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 <?//
 
 OH, the sun is bright and the day is fair, 
 And the sweet breeze ' 
 
 jreeze wanders everywl 
 sing as they lightly fly, 
 . join them, Joe and I. 
 
 And the sweet birds 
 And I wish we could jo: 
 
 We were bidden to listen, and so we do, 
 Shut up in the narrow and stuffy pew ; 
 Behaving just as well as we can 
 'Ye look over there at the preacher-man. 
 
 We can't understand, though we take such pains; 
 All sense seems gone from our little brains; 
 So we just sit quiet as best we may, 
 And wait till the long hour wears away. 
 
 Oh, how can he have so much to say, 
 The preacher-man, such a lovely day? 
 And what in the world he is talking about 
 We do not know and we can't find out.
 
 OUR BOYS. 
 
 * STORIES, POEMS AND SKETCHES, * 
 
 8Y LAURIE LOBLNG, LOUISA M. ALCOTT, SARA CONANT, CELIA THAXTER. OLIVE 
 THORNE, AND ROGER QUIDDAM. 
 
 Edited by THOMAS W. HANDFORD. 
 
 CHICAGO, NEW YORK AND SAN FRANCISCO: 
 BELFORD, CLARKE & CO. 
 
 1889.
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 1886. 
 BELFORD, CLARKE & CO.
 
 PS 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 A Miserable Man Anon. 201 
 
 A Provident Little Bird " 76 
 
 A Queer Fairy " 177 
 
 A Sparrow in Mid- Atlantic " 104 
 
 Bobbit's Boat " 153 
 
 Building a Fort " 118 
 
 "Can't Help It" " 66 
 
 Camels " 166 
 
 Carrie's Picnic " 197 
 
 Carry's Troubles Edgar Fawcett 45 
 
 Destroying the Cargo Laurie Loring 98 
 
 Dreaming. Anon. 26 
 
 Father's Portrait " 188 
 
 First Hide Laurie Loring 17 
 
 Grandma's Story " 94 
 
 Grandmother's Specs Louisa M. Alcott 36 
 
 "He Put a Little Sugar in " Anon. 110 
 
 How the Sheep Found He Was Black " 183 
 
 Joe's Fourth of July Sara Conant 29 
 
 Keeping Robbie Still Anon. 168 
 
 Little Haymaker Laurie Loring 91 
 
 Mother Darling's Family " 160 
 
 My Little Friend Louisa M. Alcott 138 
 
 Ned's Team Laurie Loring 40 
 
 Nelly's Fault Anon. 18 
 
 On the Keel " 85 
 
 Our Little News Boy Louisa M. Alcott 23 
 
 Poor Jack '. Anon. 56 
 
 " Shine, Sir Shine ! " Mary Haines Gilbert 8 
 
 Skip Anon. 65 
 
 The Boy Who Took Care of His Grandmother 130 
 
 The Fate of Five Little Kittens Anon. 124 
 
 The Girl Who Was Afraid of a Dog Olive T/iorne 163 
 
 The Greedy Bird that Wanted to Eat a Boy Anon. 145 
 
 The Kind Neighbor " 120 
 
 The Sailor Boy " 110 
 
 The Squint-eyed Party " 47 
 
 Tide-Marks 
 Two Families. . , 
 Washed Ashore , 
 Which ?. . . 
 
 Willy's Naughty Day. 
 Uncle Bert's Letter . . 
 
 128 
 192 
 150 
 100 
 171 
 69 
 
 2036165
 
 INDEX. 
 
 POETEY. 
 
 PAGJ 
 
 A Little Boy's Wonder-Song ................................ Anon . 
 
 Dirty Jack ................................................ Anon. 
 
 Going to School ........................................... " 
 
 I Had a Sweet Little Doll ................................. " 
 
 Make a Glad Noise to the Lord ................ Thomas W. Handford 
 
 Mrs. Rat's Children ................................. Laurie Loring 
 
 My Squirrel ............................................... Anon. 
 
 Pussy and I ............................................... " 
 
 The Bird's Week ........................................... " 
 
 The Kingbird ....................................... Celia Thaxter 
 
 The Legend of Robin Red-breast .................. Hoskyns-AbrahaU 
 
 The Long Sermon ................................ A non. Frontispiece. 
 
 The Ruined Nest ................................... Laurie Loring 62- 
 
 Towzer ................................................... Anon. 74 
 
 True Contentment ................................ Roger Quiddam 63^ 
 
 106 
 107' 
 116 
 181 
 35 
 21 
 136 
 54 
 205 
 
 64 
 
 ILLUSTKATIONS. 
 
 The Long Sermon . . . 
 
 A Sparrow on the Sea 105 
 
 Bessie Writing Her Letter 73 
 
 Captain Boyntbn 101 
 
 Carry's Troubles 45 
 
 Chick-a-dee-dee 77 
 
 Dirty Jack 109 
 
 Fourth of July 30 
 
 Gathering Wild Flowers 144 
 
 Grandmother's Specs 37 
 
 Happy Days 103 
 
 "He Built His Nest Aloft".. . . 137 
 
 Home Again ! 207 
 
 In the Swing 81 
 
 Little Victor 131 
 
 Mabel's Pets 125 
 
 My Gallant Sailor Lad Ill 
 
 Nan Dreaming 27 
 
 Ned's Team.. 43 
 
 Nora, the Fairy 178 
 
 Poor Jack 57 
 
 Prairie Dogs 96 
 
 Pussy and 1 55 
 
 Robert as Grandfather 7 
 
 Seaside Pleasures 155 
 
 " Shine, sir, Shine!" 9 
 
 Skip 67 
 
 Stung by Bees 199 
 
 Susy On Her Way to School ... 117 
 
 "Sweep, Oh!" 185 
 
 The Children 143 
 
 The Good Samaritan 121 
 
 The Greedy Eagle 147 
 
 The Happy Family 161 
 
 The Hungry Fox 194 
 
 The Little Student 49 
 
 The Maiden at the Spring 75 
 
 The Miser and His Gold 203- 
 
 "The Prettiest Doll in the 
 
 World" 182 
 
 The Rats at Play 22 
 
 The Robin's Nest 64 
 
 The Ruined Nest 62 
 
 The Ship of the Desert 167 
 
 The Youthful Artist 189 
 
 " Tim Dashed in Among Them" 13 
 
 Treasure Trove 151 
 
 Trusty Tige 87 
 
 Venice 71 
 
 Willie's First Ride 19 
 
 Willy and Molly 173 
 
 Winter Scene . . 35-
 
 ROBERT AS QRANDKATHER. 

 
 ; SHINE, SIR SHINE! 
 
 SHINE, SIR SHINE!" 
 
 USTY little Tim stood on Park Row, 
 blacking box and brush in hand, cry- 
 ing, "Shine, sir shine!" 
 
 From seven in the morning till 
 noon Tim had captured eight custo- 
 mers, and he had just turned a som- 
 erset, rejoicing over his good luck. 
 "Hi! forty cents! ain't I rich, though!" 
 " How goes it wid you?" said a familiar voice. 
 Tim started to his feet, and faced his rival, Bill. 
 "Ye don't seem glad to see me," laughed Bill. 
 " No more I ain't," answered Tim, frankly. " Hoped 
 ye'd gone for good." 
 
 Bill had been missing for a week. 
 "Tried Union Square," he explained; "'tain't wot 
 it's cracked up to be up there." 
 
 As Bill spoke, an old gentleman came along, whose 
 boots were dusty indeed. 
 
 "Shine, sir shine!" Tim and Bill both pounced 
 upon him, speaking together. 
 
 " He's mine," cried Bill ; " I seed him fust. Git 
 along, you ! Had it to yeself long nuff. Git along ! " 
 " I seed him quick as you," said Tim.
 
 SHINE, SIR SHINE!" 
 
 "Don't quarrel," said the old gentleman, looking 
 distressed. 
 
 " It hain't quarlen we be," explained Bill. " I have 
 them what I hollers to fust, and he has them what he 
 hollers to fust." 
 
 "But if you both speak at once, what then?" 
 
 "Then the gent picks atween." 
 
 "Well, I take the small one," the old man said, 
 looking behind him for Tim. 
 
 But Tim had retreated around the corner, warned 
 by the threatening fist of big Bill. Bill often played 
 the tyrant in a small way. 
 
 "He hain't no account, any how," said Bill; he 
 hain't no strent in his arms, like me, to shine." 
 
 "Go ahead, then." 
 
 Bill blacked the old man's dusty boots, and was 
 handed a fifty cent stamp to change. He had not a 
 penny in his pockets; so he beckoned to Tim, who 
 had ventured in sight again. 
 
 "Got stamps for this, hey?" 
 
 Tim produced four ten cent bits and two fives. 
 
 " It's wuth ten, so it is," said Bill, as the old man 
 counted the change. 
 
 "Is it? I thought five was the regular price." 
 
 " But yer boots were more 'an riglar dirty," com- 
 plained Bill. 
 
 "I'll give you each five," said the old man. "You, 
 little fellow, drink my health in lemonade; it's a hot 
 
 10
 
 SHINE, SIR SHINE!" 
 
 day." He wiped his forehead with his yellow silk 
 handkerchief, and went on his way. 
 
 " He's a jolly old cove," said little Tim, rubbing 
 his hands in delight. 
 
 "Jolly for ye!" growled Bill. "Ye have five for 
 nothin'; that's luck; and you've always got money 
 saved up too," he went on, enviously. " I have nary 
 red." 
 
 "But ye make lots more nor I," said Tim. "I 
 made three dollar fifteen last week a heap for me ye 
 know. Now, I've most four dollar saved up for some- 
 thing." 
 
 " What're ye goin' to do wid it? " asked Bill. 
 
 " Give it to Granny Maloy for nussin' me when I 
 was sick." 
 
 " I wouldn't give it to any granny," said Bill ; " I'd 
 go on a bust." 
 
 Tim shook his head. 
 
 The next morning Bill was on the ground first; 
 he had already blacked two pairs of boots, when Tim 
 appeared. "I'm head o' ye," said Bill. 
 
 " Ye-e-s," returned Tim, looking down at his ~ bare 
 toes, and then at Bill, as if there was something else 
 he wanted to say. 
 
 "Wai, what're ye starin' at me wid cat's eyes fer?" 
 cried Bill, angrily. 
 
 "Did ye know that I changed for ye were a bad 
 one?" asked Tim, faintly. 
 
 11
 
 SHINE, SIR SHINE!" 
 
 "Did I know?" cried Bill, his fists uplifted. 
 
 " I didn't mean ye did know," gasped Tim. " Coorse 
 ye didn't; but it were." 
 
 "He'd orter be tuck up," cried Bill, with indig- 
 nation. 
 
 "I guess he couldn't a-knowed," said Tim; "but 
 but ye'll take it back?" 
 
 "Now, lookee here," said Bill, squaring his elbows; 
 "it hain't me's to blame. Ef ye ever ketch him pass- 
 in', lay hold onter him ; that's all wot I says." 
 
 " Ef you'd let me borry that much of ye, I'd pay it 
 back, 'cause Granny 
 
 "Git out!" roared Bill. "I hain't nothin' but ten 
 pence, as I made this mornin'; an' ef I had oceans on 
 oceans, you'd git none for yer granny." 
 
 Tim fell back. 
 
 Noon came, and Tim had only made five cents. 
 Bill had flourished his long, stout arms even more 
 than usual. 
 
 " He means to drive me off altogether," said Tim 
 to himself. "I'll try somewhar else to-morry, though 
 they's all about alike. They's always some one to 
 knock ye down." 
 
 Later in the day, as Tim stood, the picture of care, 
 in front of the Times Building, he saw an old gentle- 
 man rushing by. Then he caught a glimpse of a yel- 
 low silk handkerchief. 
 
 "Stop him, Bill stop him!" he cried, at the top 
 of his voice.
 
 ' SHINE, SIR SHINE!" 
 
 Bill saw the old man ; but he did not move. Tim 
 ran himself as fast as his feet would carry him after 
 the owner of the yellow handkerchief. Cars and carts,, 
 and vehicles of all kinds blocked up the way. Tim 
 dashed in among them. 
 
 "Take care!" cried a driver. 
 
 It was too late. A policeman held little Tim irt 
 his arms. A crowd gathered around. 
 
 "Is he kilt?" asked a ragged youth, blacking box 
 and brush in hand. It was Bill. 
 
 " Might as well be," answered the policeman, gruff- 
 ly ; but a tear fell on Tim's yellow hair. 
 
 13
 
 "SHINE, SIR SHINE I 
 
 The crowd fell back at command, and Tim was 
 borne away. 
 
