 
 
 *'Want?'^ said the old gentleman, crossly. *'I 
 want fire and shelter ; and there's your great fire 
 blazing, crackling, and dancing on the walls, with 
 nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say ; I only want 
 to warm myself." 
 
 Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long 
 out of the window, that he began to feel that it 
 was really cold ; and when he turned and saw the 
 beautiful fire, his heart melted within him. ''-He 
 does look very wet," said little Gluck; ''Til just 
 let him in fqr a quarter of an hour." 
 
 So round he went to the door and opened it; 
 and as the little gentleman walked in, there came 
 a gust of wind through the house that made the 
 old chimneys totter. 
 
 *' That's a good boy," said the old gentleman. 
 *' Never mind your brothers. Til talk to them." 
 
 *'Pray, sir, don't do ahy such thing," said 
 Gluck. '' I can't let you stay till they come ; they 
 would be the death of me." 
 
 '' Dear me," said the old gentleman, '' I'm very 
 sorry to hear that. How long may I stay? " 
 
-^ 131 8«- 
 
 '' Only till the mutton is done, sir/^ replied 
 Gluck, " and it's very brown.'' 
 
 The old gentleman walked into the kitchen, and 
 sat himself down on the hob, with the top of his 
 cap up the chimney, for it was a great deal too 
 high for the roof. 
 
 "You'll soon dry there, sir," said Gluck, and 
 sat down again to turn the mutton. But the old 
 gentleman did not dry there, but went on drip, 
 
-98 132 9«- 
 
 drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire 
 fizzed, and sputtered, and began to look very 
 black ; never was such a cloak ; every fold in it 
 ran like a gutter. 
 
 '' 1 beg pardon, sir," said Gluck, at length, after 
 watching the water spreading in long streams 
 over the floor for a quarter of an hour; '* mayn't I 
 take your cloak? " 
 
 **No, thank you,'' said the old gentleman. 
 
 ^' Your cap, sir? " 
 
 ^'Tm all right, thank you," said the old gentle- 
 man, rather grufily. 
 
 ^' But — sir — I'm very sorry," said Gluck, *'but 
 — really, sir — you're — putting the fire out." 
 
 ''It'll take longer to do the mutton, then," re- 
 plied his visitor. 
 
 Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior 
 of his guest. He turned away at the string for 
 another five minutes. 
 
 ''That mutton looks very nice," said the old 
 gentleman. " Can't you give me a little bit?" 
 
 "Impossible, sir," said Gluck. 
 
 "I'm very hungry," continued the old gentle- 
 man. "I've had nothing to eat yesterday or 
 
^ 133 6«- 
 
 to-day. They surely couldn't miss a bit from the 
 knuckle ! '^ 
 
 He spoke in so sad a tone that it quite melted 
 Gluck's heart. "They promised to give me one 
 slice to-day, sir," said he; "I can give you that, 
 but not a bit more.'' 
 
 *' That's a good boy," said the old gentleman 
 again. 
 
 Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a 
 knife. "I don't care if I do get beaten for it," 
 thought he. Just as he had cut a large slice out 
 of the mutton there came a tremendous rap at the 
 door. The old gentleman jumped off the hob, as 
 if it had suddenly become too warm. Gluck fitted 
 the slice into the mutton again, and ran to open 
 the door. 
 
 II. THE SECOND VISIT 
 
 "Why did you keep us waiting in the rain?" 
 said Schwartz, as he walked in, throwing his 
 umbrella in Gluck's face. 
 
 " Ay, what for, indeed? " said Hans, giving him 
 a blow on the ear as he followed his brother into 
 the kitchen. 
 
^ 134 8«- 
 
 '* Bless my soul ! ^' said Schwartz, when he 
 opened the door. 
 
 **Amen!'^ said the little gentleman, who had 
 taken his cap off, and was standing in the middle 
 of the kitchen, bowing to the two brothers. 
 
 ** Who's that?'' said Schwartz, catching up a 
 rolling-pin, and turning to Gluck with a fierce 
 frown. 
 
 ^'I don't know, indeed, Brother," said Gluck, in 
 great terror. 
 
 '' How did he get in? " roared Schwartz. 
 
 *^My dear Brother," said Gluck, *'he was so 
 very wet ! " 
 
 The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's 
 head, but, at the instant, the old gentleman thrust 
 out his cap, on which it crashed with a shock that 
 shook the water out of it all over the room. 
 
 What was very odd, the rolling-pin no sooner 
 touched the cap than it flew out of Schwartz's 
 hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and 
 fell into the corner at the farthest end of the room. 
 
 *'Who are you, sir?" cried Schwartz, turning 
 upon him. 
 
 " What's your business? " snarled Hans. 
 
-« 135 B^ 
 
 ''Vm a poor old man, sir/' the little gentleman 
 began, " and I saw your fire through the window, 
 and begged shelter for a quarter of an hour." 
 
 ''Have the goodness to walk out again, then," 
 said Schwartz. " We've quite enough water in 
 our kitchen, without making a drying-house of it." 
 
 ''It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, 
 sir ; look at my gray hairs ! " They hung down to 
 his shoulders, as I told you before. 
 
 "Ay," said Hans, "there are enough of them to 
 keep you warm. Walk ! " 
 
 " Tm very, very hungry, sir ; couldn't you spare 
 me a bit of bread before I go ? " 
 
 "Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz. "Do you 
 suppose we've nothing to do with our bread but 
 to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you? " 
 
 "Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans. 
 " Out with you ! " 
 
 " A little bit," said the old gentleman. 
 
 " Be off ! " said Schwartz. 
 
 " Pray, gentlemen ! " 
 
 " Ofif with you!" cried Hans, seizing him by 
 the collar. But he had no sooner touched the old 
 gentleman's collar than away he went after the 
 
-^ 136 B«- 
 
 CLUCK'S VISITOR 
 
^ 137 8«- 
 
 rolling-pin, spinning round and round till he fell 
 in the corner on top of it. 
 
 Then Schwartz was very angry, and ran at the 
 old gentleman to turn him out; but he also had 
 hardly touched him, when away he went after 
 Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against 
 the wall as he tumbled into the corner. And so 
 there they lay, all three. 
 
 Then the old gentleman spun himself round 
 until his cloak was wound neatly about him, 
 clapped his cap on one side of his head, gave a 
 twist to his corkscrew mustaches, and replied : 
 ^' Gentlemen, I wish you a very good morning. 
 At twelve o'clock to-night 111 call again. After 
 the treatment which I have just received, you will 
 not be surprised if that is the last visit I ever 
 pay you." 
 
 *'If I ever catch you here again, '^ muttered 
 Schwartz, coming half frightened out of the 
 corner — but before he could finish his sentence 
 the old gentleman had shut the house door behind 
 him with a great bang. At the same instant a 
 cloud whirled past the window, and rolled away 
 down the valley in all manner of shapes, turning 
 
-^ 138 8<- 
 
 over and over in the air, and melting away at last 
 in a gush of rain. 
 
 *'A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck,'' 
 said Schwartz. ''Dish the mutton! If I ever 
 catch you at such a trick again — Bless me ! 
 Why, the mutton's been cut!'' 
 
 ''You promised me one slice, Brother, you 
 know," said Gluck. 
 
 '' Oh ! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, 
 and going to catch all the gravy. It'll be long 
 before I promise you such a thing again. Leave 
 the room, sir! " 
 
 Poor Gluck left the room without his supper. 
 The brothers ate as much as they could, and 
 locked the rest in the cupboard. 
 
 Such a night as it was! Howling wind and 
 rushing rain ! The brothers put up all the shutters 
 and double-barred the door before they went to 
 bed. They usually slept in the same room. 
 
 As the clock struck twelve they were both 
 awakened by a tremendous crash. Their door 
 broke open with a shock that made the house 
 tremble from top to bottom ; the rain beat in, 
 and the wind whistled through the room. 
 
-^ 139 8i- 
 
 *' Who's that?'' cried Schwartz, starting up in 
 his bed. 
 
 '' Only I," said the little gentleman. 
 
 The two brothers sat up and stared into the 
 darkness. The room was full of water, and by 
 the misty moonbeam which found its way through 
 a hole in the shutter they could see in the midst 
 of it an immense ball of foam, spinning round 
 and bobbing up and down like a cork, on which 
 sat the little old gentleman, cap and all. There 
 
^ 140 9«- 
 
 was plenty of room for his tall cap now, for the 
 roof was oflf. 
 
 *' Sorry to trouble you/^ said their visitor, with 
 a laugh. '' Vm afraid your beds are rather damp ; 
 perhaps you'd better go to your brother's room ; 
 I've left the ceiling on there, and his room is 
 dry." 
 
 They needed no second advice, but rushed into 
 Gluck's room, wet through, and in an agony of 
 fear. 
 
 ''You'll find my card on the kitchen table," the 
 old gentleman called after them. " Remember, 
 the last visit ! " 
 
 '' I hope it may be ! " said Schwartz, trembling; 
 and the ball of foam disappeared. 
 
 Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked 
 out of Gluck's little window in the morning. The 
 Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin. The flood 
 had swept away trees, crops, and cattle, and left 
 nothing but a waste of red sand and gray mud. 
 
 The two brothers crept shivering and horror- 
 struck into the kitchen. The water had torn 
 away the whole first floor; corn, money, almost 
 everything had been swept away, and there was 
 
-98 141 8<- 
 
 left only a small white card on the kitchen table. 
 On it, in large, breezy, long-legged letters, were 
 engraved the words : — 
 
 —John Ruskin. 
 
 Some murmur when their sky is clear, 
 
 And wholly bright to view, 
 If one small speck of dark appear 
 
 In their great heaven of blue ; 
 And some with thankful love are flll^, 
 
 If but one streak of light, 
 One ray of God^s good mercy, gild 
 
 The darkness of their night. 
 
 — Richard C. Trench. 
 
-»9 142 8«- 
 
 WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD 
 
 Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night 
 
 Sailed off in a wooden shoe, — 
 Sailed on a river of misty light 
 
 Into a sea of dew. 
 
 * Where are you going, and what do you wish ? '' 
 
 The old moon asked the three. 
 
 * We have come to fish for the herring-fish 
 
 That live in this beautiful sea ; 
 Nets of silver and gold have we," 
 
 Said Wynken, 
 
 Blynken, 
 
 And Nod. 
 
 The old moon laughed and sung a song, 
 As they rocked in the wooden shoe ; 
 
-^ 143 8«- 
 
 And the wind that sped them all night long 
 
 Ruffled the waves of dew ; 
 The little stars were the herring-fish 
 
 That lived in the beautiful sea. 
 '' Now cast your nets wherever you wish, 
 But never afeard are we ! ^^ 
 So cried the stars to the fishermen three : 
 Wynken, 
 Blynken, 
 And Nod. 
 
 All night long their nets they threw 
 For the fish in the twinkling foam, 
 Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, 
 
 Bringing the fishermen home ; 
 Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed 
 
 As if it could not be ; 
 And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd 
 dreamed, 
 Of sailing that beautiful sea ; 
 But I shall name you the fishermen three : 
 Wynken, 
 Blynken, 
 And Nod. 
 
•^ 144 8«- 
 
 Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 
 
 And Nod is a little head, 
 And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 
 
 Is a wee one's trundle-bed ; 
 So shut your eyes while Mother sings 
 
 Of wonderful sights that be, 
 And you shall see the beautiful things 
 As you rock on the misty sea 
 Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three: 
 Wynken, 
 Blynken, 
 And Nod. 
 
 — £UQENB Field. 
 
^ 145 8«- 
 
 CHRIST AND THE LITTLE ONES 
 
 And they brought unto Christ little children, 
 that he should touch them: and the disciples 
 rebuked them. 
 
 But when Jesus saw it, he was moved with in- 
 dignation, and said unto them, Suffer the little 
 children to come unto me ; forbid them not : for of 
 such is the kingdom of God. 
 
 Verily I say unto you. Whosoever shall not 
 receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he 
 shall in no wise enter therein. 
 
 And he took them in his arms and blessed them, 
 laying his hands upon them. 
 
 *^ ° ^ — Mark x. 13-17. 
 
 In that hour came the disciples unto Jesus, 
 saying, Who then is greatest in the kingdom of 
 heaven ? 
 
 And he called to him a little child, and set 
 him in the midst of them. 
 
 And said, Verily I say unto you. Except ye 
 turn, and become as little children, ye shall in no 
 wise enter into the kingdom of heaven. 
 
-^ 146 8«- 
 
 Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as 
 this little child, the same is the greatest in the 
 kingdom of heaven. 
 
 And whoso shall receive one such little child in 
 my name receiveth me. 
 
 — Matthew xvin. 1-6. 
 
 And they brought unto him also their babes, 
 that he should touch them : but when the disciples 
 saw it, they rebuked them. 
 
 But Jesus called them unto him, saying, Suffer 
 the little children to come unto me, and forbid 
 them not : for of such is the kingdom of God. 
 
 — Luke xviii. 15-17 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 As Joseph was a-walking. 
 
 He heard an angel sing, 
 " This night shall be the birth-night 
 
 Of Christ our heavenly king. 
 
 ** His birth-bed shall be neither 
 
 In housen nor in hall. 
 Nor in the place of paradise, 
 
 But in the oxen's stall. 
 
-^ 147 B^ 
 
 " He neither shall be rocked 
 
 In silver nor in gold, 
 But in the wooden manger 
 
 That lieth in the mould. 
 
 '-' He neither shall be washen 
 With white wine nor with red 
 
 But with the fair spring water 
 That on you shall be shed. 
 
 '' He neither shall be clothed 
 
 In purple nor in pall, 
 But in the fair white linen 
 
 That usen babies all.^^ 
 
 As Joseph was a-walking, 
 Thus did the angel sing. 
 
 And Mary's son at midnight 
 Was born to be our King. 
 
 Then be you glad, good people, 
 At this time of the year ; 
 
 And light you up your candles, 
 For his star it shineth clear. 
 