 "Twern't my fault," Bill said stoutly to himself all 
 the rest of the afternoon ; yet every now and then he 
 felt a strange choking in his throat. 
 
 The next forenoon Bill was very diligent, and up 
 to one o'clock he had made seventy cents. " I wonder 
 if they'll let a fellar like me in," he said to himself, as 
 he counted over the money; "but anyways, I kin send 
 up the stuff." 
 
 Of a sidewalk dealer he bought some oranges, 
 lemons, and bananas. Then he started for Bellevue 
 Hospital. 
 
 " No admittance without a permit." 
 
 "That's the how, eh?" Bill said, scowling at the 
 clerk a moment; then he asked, in a voice rough, but 
 with an undertone of anxiety, " Tim's alive yet ? " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Little Tim, wot was run over wid the cars yes- 
 terday." 
 
 "There are so many brought in," answered the 
 clerk. "What is his other name? I'll look on the 
 books." 
 
 " Never heerd wot his other name were. A little 
 mite of a fellar barefoot yaller hair." 
 
 " I remember him now," answered the clerk ; ribs 
 knocked in; he is dead." 
 
 Bill hurried away without a word his face was 
 
 14
 
 ; SHINE, SIR SHINE! 
 
 working ; he brushed away hot tears with his ragged 
 sleeve. "Dead! Dead!" he kept repeating. He 
 walked across town to Madison Square. On his way 
 he gave the oranges, and lemons, and bananas that he 
 had bought for Tim, to a little beggar girl ; she began 
 to devour them on the spot. He walked away from 
 her, crying. 
 
 " Ef I only knowed where Granny Maloy lived, I'd 
 go see her," he thought. 
 
 "So you've deserted the field to the other." 
 
 Bill started ; he half clinched his fists, as if he 
 would strike the old man who spoke to him. " It's 
 you kilt him, not me," he said, fiercely. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked the old man, draw- 
 ing out his yellow handkerchief. 
 
 " I wish it was me dead instead," said Bill, turning 
 his face away. " It was you did it," he went on, brok- 
 enly. " I know them doctors; they'll hack him all into 
 pieces." 
 
 In another minute the old man knew all. He 
 looked cut to the heart. " Dead ! " he said ; " and all 
 because of a counterfeit stamp." 
 
 " He didn't b'lieve you knowed 'twas bad. Ef ye 
 are good, leastways ye'll bury him in a coffin won't 
 ye?" 
 
 I'll bury him in Greenwood in my own lot," the old 
 man said, with tears. 
 
 Bill retraced his steps hand in hand with the other. 
 
 15
 
 SHINE, SIR SHINE !' 
 
 A little later, together they leaned over a little still 
 form, with pale, yellow hair. 
 
 ******** 
 
 In Greenwood little Tim sleeps, a white cross, 
 crowned with stars, at his head. On the cross is writ- 
 ten, " Of such is the kingdom of heaven." Bill is try- 
 ing to learn the meaning of these words. He has 
 taken up little Tim's work. It would be too long a 
 story to tell you how he hunted up Granny Maloy, 
 and how peaceful he is making her last days ; but I 
 must tell you that as Bill stands in his box on Park 
 Row, selling papers ( for he keeps a news stand now ), 
 he gives many a saddened glance to the little boys 
 who pass by, crying, - 
 
 " Shine, sir shine ! " 
 
 " If it were only to do over again," he says. 
 
 But we can never live over the past. 
 
 MARY HAINES GILBERT. 
 
 16
 
 FIRST RIDE. 
 
 
 FIRST RIDE. 
 
 THINK few little boys ever enjoyed anything 
 more than Willie did his first ride on 
 old Charlie. 
 
 Charlie was papa's farm horse ; and 
 he was so slow and steady, that Willie 
 was as safe upon his back as upon his 
 rocking-horse at home. 
 Willie was all horse, as the saying is. When a 
 wee bit of a baby, nothing delighted him so much as 
 a gallop on papa's foot. Papa's shoulder was a pretty 
 good horse, but not as lively and frisky as his foot. 
 He travelled half round the world on that same willing 
 steed before he was two years old. 
 
 The gift of a gay pair of worsted reins on his 
 second birthday, gave him more genuine pleasure than 
 the gift of hundreds of dollars would at a later day, 
 probably. 
 
 As Willie grew older, chairs and tables seemed to 
 lose their resemblance to horses, or his imagination 
 was less vivid. Something was the trouble, for his 
 constant cry was, 
 
 " Willie wants horse ! Willie wants horse with 
 head -with eyes with feet! Willie wants horse 
 go fast fast as papa's ! " 
 
 17
 
 FIRST RIDE. 
 
 So papa and mamma considered the question. 
 The result was, that the evening before Willie's third 
 birthday, a large package was left at the door by the 
 expressman. It was quietly placed in the shed until 
 Willie was asleep for the night. And it seemed as 
 though his eyes were never so long closing before. 
 
 At last he was snugly tucked into his little bed ; 
 then papa tip-toed into the sitting-room with a beau- 
 tiful large rocking-horse. He placed it, amid many 
 whispered comments, where Willie would see it the 
 moment he entered the room in the morning. Papa, 
 mamma, and sister Mina must all be present then. 
 
 He came down in his little white night-dress. 
 Stopping short at the unexpected sight, he rubbed his 
 eyes, then ran and clasped the miniature horse about 
 the neck, crying, 
 
 "Little horsey! little horsey! Willie hug you 
 hard!" 
 
 Then he stepped back for a better look. Putting 
 a fat finger into the horse's mouth, he said, " Him got 
 mouth! Ha! ha! ha!" On travelled his finger to 
 his eyes. " Him got eyes. Ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 His four feet were greeted in the same way. And 
 the eager little fingers touched almost every inch of 
 his treasured horse before he could be coaxed away 
 long enough to be dressed. 
 
 After dressing he must take a ride to give him an 
 appetite. He had not thought of riding before 
 
 18
 
 FIRST RIDE. 
 
 mere possession was enough. But he had a healthy 
 boy's appetite, so it was not necessary to coax him to 
 the breakfast-table. 
 
 Willie and Bobby as he called his horse now 
 became inseparable companions. For the first few 
 weeks he could not bear separation even through the 
 night; so Bobby was hitched to his crib. And many 
 times he was found asleep with one chubby hand 
 clasping Bobby's mane. 
 
 It is Willie's fervent hope that Bobby will grow up 
 into a large black horse he is very partial to black 
 horses so that he can use him when he is an old 
 man. 
 
 For this purpose he gives him a generous supply 
 of grass and oats every day. Often he brings in the 
 grass in his little straw hat. He insists that Bobby 
 likes to eat it out of his hat, better than from any 
 basket in the house. After eating, Willie never for- 
 gets to water him. And if water makes horses grow, 
 Bobby ought to be a large horse in a few years. 
 
 LAURIE LORING.
 
 MRS. RAT'S CHILDREN. 
 
 MRS. RAT'S CHILDREN. 
 
 "O mother," said Silky, 
 
 " I saw in the shed 
 The funniest rat-house 
 
 Without any bed." 
 
 "Dear Mother," said Light-foot, 
 
 " I saw in the shed 
 A great tub of snap-corn 
 
 But two kernels red." 
 
 "And, mother," said Bob-tail, 
 
 " I saw in the shed 
 A jag of molasses 
 
 J Twas higher'n my head!"
 
 MRS. R*T'R CHILDREN. 
 
 "Come, mother! Come help us 1 
 
 The rat-children cried; 
 To make mother aid them 
 
 They eagerly tried. 
 
 "My darlings, just listen," 
 
 Said wise Mrs. Rat. 
 "I know where there's something 
 
 Much better than that." 
 
 "Come out to the corn-bin; 
 
 There, safe as can be, 
 O'er meal-bags and meal-bags 
 
 You'll scamper with me." 
 
 LAUITE LORING. 
 
 22
 
 OUR LITTLE NEWSBOY. 
 
 OUR LITTLE NEWSBOY. 
 
 URRYING to catch a certain car, at 
 a certain corner, late one stormy 
 night, I was suddenly arrested 
 by the sight of a queer-looking 
 bundle lying in a door-way. 
 " Bless my heart, it's a child ! 
 
 John ! I'm afraid he's frozen ! " 
 
 1 exclaimed to my brother, as 
 we both bent over the bundle. 
 
 Such a little fellow as he was, 
 in the big, ragged coat; such a tired, baby face, under 
 the fuzzy cap; such a purple, little hand, still holding 
 fast a few papers; such a pathetic sight altogether, 
 was the boy, lying on the stone step, with the snow 
 drifting over him, that it was impossible to go by. 
 
 "He is asleep; but he'll freeze, if left so long. 
 Here, wake up, my boy; and go home, as fast as you 
 can," cried John, with a gentle shake, and a very gen- 
 tle voice. 
 
 The moment he was touched, the boy tumbled up, 
 and, before he was half awake, began his usual cry, 
 with an eye to business. 
 
 " Paper, sir ? ' H erald ! ' Transkip ! ' Last " 
 
 23
 
 OUR LITTLE NEWSBOY. 
 
 a great gape swallowed up the "last edition;" and he 
 stood blinking at us like a very chilly, young owl. 
 
 " I'll buy 'em all, if you'll go home, my little chap." 
 
 "All of 'em? why, there's six!" croaked the boy, 
 for he was as hoarse as a raven. 
 
 " Never mind, I can kindle the fire with 'em." 
 
 " Where do you live ? " I asked, picking up the fif- 
 ty cents that fell from the little fingers, too benumbed 
 to hold it. 
 
 " Mills Court ; out of Hanover." 
 
 " He can't go all that way in this storm, John." 
 
 " Of course, he can't ; we'll put him in a car," be- 
 gan John ; when the boy wheezed out, - 
 
 "No; I've got ter wait for Sam. He'll be along, 
 as soon's the theatre's done. He said he would; and 
 so I'm waitin'." 
 
 "Who is Sam?" I asked. 
 
 " He's the feller I lives with. I ain't got any folks, 
 and he takes care o' me." 
 
 " Nice care, indeed," I said, crossly. 
 
 "Hullo! the lights is out!" cried the boy. "Why 
 the play's done, and the folks gone ; and Sam's forgot 
 me." 
 
 It was very evident, that Sam had forgotten him, 
 and a strong desire to shake Sam possessed me. 
 
 " No use waitin' any longer; and now my papers is 
 sold, I ain't afraid to go home," said the boy. 
 
 "Stop a bit, my little Casabianca; a car will be 
 along in fifteen minutes." 
 
 24
 
 OUR LITTLE NEWSBOY. 
 
 "My name's Jack Hill, not Cassy Banks, please, 
 sir," said the little party, with dignity. 
 
 "Have you had your supper, Mr. Hill?" asked 
 John, laughing. 
 
 " I had some peanuts, and two sucks of Joe's 
 orange; but it warn't very fillin'," he said, gravely. 
 
 "I should think not. Here! one stew; and be 
 quick, please," cried John, as we sat down, in a warm 
 corner of the confectioner's, opposite. 
 
 "There goes our car; and it's the last," said John, 
 looking at me. 
 
 " Let it go, but don't leave the boy." 
 
 " Here is his car. Now, my lad, bolt your last 
 oyster, and come on." 
 
 "Good-night, ma'am! Thankee, sir!" croaked the 
 grateful, little voice, as the child was caught up in 
 John's strong hands, and set down on the car-step. 
 
 We didn't mind the storm much, as we plodded 
 home; and when I told the story to Rosy-face, next 
 day, his interest quite reconciled me to the sniffs and 
 sneezes of a bad cold. 
 
 "If I saw that poor little boy, Aunt Weedy, I'd 
 love him lots ! " said Freddy, with a world of pity in 
 his beautiful child's eyes. 
 
 L. M. ALCOTT. 

 
 DREAMING. 
 
 DREAMING. 
 
 NAUGHTY, imprudent, fanciful Nan, 
 Dreaming as only a dreamer can, 
 Wandering home with reluctant feet, 
 Culling wild blossoms and berries sweel, 
 Never once thinking the hour was late, 
 Fell fast asleep at the garden-gate. 
 
 She dreamed of another garden fair, 
 With happy children disporting there ; 
 Of trees and flowers, and bursts of song 
 Filling the air the whole day long ; 
 Of gorgeous, golden-winged butterflies ; 
 Of summer's beauty 'neath summer's skies. 
 
 Idly above in the blossoms swung 
 Dainty birds with melodious tongue ; 
 And round about her the bees of June 
 Sleepily murmured their drowsy tune : 
 " For ever and ever," they seemed to say, 
 " Your life shall be like this summer day." 
 
 The shadows of tender thought arise, 
 And weigh with slumber her heavy eyes ; 
 
 26
 
 DREAMING. 
 