 -^ 148 8e- 
 
 
 
 COSETTE 
 
 
 soyi 
 
 trav'ellerg 
 
 Ponine' 
 
 fran€ 
 
 Par'adis^ 
 
 Zel'ma 
 
 vis'ion 
 
 ab riiptly 
 
 re le^s'ing 
 
 ped'dlgr 
 
 ap pro^ch'ing 
 
 men'tioned 
 
 I. COSETTE WORKS 
 
 On Christmas Eve Cosette was in 
 
 ^ III her usual place near the chim- 
 
 _ ney. She was in rags ; her 
 
 f ^ ^^ bare feet were thrust into 
 
 ii^'^ i wooden shoes, and by the 
 
 "^_ firelight she was knit- 
 
 z'- ting woollen stockings. 
 
 Four new travellers 
 
 had arrived at the 
 
 inn. 
 
 Cosette was think- 
 ing that it was dark, 
 very dark; that the 
 pitchers in the cham- 
 bers of the travellers must 
 
-^ 149 8«- 
 
 have been filled, and that there was no more 
 water in the bucket. 
 
 All at once one of the peddlers who lodged in 
 the inn entered, and said in a harsh voice : — 
 
 ** My horse has not been watered/' 
 
 '* Yes it has,'' said Madame Thenardier. 
 
 '' I tell you that it has not," replied the peddler. 
 
 Cose tte came from the chimney corner. 
 
 '' Oh, yes, sir! " said she, '' the horse has had a 
 drink. He drank out of a bucket, a whole bucket- 
 ful ; and it was I who took the water to him, and 
 I spoke to him.'' 
 
 ** I tell you that he has not been watered. I am 
 sure that he has not." 
 
 , '* If the horse has not been watered, he must 
 be," said Madame Thenardier. 
 
 ''But, Madame," said Cosette, ''there is no 
 water." 
 
 " Well, go and get some, then ! " 
 
 Cosette picked up an empty bucket which stood 
 near the chimney corner, and went out with it. 
 
 This bucket was bigger than she was, and the 
 child could have easily sat down in it. 
 
 The shops were all brightly lighted, for it was 
 
-^ 150 B^ 
 
 Christmas Eve. In the window of one of the toy- 
 shops stood an immense doll, nearly two feet tall, 
 which was dressed in a robe of pink silk, with 
 gold wheat-ears on its head. 
 
 When Cosette went out, bucket in hand, she 
 could not help lifting her eyes to that wonderful 
 doll ; towards the lady, as she called it. She had 
 not seen the doll so near before. The whole shop 
 seemed a palace to her; the doll was not a doll, 
 — it was a vision. It was joy, splendor, riches, 
 happiness, which appeared in a sort of halo to 
 the unhappy child. 
 
 Cosette said to herself that one must be a 
 queen, or at least a princess, to have a "• thing '^ 
 like that. She gazed at that beautiful pink 
 dress, that beautiful smooth hair, and she thought, 
 *^ How happy that doll must be ! '^ She could not 
 take her eyes from the window. 
 
 The more she looked the more dazzled she grew. 
 She thought she was looking at Paradise. There 
 were other dolls behind the large one, which 
 seemed to her fairies. 
 
 In looking at the doll she forgot everything, even 
 the bucket which she held in her hand. 
 
-»9 151 8«- 
 
 All at once she heard a voice cry out, ''What! 
 have you not gone to the spring? " 
 
 Cosette fled with her pail, running as fast as 
 she could. 
 
 She had to go to the spring in the woods for 
 the water. When she had passed the last house 
 she began to run. As she ran she felt like crying. 
 The darkness of the forest frightened her. 
 
 It was only seven or eight minutes' walk from 
 the edge of the woods to the spring. Cosette 
 knew the way, through having gone over it many 
 times in daylight. She did not turn her eyes 
 either to the right or the left, for fear of seeing 
 things in the trees and bushes. In this way she 
 reached the spring. 
 
 She drew out the bucket nearly full of water 
 and set it on the grass. That done, she found 
 that she was worn out. She wished to start for 
 home at once, but was obliged to sit down. 
 
 Her hands, which she had wet in drawing the 
 water, felt cold. She rose ; her terror returned. 
 She had but one thought now, — to fly, to fly 
 through the forest, across the fields, to the houses, 
 to the windows, to the lighted candles ! 
 
■^ 152 8«- 
 
 Her glance fell upon the bucket which stood 
 before her; she seized the handle with both 
 
 hands ; she could hardly 
 lift the bucket. 
 
 She went a dozen 
 steps, but the bucket 
 was full; it was heavy: 
 she was forced to set it 
 on the ground once more. 
 She rested a moment, 
 then lifted the handle of 
 the bucket again, and 
 walked on. 
 
 On reaching an old 
 chestnut tree, she made 
 a last stop, that she 
 might get well rested; 
 then she picked up her 
 bucket again, and went 
 on. 
 
 At that moment she 
 felt that the weight of the bucket was gone; a 
 large hand had seized the handle, and was carry- 
 ing the bucket easily. 
 
 jMBBy.' 
 
 '4Vv' - 
 
 
 f y^ 
 
 -•*;.' 
 
^ 153 8«- 
 
 She raised her head. A large black form, 
 straight and erect, was walking beside her through 
 the darkness. It was a man who had come up 
 behind her, but she had not heard him. This 
 man, without saying a word, had seized the handle 
 of the bucket which she was carrying. 
 
 The child was not afraid. 
 
 The man spoke to her in a low voice. 
 
 '' My child, what you are carrying is very heavy 
 for you." 
 
 Cosette raised her head and replied, ''Yes, sir.'^ 
 
 *' Give it to me,'' said the man ; "I will carry it 
 for you.'' 
 
 Cosette let go of the bucket. The man walked 
 on beside her. 
 
 "How old are you, little one? " 
 
 "Eight, sir." 
 
 "Have you come far like this? " 
 'From the spring in the forest." 
 
 "Are you going far?" 
 
 "A good quarter of an hour's walk from here.'^ 
 
 The man said nothing for a moment; then he 
 spoke abruptly: — 
 
 "So you have no mother? " 
 
-^ 154 8«- 
 
 **I do not know/' answered the child. 
 
 Before the man had time to speak again, she 
 added: — '*I do not think so. Other children 
 have mothers. I have none.'^ 
 
 ''What is your name? '^ said the man. 
 
 ''Cosette.'' 
 
 ''Where do you live, little one? '' 
 
 "At the inn, if you know where that is." 
 
 "That is where we are going? '^ 
 
 " Yes, sir.'' 
 
 He paused ; then began again : — 
 
 "Who sent you at such an hour to get water in 
 the forest?" 
 
 "It was Madame Thenardier." 
 
 "What does Madame Thenardier do? " 
 
 "She is my mistress," said the child. "She 
 keeps the inn." 
 
 "The inn? " said the man. "Well, I am going 
 to lodge there to-night. Show me the way." 
 
 "We are on the way there." said the child. 
 
 The man spoke again : — 
 
 "Is there no servant in Madame Thenardier's 
 house ? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
-^ 155 8€- 
 
 *' Are you alone there ? " 
 
 *'Yes, sir/' 
 
 Another pause. Then Cosette said, **That is to 
 say, there are two little girls.'' 
 
 ''What little girls?" 
 
 "Ponine and Zelma." 
 
 " Who are Ponine and Zelma? " 
 
 "They are Madame Thenardier's daughters." 
 
 "And what do those girls do? " 
 
 "Oh!" said the child, "they have beautiful 
 dolls and they play all day long." 
 
 "And you? " 
 
 "I? I work." 
 
 "How do you amuse yourself ? " 
 
 "In the best way I can. They let me>lone; 
 but I have not many playthings. Ponine and 
 Zelma will not let me play with their dolls. I 
 have only a little lead sword." 
 
 As they approached the inn, Cosette said, "Will 
 you please let me take my bucket now? If 
 Madame sees that some one has carried it for 
 me, she will punish me." 
 
 The man handed her the bucket. A minute 
 later they were at the door of the inn. 
 
-^ 156 B^ 
 
 COSETTE 
 
-«99 157 8«- 
 
 Cosette could not help glancing at the big doll, 
 which still stood in the window of the toy-shop ; 
 then she knocked. The door opened. Madame 
 Thenardier appeared with a candle in her hand. 
 
 '^ Madame/' said Cosette, ''here is a gentleman 
 who wishes a lodging.'' 
 
 ''Enter, my good man,'' said Madame Thenar- 
 dier. 
 
 The man entered ; laid his bundle and his stick 
 on a bench, and seated himself at a table. 
 
 II. COSETTE PLAYS 
 
 Cosette sat down by the fire, and took up her 
 knitting. 
 
 Ponine and Zelma were sitting in the chimney 
 corner. They had a doll, which they turned over 
 and over on their knees with all sorts of joyous 
 chatter. From time to time Cosette raised her 
 eyes from her knitting, and watched their play. 
 
 The doll was very much faded, very old and 
 very much broken; but it seemed beautiful to 
 Cosette, who had never had a doll in her life. 
 
 All at once Madame Thenardier saw that 
 Cosette was watching the little ones at their play. 
 
-^ 158 B^ 
 
 ''Ah!" she said. *'So that^s the way you 
 work ! " 
 
 The stranger turned to Madame Thenardier. 
 ''Let her play," he said. 
 
 "She must work, since she eats," said the 
 woman. 
 
 "What is she making? " continued the stranger. 
 
 "Stockings, if you please. Stockings for my 
 little girls." 
 
 The man looked at Cosette's poor little red feet, 
 and continued, "When will she finish this pair 
 of stockings ? " 
 
 "She has at least three or four good days' work 
 on them still." 
 
 "And how much will that pair of stockings be 
 worth when she has finished them? " 
 
 "Thirty sous." 
 
 " Will you sell them for five francs ? " asked the 
 stranger. 
 
 " Yes, sir, but you must pay for them at once." 
 
 "I will buy the pair of stockings," replied the 
 man, "and," he added, drawing a five-franc piece 
 from his pocket and laying it on the table, " I 
 will pay for them." 
 
'^ 159 Q^ 
 
 Then he turned to Cosette. *' Now I own your 
 work; play, my child. '^ 
 
 ** Is it true, Madame ? May I play ? ^^ 
 
 *^ Play ! ^' said Madame Thenardier, in a harsh 
 voice. 
 
 Cosette dropped her knitting, but did not leave 
 her seat. She picked up some old rags and her 
 little lead sword from a box behind her. 
 
 While Ponine and Zelma were dressing their 
 doll, Cosette dressed up her sword. That done, 
 she laid it in her arms, and sang to it softly, to 
 lull it to sleep. 
 
 All at once Cosette paused ; she had just turned 
 round and caught sight of the doll which the chil- 
 dren had dropped on the floor. She dropped the 
 sword, which only half met her needs, and cast 
 her eyes slowly around the room. 
 
 Madame Thenardier was counting some money ; 
 Ponine and Zelma were playing with the cat. She 
 had not a moment to lose ; she got down from her 
 chair, made sure once more that no one was watch- 
 ing her ; then she slipped quickly up to the doll 
 and seized it. An instant later she was in her 
 place again, seated motionless, and only turned so 
 
-^ 160 8«- 
 
 as to cast a shadow on the doll which she held in 
 her arms. 
 
 No one had seen her, except the traveller, who 
 was slowly eating his supper. 
 
 This joy lasted about a quarter of an hour. But 
 with all the care that Cosette had taken, she did 
 not see that one of the dolFs legs stuck out, and 
 that the firelight shone on it. 
 
 That pink and shining foot suddenly struck the 
 eye of Zelma, who said to Ponine, " Look, sister! ^' 
 
 The two little girls stared ; Cosette had dared 
 to take their doll ! 
 
 Ponine rose, and without releasing the cat, she 
 ran to her mother, and began to pull at her skirt. 
 
 "• Let me alone ! ^' said the mother. 
 
 *' Mother,'^ said the child, ''look there!'' and 
 she pointed to Cosette. 
 
 When Madame Thenardier saw the doll in the 
 child's arms she cried out, " Cosette ! '' 
 
 Cosette started and turned round. 
 
 " Cosette ! '' repeated the woman. 
 
 Cosette took the doll and laid it gently on the 
 floor, then without taking her eyes from it, she 
 clasped her hands, and burst into tears. 
 
-98 161 S€- 
 
 Meanwhile, the stranger had risen to his feet. 
 *' What is the matter? ^' he said. 
 
 ^'Don^t you see?'' said Madame Thenardier, 
 pointing to the doll which lay at Cosette's feet. 
 
 '' Well, what of it? '' replied the man. 
 
 ''That child," said the woman, "has dared' to 
 touch the children's doll." 
 
 '' All this noise for that ! " said the man. He 
 went straight to the street door, opened it, and 
 stepped out. 
 
 The door opened again in a moment, and the 
 man entered. He carried in both hands the beau- 
 tiful doll which we have mentioned, and he sat it 
 upright in front of Cosette, saying, ''Here; this 
 is for you." 
 
 Cosette raised her eyes ; she gazed at the man 
 approaching her with that doll as she might have 
 gazed at the sun. She heard the words, "It is for 
 you" ; she stared at him ; she stared at the doll ; 
 then she went under the table, and hid herself. 
 
 "Well, Cosette," said Madame Thenardier, in a 
 voice that she tried to make sweet, "are you not 
 going to take the doll ? The gentleman has given 
 you a doll, my little Cosette ; take it, it is yours." 
 
-^ 162 8«- 
 
 Cosette looked at the doll. Her face was still 
 wet with tears, but she smiled beautifully. What 
 she felt at that moment was a little like what 
 she would have felt if some one had said to her, 
 ** Little one, you are the Queen of France. '^ 
 
 Then Cosette went timidly up to Madame Th^- 
 nardier and said, " May I really have it? '^ 
 
 ''Why, yes, it is 
 yours. The gentleman 
 has given it to you.'' 
 
 ''Truly, sir?'' said 
 Cosette. "Is it true? 
 Is ' the lady ' mine ? " 
 
 The stranger's eyes 
 filled with tears. He 
 nodded to Cosette, and 
 placed "the lady's" 
 tiny hand in hers. 
 
 "I shall call her 
 Catherine," said 
 Cosette. Then she said 
 to Madame Thenardier, 
 " May I put her in a 
 chair?" 
 
-« 163 d^ 
 
 'Yes, my child," replied Madame Thenardier. 
 
 It was now the turn of Ponine and Zelma to 
 stare at Cosette with envy. 
 
 Cosette placed Catherine in a chair, then seated 
 herself on the floor in front of her. She did not 
 move, but sat there and gazed in admiration at 
 her beautiful doll. 
 
 ''Play, Cosette," said the stranger. 
 
 " Oh, I am playing," replied the child, without 
 even turning her head for an instant. 
 
 Soon Madame Thenardier sent her two daughters 
 to bed. Then she turned to the stranger. " I 
 shall send Cosette, also," she said. "The poor 
 child has worked so hard to-day." 
 
 Cosette went off happily to bed, carrying Cath- 
 erine in her arms. 
 
 — Victor Hugo. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER 
 
 We were crowded in the cabin, 
 Not a soul would dare to sleep, — 
 
 It was midnight on the waters. 
 And a storm was on the deep. 
 
-^ 164 8«- 
 
 'Tis a fearful thing in winter 
 To be shattered in the blast, 
 
 And to hear the rattling trumpet 
 Thunder, '' Cut away the mast ! " 
 
 So we shuddered there in silence, — 
 For the stoutest held his breath. 
 
 While the hungry sea was roaring. 
 And the breakers talked with Death. 
 
 As thus we sat in darkness. 
 
 Each one busy in his prayers, — 
 
 " We are lost ! '^ the captain shouted, 
 As he staggered down the stairs. 
 
 But his little daughter whispered, 
 
 As she took his icy hand, 
 '' Isn't God upon the ocean. 
 
 Just the same as on the land ? '' 
 
 Then we kissed the little maiden, 
 And we spoke in better cheer. 
 
 And we anchored safe in harbor 
 When the morn was shining clear. 
 
 — Jambs T. Fields, 
 
-^ 165 8«- 
 
 re solved' 
 su pe'ri or 
 
 remark'abl^ 
 impres'sion 
 
 MAGGIE TULLIVER 
 
 hiriock 
 co^x'ing 
 con fus'ing 
 re pro^ch' 
 snajKch^d 
 
 ap'pe tit^ 
 
 fSr'ward 
 
 ram'bling 
 
 ta]int 
 
 sii^ges'ted 
 
 Maggie had resolved 
 that she would run 
 away and go to the 
 gypsies, and Tom 
 should never see her 
 any more. 
 
 This was by no 
 means a new idea; 
 she had been so often 
 told that she was like 
 a gypsy, that when 
 she was unhappy it 
 always seemed to her 
 that the best thing for 
 
 MAGGIE RUNS AWAY 
 
^ 166 et- 
 her to do would be to live in a little brown tent 
 on the common. 
 
 The gypsies, she thought, would gladly receive 
 her, and pay her much respect on account of her 
 superior knowledge. 
 
 She had once mentioned this to Tom, and had 
 suggested that he should stain his face brown, 
 and they should run away together. But Tom did 
 not approve of the plan, and said that gypsies 
 were thieves, and hardly got anything to eat, and 
 had nothing to drive but a donkey. 
 
 To-day, however, Maggie was so unhappy that 
 she thought she must certainly become a gypsy. 
 
 She rose from her seat on the roots of a tree, 
 and set off at once. 
 
 She would run straight away till she came to 
 Dunlow Common, where there would certainly be 
 gypsies ; and cruel Tom should never see her any 
 more. 
 
 Maggie was soon out of breath with running, 
 but she hurried as fast she could, for fear that 
 Tom would come to look for her. 
 
 At last, however, the green fields came to an 
 end, and Maggie found herself looking through 
 
-98 167 8<- 
 
 the bars of a gate into a lane with a wide margin 
 of grass on each side of it. She had never seen 
 such a wide lane before, and, without knowing 
 why, it gave her the impression that the common 
 could not be far off. She crept through the bars 
 of the gate and walked on. 
 
 Suddenly she caught sight of a pair of legs 
 sticking up by the side of a hillock. It was a 
 boy asleep, and Maggie trotted along faster and 
 more lightly for fear she would wake him. 
 
 It did not occur to her that he was one of her 
 friends the gypsies. But the fact was so, for at 
 the next bend in the lane Maggie saw a little 
 black tent with the blue smoke rising before it. 
 
 She even saw a tall woman standing by the 
 blue smoke, doubtless the gypsy mother. 
 
 It was rather disappointing to find the gypsies 
 in a lane and not on a common ; for a common, 
 where there were sand-pits to hide in, had always 
 made a part of Maggie's picture of gypsy life. 
 
 It was plain that she had attracted attention ; 
 for the tall figure, who proved to be a young 
 woman with a baby on her arm, walked slowly to 
 meet her. 
 
^ 168 8«- 
 
 ^^ Where are you going, my little lady?'' said 
 the gypsy in a coaxing tone. 
 
 It was delightful, and just what Maggie ex- 
 pected ; the gypsies saw at once that she was a 
 little lady. 
 
 "Not any farther,'' said Maggie, feeling as if 
 she were saying what she had thought in a dream. 
 "I'm coming to stay with you^ please." 
 
 " That's pretty ; come, then. Why, what a nice 
 little lady you are, to be sure ! " said the gypsy, 
 taking her by the hand. Maggie thought her 
 very agreeable, but wished she had not been so 
 dirty. 
 
 There was a group round the fire when they 
 reached it. An old gypsy woman was sitting on 
 the ground poking a skewer into the round kettle 
 that sent forth steam. Two small children were 
 lying down resting on their elbows. A donkey 
 was bending his head over a tall girl, who was 
 scratching his nose and feeding him with a bite 
 of stolen hay. 
 
 The sunlight fell upon them, and the scene 
 was really very pretty, Maggie thought, only she 
 hoped they would soon set out the teacupSc 
 
-^ 169 9«- 
 
 Everything would be charming when she had 
 taught the gypsies to use a wash-basin, and to 
 feel an interest in books. 
 
 It was a little confusing when the young woman 
 began to speak to the old one in a language which 
 Maggie did not understand, while the tall girl sat 
 up and stared at her without saying anything. 
 
 At last the old woman said, '' What, my pretty 
 lady, have you come to stay with us ? Sit down 
 and tell us where you came from.'' 
 
 It was just like a story; Maggie liked to be 
 called pretty and treated in this way. She sat 
 down and said : — 
 
 *' I came from home because Fm unhappy, and 
 I mean to be a gypsy. I'll live with you if you 
 like, and I can teach you a great many things." 
 
 *' Such a clever little lady," said the woman 
 with the baby, sitting down by Maggie, and 
 allowing the baby to crawl. " And such a pretty 
 bonnet and frock," she added, taking off Maggie's 
 bonnet and looking at it. The tall girl snatched 
 the bonnet and put it on her own head ; but 
 Maggie was determined not to show any weakness 
 on this subject. 
 
-^ 170 B^ 
 
 ''I don't want to wear a bonnet," said Maggie; 
 ''Fd rather wear a red handkerchief, like yours." 
 
 *' Oh, what a nice little lady ! and rich, I'm 
 sure," said the old woman. '' Didn't you live in 
 a beautiful house at home ? " 
 
 '*Yes, my home is pretty, and I'm very fond 
 of the river, where we go fishing, but I'm often 
 very unhappy. I should have liked to bring my 
 books with me, but I came away in a hurry, you 
 know. But I can tell you almost everything there 
 is in my books, I've read them so many times, 
 and that will amuse you. I can tell you some- 
 thing about geography too, — that's about the 
 world we live in, very useful and interesting. 
 Did you ever hear about Columbus?" 
 
 Maggie's eyes had begun to sparkle and her 
 cheeks to flush, — she was really beginning to 
 teach the gypsies. 
 
 "Is that where you live, my little lady? " said 
 the old woman, at the mention of Columbus. 
 
 '' Oh, no ! " said Maggie, with some pity ; 
 *' Columbus was a very wonderful man, who found 
 out half the world, and they put chains on him 
 and treated him very badly. It's in my geography, 
 
-^ ±11 3^ 
 
 but perhaps its rather too long to tell before tea 
 — I want my tea so,''^ 
 
 The last words burst from Maggie in spite of 
 herself. 
 
 ''Why, she's hungry, poor little lady,'' said the 
 younger woman. '' Give her some of the cold 
 food. You've been walking a long way, my dear. 
 Where's your home ? " 
 
 " It's Dorlcote Mill, a long way off," said 
 Maggie. " My father is Mr. TuUiver, but we 
 mustn't let him know where I am, or he'll take 
 me home again. Where does the Queen of the 
 gypsies live? " 
 
 "What! do you want to go to her, my little 
 lady? " said the younger woman. 
 
 ''No," said Maggie, "I'm only thinking that if 
 she isn't a very good queen you might be glad 
 when she died, and you could choose another. 
 If I were a queen, I'd be a very good queen, and 
 kind to everybody." 
 
 " Here's a bit of nice food," said the old woman, 
 handing Maggie a lump of dry bread, and a 
 piece of cold bacon. 
 
 " Thank you," said Maggie, looking at the food 
 
■^ 172 8«- 
 
 without taking it; ''but will you give me some 
 bread and butter and tea instead ? I don't like 
 bacon/' 
 
 ''We've got no tea nor butter," said the old 
 woman, with something like a scowl, as if she 
 were getting tired of coaxing. 
 
 " Oh, a little bread and treacle would do," said 
 Maggie. 
 
 " We've got no treacle," said the old woman, 
 crossly. 
 
 Maggie trembled a little, and was afraid the 
 tears would come into her eyes. She felt very 
 lonely, and was quite sure she should begin to cry 
 before long. Just then two men came up. They 
 seemed to inquire about Maggie, for while they 
 were talking they looked at her. 
 
 At last the younger woman said, "This little 
 lady's come to live with us ; aren't you glad? " 
 
 "Ay, very glad," said the younger man, who 
 was looking at Maggie's silver thimble and other 
 small things that had been taken from her pocket. 
 He returned them all except the thimble to the 
 young woman, who put them back in Maggie's 
 pocket. The men seated themselves, and began 
 
-^ 173 8«- 
 
 %^ ^-.'.V''*'' ,.' ^^' ' "^^'^ !«' 
 
 MAGGIE TULLIVER 
 
-^ 174 B^ 
 
 to eat the contents of the kettle, — a stew of meat 
 and potatoes, — which had been taken off the 
 fire and turned into a yellow platter. 
 
 II. MAGGIE GOES HOME 
 
 Maggie began to think that Tom must be 
 right about the gypsies; they must certainly be 
 thieves, unless the man meant to return her thim- 
 ble by and by. She would willingly have given 
 it to him, for she was not at all attached to her 
 thimble ; but the idea that she was among thieves 
 frightened her. 
 
 The women saw that she was frightened. 
 ''We've got nothing nice for a lady to eat," said 
 the old woman, in her coaxing tone. ''And she's 
 so hungry, sweet little lady." 
 
 " Here, my dear, see if you can eat a bit of 
 this," said the younger woman, handing some of 
 the stew in a brown dish with an iron spoon to 
 Maggie. 
 
 Eemembering that the old woman had seemed 
 angry with her for not liking the bread and 
 bacon, she did not dare to refuse the stew. If 
 her father would but come by in the gig and take 
 
^ 175 S«- 
 
 her up ! Or even if Jack the Giantkiller, or Mr. 
 Greatheart, or St. George who killed the dragon 
 would happen to pass that way ! 
 
 ''What! you don't like the smell of it, my 
 dear? " said the young woman, seeing that Maggie 
 did not even take a spoonful of the stew. *'Try 
 a bit, do.'' 
 
 ''No, thank you," said Maggie, trying to smile 
 in a friendly way. " I haven't time, I think ; it 
 seems getting darker. I think I must go home 
 now, and come again another day, and then I can 
 bring you a basket with some jam-tarts." 
 
 Maggie rose from her seat, but her hope sank 
 when the old gypsy woman said, " Stop a bit, stop 
 a bit, little lady ; we'll take you home, all safe, 
 when we've done supper. You shall ride home, 
 like a lady." 
 
 Maggie sat down again, with little faith in this 
 promise, though she presently saw the tall girl 
 putting a bridle on the donkey. 
 
 "Now, then, little missis," said the younger 
 man, rising, and leading the donkey forward, "tell 
 us where you live. What's the name of the 
 place?" 
 
-^ 176 8<- 
 
 ^'Dorlcote Mill is my home/' said Maggie, 
 eagerly. *' My father is Mr. Tulliver ; he lives 
 there." 
 
 ''What! the big mill a little way this side of 
 
 St. Ogg's?'' 
 
 a 
 
 
 ^■^:V^'^ 
 
 4.-\s&.A.,.- *'♦ ^' 
 
 '^ Yes/' said Maggie. '' Is it far off? I think I 
 should like to walk there, if you please.'' 
 
 " No, no, it'll be getting dark, we must make 
 haste. And the donkey will carry you as nice as 
 can be; you'll see." 
 
 He lifted Maggie as he spoke, and set her on 
 
^ 177 8«- 
 
 the donkey. She felt relieved that it was not the 
 old man who seemed to be going with her, but she 
 had only a little hope that she was really going 
 home. 
 
 *' Here's your pretty bonnet/' said the younger 
 woman, putting it on Maggie's head ; '' and you'll 
 say we've been very good to you, won't you ? And 
 what a nice little lady we said you were ? " 
 
 ** Oh, yes, thank you," said Maggie. *^I'm very 
 much obliged to you. But I wish you'd go with 
 me, too." 
 
 She thought anything was better than going 
 with one of the dreadful men alone. 
 
 "Ah, you're fondest of me, aren't you?" said 
 the woman. '' But I can't go ; you'll go too fast 
 for me." 
 
 It now appeared the man also was to be seated 
 on the donkey, holding Maggie before him. When 
 the woman had patted her on the back, and said 
 *^Good-by," the donkey set off at a rapid walk 
 down the lane. 
 