 It weaves a tissue of hopes and dreams 
 With misty glories and rainbow gleams : 
 Too brief the moment she seemed to stand 
 In that beautiful, blissful, fairy land. 
 
 Poor little Nan ! What an idle dream ! 
 And the world will only the darker seem, 
 When you wake, and find yourself alone 
 By the garden-gate, on a mossy stone, 
 Wasting the whole of your summer day : 
 You might far better have been at play.
 
 JOE'S FOURTH OF JULY. 
 
 JOE'S FOURTH OF JULY. 
 
 OTHER, I want to have a real good 
 Fourth this year. Will you grant me 
 a favor?" 
 
 "Don't you always have a 'good 
 Fourth'? I thought you enjoyed the 
 last very much." 
 
 "O, yes, I remember; but I want some- 
 thing different this year." 
 
 "Something besides pleasure?" 
 "Yes, independence." 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Let me do just as I please all day, without speak- 
 ing to you about it at all." 
 
 Mrs. Wilton sewed a few minutes, then said, 
 "Yes, Joe; I will trust you." 
 
 Joe thanked her with a little loss of animation; 
 for he felt put on his honor by the form of the per- 
 mission. 
 
 , " Can Bess be included in the general amnesty too ? " 
 "If you can remember that she is younger than 
 yourself, and must not be led into any harm." 
 
 Joe and Bess were busy all day down by the 
 shore, in the shed, in the kitchen, and up stairs, hardly 
 willing to stop for dinner, which they swallowed with 
 
 29
 
 JOE'S FOURTH OF JULY. 
 
 haste. Joe's work went on into the evening ; but Mrs. 
 Wilton insisted that Bess should go to bed at the 
 usual hour, maintaining that she did not relinquish 
 her authority until the morning. 
 
 At daylight the next day there was a stir about 
 the house, and as the sun gave the first glance over 
 
 the tops of the trees, a pack of fire-crackers and a 
 small cannon went off simultaneously under Mrs. 
 Wilton's windows. She sprang up, and looked out 
 in time to see Joe fire two salutes in a similar manner 
 
 "What are you doing, my son?" 
 
 "Celebrating my liberty." 
 
 30
 
 JOE'S FOURTH OF JULY. 
 
 " But you infringe mine when you make such a 
 noise; for I can't sleep." 
 
 " I'm sorry I disturbed you, madam," replied Joe, 
 touching his hat; "but I hope the mother country is 
 not going to come down on the colonies now." 
 
 Mrs. Wilton laughed, and said, 
 
 " No more than to eat my breakfast, my young 
 republican." 
 
 After breakfast, Mrs. Wilton bade the children 
 good bye, and drove away to Aunt Mary's. 
 
 " Now, Bess, load up, and we're off," said Joe, 
 gathering up the baskets and traps of all kinds, and 
 hurrying down to his boat. 
 
 "Are you going to take any one else?" 
 
 " No; I'll ship no other crew." 
 
 "Can't I take Trip? He wants to go." 
 
 "Well, he might be booked as a passenger. Now 
 jump in, Bess, and we'll go to Ray's Island and take 
 dinner, and then explore Sucker's Point. What do 
 you say?" 
 
 " Good," said Bess, taking of her hat, and trailing 
 her hands' in the water. 
 
 "I say, Bess, what's Trip doing?" Bess seized 
 Trip by the tail, and drew his head, with a doughnut 
 in his mouth, out of a basket. " I won't have such a 
 passenger; I'll put him overboard." 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Bess. " Naughty Trip ! " 
 
 " Then you must take care of him ; you're steward." 
 
 31
 
 JOE'S FOURTH OF JULY. 
 
 When they reached the island, the planting of the 
 American flag and firing of salutes, occupied the time 
 until dinner. Then rowing across the lake, they spent 
 the afternoon running about the point. Trip enjoyed 
 this amazingly, and Joe discovered untold caves and 
 mysteries ; but Bess got tired, scratched her arm, and 
 lost her hat. 
 
 After returning to the island, Bess asked, 
 
 "Are you not going home ? " 
 
 "Not until evening. I have some Roman candles 
 and a wheel that I am going to set off." 
 
 " But mother likes to have us home before dark." 
 
 "She said I might do as I pleased." 
 
 "Then we'll be on the lake in the night. Wouldn't 
 it be splendid to let off the fireworks in the boat ? " 
 
 "We'll do that," said Joe, "and I'll make a fire on 
 the shore." 
 
 The fire was made, supper eaten, and preparations 
 for the fireworks begun, when Bess noticed that the 
 waves began to run high. 
 
 " It's going to storm, Joe." 
 
 " I think not : the sun set clear. Leave &11 to me : 
 I'll take care of things." 
 
 When they went out the boat was pretty well 
 tossed, and Joe, being in haste, let off some of his can- 
 dles before it was fairly dark. The wind had risen, 
 and the sky had an ominous darkness, which did not 
 suggest a clear night. 
 
 32
 
 JOE'S FOURTH OF JULY. 
 
 " I think we'll put in, get our traps, and start for 
 home," said Joe, suddenly rowing swiftly. His haste 
 had come none too soon ; for they had hardly reached 
 the shore, when a storm burst upon them. " Get un- 
 der that projecting rock," he cried, while he did his 
 utmost to land and secure the boat. 
 
 But Bess came to his assistance, and in the midst 
 of great struggles, with the rain and wind beating on 
 them, she fell over into the water. Joe stooped to help 
 her, and a large wave swept his boat away. Drenched 
 in the rain, they ran to the rock for shelter. 
 
 "We are shipwrecked," said Bess. 
 
 "Never mind," replied Joe, drawing her close to 
 him ; " it's quite dry in here." 
 
 There was space for Bess to sit down, and Trip 
 whimpered so, that Joe advised her to take him in her 
 arms. " He'll keep you warm, too." 
 
 They were now out of the reach of the rain and 
 wind, and the storm had settled into a steady rain. 
 Joe told stories, sang songs anything to keep up 
 Bess's spirits; and so they waited. The hours, which 
 seemed years, rolled on, and Bess went to sleep ; but 
 Joe's mind was too busy. He watched the stars twin- 
 kle out, and in the strangeness and awe of his position, 
 did not sleep until nearly day. 
 
 The first ray of light waked Bess, and as she 
 stretched her stiff legs, she tried to think where she 
 was. The events of the night flashed across her mind, 
 
 33
 
 JOE'S FOURTH OF JULY. 
 
 and jumping up, she looked at the lake. The water 
 was smooth and clear, and the opposite shore did not 
 look so very far. Trip woke Joe with his antics of 
 delight, and the children began to consider. 
 
 " Everybody else in the world is asleep," said Bess. 
 
 So they tried to while away the time. The sun 
 rose, and day was fairly begun ; but no hope of escape. 
 Joe felt uneasy, and Bess gave gulps, which indicated 
 a desire to, and a determination not to, cry. There 
 was no use disguising it; they were miserable, and sat 
 on the rocks together, watching the shore. 
 
 "There's a boat," cried Joe, at last, taking off his 
 coat, and waving it distractedly. 
 
 As it drew nearer, they saw uncle George. 
 
 "Well, Joe, what are you up to now? Your moth- 
 er is nearly crazy with anxiety." 
 
 "I couldn't help it; the boat was blown away." 
 
 " It's lucky you were not blown away in it. We 
 haven't had such a storm this year." 
 
 Joe was very silent, and after they had been re- 
 ceived at home, breakfasted, and made comfortable, he 
 said, 
 
 " Mother, I think we'll put ourselves under your 
 protection a little longer, for we had to get the home 
 government to help us out of our trouble." 
 
 "You're welcome back," said Mrs. Wilton, patting 
 his shoulder. 
 
 SARA CONANT. 
 
 34
 
 MAKE A GLAD NOISE TO THE LORD, m 
 
 "Oceme, let us sing-unto the Lord: let us make a joyful 
 rise to the rock of our salvation,'' Psalm xcv., i. 
 
 MAKE a glad noise to the Lord! 
 Ye grand majestic winds that sweep 
 On wings of storm, o'er land and deep, 
 
 Make a loud noise to the Lord! 
 Ye gentler winds that faintly blow, 
 In murmuring music hushed and low; 
 
 O! breathe your zephyrs.'soft and sweet; 
 Waft all your incense-laden gales, 
 O'er upland steeps and dev/y vales, 
 
 And all about the mountain's feet. 
 
 Make a glad noise to the Lord! 
 
 Ye awful thunders of the sky, 
 
 Lift your dread voice to God most high! 
 Peal forth his solemn praise. 
 
 Wake, echoes of the leafy wood; 
 
 Sing a loud song: " Jehovah is Lord! " 
 Let the trees of the wood make a noise, 
 
 Let the trees chant a psalm to the Lord. 
 
 The unfading cedars and the tall dark pines, 
 Sharon's sweet roses, and the clinging vines; 
 From your high boughs and through your leaf- 
 age fine, 
 
 By all the beauty of your verdant bloom, 
 By all the riches of your sweet perfume, 
 Sing to the Lord your Maker, all Divine! 
 Make a glad noise to the Lord!
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S SPECS. 
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S SPECS. 
 
 ELL, I think that is polite! Grandma ex- 
 pects me to sit still while she takes 
 a nap instead of telling me stories. 
 'How selfish some people are." 
 
 As she spoke, little Patty looked 
 angrily from the old lady nodding in 
 her chair, to the book in her lap, and 
 felt very much injured because she 
 couldn't have her own way. The rain pattered on the 
 window-pane, the wind blew dismally, and the winter 
 afternoon was fast deepening into twilight. As she 
 sat thinking about her wrongs, her eye wandered to 
 the book again. 
 
 "Stupid old pictures, I've seen 'em a dozen times, 
 and am tired of 'em. But there is no other book here, 
 and I mustn't leave the room. I wonder how they'd 
 look through grandma's specs." 
 
 Putting the glasses on her little nose, Patty turned 
 a leaf and looked. Dear me, how very odd it was to 
 be sure! A minute ago she saw a cat and kittens on 
 the page, and now there was a picture she had never 
 seen. A sweet, pale-faced lady lay in a bed and was 
 putting a little baby into the arms of an old lady who 
 seemed promising something with a tender yet sor- 
 rowful look.
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S SPECS. 
 
 "Why that's the way my dear mamma did when 
 she gave me to grandma, the day she died ! Papa 
 told me about it," cried Patty, very much surprised. 
 Wondering what had come to her book, she eagerly 
 turned over another leaf, and there was a new picture. 
 
 This was a still more curious one, for the figures 
 seemed to move. The same old lady was teaching 
 the same baby to walk, so kindly, so patiently. 
 
 Next came pictures showing the baby a little girl, 
 and the old lady still older, but as kind as ever. Judg- 
 ing from the pictures, the child was rather a careless, 
 selfish little girl. One was where the child appeared 
 to be nearly run over, and the old lady saved her, but 
 
 37
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S SPECS. 
 
 was much hurt herself. When Patty saw that, she 
 looked very sober, and the pettish expression left her 
 face, as she said, softly, 
 
 "Yes, that's what grandma did for me; and that's 
 how she got so lame. Poor grandma, I wish I'd got 
 her cane for her when she asked me." 
 
 Patty's eyes grew so dim with tears that the page 
 was all a blur, and, putting up her hand to wipe the 
 drops away, the spectacles fell off and the strange pic- 
 tures vanished. 
 
 Patty sat quite still for several minutes, thinking 
 of all the unkind words she had said, the duties she 
 had neglected, the loving acts she had left undone, 
 and all she owed dear, kind, patient, grandma. She 
 covered up her face and cried till her little handker- 
 chief was quite wet, so full of repentant sorrow was 
 she. Suddenly she thought, " It is'nt too late. I can 
 be good to her now. What shall I do to show her 
 how sorry I am?" 
 
 Wiping up her tears she looked about the room 
 and saw plenty to do. 
 
 " How naughty I am to be so lazy and selfish, and 
 disobedient. Dear grandma is too kind to punish me,, 
 but I ought to be punished, hard" said Patty. 
 
 Full of good resolutions she fell to work and turned 
 over a new leaf at once, not waiting a minute or saying 
 " I'll be good by and by." She cleaned up her play- 
 things, found the cane and leaned it against grandma's 
 
 38
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S SPECS. 
 
 chair all ready for her. She put back the spectacles, 
 picked up the stitches and laid the knitting on the old 
 lady's lap; she folded the shawl softly round her, and 
 grandma gave a little sigh as if the comfortable 
 warmth pleased her. Then Patty built up a grand fire, 
 swept the hearth, and sat down to wind the yarn. 
 