 At last — oh, joy! — this lane, the longest in 
 the world, was coming to an end. And there 
 was a finger-post at the corner, — she had surely 
 
^ 178 8«- 
 
 seen that finger-post before, — "To St. Ogg's, 2 
 miles/' The gypsy really meant to take her home, 
 then ; he was probably a good man, after all, and 
 might have been rather hurt at the thought that 
 she didn't like coming with him alone. She was 
 just thinking of speaking to the gypsy, when, as 
 they reached a cross-road, Maggie caught sight of 
 some one coming on a white-faced horse. 
 
 '^ Oh, stop, stop ! " she cried out. " There's my 
 father ! Oh, Father, Father ! " 
 
 The sudden joy was almost painful, and before 
 her father reached her, she was sobbing. 
 
 "Why, what's the meaning of this?" said Mr. 
 Tulliver, stopping his horse, while Maggie slipped 
 from the donkey and ran to her father. 
 
 "The little miss lost herself," said the gypsy. 
 " She'd come to our tent at the end of Dunlow 
 Lane, and I was bringing her where she said her 
 home was. It's a good way to come after tramp- 
 ing all day." 
 
 " Oh, yes. Father, he's been very good to bring 
 me home," said Maggie, — "a very kind, good 
 man ! " 
 
 " Here, then, my man," said Mr. Tulliver, taking 
 
^ 179 St- 
 
 out five shillings. '^ It^s the best day's work you 
 ever did. I couldn^t afford to lose the little girl ; 
 here, lift her up before me.'^ 
 
 " Why, Maggie, how^s this, how's this ? " he said, 
 as they rode along. *'How 
 came you to be rambling 
 about alone ? '' 
 
 '' Oh, Father," sobbed 
 Maggie, *' I ran away 
 because I was so un- 
 happy; Tom was so 
 angry with me." 
 
 *'You mustn't 
 think of running 
 away from Father/' 
 said Mr. Tulliver. 
 *' What would Father 
 do without his little girl ? " 
 
 *'0h, no. I never will again. Father — never." 
 
 Mr. Tulliver spoke his mind very strongly when 
 he reached home; and the effect was seen in the 
 fact that Maggie never heard one reproach from 
 her mother, nor one taunt from Tom, about her 
 running away to the gypsies. -geobqb eliot. 
 
 VvViSM 
 
-« 180 »- 
 
 LOKNA DOONE AND JOHN RIDD 
 
 lo^ch 
 
 brog^i^ 
 
 pli^t 
 
 pr6ng^d 
 
 feign'ing 
 
 shtid'der^d 
 
 dis turbed' 
 
 rifJg^ 
 
 fur'long 
 
 ba'cgn 
 
 cow'ard 
 
 crouch 'ing 
 
 de cis'ion 
 
 grant 
 
 I. JOHN RIDD 
 
 explor^' 
 
 When I was fourteen years old I started out one 
 day to explore the Bagworthy stream, and to catch 
 some fish for my mother. 
 
 My sister Annie could not come with me because 
 the water was too cold ; for the winter had been 
 long, and snow lay here and there in patches in 
 the hollow of the banks. 
 
 I never shall forget that day, and how bitter 
 cold the water was, for I took off my shoes and 
 stockings and put them into a bag about my neck. 
 I left my little coat at home, and tied my shirt 
 sleeves back to my shoulders. 
 
 Then I took a three-pronged fork firmly bound 
 to a rod with cords, and a piece of cloth with a 
 
-98 181 8«- 
 
 lump of bread inside it; and so went into the 
 pebbly water, trying to think how warm it was. 
 
 For more than a mile all down the Lynn stream, 
 scarcely a stone I left un- 
 turned, being thoroughly 
 skilled in the tricks of the 
 loach, and knowing how 
 he hides himself. For, 
 being gray-spotted and 
 clear to see through, he 
 will stay quite still where // 
 a bit of weed is in the yj 
 rapid water, hoping to be 
 overlooked, nor caring 
 even to wag his tail. 
 
 Then, being disturbed, 
 he flips away to a shelf of 
 stone, and lies with his ^ ~ ^^ — 
 
 sharp head poked in under it; or sometimes he 
 dives into the mud, and shows only his back 
 ridge. 
 
 When I had travelled two miles or so, shivering 
 with cold, and coming out to rub my legs ; 
 only fishing here and there because of the rapids, 
 
-« 182 9«- 
 
 suddenly in an open space, where meadows spread 
 about it, I found a good stream flowing into our 
 brook. 
 
 Here I stopped because the water was bitter 
 cold, and my little toes were aching. I sat down 
 on the bank and rubbed them well. Then I ate 
 the crust of sweet brown bread, and bit of cold 
 bacon ; kicking my little red heels on the dry soil 
 to keep them warm. 
 
 I did not like to go back now and tell Annie 
 there were no loaches ; and yet it was a frightful 
 thing to venture, where no grown man dared go, 
 up the Bagworthy water. 
 
 However, as I ate more and more, my spirit 
 rose within me, and I thought of what my father 
 had been, and how he had told me a hundred 
 times never to be a coward. Then I grew 
 warm, and my little heart was ashamed of its 
 pit-a-patting, and I said to myself, ''Now, if 
 Father looks, he shall see that I obey him.'' 
 
 So I put the bag round my neck again, and 
 crossing the Lynn, went stoutly up under the 
 branches which hang so dark on the Bagworthy 
 River. 
 
■^ 183 Q^ 
 
 I found it not so rocky as the Lynn, with fewer 
 rapids. Here and there the sun came in, as if his 
 light was sifted, dancing upon the waves, and 
 shadowing the pebbles. 
 
 Here, although frightened often by the deep, 
 dark places, and feeling that every step I took 
 
 might never be taken back- 
 ward, on the whole I had 
 very good sport. 
 
 Now, if you have ever 
 been fishing, you will not 
 wonder that I was led on, 
 forgetting all about danger, 
 and taking no heed of 
 the time, but shouting 
 in a childish way when- 
 ever I caught a big fish. 
 But in answer to all 
 my shouts there never 
 was any sound at all. 
 The place grew thicker and thicker, and the trees 
 hung darker above me, until I thought the fishes 
 might have a good chance of eating me, instead 
 of my eating the fishes. 
 
■^ 184 8«- 
 
 Now the day was falling fast behind the brown 
 of the hilltops; and the leafless trees seemed 
 giants ready to beat me. 
 
 Every moment, as the sky was clearing up for a 
 white frost, the cold of the water got worse and 
 worse, until I was fit to cry with it. And so, in a 
 sorry plight, I came to an opening in the bushes 
 where a great black pool lay in front of me. 
 
 Now, though I could swim with great ease and 
 comfort, and did not fear deep water, I had no 
 desire to go over head and ears into this black 
 pool, being cramped and weary and cold. The 
 look of this great pit was enough to stop one from 
 diving into it, even on a hot summer's day with 
 sunshine on the water. 
 
 As it was, I shuddered and drew back. But 
 soon I saw the reason of the depth of the pit, as 
 well as of the roaring sound. For climbing round 
 one side, I came to a sudden sight, such as I never 
 dreamed of. 
 
 For, lo ! I stood at the foot of a long slide of 
 water, coming smoothly down, without any break, 
 for a hundred yards or more. The water neither 
 ran nor fell, nor leaped, but made one even slope 
 
-« 185 9«- 
 
 of it, looking like a plank of deal laid down a deep 
 black staircase. 
 
 The look of this place had a sad effect, scaring 
 me very greatly, and making me feel that I would 
 give something to be at home again, with Annie 
 cooking my supper, and our dog, '' Watch, ^^ snuffing 
 upward. But nothing would come of wishing; as 
 I had found out long ago. 
 
 Then said I to myself, ''John Ridd, these trees, 
 and pools, and lonesome rocks, and setting sun 
 are making a coward of thee. Shall I go back to 
 my mother so, and be called her fearless boy? ^^ 
 
 Nevertheless, I am free to own that it was not 
 so much a sense of shame which settled my 
 decision, as a desire to know what made the water 
 come down like that, and what there was at the 
 top of it. 
 
 Therefore, seeing a hard climb before me, I tied 
 my fish around my neck more tightly, and not 
 stopping to look, for fear of being frightened, 
 crawled along over the fork of rocks, and let my 
 feet into the dip and rush of the torrent. 
 
 Then having said the Lord's Prayer, I grasped 
 the good loach-stick under a knot, and began my 
 
-^ 186 8<- 
 
 LORNA DOONE AND JOHN RIDD 
 
-^ 187 8«- 
 
 course np the fearful torrent. To me it seemed 
 half a mile at least of sliding water above me, but 
 in truth it was little more than a furlong. 
 
 It would have been a hard climb even without 
 the slippery rocks and the force of the river over 
 them, and I had little hope, indeed, of ever winning 
 the summit. Nevertheless, my terror left me, now 
 I was face to face with it, and had to meet the 
 worst ; and I set myself to do my best. 
 
 How I went carefully, step by step, keeping my 
 arms in front of me, and never daring to straighten 
 my knees, is more than I can tell now, or even like 
 to think of, because it makes me dream of it. 
 
 At last I was near the top, and hope was beat- 
 ing within me. I labored hard, with both legs and 
 arms going like a mill. The rush of water, where 
 first it came over the edge of the fall, drove me 
 into the middle. 
 
 Then I made up my mind to die at last ; for so 
 my legs would ache no more, and my breath not 
 pain my heart. Only it did seem a pity after 
 fighting so long to givo in. The light was coming 
 upon me, and again I fought toward it. Then 
 suddenly I felt fresh air, and fell into it. 
 
-^ 188 8«- 
 
 n. LORNA DOONE 
 
 When I came to myself again, a little girl, 
 kneeling at my side, was rubbing my forehead 
 with a handkerchief. 
 
 '' Oh, I am so glad ! ^^ she whispered softly, as I 
 opened my eyes and looked at her ; '' now you will 
 try to be better, won't you? '^ 
 
 I had never heard so sweet a sound as came 
 from between her bright red lips while there she 
 knelt and gazed at me. Neither had I ever seen 
 anything so beautiful as the large dark eyes full 
 of pity and wonder. 
 
 Thereupon I sat upright, and was much afraid 
 to speak to her, being conscious of my country 
 brogue, lest she should cease to like me. But she 
 clapped her hands, and made a dance around my 
 back, and came to me on the other side, as if I 
 were a great plaything. 
 
 ''What is your name? '' she said, as if she had 
 every right to ask me; ''and how did you come 
 here, and what are these wet things in this great 
 bag?'' 
 
 "You had better let them alone/' I said; "they 
 
-^ 189 8«- 
 
 are loaches for my mother. But I will give you 
 some, if you like.^^ 
 
 '' Dear me, how much you think of them ! Why, 
 they are only fish ! But how your feet are bleed- 
 ing ! Oh, I must tie them up for you ! And no 
 shoes or stockings! Is your mother very poor, 
 poor boy ?^' 
 
 '*No,'' I said, being vexed at this; ''we are 
 rich enough to buy all this great meadow, if we 
 chose; and here are my shoes and stockings/^ 
 
 *' Why, they are quite as wet as your feet ; and 
 I cannot bear to see your feet. Oh, please let me 
 put them on for you ! I will do it very carefully." 
 
 ''Oh, I don^t think much of that! " I replied. 
 *' I shall put some goose-grease on them. But 
 how you are looking at me ! I never saw any one 
 like you before. My name is John Eidd. What 
 is your name? ^' 
 
 "Lorna Doone," she answered, in a low voice, 
 as if afraid of it, *'if you please, my name is 
 Lorna Doone, and I thought you must have 
 known it." 
 
 "Don't cry," I said, "whatever you do. I am 
 sure you never did any harm. I will give you 
 
■^ 190 8«- 
 
 all my fish, Lorna, and catch some more for 
 Mother; only don't be angry with me/' 
 
 **Why did you ever come here?'' she said at 
 last. '' Do you know what they would do to us if 
 they found you here with me? " 
 
 '' Beat us, I dare say, very hard, or me at least. 
 They could never beat you." 
 
 '*No; they would kill us both, and bury us 
 here by the water." 
 
 '' But what should they kill me for? " 
 
 '' Because you have found the way up here, and 
 they never could believe it. Now please go ; oh, 
 please go ! They will kill us both in a moment. 
 Yes, I like you very much" — for I was teasing 
 her to say it — ''very much indeed, and I will 
 call you John Ridd, if you like; only please go, 
 John. And when your feet are well, you know, 
 you can come and tell me how they are." 
 
 '' But I tell you, Lorna, I like you very much 
 indeed, nearly as much as Annie, and a great 
 deal more than Lizzie. I never saw any one like 
 you ; and I must come back again to-morrow, and 
 so must you to see me. I will bring you such lots 
 of things — there are apples still, and a thrush 
 
-^ 191 8«- 
 
 I caught with only one leg broken, and our dog 
 has just had puppies — ^' 
 
 '^ Oh dear! they won't let me have a dog. 
 There is not a dog in the valley. They say they 
 are such noisy things — ^^ 
 
 ''Only put your hand in mine, — what little 
 things they are, Lorna! — and I will bring you 
 the loveliest dog; I will show you how long he is.'^ 
 
 *' Hush ! ^' A shout came down the valley; and 
 my heart was trembling, and Lorna^s face was 
 changed from pleasant play to terror. 
 
 " Come with me down the waterfall,'' I cried. 
 *'I can carry you easily; and my mother will 
 take care of you." 
 
 " No ! no ! '' she answered, as I took her up. 
 *'I will tell you what to do. They are only 
 looking for me. You see that hole, — that hole 
 there?" 
 
 She pointed to a little niche in a rock about 
 fifty yards away from us. In the twilight I could 
 just see it. 
 
 *'Tes, I see it; but they will see me crossing 
 the grass to get there." 
 
 *'Look! look!" She could hardly speak. 
 
^ 192 8«- 
 
 ' There is a way out from the top of it ; they 
 would kill me if I told it. Oh, here they come ! 
 I can see them.'^ 
 
 The little maid turned as white as the snow 
 which hung on the rocks above her, and she looked 
 at the water and then at me, and she cried, " Oh 
 dear! oh dear! ^^ Then she began to sob. 
 