 Darker and darker it grew outside as night came 
 on ; harder blew the wind and faster fell the rain, but 
 within it was bright and warm. Very thoughtful was 
 Patty's rosy face as she sat so still ; but that half hour 
 did her much good, for she thought what she was, and 
 what she hoped to be, and prayed a very sincere little 
 prayer that she might keep her resolution, and be a 
 faithful, loving child to grandma. 
 
 When the old lady woke, she rubbed her eyes and 
 looked about her, feeling as if the good fairies had 
 been at work while she slept. And so they had, for 
 the best and loveliest of household fairies are Love 
 and Cheerfulness. Patty had drawn up the round ta- 
 ble and quietly set out the little tea tray with the tiny 
 cups and plates, the old-fashioned spoons and funny 
 plump teapot that grandma liked; had toasted the 
 bread herself, just brown and nice, and got everything 
 ready in the most cosey, tempting order one can 
 imagine. 
 
 "Well, deary, what does it all mean?" cried grand- 
 ma, smiling with surprise and pleasure, as she looked 
 about her. 
 
 39
 
 NED'S TEAM. 
 
 " It means that I'm trying to be good, and do my 
 duty as I haven't done it for a long, long while;" and 
 Patty put her arms round grandma's neck with a little 
 quiver in her voice that went straight to the old lady's 
 heart. Standing so, she told all that had happened, 
 and grandma laughed and said it was only a dream. 
 But Patty was sure it was true, only the spectacles 
 wouldn't show any more of the strange pictures when 
 she tried again. 
 
 " Never mind, my darling, they show me the dear- 
 est, most dutiful of little daughters, and I'm quite 
 satisfied," said grandma. 
 
 L. M. ALCOTT. 
 
 NED'S TEAM. 
 
 ED, this seems the only way. I'm 
 as sorry as you can be, for I in- 
 tended you to have a good educa- 
 tion; and this will put you back." 
 "Nevermind, father. I'm not 
 very old yet. I'll haul the wood 
 and study, too." 
 
 Ned Marston looked cheerfully 
 into his father's pale face as he said 
 this. If his father had not been suffer- 
 ing from bodily pain, he would have seen 
 something about the frank, boyish face, how- 
 ever, which indicated mental pain. But the 
 
 40
 
 NED'S TEAM. 
 
 wood, as well as his infirmities, weighed heavily on 
 Mr. Marston's mind. 
 
 Turning, as well as his aching limbs would permit, 
 he looked from the window, then said, " Seems like a 
 pleasant day out. Can't you hitch up the horses and 
 begin now?" 
 
 "Yes, father, if you think best." 
 
 "Well, I guess 'tis. 'Twill be a long job anyway." 
 
 Ned went directly to the barn; but instead of tak- 
 ing out the horses at once, he sat down on the sled and 
 drew a long, hard breath. A great cloud of despair 
 seemed suddenly to overshadow him. The light was 
 all gone from his face. 
 
 " Father thinks he's as sorry as I am ; but he cant 
 be," was his thought. And in spite of his efforts to 
 the contrary, two large tears rolled down his face. " I 
 meant to keep at the head of the class and graduate 
 next spring instead hauling wood! I can't do it 
 can't give up all my pet plans!" 
 
 Ned covered his face with his hands. Thoughts 
 of his father's kindness in the past of his mother's 
 love and patience of his darling baby sister, passed 
 rapidly through his mind. It was his duty to haul 
 the wood. He felt as sure of it, as of the reluctant, 
 selfish spirit which prompted him to refuse. If his 
 duty to do it at all then do it cheerfully. Should 
 he add to his mother's cares and burdens ? Never ! 
 
 " God will see to my education, if I see to the wood,- 
 
 41
 
 NED'S TEAM. 
 
 mother'd say; and well, I know she's right, though 
 I can't talk about such things. I declare, I'd like to 
 cry it out, as girls do. But if I stop for that, father'll 
 begin to wonder what the trouble is; so good-by to 
 books and tears for the present. 
 
 " Now for the wood ! But, mind you, Graytop, and 
 you, old Duke, I sha'n't have you for companions 
 always. Step round lively ! I mean work now and 
 I mean study by and by!' 
 
 Ned was not a boy to do things by halves. He 
 resolved that no one, not even his mother should sus- 
 pect what a trial it was to him ; so, day after day, he 
 walked manfully by the side of his team, whistling as 
 he went, or exchanging pleasant greetings with the 
 other teamsters. The evening always found him with 
 his beloved books. 
 
 Ned could not load the heaviest logs himself; but 
 some of the men were always ready to help. They 
 admired his courage and cheerful spirits, and rather 
 prided themselves on the good looks of Ned and his 
 team. No horses were kept in better condition 
 through the winter than Ned's. 
 
 One day in February, Ned reached the mill just as 
 two strangers stepped from their sleigh. He attended 
 to his work as usual, not noticing that one of the men 
 was watching him closely. 
 
 "So you like hauling wood better than studying?' 1 
 
 Ned started as these words sounded abruptly in
 
 NED'S TEAM. 
 
 his ears. " No, sir; I'd a thousand times rather study," 
 he replied. 
 
 "Why don't you then? " 
 
 " Because this wood had to be hauled, and father 
 was sick and couldn't do it." 
 
 "He isn't too sick to sell the boards, is he?" 
 
 " No, sir. He'd be glad to." 
 
 The long and short of it was the man not only 
 bought the boards, but paid such a price cash down 
 that Mr. Marston was able to hire a man to take 
 Ned's place and finish the job. 
 
 Ned had improved his evenings so well, that a 
 little extra help from his teacher for a few weeks, en- 
 abled him to graduate with his class in the spring. 
 And not one left the school-room with such honor and 
 such robust health as Ned Marston. 
 
 LAURIE LORING. 
 
 44
 
 CARRY'S TROUBLES. 
 
 CARRY'S TROUBLES. 
 
 DEMURE little Carry, eleven to-day, 
 Has a world of annoyances, truly, 
 Assuming the charge, in a sisterly way, 
 Of venturesome Kitty, and mischievous May, 
 And bold Master Bob, the unruly.
 
 CARRY'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Of course there is nurse to decide what is best 
 
 In cases of reckless resistance ; 
 But if nurse is the captain, it must be confessed 
 That Carry affords, with unwearying zest, 
 
 A corporal's watchful assistance. 
 
 When Kitty was found up the pear tree, last week, 
 
 With skirts in the branches entangled, 
 How long, without Carry's most opportune shriek, 
 Beholding the sister she wandered to seek, 
 Would Kitty, head downward, have dangled ? 
 
 And May, fairy May, with her curls' glossy gold, 
 
 And the brown eyes glimmering under, 
 Were it not for the hand-clasp, so firm to hold, 
 From her restless gypsyings manifold, 
 Would she come back as safe, I wonder? 
 
 And Bob what so hazardous he would not dare, 
 
 All peril disdaining sublimely, 
 If somehow a hand were not always just there, 
 Intent upon saving " papa's son and heir," 
 
 In time, from an end most untimely? 
 
 Poor Carry laments, now and then, that her days 
 
 Are troubled with good reason, truly! 
 And yet how the love of those dear ones repays 
 All Kitty's mad pranks, and all mischief of May's, 
 All capers of Bob, the unruly! 
 
 EDGAR FAWCETT. 
 
 46
 
 THE SQUINT-EYED PARTY. 
 
 THE SQUINT-EYED PARTY. 
 
 ONE day, when George was playing near the gate of 
 the lawn, he heard a boy going from school cry out to 
 another, " No, squint-eye, you sha'n't go to our party ; " 
 and he saw poor homely Tim Dunn, with his crooked 
 eyes and freckled face, crying and sobbing. 
 
 He put his little white hand through the rails of 
 the fence, and said, " Here, little boy : you may have my 
 new whistle. Don't cry any more." 
 
 Then he ran into the house, and asked, " Can't I 
 have a squint-eyed party on the lawn, mamma, so as to 
 Vite that poor speckled boy ? " 
 
 Of course his mamma laughed, and she said, " O 
 George, dearl you are very kind; but I don't think 
 there is any other squint-eyed boy round here but little 
 Tim." 
 
 " Oh, yes, mamma ! you forget. There is lame Sam 
 with such a thick sole on his shoe, and the boy that 
 had his hand cut off in the hay-cutter, and " 
 
 " But they are not squint-eyed, George," said his 
 mother. 
 
 "Well, but it's in their feet and hand, and that's 
 just as bad, isn't it, mamma?" asked the dear child. 
 
 George's brother was ten years old, and thought he 
 knew a great deal more than this little fellow. " Ha, 
 
 47
 
 NELLY'S FAULT. 
 
 ha ! George thinks Sam is squint-eyed in his foot, and 
 little Tom is in his hand." 
 
 But the mother said, " 1 know what George means. 
 He pities such boys, and wants to make them happy. 
 He shall have the tent pitched on the lawn, and have 
 the poor boys here ; an4 I will help him to make them 
 happy. His party will be like the one we read of in 
 the Bible, to which the halt and the maimed and the 
 blind were invited. Go, William, pitch the tent, and 
 then ask these boys to George's party." 
 
 NELLY'S FAULT. 
 
 " I WONDER who wants to knit me some nice warm 
 mittens," said grandma one day. 
 
 " Oh, I do, I do 1 " cried Nelly, clapping her hands, 
 and di^ppiag i lapful of flowers. 
 
 "These little ' I do's ' put me in mind of the wee 
 fairies," said grandma, smiling : " they dance about finely 
 in the sunshine, but they melt away if you look at them 
 with your spectacles on." 
 
 Nelly blushed, and hung her head ; for she knew as 
 well as grandmamma how her little promises were apt 
 to melt away, and be forgotten : she knew well how 
 many things she had begun which were still unfinished, 
 and how often she played o r read story-books when
 
 NELLY'S) FAULT. 
 
 she had work to do. Grandma was sorry for this 
 naughty habit, and was t.ying to help Nelly over- 
 come it. 
 
 "Why, grandma," said t Bob, "this is flower- time : 
 nobody wants mittens in Slimmer." 
 
 " It is the wise little an is," said grandma, " who lay 
 up a store for the winter. You may be a butterfly, my 
 dear." j 
 
 " Mayn't I make your fnittens ? " asked Nelly, laying 
 her little soft cheek against grandma's. " I promise 
 sure not to get tired, ana I knit most as well as you do 
 now." 
 
 " So you do, dear/' said grandma. " Well, I have 
 some pretty gray and red yarn : if the little one would 
 like to make me some mittens to keep my old hands 
 warm on Thanksgiving Day, I shall be very glad." 
 
 That was all Nelly heard ; but, after she had gone 
 off with her flowers, grandma said to Nelly's mamma, 
 
 " I shall be so glad if Nelly can learn to be faithful 
 in these little things 1 I think, if she has my mittens 
 done by Thanksgiving, I must give her a fine new 
 sled." 
 
 Now, this was what Nelly had longed and wished 
 for more than any thing else : so her mamma cried out 
 gladly, 
 
 " Oh ! I will tell her at once, and she will be sure to 
 have them done." 
 
 " No, no, you must not do that, my dear," said the 
 
 50
 
 NELLY'S FAULT. 
 
 kind old grandma. " I want to cure her of this bad 
 habit ; but she must finish them from love of me, not 
 for a reward." 
 
 Nelly began the mittens the very next day ; and she 
 worked right well for a time. The gray yarn was very 
 pretty ; but she wanted so much to get to the red stripes 
 at the wrist 1 But, when one mitten was finished, the 
 other began to drag. Some days, if you will believe it, 
 she would only knit a dozen stitches before she became 
 very tired. Then her mamma would say gently, 
 
 ""Nelly dear, if I were you, I would make more 
 haste with grandma's mittens, or her hands will be cold 
 Thanksgiving Day." 
 
 Then perhaps for a day or two the little girl would 
 be quite industrious, and it would really seem as though 
 the mittens might be finished, after all ; but Thanks- 
 giving was drawing near, and the last one grew slowly. 
 
 There was a grand snow-storm one week before 
 Thanksgiving, and Nelly had a great deal of sliding 
 and snow-balling to attend to ; besides, the thought of 
 the Thanksgiving party at grandma's made it hard to 
 sit down quietly at any thing. 
 
 However, on the day before Thanksgiving the mit- 
 ten was almost finished ; and when mamma went out 
 in the afternoon she said to Nelly, 
 
 " My dear, if you keep very busy, you can easily get 
 through, and grandma will be so glad I " 
 
 Mamma smiled ; for she knew that this very after- 
 Si
 
 NELLY'S FAULT. 
 
 noon grandma was going to buy the prettiest sled she 
 could find for little Nelly. 
 
 So Nelly began to knit, singing all the while to 
 herself ; and for full fifteen minutes she never stopped 
 once. But then it was such a pity! uncle Joe 
 had given her a new book only the day before, with 
 wonderful stories in it of Cinderella and Bluebeard 
 and Red Riding-Hood ; and Nelly had been so foolish 
 as to lay the book right on the sofa, where she could 
 see it as she worked. 
 
 She wouldn't open it once ; oh, no ! But presently 
 she did want so much to see what the first story was 
 about; and then presto! before you could say "Jack 
 Robinson," she had forgotten all about grandma and 
 the mittens. When mamma came home, she was sit- 
 ting on the floor, sobbing over Little Red Riding-Hood 
 as if her heart would break. 
 
 Well, what do you think came next ? Nelly was 
 very sorry : but the mitten was tucked away in a 
 drawer; and the next morning she had almost forgotten 
 it, in her joy at going to grandma's. 
 
 There were a great many uncles and aunts and 
 cousins at grandma's before Nelly arrived ; and they 
 were all sitting around in the parlor, waiting for the 
 church-bell to ring. There was so much kissing and 
 hugging, that it would almost take your breath away to 
 speak of it. Grandma was sitting in her great easy- 
 chair ; and, when Nelly went up to kiss her, she held 
 
 52.
 
 NELLY'S FAULT. 
 
 the little girl's hand tight in hers, and said aloud, so 
 that everybody could hear, 
 
 " My dear little Nelly has been making me a beau- 
 tiful pair of mittens to wear to church to-day, and I am 
 very much pleased. I am going to surprise her with 
 something that I know will make her very happy. I 
 am glad the snow came in time." 
 
 Grandma looked behind the chair, and drew out a 
 sled, which was so pretty that all the children raised a 
 shout of joy. 
 
 Only Nelly hung her head, and the tears began to 
 roll down her soft little cheeks. 
 
 " There is my gift for Nelly, and here is Nelly's gift 
 for me," said the dear old lady. And, what do you 
 think? she held up a pair of mittens just like Nelly 'si 
 
 Nelly looked in wonder. Could some beautiful 
 angel have come down and finished them while she 
 was asleep? A naughty little thought told Nelly to 
 keep still, and not say a word about it : grandma would 
 never know. 
 
 " I won't keep still, now, so ! " said Nelly to herself. 
 
 And she said, looking right in grandma's eyes, 
 " You hadn't better give me that sled, grandma. I did 
 mean to be goody, and uncle Joe hadn't oughter given 
 me any story-book. I didn't just quite finish that last 
 mitten; and oh! grandma, couldn't I try* just once 
 more?" She threw herself sobbing and crying into 
 grandma's arms. 
 
 53
 
 PUSSY AND I. 
 
 Don't you believe grandma wanted to give her the 
 sled just there on the spot ? Of course she did. 
 
 Uncle Joe stepped up, with a funny look in his 
 eyes, and said, if it was any fault of his, he was willing 
 to be punished. He would take the children all riding 
 on the new sled after church, and then Nelly should 
 not see it again for two whole weeks. 
 
 " Very well," said grandma. 
 
 Did mamma finish the mittens ? Oh, dear, no 1 
 Mamma was too wise. Who, then ? grandma ? No, 
 indeed 1 
 
 Why, Nelly's older sister, who didn't know about 
 the sled, but felt sorry for the dear little lazy Nelly, 
 and took them to grandma herself. 
 
 PUSSY AND I. 
 
 LITTLE pussy whitey toes, 
 
 You funny, wee, wee cat, 
 I guess I know, and grandpa knows, 
 
 Who slept in his new hat. 
 
 Oh you cunning little pet ! 
 Dear grandpa cannot tell 
 
 54
 
 POOR JACK. 
 
 Who crushed his bed of mignonette, 
 Or how the cactus fell. 
 
 Nursie says, "You careless girl, 
 
 To break the china vase! 
 You left my work-box in a whirl, 
 
 And tore my pretty lace/' 
 
 All my pennies from both banks 
 
 I paid her for the loss. 
 Ah, kit! your merry, roguish pranks 
 
 Make nursie look so cross ! 
 
 Oh you fatty, puffy ball ! 
 
 I have to bear the blame : 
 They don't suspect you, you're so small, 
 
 Now, is it not a shame? 
 
 POOR JACK. 
 
 HE stood looking into the window of a corner 
 bakery, only a poor, ragged boy, with his face un- 
 washed, and rough, coarse hair falling over it. He was 
 so dirty, that I think von would have drawn your
 
 POOR JACK. 
 
 dainty little silk dress away for fear of touching him. 
 Maybe you would have wondered how such a dirty boy 
 could bear to be out on the street. 
 
 But, oh ! how hungry he was ! had had only one 
 poor, dry crust all yesterday, and that he picked out of 
 a barrel. Didnt he wish some one would let him 
 shovel a sidewalk, 
 or chop a little 
 wood, if they only 
 gave him a loaf 
 of bread in re- 
 turn ! For his 
 two little sisters 
 were so hungry! 
 He guessed they 
 would die, most 
 likely, unless the 
 mission people 
 came to help 
 them. How he 
 loved them too! 
 
 Mother told 
 him to take care 
 of them : yes, so she did. But what could a fellow 
 do out in the big world, and everybody going by as it 
 they didn't see him? " Mother said God would help ; 
 but God don't seem to hear." 
 
 The big tears gathered in his eyes ; but he wouldn't 
 
 57
 
 POOR JACK. 
 
 let them fall. What was the use, when nobody would 
 pity them ? 
 
 If he only could take a loaf back to Susy and 
 Jennie! if he only 
 
 Just then a little girl came tripping by, holding her 
 mamma's hand. She had ten cents in her pocket, ten 
 whole cents, to spend for herself just as she liked, 
 you see. She and her mother had been thinking what 
 to buy, candy or peanuts, or a new head for dolly. 
 
 " Oh, see, mamma 1 " she said softly, stopping short 
 in her little tripping walk. " Isn't he dirty ? and what 
 does he want ? " 
 
 " Bread, I guess, Nelly. He looks hungry." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! Does he really, mamma ? But why 
 don't he go home and get a slice? Don't you s'pose 
 his mother would give him some ? " 
 
 " Ask him, dearie." 
 
 " Little boy," said Nelly, " big boy, I mean, do 
 you want somefing ? " 
 
 The big boy choked back his tears, and put his 
 hands in his pockets. 
 
 " I saw you cry," said Nelly, " two tears. Did 
 your mamma whip you ? Why don't you go home to 
 dinner ? " 
 
 "There ain't any dinner; and mother's dead," he 
 said. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Nelly softly, taking hold of his ragged 
 coat-sleeve : " then why don't you eat bread anc 1 butter?' 
 
 58
 
 POOJK. 
 
 " There ain't any bread, nor nothin' else." 
 
 "Oh, dear)" sighed Nelly, grieved to the heart at 
 the thought of such misery. 
 
 " Do you s'pose," she said, " if you had ten cents 
 that would help? and and do you s'pose you'll tx 
 awful good if I give it to you ? because, don't you see, 
 my dolly can't have a new head." 
 
 Would you believe it ? the poor boy began to cry. 
 
 They took him into the bakery ; and you couldn't 
 begin to guess how many things that ten cents paid 
 for, two loaves of bread, and a nice cake, and a quart 
 of good rich milk, with a pail to carry it in. At least, 
 Nelly thought she paid for all these things herself; and 
 she wondered how mamma could say it cost so much 
 to keep house. 
 
 Then they went home with poor Jack, and made 
 friends with his little sisters ; and they all cried to- 
 gether. Nelly would have liked to give away half of 
 all her own clothes, to make the little girls warm and 
 comfortable ; and begged her mamma that they might 
 be her sisters, and go home to live with her. " If they 
 only will wash clean," she added in a whisper ; " for the 
 dirt mightn 't come off, you know." 
 
 There were no more hungry times after that ; for a 
 kind gentleman gave Jack work to do, and the little 
 sisters were well fed and clothed. Jack began to think 
 in his own heart, that, after all, God must have heard,, 
 and sent little Nelly to bring his answer. 
 
 59
 
 THE KINGBIRD. 
 
 THE KINGBIRD. 
 
 OH, little folk, eager at pictures to look, 
 
 And hear wonderful stories told, 
 Do any, I wonder, who read in this book, 
 
 Know aught of the kingbird bold? 
 
 He's only a flycatcher, dusky and small, 
 
 The robin is larger than he; 
 But, big birds or little, he lords it o'er all, 
 
 As saucy as saucy can be. 
 
 He chases the eagles, the hawks, and the crows, 
 
 Till weary they are of their life ; 
 And after his frolic, triumphant he goes, 
 
 Singing, "Victory!" home to his wife: 
 
 And perched on a twig by the side of the nest, 
 Twitters loud of the conquests he won; 
 
 He smooths the white feathers so soft on his breast, 
 And tells her the news and the fun. 
 
 60
 
 THE KINGBIRD. 
 
 And, " Fear nothing, sweet! " he cries, proudly and glad,, 
 
 As she sits in her bower of green ; 
 " Not a bird dare approach, for good purpose or bad, 
 
 While I guard you, and watch, little queen." 
 
 So, over the pretty eggs, speckled with brown, 
 
 She patiently broods day and night; 
 Till out peep the tiny young heirs to the crown, 
 
 All alive, and so hungry and bright! 
 
 And when they are grown, every prince of them bears r 
 
 Hidden under his ashen-gray crest, 
 The crown of red gold that the father-bird wears 
 
 Of his race and his kingship the test. 
 
 If you watch, little folk, in the blue summer sky, 
 
 You may see him pursuing the crow, 
 Or the dignified eagle, or hawk, strong and sly, 
 
 And 'tis none but the kingbird you'll know. 
 
 When, late in September, the maple-leaves burn, 
 
 They gather together for flight; 
 And whither they go, you'll perhaps like to learn, 
 
 When they vanish away in the night. 
 
 South-westward, to Mexico! High in the air, 
 
 Upborne on their powerful wings, 
 Flying dauntless and steady, with head winds, or fair, 
 
 Push forward these resolute kings. 
 
 61
 
 THE RUINED NEST. 
 
 And, when the snow chills us, and bitter winds bite, 
 
 And tempests are roaring amain, 
 Jn that wonderful, tropical land of delight, 
 
 They revel in summer again. 
 
 CELIA THAXTER. 
 
 THE RUINED NEST. 
 
 Twitter the swallows 
 With grief and fear 
 
 Ruined the home-nest 
 They held so dear. 
 
 Eggs they had cherished 
 
 At such a cost 
 Promise of birdlings 
 
 Shattered and lost. 
 
 LAURIE LORING.
 
 TRUE CONTENTMENT. 
 
 TRUE CONTENTMENT; 
 
 OR, OLD RICHARD'S MAXIM. 
 
 When I hear men around me so loudly complaining 
 "Our work is too hard, and too little our gaining!" 
 I think of poor Richard, the honest old fellow, 
 With a face like a pippin, so ruddy and mellow. 
 
 From youth to old age never shrank he from labor 
 For master, for self, for a bed-ridden neighbor: 
 His maxim was this which he never repented 
 " Do your work like a man : with your lot be conten 
 ted ! " 
 
 Not the contentment that lingers and grovels 
 Uncaring, uncared for, in poverty's hovels, 
 Toiling and moiling and thriftlessly spending, 
 And never a thought on the morrow expending: 
 
 No, no! His contentment was higher and truer, 
 And made his means great as it made his wants 
 
 fewer ; 
 That nerved his right arm, and gave firmness and 
 
 power 
 
 To grasp the sharp thorn with the sweet-scented flower. 
 
 ROGER QUIDDAM. 
 
 63
 
 of <RoKn 
 
 BEARING His cross, forth went the Christ forlorn, 
 His God-like forehead by the mock-crown torn, 
 A little bird took from that crown one thorn, 
 To soothe the dear Redeemer's throbbing head. 
 That bird did what she could; His blood, 'tis said, 
 Down dropping, dyed her tender bosom red. 
 Since then no wanton boy disturbs her nest, 
 All sacred deem the bird of ruddy breast. Hoskyns-Abrahall.
 
 SKIP. 
 
 SKIP. 
 
 SKIP is a very cunning and a very smart 
 little dog, living not far from the city of 
 Boston. One day last spring he accompanied 
 his two little mistresses, Hattie and Jennie, 
 to the city. They all had a very nice time; 
 but when they reached the depot, on their 
 return, a sudden and heavy shower came up. 
 How the little girls should get home without 
 spoiling their pretty new suits was quite a 
 puzzling question. At last Hattie said, "Let 
 us send Skip for our umbrellas and water- 
 proofs." 
 