 But I drew her behind the bushes, and close 
 down to the water. Here they could not see 
 either of us from the upper valley, and might 
 have sought a long time for us, even when they 
 came quite near, if the trees had been clad with 
 their summer clothes. 
 
 Crouching in that hollow nest, I saw a dozen 
 fierce men come down on the other side of the 
 water. " Queen ! Queen ! '' they were shouting ; 
 and now and then, "Where is our little queen 
 gone? ^' 
 
 '' They always call me ' Queen, ^ and I am to be 
 queen by and by,^^ Lorna whispered to me. " Oh, 
 they are crossing by the timber there, and then 
 they are sure to see us.'' 
 
 ** Stop,'' said I ; "now I see what to do: I must 
 get into the water, and you must go to sleep." 
 
^ 193 ^ 
 
 '*To be sure, yes, away in the meadow. But 
 how bitter cold it will be for you ! '^ 
 
 She saw in a moment the way to do it, sooner 
 than I could tell her; and there was no time to 
 lose. 
 
 ^*Now remember, you must never come again, ^^ 
 she whispered over her shoulder, as she crept 
 away. '' Only I shall come sometimes — oh, here 
 they are ! ^^ 
 
 Hardly daring to breathe, I crept into the 
 water, and lay down in it, with my head between 
 two stones. Lorna lay beneath a rock, thirty or 
 forty yards from me, feigning to be asleep, with 
 her hair covering her face. 
 
 Presently one of the great rough men came 
 round a corner upon her; and there he stopped 
 and gazed awhile at her. Then he caught her up 
 in his arms, and kissed her. 
 
 '' Here our queen is ! Here^s the queen ! here^s 
 the captain's daughter ! '^ he shouted to his com- 
 rades, ''fast asleep and hearty! '^ 
 
 He set her dainty little form upon his great 
 square shoulders, and her narrow feet in one 
 broad hand, and so marched away, with the pur- 
 
-^ 194 ^ 
 
 pie velvet of her skirt ruf- 
 fling in his long black beard. 
 
 Going up that darkened 
 glen, little 
 Lorna, riding 
 still the lar- 
 gest and most ^ 
 fierce of them, 
 turned and put 
 up a hand to 
 me, and I put 
 up a hand to h€ 
 the thick of the 
 and the willows. 
 
 I crept into a 
 warmth, rubbed r 
 ing legs on some bark, an 
 longed for my mother' 
 fagot fire. 
 
 Then as daylight san" 
 below the forget-me-not c 
 stars, I knew that now must be my time to get 
 away, if there were any way. 
 
 — Richard D. Blackmorb. 
 
-»9 195 8«- 
 THE BAREFOOT BOY 
 
 Blessings on thee, little man, 
 Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 
 With thy turned-up pantaloons, 
 And thy merry whistled tunes ; 
 With thy red lip, redder still 
 Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; 
 With the sunshine on thy face. 
 Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace : 
 From my heart I give thee joy — 
 I was once a barefoot boy ! 
 
 0, for boyhood's painless play, 
 Sleep that wakes in laughing day. 
 Health that mocks the doctor's rules, 
 
-^ 196 8«- 
 
 Knowledge never learned of schools, 
 Of the wild bee's morning chase, 
 Of the wild-flower's time and place. 
 Flight of fowl and habitude 
 Of the tenants of the wood ; 
 How the tortoise bears his shell, 
 How the woodchuck digs his cell. 
 And the ground-mole sinks his well ; 
 How the robin feeds her young. 
 How the oriole's nest is hung ; 
 Where the whitest lilies blow, 
 Where the freshest berries grow, 
 Where the ground-nut trails its vine. 
 Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ; 
 Of the black wasp's cunning way, 
 Mason of his walls of clay. 
 And the architectural plans 
 Of gray hornet artisans ! 
 For, eschewing books and tasks, 
 Nature answers all he asks ; 
 Hand in hand with her he walks, 
 Face to face with her he talks. 
 Part and parcel of her joy, — 
 Blessings on the barefoot boy ! 
 
 — John Greenleaf Whittier. 
 
-98 497 SI- 
 
 ALICS THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 5m broi'der^d 
 con'tra ri wis^ 
 af fec'tion at^ 
 fid'dlfsticks 
 
 mtirber ry 
 in dig'nant ly 
 ven'tur^d 
 a^k'ward 
 
 ridic'ulj^Siis 
 ex am i na'tioi^ 
 mon' Straus 
 ]^on'est ly 
 
 I. TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE 
 
 Alice wandered on, talking to herself as she 
 went, till, on turning a sharp corner, she came 
 upon two fat little men, so suddenly that she 
 
•^ 198 8«- 
 
 could not help starting back. Tn another moment 
 she recovered herself, feeling sure that they must 
 be Tweedledum and Tweedledee. 
 
 They were standing under a tree, each with an 
 arm round the other's neck, and Alice knew which 
 was which in a moment, because one of them 
 had **DUM'' embroidered on his collar, and the 
 other **DEE." "I suppose they've each got 
 'TWEEDLE' round at the back of the collar,'' 
 she said to herself. 
 
 They stood so still that she quite forgot they 
 were alive, and she was just going round to see if 
 the word '' TWEEDLE '' was written at the back 
 of each collar, when she was startled by a voice 
 coming from the one marked "DUM." 
 
 ** If you think we're waxworks," he said, " you 
 ought to pay, you know. Waxworks weren't 
 made to be looked at for nothing. Nohow ! " 
 
 ** Contrariwise," added the one marked '' DEE,' 
 ' if you think we're alive, you ought to speak." 
 
 *' I'm sure I'm very sorry " was all Alice could 
 say; for the words of the old song kept ringing 
 through her head like the ticking of a clock, and 
 she could hardly help saying them out loud : — 
 
-*9 199 8e- 
 
 ^^ Tweedledum and Tweedledee 
 
 Agreed to have a battle ; 
 For Tweedledum said Tweedledee 
 Had spoiled his nice new rattle, 
 
 ^^Just then flew down a monstrous crow, 
 
 As black as a tar-barrel; 
 Which frightened both the heroes so, 
 They quite forgot their quarrel.^' 
 
 *' I know what you're thinking about/' said 
 Tweedledum; "but it isn't so, nohow." 
 
 "Contrariwise," continued Tweedledee, "if it 
 was so, it might be ; and if it were so, it would be ; 
 but as it isn't, it isn't. That's logic." 
 
 " I was thinking," Alice said very politely, 
 " which is the best way out of this wood. It's 
 getting so dark. Would you tell me, please? " 
 
 But the fat little men only looked at each other 
 and grinned. 
 
 They looked so exactly like a couple of great 
 schoolboys, that Alice couldn't help pointing her 
 finger at Tweedledum, and saying " First Boy ! " 
 
 "Nohow!" Tweedledum cried out briskly, and 
 shut his mouth up again with a snap. 
 
-*6 200 8<- 
 
 '' Next Boy ! ^^ said Alice, passing on to Tweedle- 
 dee, though she felt quite certain he would only 
 shout out " Contrariwise ! '^ and so he did. 
 
 '' TouVe begun wrong ! '^ cried Tweedledum. 
 *' The first thing in a visit is to say ' How do you 
 do?^ and shake hands!'' And here the two 
 brothers gave each other a hug, and then they 
 held out the two hands that were free, to shake 
 hands with her. 
 
 Alice did not like shaking hands with either of 
 them first, for fear of hurting the other one's feel- 
 ings ; so, as the best way out of the difficulty, she 
 took hold of both hands at once. The next mo- 
 ment they were dancing round in a ring. 
 
 This seemed quite natural (she remembered 
 afterward), and she was not even surprised to 
 hear music playing. It seemed to come from the 
 tree under which they were dancing, and it was 
 done (as well as she could make it out) by the 
 branches rubbing one across the other, like fiddles 
 and fiddle-sticks. 
 
 '' But it certainly was funny " (Alice said after- 
 ward, when she was telling her sister the history 
 of all this), ''to find myself singing 'Here we go 
 
-^ 201 B«- 
 
 round the mulberry bush.'' I don't know when I 
 began it, but somehow I felt as if I'd been sing- 
 ing it a long, long time ! " 
 
 The other dancers were fat, and very soon out 
 of breath. ''Four times round is enough for one 
 dance," Tweedledum panted out, and they left off 
 dancing as suddenly as they had begun. The 
 music stopped at the same moment. 
 
 Then they let go of Alice's hands, and stood 
 looking at her for a minute. There was a rather 
 awkward pause, as Alice didn't know how to be- 
 gin a conversation with people she had just been 
 dancing with. "It would never do to say 'How 
 do you do? ^ now,^^ she said to herself, "we seem 
 to have got beyond that, somehow ! " 
 
 "I hope you're not much tired?" she said at 
 last. 
 
 "Nohow. And thank you very much for ask- 
 ing," said Tweedledum. 
 
 "So much obliged!" added Tweedledee. "Do 
 you like poetry ? " 
 
 " Ye-es, pretty well — some poetry," Alice said 
 doubtfully. "Will you tell me which road leads 
 out of the wood? " 
 
■^ 202 8<- 
 
 *' What shall I repeat to her ? '* said Tweedledee, 
 looking round at Tweedledum with great solemn 
 eyes, and not noticing Alice^s question. 
 
 "'The Walrus and the Carpenter' is the long- 
 est/' Tweedledum replied, giving his brother an 
 affectionate hug. 
 
 Tweedledee began instantly : — 
 
 ^^The sun was shining on the sea, 
 
 Shining with all his might : 
 He did his very best to make 
 
 The billows smooth and bright — 
 And this was odd, because it was 
 
 The middle of the night. 
 
 ^^The moon was shining sulkily, 
 
 Because she thought the sun 
 
 Had got no business to be there 
 
 After the day was done — 
 'Ks very rude of him,^ she said, 
 ^To come and spoil the fun .^ ' " 
 
 Here Alice ventured to interrupt him. " If it's 
 very long," she said, as politely as she could, 
 ** would you please tell me first which road — " 
 
^ 203 e«- 
 
 Here she checked herself in some alarm, at hear- 
 ing something that sounded to her like the puffing 
 of a large steam-engine in the wood near them, 
 though she feared it was more likely to be a wild 
 beast. 
 
 '' Are there any lions or tigers about here ? ^' she 
 asked timidly. 
 
 ''It's only the Red King snoring,'' said Twee- 
 dledee. 
 
 "Come and look at him! " the brothers cried. 
 
 
 
 and they each took one of Alice's hands and led 
 her up to where the King was sleeping. 
 
 " Isn't he a lovely sight? " said Tweedledum. 
 
 Alice couldn't say honestly that he was. He 
 
-^ 204 8«- 
 
 had a tall red nightcap on, with a tassel, and he 
 was lying crumpled up into a sort of untidy heap, 
 and snoring loud — '' fit to snore his head off ! " as 
 Tweedledum remarked. 
 
 ** I'm afraid he'll catch cold with lying on the 
 damp grass,'' said Alice, who was a very thought- 
 ful little girl. 
 
 *' He's dreaming now," said Tweedledee : '' and 
 what do you think he's dreaming about? " 
 
 Alice said, "Nobody can guess that." 
 
 "Why, about 2/0?/.^ " Tweedledee exclaimed, clap- 
 ping his hands. "And if he left off dreaming 
 about you, where do you suppose you'd be? " 
 
 "Where I am now, of course," said Alice. 
 
 "Not you!" Tweedledee retorted. "You'd be 
 nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his 
 dream ! " 
 
 "If that King was to wake," added Tweedle- 
 dum, " you'd go out — bang ! — just like a candle ! " 
 
 "I shouldn't!" Alice exclaimed indignantly. 
 "Besides, if Fm only a sort of thing in his dream, 
 what are you, I should like to know? " 
 
 "Ditto," said Tweedledum. 
 
 " Ditto, ditto ! " cried Tweedledee. 
 
^ 205 8«- 
 
 He shouted this so loud that Alice couldn't help 
 saying, " Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, 
 if you make so much noise." 
 
 *' Well, it's no use your talking about waking 
 him," said Tweedledum, "when you're only one of 
 the things in his dream. You know very well you 
 are not real." 
 
 '' I am real! " said Alice, and began to cry. 
 
 ''You won't make yourself a bit realler by 
 crying," Tweedledee remarked: ''there's nothing 
 to cry about." 
 
 "If I wasn't real," Alice said — half laughing 
 through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous — 
 "I shouldn't be able to cry." 
 
 "I hope you don't suppose those are real 
 tears?" Tweedledum interrupted, in a tone of 
 great contempt. 
 
 II. THE BATTLE 
 
 " I know they're talking nonsense," Alice 
 thought to herself ; " and it's foolish to cry about 
 it." So she brushed away her tears, and went 
 on, as cheerfully as she could, "At any rate 
 I'd better be getting out of the wood, for really 
 
-« 206 Be- 
 it's coming on very dark. Do you think it's 
 going to rain? '' 
 
 Tweedledum spread a large umbrella over him- 
 self and his brother, and looked up into it. '' No, 
 I don't think it is," he said; ''at least — not 
 under here. Nohow." 
 
 *' But it may rain outside ? " 
 
 '' It may — if it chooses," said Tweedledee ; ''we 
 have no objection : Contrariwise." 
 
 "Selfish things!" thought Alice, and she was 
 just going to say "good-night" and leave them, 
 when Tweedledum sprang out from under the 
 umbrella and seized her by the wrist. 
 
 " Do you see that? " he said, in a voice choking 
 with passion, and his eyes grew large and yellow 
 all in a moment, as he pointed with a trembling 
 finger at a small white thing lying under a tree. 
 
 "It's only a rattle," Alice said, after a careful 
 examination of the little white thing. " Not a 
 YdiiilQ-snake, you know," she added hastily, think- 
 ing that he was frightened; "only an old rattle — 
 quite old and broken." 
 