 Skip stood by, looking earnestly at the 
 girls, as if he knew they were in difficulty. 
 Hattie wrote on the edge of a newspaper 
 which she had with her, "We are caught in 
 the rain : send us an umbrella and water- 
 proof." 
 
 "Here, Skip," she said, "take this home, 
 
 there's a nice doggy." 
 
 6s
 
 < CAN'T HELP IT. 1 
 
 Skip wagged his tail, pricked up his ears, 
 and, taking the paper in his mouth, scampered 
 away as fast as he could go. 
 
 Arriving home, the little dog carried the 
 paper to H attic's mother, and stood looking 
 at her until she said, 
 
 "All right, Skip," and sent one of the 
 boys down with the umbrella and water- 
 proofs to the depot. 
 
 This is only one of the very intelligent 
 things that Skip often does. He has a great 
 many friends, and is very much petted, and is 
 really quite a useful little dog. 
 
 "CANT HELP IT." 
 
 THAT was what Bert always said when any one 
 blamed him for his careless ways. 
 
 Susie came in one morning. " O Bert 1 " she 
 sobbed, " when you fed the rabbits, you left the door 
 unlatched, and they came out and ran all over my gar- 
 den ; and they have ruined my best plants." 
 
 "Did they?" he said: "I'm real sorry, Sue; but I 
 
 66
 
 < CAN'T HELP IT.' 
 
 can't help it. I meant to shut the door, and I thought 
 I did." But poor Susie started for school with a very 
 tearful face. 
 
 " Bert," called his mother, after he had caught the 
 rabbits, " there is a very stormy-looking cloud in the 
 south. You and Susie had better stay this noon. 
 Your lunch is in front of the pantry- window." So 
 Bert put it in a tin pail ; and how nice it did look, to be 
 sure I biscuit and cold tongue and sponge-cake, and 
 two little apple-turnovers. 
 
 " Here comes Bert, just in time to pitch for us," 
 cried the ball-players as he neared the schoolhouse. 
 He set the pail on the ground, and ran to his place. 
 
 "Hadn't you better leave it on the fence?" sug- 
 gested one of the boys. 
 
 " No ; it's all right," he said. But a hungry dog 
 came up behind them ; and, when the bell rang, nothing 
 was left but the inside of the turnovers ; for Bert had 
 hurried away in the morning without waiting for the 
 cover. 
 
 " Won't Sue be provoked, though ? " he said to him- 
 self. " But I can't help it. Mr. Maloney ought not to 
 starve his dog so." 
 
 The rain came, and at night he went into the 
 kitchen to change his muddy shoes. He kicked them 
 off, and one flew across the room into a basket of clean 
 clothes just folded for ironing. Every article it 
 touched would have to be washed over. 
 
 68
 
 UNCLE BERT'S LETTER. 
 
 UNCLE BERT'S LETTER. 
 
 VENICE, May 5, 1869. 
 
 EAR LITTLE BESSIE, I am writing 
 you this letter from Venice. Now, 
 Venice is the queerest place you ever 
 saw or heard of. It is a city, where 
 men and women live, just as they do 
 in Boston ; but it is built all in the wa- 
 ter, and the streets are all the time full of water, like 
 little rivers. When I tell you that it is built in the 
 water, I don't mean that it is a city built on a large 
 island, and water all around it ; but it is like this : 
 Suppose you should take your box of houses I gave 
 you last Christmas, and stand the houses all together, 
 and the two white churches, with the red roofs, and 
 tall spires, alongside of the houses, and put them all 
 in a tin pan. Now, if you should pour a little water 
 in the pan, the houses would all be standing in the 
 water. Well ; that would be like Venice. It is built 
 on seventy-two little islands, all close together, and 
 the islands have little bridges across from one side to 
 the other. Now all these seventy-two islands contain 
 a great many houses, and their cellars are always in 
 the water. Green seaweed, such as you find at Na- 
 hant, on the rocks, grows around all the houses. 
 
 69
 
 UNCLE BERT'S LETTER. 
 
 " Well," you will say, " that must be a funny city." So 
 it is. I wonder how you would like to live there? 
 You would have to be very careful, for if you dropped 
 your thimble out of the window, it would sink down 
 into the water, and you could not find it again ; or, if 
 you should drop your beautiful Paris doll, she would 
 get a cold bath, with all her fine clothes on. 
 
 Now, I will tell you what I have seen in Venice 
 that's very odd. In the first place, there are two round, 
 granite columns, very high, that stand near each other. 
 On the top of one of these is a large stone lion, with 
 great big white marble eyes. He is a very fierce-look- 
 ing lion, with his mouth open, and his front paw lifted 
 up ; and he has great big wings too, like a large bird. 
 Now, will you remember what I tell you about him ? 
 When you are reading in the Bible some day, you will 
 learn of four great beasts that St. John saw in a dream. 
 One of them was a lion, and had wings. They were 
 supposed to represent the four of our Saviour's apos- 
 tles who wrote the Gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke, 
 and John. The lion was supposed to represent St. 
 Mark. Well, when Venice was a flourishing city, 
 many hundred years ago, the people prayed to St. 
 Mark, and asked him to be the guardian of their city, 
 and keep off all kinds of diseases from them, and pre- 
 serve them from war. They built a very large church, 
 too, and called it after St. Mark. So he is the saint 
 of the city, and every one prays to him. I do not 
 
 70
 
 UNCLE BERT'S LETTER. 
 
 think this is right, for they can have no one but God 
 to help them. But the people who live in Venice be- 
 lieve St. Mark will always protect them. So they put 
 a great stone lion on this pillar, where every one can 
 see it, and it is called the lion of St. Mark. You know, 
 we have the eagle on all our shields, and on the gold 
 and silver money. That is because the eagle is the 
 American emblem, just as the winged lion is the em- 
 blem of Venice. 
 
 Outside of the church of St. Mark are two large 
 red flagstaffs, and the colors of Italy float from them 
 now. Besides, there is a tall, square tower, with a 
 pointed roof, in which is a large bell. A man lives in 
 the tower all the time, and every half-hour he rings 
 the bell. Then, too, near by, is a large clock. On it 
 is a statue of the Virgin, and another gold lion of St. 
 Mark. The clock is painted blue, and has gilt stars 
 on it, to represent the heavens at night ; and it has a 
 gilt moon, which rises and sets whenever the real 
 moon does. Two black men, made of wood, stand on 
 each side of the great bell, above the clock and 
 whenever it is a full hour, they beat with hammers on 
 this bell. You would be greatly pleased to see them. 
 
 UNCLE BERT. 
 
 This is Bessie's reply to her Uncle's letter. She 
 is only five, and I rather think her mother must have 
 helped her: 
 
 72
 
 UNCLE BERT'S LETTER. 
 
 DEAR UNCLE, I got your letter. I like what 
 you said about Venice. My doll has broke her arm, 
 and the sawdust came out. Papa will mend it. Did 
 you see the big lion with wings ? Winnie put it near 
 the stove, and her eye melted out. I have got a kit- 
 ten with a bell on her neck. She drinks milk; when 
 are you coming home ? I should be afraid of losing 
 all my playthings, if I lived in Venice. Could my kit- 
 ten live in Venice ? Old Billy is lame. Papa won't 
 whip him, and he won't go fast. I put my houses in 
 the bath-tub, and all the paint came off. Does the 
 paint come off in Venice? My doll is sick. Mamma 
 sends her love, and I send a kiss ; it has got the mea- 
 sles. Good-bye. BESSIE. 
 
 73
 
 TOWZER. 
 
 TOWZER. 
 
 LITTLE ALICE, with her pitcher, 
 
 Dainty, fair, and sweet, 
 Stands with slender arms uplifted, 
 
 And small naked feet. 
 
 "Alice, Alice," growled old Towzer, 
 
 " Let me drink, I pray." 
 Little Alice, with her pitcher, 
 
 Turned her head away. 
 
 Don't you see, you queer old Towzer, 
 
 Those sweet ruby lips, 
 How they bend to meet the pitcher 
 
 With small dainty sips ? 
 
 But your lips are large and ugly: 
 
 If she lets you drink, 
 Would she let you use her pitcher, 
 
 Towzer, do you think ? 
 
 74
 
 A PROVIDENT LITTLE BIRD. 
 
 "If you only wouldn't slobber, 
 
 Doggy dear ! " she said, 
 Bending down to stroke old Towzer 
 
 On his shaggy head. 
 
 Then she stooped, and poured the water 
 
 In her tiny hand: 
 Towzer drank, and thought this goblet 
 
 Best in all the land. 
 
 A PROVIDENT LITTLE BIRD. 
 
 " GOOD-MORNING, little birdie: tell us again your 
 name." 
 
 " Chick-a-dee, chick-a-dee," answered little black-cap. 
 
 " So you have come for your breakfast of sun- 
 flower seed, have you ? " 
 
 "Chick-a-dee, chick-a-dfe," was again his reply. 
 
 " Well, here it is ; " and I threw a handful on the 
 snow under the window. " But where are your com- 
 panions ? " 
 
 Little birdie only sang as before, "Chick-a-dee, 
 chick-a-dee-dee," and then flew down and began his 
 work. 
 
 76
 
 A PROVIDENT LITTLE BIRD. 
 
 Taking up a seed, he would fly to a tree near by, 
 choose a suitable twig, on which he would firmly hold 
 the seed with both feet, and then peck and peck till he 
 opened it. How rapidly does his little head, like a 
 hammer, go back and forth as he pe'.ks away, scatter- 
 ing the bits of dark chips on the snow beneath, as 
 with blow after blow he strikes his sharp bill into the 
 shell ! After drawing out the meat, holding it tightly 
 on the twig as at first, he quickly eats it up, piece by 
 piece ; and then down he goes for another. 
 
 By and by I happened to notice, that after pecking 
 away at a seed, and, as I supposed, eating it, he would 
 fty off somewhere for a minute before flying down for 
 another seed as usual. 
 
 '' Ah, little birdie I " thought I, " what does this 
 mean? I'll find you out if I can." 
 
 So the next time I followed him with my eyes as 
 he flew with the seed to a neighboring lattice. There 
 he began looking sharply in its crevices, as though he 
 wanted a relish of spiders' eggs to eat with his seed ; 
 but he soon came back with an empty bill. Chipping 
 out another kernel, he went off this time to an old 
 grape-vine, where I saw him carefully tuck his little 
 morsel under the bark. To make sure, having noted 
 the spot, I took my hat, and went out to the vine. 
 Here I soon found it, sure enough, just where I saw 
 smart little black-cap put it, hidden under a piece of 
 loose bark. But whether for himself, should the snow 
 
 78
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL WHO HAD A FIT. 
 
 rome and cover the seed on the ground, or whether for 
 any hungry bird that might chance to find them, was 
 he thus laying by in store, I cannot tell. 
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL WHO HAD A FIT. 
 
 A DREADFUL thing happened to Nellie one day. 
 She had a fit, one of the very worst kind ; one that 
 works inside, and makes a child ugly and unlovable, 
 a fit of selfishness. 
 
 I'll tell you how it was. Papa had put up a lovely 
 swing, with four ropes and a nice wide board, so that it 
 would be very safe. Nellie had swung all the morn- 
 ing ; and in the afternoon little Katy Carter, her best 
 friend, came over to see her, with her brother Willy. 
 
 Of course they all rushed out to see the new swing, 
 and the two visitors wanted to try it; but just at that 
 moment the fit came on inside of Nellie, and she 
 cried, 
 
 " No 1 it's my own swing, and I want to swing my- 
 self." 
 
 " You've swung ever so much," suggested Katy. 
 
 " P'raps I have, Miss Katy Carter ; but my papa 
 put it up for my own self, and I haven't had anybody 
 to swing me since he went to the office. I want Willy 
 to push me first. I want to see how high I can go." 
 
 70
 
 THE LITTLK GIRL WHO HAD A FIT. 
 
 Nellie's lips stuck out, and an ugly wrinkle came in 
 her smooth forehead. She looked more like a naughty 
 goblin than a nice little girl. What a dreadful fit, to 
 twist her sweet face so out of shape 1 What horrible 
 work it must have made in her heart, to show so clearly 
 in her face 1 
 
 Dear, dear I Suppose she should never be cured, 
 and that ugly scowl should grow into her forehead, so 
 that she could never get it out; and her lips should 
 grow into a pout, and never look sweet and lovable 
 again 1 Some people do spoil their faces in that very 
 way ; and when you see a grown-up with ugly, cross 
 face, you may always know it is because there's a fit 
 working inside. It may be selfishness, or it may be 
 avarice, or it may be some other ugly passion; but, 
 whatever it is, it always works through to the outside, 
 and shows in the face. 
 
 Nellie's fit did not last so long as that, though it 
 did make her so disagreeable that day. Willy was a 
 little gentleman ; so he said he would swing her : and 
 Katy was a little lady, who never had a horrid fit in her 
 round little dumpling of a body; so she sat quietly 
 down in the grass, to wait her turn : while Nellie 
 swung back and forth as high as Willy could push 
 her, caring only to have a good time herself, whether 
 any one else did or not. 
 
 Katy was a sweet little thing ; and she soon made 
 herself happy with some daisies she found in the grass, 
 
 80
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL WHO HAD A FIT. 
 
 and even offered Nellie the prettiest one to stick in her 
 hat beside those the milliner had put there. 
 
 But although Nellie had her own way, and every 
 thing was just as she had arranged it, yet somehow 
 she did not enjoy it s much as she expected ; and the 
 wrinkle didn't get out of her forehead at all, till some- 
 thing had happened that cured her fit, though it was a 
 rough way of cure, something like taking a dose of 
 bitter medicine to cure a pain in the body. 
 
 I don't know exactly how it happened ; whether she 
 turned too far around to look at Katy, or whether she 
 was dizzy with swinging so long : probably it was 
 another effect of that ugly fit. However it was, she 
 lost her hold of the rope, and fell with a crash against 
 the root of a tree. Her head got a severe blow ; and 
 John the coachman came running up, and carried her 
 screaming in to her mother; and she had to have a 
 brown paper wet and laid on the bump, which swelled 
 up as big as a walnut, and lie on mamma's bed all the 
 afternoon with a headache. 
 
 That left a good chance for Katy to have a nice 
 swing, didn't it ? She and Willy could stay as long as 
 they pleased, and swing as much as they wanted to, 
 while Nellie was suffering in the house. Do you sup- 
 pose that is what sweet little Katy did ? 
 
 No, indeed 1 She never even tried the swing. She 
 brought her basket of daisies into the house, and sat 
 down on the foot of the bed, and made a chain for 
 
 82
 
 1HE ,ITTL-E GIRL WHO HAD A FIT. 
 
 Nellie; and she wet the brown paper when it dried; 
 and she even ran home, and brought her own precious 
 wax dolly out of the drawer where it lived, because 
 it was too nice to play with, you know, and let Nellie 
 hold it in her arms, and feed it with tiny glass beads 
 between its four cunning little teeth; for, strange to 
 say, that was all the food the beautiful waxen creature 
 cared to take, or even could get between her small 
 white teeth. I shouldn't suppose that was a very 
 nourishing diet : but Miss Clementine Eugenie Antoi- 
 nette seemed to flourish on it; for redder cheeks or 
 brighter eyes I'm sure were never seen, at least out of 
 a doll-factory. 
 
 Katy never went near the swing till it began to 
 grow dark, and Nellie's mamma told her to go and 
 swing a while before she went home ; and then she left 
 the wonderful French visitor who lived on glass beads 
 to amuse Nellie while she was gone. 
 
 Now, mamma had been sitting at the window, 
 behind the blinds, all the afternoon, though the children 
 did not know it ; and she had noticed the fit that was 
 spoiling her dear little girl. So now, when Nellie was 
 quiet and cool, and had time to think, mamma just said 
 quietly, 
 
 "I am glad Katy isn't a selfish girl, because she 
 wouldn't have left her precious doll to amuse you if 
 sh'e were." 
 
 That was all she said ; and she went on with her 
 
 8s
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL WHO HAD A Ffc \ 
 
 sewing, and never looked towards the bed as though 
 she meant anybody in particular. But Nellie had 
 nothing else to think of then ; and she had been so well 
 taught, that she knew well enough she had been very 
 selfish. So she thought of her mother's words, and 
 her own conduct about the swing, and Katy's gen- 
 erosity in going home to get her greatest treasure to 
 entertain her after her meanness. 
 
 And big round tears came into her eyes, and rolled 
 down on to the pillow : and it's very queer, but those 
 salt drops finished the cure that the bump had begun ; 
 and poor Nellie saw what a dreadful fit she had had, 
 and became so ashamed of herself, that she laid the 
 doll carefully off on the other pillow, so that she should 
 be sure not to hurt it ; and, when Katy came in to say 
 good-by, all the wrinkles and pouts and aches and tears 
 were gone. 
 
 The next day, when Katy came again, Nellie made 
 her swing more than half the time, and felt ever so 
 much better for it ; for when people are selfish, though 
 they may keep every thing themselves, they never enjoy 
 themselves much. 
 
 I never heard of Nellie's having another fit. 
 
 84
 
 ON THE KEEL. 
 
 ON THE KEEL. 
 
 Harry, how would you like a row 
 to Strawberry Island ? " 
 
 "First rate! Just the dayi 
 The strawberries must be ripe, 
 too." 
 
 " Of course they are. Guess I 
 haven't forgotten the feast we had 
 last year." 
 
 " Ida was with us then. Per- 
 haps she'll wanjt to go to-day, Will." 
 
 "So much the better. Ida never bothers us like 
 other girls. Come, we'll get a lunch and start right 
 away." 
 
 Entering the house they found their sister suffer- 
 ing with the teeth-ache. " I'd like to go ever so much," 
 she said, " but this old tooth has commenced a regular 
 grumble, I know; so I won't spoil your fun by going." 
 "It's too bad," said Will, "Can't you make the old 
 fellow grumble irregularly, and hush up just long 
 enough to go to our strawberry feast, Ida? " 
 
 "Wish I could, but O dear me! What a twinge 
 that was ! It's no use, boys. You'd better go with- 
 out me this time. Bring me lots of strawberries and 
 I shan't care so much." 
 
 85
 
 ON THE KEEL. 
 
 As the boys were leaving, the tooth did ease off 
 long enough for her to say, "O Harry, here's Tige! 
 Let him go in my place. He'll enjoy it almost as 
 well as I should; wouldn't you, Tige?" 
 
 The dog pricked up his ears and wagged his tail 
 affirmatively. 
 
 "Is't best, Will?" asked Harry. 
 
 Will laughed to see Tige look from one to the 
 other so intelligently. " He's asking as plainly as Ida 
 did. Yes, Tige ! Come along ! " . 
 
 The way the great, handsome creature bounded on 
 before, then raced back again, then on before, was 
 laughable to one who had never seen a dog express 
 thanks before. 
 
 "I should think you's crazy, Tige," said Harry, at 
 last. "Why not walk along like a sensible dog?" 
 
 At this Tige whirled round several times, then 
 seized a stick and jumped into the water to show his 
 sense. 
 
 "Keep your rain-drops to yourself!" exclaimed 
 Will, as Tige scrambled into the boat and shook him- 
 self vigorously. 
 
 After rowing about half an hour they came to a 
 lovely little island, situated nearly in the centre of the 
 lake. It's most attractive feature to boys was the 
 abundance of large, finely flavored strawberries. Not 
 as large as cultivated berries, of course, but large for 
 wild ones.
 
 ON THE KEEL. 
 
 The boys found them just right to pick. After a 
 delicious feast, their baskets were speedily filled, and 
 they, ready for the home trip. 
 
 " I saw some pond-lilies somewhere on the way 
 over," said Will, "let's get some for Ida." 
 
 " So I say. She'll like them grandly." 
 
 They were nearly half way home when they found 
 the lilies. A dozen or more of the beautiful flowers 
 lay in the bottom of the boat, when Harry spied one 
 still more perfect, he thought. 
 
 "There's a beauty!" he cried. "I'll have just one 
 more." 
 
 Thinking it was within reach without moving the 
 boat, he stretched out his arm to grasp it. Will, just 
 at this moment, thoughtlessly stepped to that side of 
 boat to see what Harry was reaching after, and the 
 boat was upset. Neither of them could swim and the 
 water was deep. They sank and rose again dripping 
 and terrified. The boat was so wet and slippery that 
 they could not keep a firm hold. 
 
 They knew not what to do. But Tige did. He 
 seemed to have more presence of mind than either. 
 He watched their vain attempts to climb upon the bot- 
 tom of the boat with deep anxiety. They were al- 
 most ready to give up in despair, when Tige, with an 
 encouraging bark, leaped out of the water and plant- 
 ed his feet firmly upon the upturned keel. 
 
 Harry and Will were not slow to avail themselves
 
 ON THE KEEL. 
 
 of his help. By clinging to his strong, shaggy legs, 
 they managed to raise themselves and get astride the 
 boat. But their oars were gone, and what could be 
 done now? 
 
 They seemed to remain perfectly motionless; but 
 to their great joy they soon perceived that the boat 
 was slowly drifting towards the shore. The moment 
 it reached shallow water, they jumped off and righted 
 the boat. 
 
 "Too bad about Ida's strawberries; ain't it?" said 
 Will. 
 
 "Yes, I thought of them when the boat went over. 
 Two of the lilies got twisted round my arm. They 
 are safe here; but the berries may keep floating as 
 long as they please, for all me. Awful waste of straw- 
 berry juice, though; ain't it?" said Harry, with a 
 thoughtful look back over the water. 
 
 " That's a fact ! " replied Will. " And there's anoth- 
 er fact about it, Harry, but for Tige we might not 
 be standing on the land here." 
 
 " That's so ! And we'd better not stand long now." 
 
 Empty-handed, with the exception of two lovely 
 lilies, they entered the house after a run home. 
 Mother and sister looked at them in astonishment. 
 
 "Where in the world, boys, have you been?" cried 
 Ida. 
 
 "After lilies." Will smiled faintly as he laid the 
 flowers in her hand. 
 
 89
 
 ON THE KEEL. 
 
 " But you are wet through ! " She passed her hand 
 quickly over his sleeve, then on to Harry's. "Why, 
 mother, do look! They are both just as wet as they 
 can be!" 
 
 " Of course we are, when we've been in the water 
 all over," Harry answered. "And I'll tell you what, 
 Ida, that was a lucky thought of yours about taking 
 Tige with us. If he had stayed at home we might 
 not be here now to tell our story." 
 
 " I'm thankful Ida wasn't with you," said their 
 mother, when the story was told. "You see, children, 
 just how trifles often affect our whole lives. But for 
 Ida's toothache, she would have gone in Tige's place, 
 and I might now be childless. Never forget that 
 there is an over-ruling Hand in all the events of our 
 lives." 
 
 90
 
 LITTLE HAY-MAKER. 
 
 LITTLE HAY-MAKER. 
 
 ENNIE Lambert lives on a large 
 farm. Her father has acres and 
 acres of land covered with grass. 
 And in summer, during haying- 
 time, you may be sure there is rare 
 fun for the children. 
 
 Jennie has a "house-full" of 
 brothers and sisters, she says ; so- 
 there are many willing hands and 
 feet beside those of the hired men. 
 There's big Phil, as Jennie calls him, 
 because he's a little taller than his father; 
 next comes Newton, so small in contrast, 
 that the nick-name dwarf clings to him. 
 Ralph is the little boy, because he happens to be 
 younger than herself; yet he is her favorite companion, 
 for sister Marion likes playing with baby Lulu better 
 than making hay. 
 
 One morning her father said he should want all 
 hands to turn out, as he had a large quantity of hay 
 down, and he was afraid it would rain before night. 
 As early as possible the work was finished in the 
 house, and all but her mother started for the field. 
 
 91
 
 LITTLE HAY-MAKER. 
 
 Baby Lulu, evidently, did not intend to help much, 
 for she took a doll in each chubby hand probably 
 that they might enjoy the sport. 
 
 Jennie cared little for books, so she called Marion 
 lazy when she saw her with one under her arm. 
 
 "Well, somebody will have to see to Lulu, and you 
 can't keep still long enough. I might just as well 
 read a little if I'm sitting down," was Marion's answer. 
 
 Jennie and Ralph thought they helped wonderfully; 
 but they spent so much time pelting each other with 
 the fragrant hay, that Dinah threatened to send them 
 into the house. 
 
 " It's as bad as 'tis trying to drive flies out flirt 
 round in one corner and away they whisk into another. 
 Here I've raked and raked, and I don't get ahead a 
 bit, for you two young ones toss the hay about so. 
 Off with you now ! " 
 
 At this, Jennie and Ralph seized an armful of hay 
 and ran to another part of the field. 
 
 There was one thing which Marion enjoyed as well 
 as Jennie riding to the barn on top of a load. Being 
 in a hurry, their father gave them no chance when the 
 first loads went in. But later in the day it looked 
 less like rain, so he told them to be ready. 
 
 Marion left Lulu with Dinah, then she took her 
 place on the smaller load with Phil. Jennie and 
 Ralph liked the larger load because there were two 
 horses with that. 
 
 92
 
 LITTLE HAY-MAKER. 
 