 " I knew it was! " cried Tweedledum, beginning 
 to stamp about wildly and tear his hair. "It's 
 
■< 207 8«- 
 
 ^mM^^ ^ 
 
 spoilt, of course ! '' Here lie looked at Tweedledee, 
 who immediately sat down on the ground, and 
 tried to hide himself under the umbrella. 
 
 Alice laid her hand upon his arm, and said, in a 
 soothing tone, '* You needn't be so angry about an 
 old rattle/' 
 
 ''But it isnH old!'' Tweedledum cried, in a 
 greater fury than ever. " It's new, I tell you — I 
 bought it yesterday — my nice new BATTLE!'' 
 and his voice rose to a perfect scream. 
 
 All this time Tweedledee was trying his best to 
 fold up the umbrella, with himself in it; which was 
 such an extraordinary thing to do, that it quite 
 took off Alice's attention from the angry brother. 
 
^ 208 ^ 
 
 But he could^nt quite succeed, and it ended 
 in his rolling over, bundled up in the umbrella, 
 with only his head out ; and there he lay, opening 
 and shutting his mouth and his large eyes — 
 '' looking more like a fish than anything else," 
 Alice thought. 
 
 '^ Of course you agree to have a battle?" 
 Tweedledum said, in a calmer tone. 
 
 '' I suppose so," the other replied as he crawled 
 out of the umbrella; "only she must help us to 
 dress up, you know." 
 
 So the two brothers went off hand-in-hand into 
 the wood, and returned in a minute with their 
 arms full of things — such as bolsters, blankets, 
 hearth-rugs, table-cloths, dish-covers, and coal- 
 scuttles. '' I hope you're a good hand at pinning 
 and tying strings?" Tweedledum remarked. 
 *' Every one of these things has got to go on, 
 somehow or other." 
 
 Alice said afterward she had never seen such 
 a fuss made about anything in all her life — the 
 way those two bustled about — and the quantity 
 of things they put on — and the trouble they 
 gave her in tying strings and fastening buttons 
 
-^ 209 y- 
 
 — '' Eeally they'll be more like bundles of old 
 clothes than anything else by the time they're 
 ready ! '' she said to herself, as she arranged a 
 bolster round the neck of Tweedledee, ''to keep 
 his head from being cut oflf/' as he said. 
 
 '* You know/' he added very gravely, ''it's one of 
 the most serious things that can possibly happen 
 to one in a battle — to get one's head cut off." 
 
 Alice laughed aloud ; but she managed to turn 
 it into a cough, for fear of hurting his feelings. 
 
 "Do I look very pale?" said Tweedledum, 
 coming up to have his helmet tied on. (He called 
 
-^ 210 8€- 
 
 it a helmet, though it certainly looked more like 
 a saucepan.) 
 
 *^ Well — yes — a little,^^ Alice replied gently. 
 
 **I'm very brave, generally," he went on in a 
 low voice; ''only, to-day I happen to have a 
 headache." 
 
 ''And Fve got a toothache! " said Tweedledee, 
 who had overheard the remark. '' Fm far worse 
 than you ! " 
 
 '' Then you'd better not fight to-day," said Alice, 
 thinking it a good opportunity to make peace. 
 
 *' We must have a bit of a fight, but I don't care 
 about going on long," said Tweedledum. ''What 
 is the time now? " 
 
 Tweedledee looked at his watch, and said, 
 ** Half -past four." 
 
 ''Let's fight till six, and then have dinner," 
 said Tweedledum. 
 
 u Yery well," the other said, rather sadly; " and 
 she can watch us — only you'd better not come very 
 close," he added; "I generally hit everything I 
 can see — when I get really excited." 
 
 "And / hit everything within reach," cried 
 Tweedledum, " whether I can see it or not! " 
 
^ 211 8«- 
 
 Alice laughed. " You must hit the trees pretty 
 often, I should think," she said. 
 
 Tweedledum looked round him with a satisfied 
 smile. ''I don't suppose,'' he said, ''there'll be 
 a tree left standing, for ever so far round by the 
 time we've finished ! " 
 
 " And all about a rattle ! " said Alice, hoping to 
 make them ashamed of fighting for such a trifle. 
 
 "I shouldn't have minded it so much," said 
 Tweedledum, "if it hadn't been a new one." 
 
 "I wish the monstrous crow would come!" 
 thought Alice. 
 
 "There's only one sword, you know," Tweedle- 
 dum said to his brother ; " but you can have the 
 umbrella, it's quite as sharp. Only we must begin 
 quick. It's getting as dark as it can." 
 
 It was getting dark so suddenly that Alice 
 thought there must be a thunder-storm coming on. 
 "What a thick black cloud that is!" she said. 
 " And how fast it comes ! Why, it's got wings ! " 
 
 "It's the crow ! " Tweedledum cried out in a 
 shrill voice of alarm ; and the two brothers took 
 to their heels and were out of sight in a moment. 
 
 — Lewis Carroll. 
 
-^ 212 8«- 
 
 THE LAMP OF ALADDIN 
 
 ma gi'cian 
 
 di rec'ted 
 
 mag'i cal 
 
 At'vi can 
 
 da/n'ti^s 
 
 em'er aids 
 
 pre ten'ded 
 
 des paj^r' 
 
 ge'ni^ 
 
 pal' a ces 
 
 di'a monds 
 
 gold'smith 
 
 pru'den^^ 
 
 im pa'tient 
 
 I. THE MAGICIAN 
 
 nich^ 
 
 Aladdin was the son of a poor tailor who lived 
 in the capital of China. He was very careless 
 and idle, and liked play much better than work. 
 
 His father died while he was quite young, but 
 Aladdin was not ashamed to let his mother support 
 him. 
 
 One day as he was playing in the street, a 
 stranger, passing by, stopped and looked at him. 
 This man was a famous African magician. After 
 looking at the boy for some time, he went up to 
 him and said, "My boy, are you not the son of 
 Mustapha, the tailor?'' 
 
 ''Yes,'' said Aladdin, **but my father has been 
 dead for some time." 
 
-^ 213 8«- 
 
 The magician threw his arms around the boy^s 
 neck, and pretended to weep. '' Alas ! ^' he cried 
 ^' I am your father's brother. I have been many 
 years abroad ; and now, when I have come home 
 with the hope of seeing him, you tell me that he 
 is dead ! '^ 
 
 Then asking Aladdin where his mother lived, 
 he gave the lad a handful of silver, and told him 
 that he would come and sup with him. 
 
 Aladdin ran home to his mother, and told her 
 the story. The woman said that she had never 
 heard his father speak of a brother ; but as the 
 stranger had given him so much money, she would 
 prepare the supper. 
 
 In the evening the stranger came, bringing with 
 him all kinds of fine fruits, and they sat down to 
 supper. 
 
 While they were eating, the magician pretended 
 to admire Aladdin very much. " He must look 
 like his father, '^ he said, ''for I knew him the 
 moment I saw him.'' Then turning to the boy, 
 he asked him what trade he had chosen. 
 
 Aladdin, who was ashamed that he could not 
 answer such a question, hung down his head, and 
 
-^ 214 8«- 
 
 blushed. His mother, however, replied that he 
 was an idle fellow, who would do nothing but play 
 in the streets. 
 
 *'This is not well, my child," the magician 
 answered. You must think of helping yourself, 
 and earning a living. I will help you as much as 
 I can. I will take a shop, and furnish it for you." 
 
 Aladdin was delighted with the idea, for he 
 thought there was very little work in keeping a 
 shop. He thanked his new uncle, and told him 
 that he should like that better than anything 
 else. 
 
 The next day the magician called upon them 
 very early in the morning. He took Aladdin out 
 with him and gave him handsome clothes, and a 
 pocketful of money. He also' took him to visit 
 the shops, and in the evening gave him a feast. 
 
 When Aladdin's mother saw him so handsomely 
 dressed, she was very happy. '' My dear Brother," 
 she said to the magician, "how can I thank you 
 for your kindness? " 
 
 The magician replied, ''Aladdin is a good boy. 
 We shall no doubt be proud of him some day. 
 As to-morrow will be Friday, and the shops will 
 
-« 215 ^ 
 
 THE LAMP OF ALADDIN 
 
-»8 216 9«- 
 
 be closed, I will take the lad to see the gardens 
 outside the town/' 
 
 In the morning Aladdin was so impatient to set 
 out, that he could hardly wait for his uncle to 
 come. 
 
 As soon as he saw him he ran to meet him. The 
 magician greeted him kindly, and said with a 
 smile, "You will see many wonderful things to- 
 day.'^ 
 
 They went first to the gardens belonging to 
 the palaces. Aladdin, never having seen anything 
 so beautiful, was delighted, and wandered about 
 until he wag tired. 
 
 Then the magician proposed that they should 
 sit down and rest. He gave Aladdin some cakes 
 and fruit which he had brought in a basket, and 
 when he had eaten all that he wished they walked 
 on through the country. 
 
 At length they came to a valley between two 
 high mountains. The magician told Aladdin he 
 would show him some wonderful things. He then 
 collected some dry sticks and made a fire, into 
 which he cast a perfume, while he pronounced 
 some magical words. 
 
-^ 217 8«- 
 
 The earth immediately trembled and opened, 
 showing a stone with a ring in it. Aladdin was 
 so frightened at what he saw, that he would have 
 run away, but the magician caught and held him. 
 
 '' Under this stone, '^ said the magician, '' a treas- 
 ure is hidden, which may be yours if you will do 
 exactly as I tell you.'' Then, placing a ring on 
 the boy's finger, he told him to pronounce the name 
 of his father and grandfather and raise the stone. 
 Aladdin did as he was directed, and removed the 
 stone with great ease; then he saw at his feet a 
 
-^ 218 9<- 
 
 hole many feet deep, and steps to descend into the 
 earth. 
 
 '* Listen carefully to what I am going to say to 
 you/' said the magician. '' Though I have opened 
 this cave, I cannot enter it ; but you may do so. 
 You will find at the foot of these steps three great 
 halls, in each of which you will see a large number 
 of chests full of gold and silver. Be sure you do 
 not touch them. If you do, you will die instantly. 
 Next you will come to a garden. Here you will 
 be perfectly safe, and may handle anything you 
 see. At the end of the hall you will find a lamp 
 burning in a niche. Take the lamp down, throw 
 away the wick, pour out the oil, put the lamp in 
 your bosom, and bring it to me.'' 
 
 Aladdin obeyed his supposed uncle. He went 
 carefully through the halls ; crossed the garden ; 
 secured the lamp, and then began to look about 
 him. 
 
 He found the trees were loaded with fruits of 
 many colors ; some white, others red, green, blue, 
 purple, and yellow. Aladdin thought they were 
 only colored glass, but they were so beautiful that 
 he filled his pockets with some of each kind. He 
 
-^ 219 8«- 
 
 then returned throiigli the halls ; ascended the 
 steps, and called to his uncle to pull him out of 
 the cave. 
 
 The magician had no intention of helping 
 Aladdin out of the cave ; so when the boy called 
 for help he called as loudly for the lamp. 
 
 Aladdin would have given it to him if it had 
 not been buried under the glass fruits he had 
 picked from the trees. He was ashamed to tell 
 this to his uncle, so he called again and again for 
 help. . 
 
 Suddenly the magician turned his head, and saw 
 some people coming toward him from the city. 
 He was so much afraid of being seen by them, 
 and so angry at Aladdin for not giving him the 
 lamp when he demanded it, that he pronounced 
 two magical words, which replaced the stone and 
 closed the earth. 
 
 In this way he lost all hope of obtaining the 
 lamp, since it was out of his power to open the 
 cave again. So he set off at once for his own 
 country, taking care not to return to the city, for 
 fear some one would ask him about his pretended 
 nephew. 
 
-^ 220 S«- 
 
 II. THE GENIE 
 
 Aladdin was very much frightened to find him- 
 self shut into the cave. He cried out, and called 
 to his uncle, offering to give him the lamp at once ; 
 but it was too late. As the cave was dark, he 
 thought of returning through the halls into the 
 garden. Alas, the door was shut ! 
 
 In his distress, he clasped his hands together, 
 and rubbed the ring which the magician had put 
 on his finger. 
 
 Immediately an enormous genie rose out of the 
 earth, with a torch in his hand, which lighted the 
 cave as if the sun were shining in it. ** What do 
 you wish?'' he said. *'I am ready to obey you 
 as your slave, while you wear that ring.'' 
 
 At another time Aladdin would have been 
 frightened at such a sight, but despair gave him 
 courage. He replied, '' I charge you, by the ring, 
 if you are able, to release me from this place." 
 
 He had no sooner spoken, than the earth opened ; 
 the genie lifted him up to the surface, and dis- 
 appeared. The earth closed again at the same 
 instant. 
 
-98 221 8«- 
 
 Aladdin was delighted to be free. He found 
 his way home without much difficulty, and told 
 his mother the story of his adventures. 
 
 The next morning when Aladdin waked up he 
 was very hungry, and called to his mother for 
 some breakfast. 
 
 '' Alas ! my child,'' she said, '^ I have been so 
 unhappy because you did not return, that I have 
 not been able to do any work. Now I have no 
 
-^ 222 B^ 
 
 money to buy food ; and all I had in the house 
 you ate yesterday. But,'^ she added, **here is 
 the lamp you brought home, and which nearly 
 cost you your life; it seems to be a very good 
 one. I will clean it, and perhaps we can sell it 
 for a little money. '^ 
 
 So she took some sand, and began to rub the 
 lamp, when, in an instant, an enormous genie 
 stood before her, and said, " What do you wish ? 
 I am ready to obey you as your slave. I am the 
 slave of all those who hold that lamp in their 
 hands.'' 
 
 Aladdin's mother fainted at the sight of the 
 genie; but her son caught the lamp out of her 
 hand, and said, *' I am hungry ; bring me some- 
 thing to eat.'' 
 
 The genie disappeared; and returned with a 
 large silver basin containing twelve silver plates 
 full of the choicest dainties. Having placed these 
 things on the table, he disappeared. 
 
 When Aladdin's mother recovered, she was very 
 much pleased to see so much food. But when her 
 son told her that rubbing the lamp had caused 
 the genie to appear, she said, ''Let us sell it 
 
^ 223 8«- 
 
 at once. I do not care to have such a thing in 
 my house/' 
 
 Young as Aladdin was, he had more prudence. 
 ''No, indeed,'^ he replied. ''The lamp will be 
 very useful to us. I am not afraid of the genie, 
 and I will rub the lamp when you are not at 
 home.'' 
 
 "As you please," said his mother, "but I will 
 have nothing to do with it." 
 
 The next day, the provisions being all gone, 
 Aladdin took one of the plates, and went to a 
 merchant to sell it. The merchant saw that it 
 was of the purest silver, but thinking the owner 
 did not know its value, he offered a piece of gold 
 for it. 
 
 Aladdin thought he had made a good bargain. 
 He gave the money to his mother, and they lived 
 upon it as long as it lasted. 
 
 Aladdin then sold another plate, and so on till 
 they had only the basin left. This being very 
 large, the merchant gave him two pieces for it, 
 which supported them for a long time. 
 
 When all the money was spent, Aladdin again 
 rubbed the lamp, and the genie supplied the table 
 
-« 224 8<- 
 
 with another silver basin and the same number of 
 silver plates filled with dainties. 
 
 The provisions being eaten, Aladdin was going, 
 as before, with one of the plates to the merchant, 
 when a goldsmith called to him and asked him if 
 he had anything to sell. ''You go often,^' said 
 he, ''to that merchant who is dishonest; if you 
 deal with him, he will certainly cheat you.'' 
 
 Aladdin showed his plate. The goldsmith 
 weighed it, and gave him sixty pieces of gold 
 for it. The lad thanked the honest shopkeeper, 
 to whom he afterward sold the other plates and 
 the basin. 
 
 Soon he became acquainted with the merchants 
 and goldsmiths of the city, and learned the value 
 of the stones he had brought from the cave. 
 Instead of being bits of colored glass, they were 
 diamonds, pearls, emeralds, and rubies. 
 
 Aladdin was now very rich, but he was no 
 longer lazy and selfish. He spent all of his time 
 working and studying, and lived very happily 
 with his mother in their old home for many years. 
 
 — Ababian Nights' Entertainments. 
 
-^ 225 8«- 
 
 THE STORY OF JOSEPH 
 
 Is'rael Ish'ma elites she^v^s 
 
 Reu'ben Mid'i an it^s pros'per^us 
 
 E gyp'tian Pha'r^oji rebuked' 
 
 breth'ren myrrh wil'derness 
 
 Now Israel loved Joseph more than all his 
 children, because he was the son of his old age : 
 and he made him a coat of many colours. 
 
 And his brethren saw that their father loved 
 him more than all his brethren ; and they hated 
 him, and could not speak peaceably unto him. 
 
 And Joseph dreamed a dream, and he told it to 
 his brethren ; and they hated him yet the more. 
 
 And he said unto them. Hear, I pray you, this 
 dream which I have dreamed : 
 
 For, behold, we were binding sheaves in the 
 field, and, lo, my sheaf arose, and also stood up- 
 right; and, behold, your sheaves came round 
 about, and bowed down to my sheaf. 
 
 And his brethren said to him, Shalt thou in- 
 deed reign over us? Or shalt thou indeed have 
 
^ 226 8<- 
 
 power over us? And they hated him yet the 
 more for his dream, and for his words. 
 
 And he dreamed yet another dream, and told it 
 to his brethren, and said. Behold, I have dreamed 
 yet a dream ; and, behold, the sun and the 
 moon and eleven stars bowed down to me. 
 
 And he told it to his father, and to his breth- 
 ren ; and his father rebuked him, and said unto 
 him, What is this dream that thou hast dreamed ? 
 Shall I and thy mother and thy brethren indeed 
 come to bow down ourselves to thee to the earth ? 
 
 And his brethren envied him; but his father 
 kept the saying in mind. 
 
 And his brethren went to feed their father^s 
 flock. 
 
 And Israel said unto Joseph, Do not thy breth- 
 ren feed the flock? come, and I will send thee unto 
 them. And he said to him. Here am I. 
 
 And he said to him. Go now, see whether it be 
 well with thy brethren, and well with the flock ; 
 and bring me word again. 
 
 And Joseph went after his brethren, and found 
 them. 
 
 And they saw him afar off, and even before he 
 
-»8 227 8^ 
 
 came near unto them, they conspired against him 
 to slay him. 
 
 And they said one to another, Behold, this 
 dreamer cometh. 
 
 Come now therefore, and let us slay him, and 
 cast him into one of the pits, and we will say. 
 An evil beast hath devoured him : and we shall 
 see what will become of his dreams. 
 
 And Eeuben heard it, and delivered him out of 
 their hands ; and said, Let us not take his life. 
 
 And Eeuben said unto them. Shed no blood; 
 cast him into this pit that is in the wilderness, 
 but lay no hand upon him : that he might deliver 
 him out of their hand, to restore him to his 
 father. 
 
 And it came to pass, when Joseph was come 
 unto his brethren, that they stripped Joseph of 
 his coat, the coat of many colours that was on 
 him; 
 
 And they took him, and cast him into the pit : 
 and the pit was empty, there was no water in it. 
 
 And they sat down to eat bread : and they lifted 
 up their eyes and looked, and, behold, a travelling 
 company of Ishmaelites came from Gilead, with 
 
-^ 228 8«- 
 
 their camels bearing spicery and balm and myrrh^ 
 going to carry it down to Egypt. 
 
 And Judah said unto his brethren, What profit 
 is it if we slay our brother and conceal his blood ? 
 
 Come, and let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and 
 let not our hand be upon him ; for he is our brother, 
 our flesh. And his brethren hearkened unto him. 
 
 And there passed by Midianites, merchantmen ; 
 and they drew and lifted up Joseph out of the pit, 
 and sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces 
 of silver. And they brought Joseph into Egypt. 
 
 And Reuben returned into the pit; and, behold, 
 Joseph was not in the pit ; and he rent his clothes. 
 
 And he returned unto his brethren, and said, 
 The child is not ; and I, whither shall I go ? 
 
 And they took Joseph^s coat, and killed a he- 
 goat, and dipped the coat in the blood ; 
 
 And they sent the coat of many colours, and 
 they brought it to their father; and said. This 
 have we found: know now whether it be thy son's 
 coat or not. 
 
 And he knew it, and said. It is my son's coat ; 
 an evil beast hath devoured him ; Joseph is with- 
 out doubt torn in pieces. 
 
-»8 229 9«- 
 
 And Jacob rent his garments, and put sackcloth 
 upon his loins, and mourned for his son many 
 days. 
 
 And all his sons and all his daughters rose up 
 to comfort him ; but he refused to be comforted ; 
 and he said, For I will go down to the grave to 
 my son mourning. And his father wept for him. 
 
 And the Midianites sold Joseph into Egypt 
 unto Potiphar, an officer of Pharaoh's, the captain 
 of the guard. 
 
 And the Lord was with Joseph, and he was a 
 prosperous man ; and he was in the house of his 
 master the Egyptian. 
 
 And his master saw that the Lord was with 
 him, and that the Lord made all that he did to 
 prosper in his hand. 
 
 And Joseph found grace in his sight, and he 
 ministered unto him : and he made him overseer 
 over his house, and all that he had he put into 
 his hand. 
 
 — Genesis xxxvn 3-36; xxxrx 2-4. 
 
NOTES ON THE STORIES AND POEMS 
 
 (Tb be read by teachers and pupils) 
 
 Alice in Wonderland was written by Lewis Carroll (Charles 
 Dodgson) (1832-1898), an English author. 
 
 This story, which is one of the most delightful of all stories 
 for children, describes the adventures of a little girl who 
 follows a rabbit into Wonderland. Among her strange com- 
 rades of that land are the White Rabbit, the Cheshire Cat, 
 the Walrus, and the Carpenter; as well as the March Hare and 
 the Hatter, which afford us entertainment in this selection. 
 
 Nurse's Song. This poem was written by William Blake 
 (1757-1827), who wrote delightfully for children, in " Songs of 
 Innocence." Among the "Songs" are "The Child and the 
 Piper," "The Laughing Song," and "The Little Lamb." 
 These poems may well be read to the children. 
 
 Lullaby of an Infant Chief was written by Sir Walter Scott 
 (1771-1832), the celebrated author of the Waverley Novels, 
 and of many beautiful poems. 
 
 The Snow-Image is one of Nathaniel Hawthorne's (1804- 
 1864) charming stories for children. He was one of the two or 
 three most celebrated American writers of prose fiction, and he 
 wrote for both old and young. The children should also read 
 "Tangle wood Tales" and " Grandfather's Chair." 
 
 281 
 
-^ 232 8«- 
 
 At the Back of the North Wind was written by George Mac- 
 donald (1824- ), a Scotch novelist, who wrote also several 
 stories for children. Among them are "The Princess and 
 Curdie" and "The Princess and the Goblin." 
 
 " At the Back of the North Wind " tells the story of a little 
 boy who, in a severe illness, imagined himself on a journey to 
 this unreal country. After his return and partial recovery he 
 spent his life in helping others in his own peculiar way. 
 
 Tiny Tim's Christmas Dinner. Charles Dickens (1812-1870), 
 one of the most noted of English novelists, wrote many stories 
 which children understand and enjoy. His characters seem to 
 live and move, and the reader almost unconsciously numbers 
 them among his friends. " Little Nell," " David Copperfield," 
 " Paul Dombey," " Pip," and " Oliver Twist," are some of his 
 child creations, and their fortunes and misfortunes appeal 
 keenly to the child reader. 
 
 The Little Lame Prince was written by Dinah Mulock Craik 
 (1826-1887), an English author. This selection tells how a 
 prince who was confined in a lonely tower by a cruel uncle was 
 amused and instructed by his fairy godmother. The children 
 should read the entire story to learn of his escape from impris- 
 onment and his noble life when in the world. 
 
 Jackanapes was written by Juliana Horatia Ewing (1841- 
 1885), an Englishwoman, who wrote charming stories for both 
 old and young. The little lad who rode the gypsy's pony so 
 fearlessly showed his courage in battle when he grew older, 
 and saved the life of a friend. 
 
 Rollo delighted many children of an earlier generation, when 
 
-^ 233 B^ 
 
 children's books were rare ; and they followed with interest his 
 school life and home life, his work and play, and his travels in 
 foreign lands. The books were written by Jacob Abbott 
 (1803-1879), an American author, who wrote also many other 
 books for children. 
 
 The Water-Babies, a Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby, was writ- 
 ten by Charles Kingsley (1819-1875), an English author, who 
 wrote also " Greek Heroes," and other stories for children. 
 
 Tom, the water-baby, was a little chimney-sweep who became 
 so frightened over a chance misdoing of his own, that he 
 jumped into a brook. Here he lived happily, making many 
 friends and some foes among the water-folk, until he finally 
 journeyed to the sea and made the acquaintance of other water- 
 babies. 
 
 Gluck's Visitor. This is a selection from " The King of the 
 Golden River," a delightful story for children, by John E-uskin 
 (1819-1900), who wrote many books in most beautiful English 
 about matters in which he thought he could help men and 
 women. 
 
 This tale tells how, after the destruction of the Treasure 
 Valley, little Gluck and his two brothers attempt to turn the 
 river which flowed from the ruined valley into gold, and thus 
 regain their wealth. The wicked brothers lose their lives, but 
 Gluck succeeds. 
 
 Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. Eugene Field (1850-1895), an 
 American author, wrote delightful stories and poems for chil- 
 dren. Two collections of his poems are called "With Trumpet 
 and Drum," and "Love Songs of Childhood." Many of the 
 
-^ 234 8«- 
 
 verses were written for or about his own children, whom he 
 dearly loved. 
 
 Cosette is a selection from the famous novel " Les Mis^rables," 
 written by the French author, Victor Hugo (1802-1885). 
 " Les Mis^rables " is in no way a story for children, but these 
 few pages from the book illustrate the author's knowledge of 
 human nature, even in little folks, and his power in picturing 
 the hopes and fears of childhood. 
 
 Maggie Tulliver is a selection from " The Mill on the Floss." 
 George Eliot (1819-1880), who wrote this story, was one of the 
 most successful of women story-tellers. Her real name was 
 Marian Evans. "The Mill on the Floss" is not a story for 
 children, but the first part of the book describes the childhood 
 of the author, and has all the interest which centres about an 
 artistic narrative of childhood. 
 
 Alice through the Looking-Glass. This is the same little 
 girl who wandered through Wonderland. In this story Alice 
 passes in a dream through a looking-glass into a strange land, 
 where she meets equally strange people and animals. The Red 
 Queen and the White Queen, Humpty Dumpty, and the Jab- 
 berwock have come to be familiar characters in child literature. 
 
 The Barefoot Boy was written by John Greenleaf Whittier 
 (1807-1892), the Quaker poet. This poem describes the sur- 
 roundings of his own boyhood, which was spent on a farm near 
 Haverhill, Massachusetts. 
 
 Lorna Doone was written by Richard D. Blackmore (1825- 
 1900), an English novelist. The story is not one for children, 
 but it contains many beautiful descriptions of English scenery. 
 
^ 235 8«- 
 
 and this account of a boy's adventures interests both boys and 
 girls. 
 
 Casablanca. Mrs. Felicia D. Hemans (1793-1835), was an 
 Englishwoman who wrote many poems, two of which have 
 made her name famous: " Casabianca," and "The Landing of 
 the Pilgrims." The former describes an incident in the Battle 
 of the Nile, in 1798. Casablanca's name was Giacomo Jocante 
 Casablanca. His father was captain of one of the ships, 
 li Orient^ in the French fleet, and both father and son lost their 
 lives in the battle. 
 
 The Lamp of Aladdin is a part of a traditional version of the 
 story of "Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp." The tale of 
 Aladdin is one of the most famous of an Oriental collection 
 called " Arabia:?! Nights' Entertainments." The adventures of 
 Aladdin after he grew to be a young man are even more 
 remarkable than this tale of his childhood, and they all came 
 about through his possession of the magical lamp. 
 
VOCABULARY 
 
 a brdpt'ly, suddenly. 
 
 ad van'tage, benefit ; gain ; profit. 
 
 ad v6n'ture, fortune ; that wliicli hap- 
 pens. 
 
 af fgc'tion (shiin) ate, loving ; fond. 
 
 Af ri can, a native of Africa. 
 
 a maze'ment, astonishment ; surprise. 
 
 an'ehored, held by an anchor. 
 
 ap'pe tite, desire ; desire for food or 
 drink. 
 
 ap poin'tgd, named ; chosen ; selected. 
 
 ap proach'ing, drawing near. 
 
 a rouged', awakened ; excited. 
 
 as'pect, view ; look. 
 
 as sis'tgd, helped ; aided. 
 
 a void'ed, shunned ; kept away from. 
 
 awk'ward, clumsy ; ungraceful. 
 
 ba'con, salted and dried pork, 
 
 bar' re n, not fertile ; sterile. 
 
 bea'ver, a small animal that lives near 
 rivers and lakes. 
 
 be hav'ior, manners ; deportment. 
 
 brakes, large ferns. 
 
 break'erg, waves broken into foam. 
 
 brgth'ren, brothers. 
 
 brogue, dialect ; manner of pronuncia- 
 tion. 
 
 bruised (broosd), injured. 
 
 bur'rowg, holes in ground dug by ani- 
 mals. 
 
 caravan, a large covered wagon for dain'tle§, delicacies; something deli- 
 travel, cious. 
 
 car'nl val, a feast ; a revelry. 
 
 car'ol, a song. * 
 
 Car ra'ra, a town in Italy, famous for 
 
 marble quarries. 
 cav'ern, a cave ; a den. 
 chaii'tl cleer, a cock. 
 Chesh'Ire, a county in England. 
 ^in'derg, embers ; ashes ; unconsumed 
 
 coal. 
 otv'n, courteous ; polite. 
 coax'ing, persuading. 
 co'coa nut, a nut of the cocoa tree. 
 com'for (fer) ter, a knitted woollen 
 
 scarf. 
 com pan'ioD, a comrade ; a mate. 
 con clud' (clod) 6d, decided ; judged. 
 con fnged', disordered ; perplexed. 
 con sid'ered, pondered ; reflected ; 
 
 thought. 
 con ten'ted, satisfied. 
 con ver sa'tion (shon) , familiar talk. 
 cSrk'screw (scro), a tool used in 
 
 drawing corks. 
 cow'ard, one who lacks courage. 
 ere at'ing, producing ; making. 
 crip'ple, one who is lame or deformed. 
 crouch'Ing, bending ; stooping. 
 crfitch, a staff ; a support in walkinp;. 
 cup board (ciib'erd) , a closet for dishes. 
 cu rl os'I t^, inquisitiveness. 
 ciish'ion (un), a pillow. 
 
 236 
 
^ 237 8«- 
 
 dgaf'-mute, one who is deaf and dumb. 
 de cis'iou (sizhon), determination; 
 
 resolution. 
 del'I cate, dainty ; charming. 
 de par'ture, act of leaving ; going 
 
 away. 
 de scgnd'ed, went down ; fell. 
 de gerved, merited ; entitled to. 
 des pair, lack of hope. 
 di'a monds, precious stones. 
 di rec'tgd, told ; instructed. 
 dis Sp poin'ted, baffled ; frustrated. 
 dis con ten'ted, dissatisfied ; unquiet. 
 dig'mal, gloomy ; cheerless. 
 dis poged', inclined ; minded. 
 dig solved', melted. 
 dis turbed' (terbd), troubled; agitated. 
 dOr'mouse, a small animal living in 
 
 Europe and Asia. 
 doubt'fiil, uncertain ; vague. 
 doz'ing, sleeping. 
 drag'on-fly, a four-winged insect. 
 drear 'y, gloomy ; dismal. 
 drought, dryness ; lack of rain. 
 dQiub, mute ; silent. 
 
 Eg^p'tian (slmn), a native of Egypt. 
 
 em broi'dered, decorated with needle- 
 work. 
 
 em'erald, a precious stone, green in 
 color. 
 
 gn graved', carved. 
 
 e ndr'moiis, very large ; huge. 
 
 er'inine, a valuable white fur. 
 
 es c6r'ted, guided ; accompanied. 
 
 ex am i na'tion (shun), trial ; test. 
 
 6x ceed'ing ly, extremely ; greatly ; 
 very much. 
 
 gx cite'ment, agitation ; commotion. 
 
 6xpla na'tion (shun), description; 
 account. 
 
 6x plore', search ; discover. 
 6x traOr'di na ry, uncommon. 
 
 feign' ing (fan), pretending; invent- 
 ing. 
 
 fid'dle-sticks, sticks used in playing 
 a fiddle. 
 
 fieroe'ly, violently ; furiously. 
 
 fla'vor, taste ; relish. 
 
 flgcks, spots ; specks. 
 
 floun'dered, tumbled about. 
 
 foe'man, an enemy. 
 
 f6r lOrn', lost ; deserted ; forsaken. 
 
 f6r ward, in advance. 
 
 franc, a French coin worth about 
 nineteen cents. 
 
 fur'lOng (fer), a distance of forty 
 rods. 
 
 gen'er oils, liberal ; abundant. 
 
 ge'nie,an imaginary being. 
 
 ge og'ra phy-, the science of the earth's 
 surface. 
 
 gi'ant, an imaginary being of enor- 
 mous size. 
 
 gla'cier (shier), a river of ice. 
 
 gleam' ing, beaming ; flashing. 
 
 glit'ter ing, sparkling ; glistening. 
 
 gloam'ing, twilight ; dusk. 
 
 gnat, a small two-winged fly. 
 
 gold'smith, an artisan in gold. 
 
 grad'u al, moderate ; slow. 
 
 gran'deur, magnificence ; splendor. 
 
 grav'i ty, seriousness. 
 
 griev'ing, mourning ; lamenting. 
 
 griif'fly, sternly, harshly. 
 
 grum'bled, complained ; scolded. 
 
 har'nes sing, putting on a harness. 
 hearth, part of floor just before fire. 
 her'ring, a salt-water fish. 
 hil'loek, a small hill. 
 
"^ 23o 8*^ 
 
 hSb, a shelf in a fireplace. 
 
 hol'ly^, a small evergreen tree having 
 
 red berries. 
 hon'gs ty, sincerity ; truth. 
 
 ioe'bepg, a floating mass of ice. 
 
 i'^I clCy a pendant mass of ice tapering 
 to a point. 
 
 Ig'no rau^e, want of knowledge. 
 
 Im Sg'I na ble, conceivable. 
 
 Im fig I na'tion (shun) , fancy. 
 
 Impa'tient (shent), uneasy. 
 
 fm pres sion (presh'un) , notion ; be- 
 lief. 
 
 In dig'nant ly, angrily. 
 
 In'ju ry (jo), harm ; hurt. 
 
 In quire', search ; ask ; question. 
 
 In sist', assert ; urge. 
 
 in'stant ly, immediately ; at once. 
 
 In tgn'ding, designing ; proposing. 
 
 In ter rfipt', break off ; hinder ; dis- 
 turb. 
 
 issued (ish'od), came forth; flowed 
 out. 
 
 jfig'fi ar, a carnivorous animal. 
 
 knowl'edge, that which is known ; 
 
 learning. 
 kniic kle, a joint. 
 
 la bur'num (ber), a small tree. 
 
 laun'dress, a washerwoman. 
 
 Igop'ard, the largest spotted cat of the 
 old World. 
 
 lln'dgn, a tree. 
 
 loach, a small European fish. 
 
 lo'cQst, an insect, often called a grass- 
 hopper. 
 
 l&x'u ry, extravagance ; a dainty, 
 
 mfig'I cal, supernatural. 
 
 mfi gl'cian (shun), one skilled in magic. 
 man'fi ger, one who directs or controls. 
 meas'nrlng (mezh'), ascertaining the 
 
 length. 
 mSn'tioned (shijnd), indicated; 
 
 named. 
 mil'i ta ry, belonging to a soldier. 
 mis fSr'tune, adversity ; mishap. 
 mis'sion (mish'on), errand. 
 mon'strotis, huge ; very large. 
 mourn'fiil, sad ; sorrowful. 
 mill'bgr ry, a bush bearing red berries. 
 mfish'room, a toadstool. 
 mastach'gs (tash), a beard worn on 
 
 the upper lip. 
 mtit'tered, murmured; grumbled. 
 myrrh (mer), incense. 
 
 niche, a nook ; a corner. 
 
 ob gerve', see ; perceive ; remark. 
 oc'cu pied, took up ; employed. 
 op por tfin'I ty, occasion. 
 ot'ter, a small fur-bearing animal. 
 
 pfil'a^e, the abode of kings. 
 
 Par'a disc, the garden of Eden. 
 
 pfir'a pgt, a wall ; a breastwork. 
 
 par tic'u lar ly, especially. 
 
 pas'ture, field where cattle graze. 
 
 pgd'dler, a vender ; a hawker. 
 
 pgn^e, plural of penny. 
 
 per sis'tgd, continued ; persevered. 
 
 per'son al, pertaining to a person. 
 
 plfit'fOrm, a raised frame or structure. 
 
 plight, peril ; danger. 
 
 posi'tion (zish'un), place. 
 
 pound, English money. 
 
 prai'rie, level grassy land. 
 
 pre ten'ded, asserted ; made believe. 
 
 prOnged, pointed. 
 
 pro po'§al, a design ; a proposition. 
 
"^ ^Ov7 »**■ 
 
 prSs'per oils, successful ; thriving. 
 pro tgc'tion (shun), shelter ; defence. 
 pro vis'ions (vizh'ung), food, 
 pru'd6n^,e (pro), thoughtfulness. 
 ptiz'zled, bewildered ; perplexed. 
 
 quar'rel some, easily provoked. 
 queer, odd ; strange. 
 quiv'ering, trembling; wavering. 
 
 rSm'blmg, wandering ; roaming. 
 
 rfip'ture, delight ; gladness. 
 
 ra'ven, a bird like the crow. 
 
 re buked', reproved ; chid. 
 
 re gch'oed, echoed back. 
 
 rgg'u lar ly, steadily. 
 
 rein'deer (ran), a deer having horns. 
 
 re leas'ing, freeing, liberating. 
 
 rgl'ic, remainder ; souvenir. 
 
 re mar'ka ble, unusual ; extraordi- 
 nary. 
 
 re marked (markt') , said, com- 
 mented. 
 
 re proach', blame ; upbraid. 
 
 r6§'I dent, one who dwells in a place. 
 
 re §61ved', decided, determined. 
 
 rid'dleg, a puzzle. 
 
 ridge, an elevation. 
 
 ri dlc'ulotls, absurd. 
 
 rude'ness (rod), impoliteness, dis- 
 courtesy. 
 
 s^lm'on, both a salt and fresh water 
 
 fish. 
 sau^e'pSn, a small pan. 
 sen sa'tion (shun), feeling ; emotion. 
 se'ri oils, solemn ; in earnest. 
 ser'vi^e, assistance ; duty done. 
 sheaveg, bundles. 
 shel'ter, covering ; protection. 
 shil'ling, an English silver coin worth 
 
 about 24 cents. 
 
 shrlv'elled, shrunk ; drawn into 
 wrinkles. 
 
 shtid'dered, shook, quivered. 
 
 skew'er (sku'), a pin of iron or wood 
 for fastening meat. 
 
 sky'lark, a European lark. 
 
 sky'light, a window in the roof. 
 
 sliim'ber, sleep. 
 
 smoth'ered, stifled. 
 
 snatched, seized ; caught. 
 
 snow-bQn'ting, a snow-bird. 
 
 som'er sd.ult, turning head over heels. 
 
 sou, a French coin worth about one 
 cent. 
 
 spgc'kled, spotted. 
 
 spgc'ta cleg, a pair of lenses set in a 
 frame adjusted to the eyes. 
 
 spied, searched ; caught sight of. 
 
 spurned (spernd), kicked against; 
 struck. 
 
 stead'I ly, unmoved ; without inter- 
 mission. 
 
 stran'ger, one who comes from an- 
 other place ; unknown. 
 
 strained, exerted ; forced. 
 
 strife, quarrel ; conflict. 
 
 sfig ges'tgd, hinted ; advised. 
 
 stiin'moned, called ; notified. 
 
 su pe'rJ or, greater than ; excelling. 
 
 taunt, reproach. 
 ter'ri er, a small dog. 
 thatched (thScht) , covered with straw. 
 there'fSre (thar'), for that reason. 
 thim'ble, an implement used in sewing. 
 thou'gandth, one of a thousand. 
 thread'bare, worn ; shabby. 
 thfin'der-stSrm, a storm with thunder 
 
 and lightning. 
 tor'rent, a rushing stream. 
 trSv'el Icr, one who journeys. 
 
■^ 240 8«- 
 
 trea'cle, molasses. 
 
 tre mgn'dofis, overwhelming. 
 
 turn'spit (tern'), one who turns a spit. 
 
 twilight, between daylight and dark. 
 
 twin'kle, wink ; blink. 
 
 twist'ing, twining ; winding. 
 
 tim brgl'la, a shelter from rain or sun. 
 fin com'for ta ble (fer), not comfort- 
 able. 
 fin Ifick'I ly, unfortunately. 
 
 v&n'Ished, disappeared; became in- 
 visible. 
 vgn'tfired, risked ; chanced. 
 
 vis'lon (vizh'on), sight; apparition. 
 
 waist'coat, an inner coat, 
 w^r^den, a watchman ; a guardian. 
 war'rior (ler) , a soldier. 
 wea'gel, a small animal. 
 wheel'bSr row, a barrow with one 
 
 wheel. 
 wig'wam, an Indian tent. 
 wll'der n^ss, a desert. 
 won'dered, marvelled ; surprised. 
 wrin'kled, marked with wrinkles. 
 
 yaw'nlng, gaping ; 
 breath. 
 
 taking a deep 
 
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