 Phil started first with his load. One of the men 
 was going with the span, as Mr. Lambert had a lame 
 ankle and didn't care to be on top of a load. Just as 
 the span reached the road, in some unaccountable way 
 they took fright, and, instead of turning into the yard,, 
 started on a run up the road. 
 
 Mr. Lambert shouted to the children to jump from 
 the load at once. Only Ralph understood. He crept 
 to the back of the load, and, slipping partly off, jumped 
 to the ground and escaped uninjured. Poor Jennie 
 was not so fortunate. In turning a sharp corner the 
 load was overturned, and she was thrown violently to 
 the ground. She was taken up insensible. 
 
 On examination they found one leg broken. This 
 was a great trial to the active child ; much more so 
 than it would have been to her sister. But Jennie 
 learned to prize thoughtful Marion much more than 
 she ever had before. 
 
 Marion never tired of amusing Jennie in any way" 
 she liked. Sometimes it was reading one of her 
 favorite books often working out some puzzle 
 then making a wonderful costume for their dolls. 
 
 What amused Jennie more than anything else,, 
 however, was making an illustrated scrap-book; for 
 she liked to examine the pictures if it was too much 
 trouble to read about them. 
 
 When Jennie was able to walk on the ground 
 again, the hay was all in the barns. But she was 
 
 93
 
 GRANDMA'S STORY. 
 
 obliged to use a crutch instead of a rake, sO she could 
 not have helped or hindered any more that season. 
 
 But the little hay-maker was all ready the next 
 summer to tumble in the hay again, or ride with Phil 
 -she always chose Phil after her fall on the top of 
 the load to the barn. 
 
 LAURIE LORING. 
 
 GRANDMA'S STORY. 
 
 RING your chairs close to me, chil- 
 dren, then I sha'n't have to speak 
 so loud," said grandma, kindly, 
 when the little ones begged for a 
 story. 
 
 Nannie and Carl obeyed so 
 strictly, that it would have been 
 rather difficult for grandma to 
 move without tearing her dress. 
 
 But the dear old lady didn't 
 mind. She loved to have the chil- 
 dren near. Little Ella knew this very well, so she nest- 
 led in grandma's lap. 
 
 When all were ready, grandma said, "I will tell 
 
 94
 
 GRANDMA'S STORY. 
 
 you a true story about something I saw when I came 
 west, years ago. I was born and brought up in New 
 England. Your mother was just four years old when 
 we decided to come here. 
 
 " Travelling was slower work then, than it is now. 
 We came across the prairies in great emigrant wagons." 
 
 "What kind of wagons are those, grandma? " asked 
 Carl. 
 
 "O great, white ones something like a butcher's 
 wagon. Whole families would live in one for weeks. 
 And " 
 
 " Sleep there, too ? " interrupted little Ella. 
 
 "Yes, dear. It was better than sleeping on the 
 ground. We used to stop for the night where the 
 cattle and horses could get plenty to eat and drink. 
 One very warm day when all felt tired of riding over 
 what seemed like endless plains, and the children 
 were getting decidedly cross, we came upon the funni- 
 est little village you ever saw." 
 
 "A village, grandma!" repeated Nannie. "I 
 thought there wasn't many houses on the prairies 
 then." 
 
 "Well, there were no houses in that village," re- 
 plied grandma, smiling. "That is no houses large 
 enough for you to live in." 
 
 " Big enough for me ? " Carl asked. 
 
 " No, not for you." 
 
 " For me, grandma ? " 
 
 95
 
 GRANDMA'S STORY. 
 
 " No, not for you, Ella. It was a prairie-dog vil- 
 lage. And the houses were only low mounds of earth. 
 The dogs burrow in the ground like rabbits. Near 
 the top of each mound was the entrance a hole not 
 much larger than would have been used by a rat." 
 
 11 Didn't mamma want one to keep ? " asked Nannie. 
 
 "Yes all the children wanted one; but the prairie- 
 dog is very shy, rarely getting within range of a gun. 
 Some of the boys tried a long time to catch them. 
 
 96
 
 GRANDMA'S STORY. 
 
 Then one of the men said he would have one anyway, 
 for he would shoot it. He tried several times without 
 success, then gave it up. I was glad, for it seemed 
 cruel to kill the pretty creatures." 
 
 " How did you know they were pretty if you 
 couldn't go near them? " Nannie asked. 
 
 "One of our company had a good spy-glass. We 
 looked through that and saw them quite distinctly." 
 
 "How big are they, grandma?" inquired Carl. 
 
 "About the size of a common gray squirrel. They 
 are of a reddish brown color, with breasts of a dirty 
 white. They are graceful like a squirrel, arid really 
 resemble squirrels more than dogs. They are like 
 dogs only in their sharp little bark." 
 
 " Grandma, who feeds them ? " asked Ella, think- 
 ing of her own hungry Sancho who liked the good 
 things from the table so much. 
 
 "O they feed upon grass, seeds, and roots; but 
 they eat very little. The prairie-dog lives where there 
 is scanty herbage, and yet he never wanders more than 
 half a mile from his dwelling." 
 
 " I should think they'd starve in winter, then," said 
 Nannie. 
 
 "The little creatures lie torpid in winter, in curious 
 nests made of grass, and roots, with only a small hole 
 as large as your finger to admit the air. They are sel- 
 dom seen outside of their burrows in the cold season." 
 
 " Should think the little things would have a jolly 
 time in a village all their own," said social Carl. 
 
 97
 
 DESTROYING THE CARGO. 
 
 "The prairie dogs are not the only occupants of 
 their village. Small white owls, and rattlesnakes 
 share the privileges with them. Sometimes, when 
 suddenly escaping from danger, all three enter the 
 same mound. But the owls live in separate dwellings 
 usually the ruined ones, But, dear me, children, 
 it's past your bed-time. Scamper off now. You've 
 heard enough about prairie dogs." 
 
 LAURIE LORING. 
 
 DESTROYING THE CARGO. 
 
 JNTEND this story only for the girls and boys 
 who study history. 
 
 Some six years before the declaration 
 of Independence you all know some- 
 thing about Independence day, if not the 
 Declaration of Independence the mer- 
 chants of America resolved not to import 
 anything from Great Britain. 
 
 The effect began to be felt across the Atlantic. 
 An appeal was made to Parliament by London mer- 
 chants ; and the offensive duty was removed from every 
 article except tea. 
 
 But the Americans thought the British had no 
 right to tax them at all, and were by no means satis- 
 
 98
 
 DESTROYING THE CARGO. 
 
 fied with this partial concession. They gave up the 
 use of tea altogether. 
 
 No orders being received from America, tea rapidly 
 accumulated in England. The duty before laid on its 
 exportation was removed, for the purpose of lowering 
 the price, and thus inducing the colonists to purchase 
 it in spite of the import tax. 
 
 Cargoes were sent out to different American ports. 
 At New York and Philadelphia they would not allow 
 the ships to land their cargoes, and they were sent 
 back as they came. At Charleston, the tea was stored 
 in damp cellars, where it was spoiled. 
 
 At Boston the authorities determined to force the 
 tea upon the people, so the people settled the question 
 for themselves. 
 
 Seven thousand men assembled in town-meeting, 
 on the sixteenth of December, 1773. Fearless speech- 
 es were made. The result was, an hour after dark, a 
 war-whoop was raised, and about fifty persons dis- 
 guised as Indians proceeded to the wharf where the 
 tea-ships were moored. 
 
 The vessels were boarded, and the contents of 
 three hundred and forty chests of tea were emptied in- 
 to the water. Everything was done in an orderly 
 manner. No resistance was offered, although many 
 people had collected on the wharf. 
 
 LAURIE LORING.
 
 WHICH? 
 
 WHICH? 
 
 HIS is the question, boys did Captain 
 Boynton swim, or sail, or paddle, when 
 'he left the steamship Queen, and 
 plunged into the waves for the pur- 
 pose of testing his life-preserving dress ? 
 
 He was in the water seven hours, and 
 travelled about thirty miles. It was a wild, 
 dark night, and for hours Captain Boynton 
 lay on his back, tossed about at the mercy 
 of the winds and waves. He was unable 
 to use his paddle, but, thanks to his dress, 
 he was dry and warm. 
 
 About one o'clock the wind changed, 
 blowing on to the land. With such a sea his danger 
 was greater than before, and he narrowly escaped 
 death. More by luck than anything else, however, he 
 got ashore safely. 
 
 Afterwards he undertook to float across the Eng- 
 lish Channel, a distance of over fifty miles, in one day. 
 Several reasons prevented his accomplishing this ; but 
 he reached a point within eight miles of his destina- 
 tion, and emerged from the water with dry clothes, af- 
 ter remaining in it fifteen hours. 
 
 Now I will tell you about the dress which enables 
 Captain Boynton to do such remarkable things. 
 
 100
 
 WHICH ? 
 
 It is simply a dress of India rubber, made in five 
 distinct, air-tight compartments. Each of these is 
 inflated by means of a tube which reaches the wear- 
 er's mouth, when the dress is on. 
 
 The dress is made in two pieces, the lower part 
 being like a loose pair of trowsers, ending in a pair of 
 waterproof socks. The upper part is similar to a 
 jacket, with a head piece attached. 
 
 To allow of the face being uncovered, and yet to be 
 quite water-tight, an elastic padding fits around the 
 face, which presses closely enough to keep out the wa- 
 ter. The whole dress is quite impervious to water or 
 even damp. 
 
 What will men invent next? 
 
 102
 
 A SPARROW IN MID-ATLANTIC. 
 
 A SPARROW IN MID-ATLANTIC 
 
 As I was once crossing the Atlantic in one of the 
 large steamers that sail between America and England, 
 I was one day quietly reading a book under the shelter 
 of the deck-house, when my attention was caught by a 
 little bird hopping about on the canvas covering of one 
 of the boats. I was quite struck at his appearance at 
 such a time and place, for we were just then in mid- 
 Atlantic, fifteen hundred miles from land, and my 
 thoughts at once went wondering how this little spar- 
 row could have reached us there. 
 
 At first, I thought he must have escaped from some 
 one's keeping in the ship. Then I wondered if he had 
 started with us ; for how could the little fellow have 
 kept upon the wing for so many, many miles ? I 
 moved a little ; but he did noc fly away : and then I 
 went below and got crumbs of bread and biscuit, and 
 spread them on his canvas table; and, as he hopped 
 from crumb to crumb, he chirped his thanks for the 
 refreshing morsels. 
 
 While I watched him, thinking that perchance he 
 would rest his tired wings and stay with us all the 
 voyage tnrough, he flew off to the shrouds and rigging ; 
 then to the boacs on the opposite side of the deck; 
 
 104
 
 A LITTLE BOY'S WONDER-SONG. 
 
 and, as if trying his little wings for flight, flew once 
 right round the vessel as she careered along like a 
 thing of life ; and at last, with one farewell chirrup, he 
 lifted himself into the air, and went straight away to 
 the southward, his tiny form soon lost to sight in 
 the evening light. 
 
 And while I sat and thought, as the vessel pitched 
 and tossed in the dark-green waves, I was led to muse 
 on that wondrous love which marks even the lone 
 sparrow's way, and guides the little wanderer to food 
 and rest in its long flight of three thousand miles ; 
 for not even a sparrow can fall without the permission 
 of our Father in heaven. 
 
 A LITTLE Boys "WONDER-SONG. 
 
 I WONDER, oh ! I wonder what makes ve sun go wound ; 
 I wonder what can make ve fowers turn poppin' from 
 
 ve gwound ; 
 
 I wonder if my dear mamma loves Billy mor'n me ; 
 I wonder if I'd beat a bear a-climbin' up a twee ; 
 I wonder how ve angels 'member eveybody's pwayers ; 
 I wonder if I didn't leave my sandwich on ve stairs ; 
 I wonder what my teacher meant about " a twuthful 
 
 heart ; " 
 
 I guess 'tis finkin' untul Jack will surely bring my cart ; 
 
 106
 
 DIRTY JACK. 
 
 I wonder what I'd do if I should hear a lion'woar; 
 I bet I'd knock 'im on ve head, and lay 'im on ve floor ! 
 I wonder if our Farver knew how awful I did feel 
 When Tom's pie was in my pottet, and I wead, " Vou 
 
 shalt not steal ; " 
 
 I wonder if, when boys get big, it's dreadful in ve dark ; 
 I wonder when my papa means to have anover lark ; 
 I wonder what vat birdie says who hollers so and 
 
 sings ; 
 I wonder, oh 1 I wonder -lots and lots of over rings 1 
 
 DIRTY JACK. 
 
 THERE was one little Jack, 
 
 Not very long back ; 
 And 'tis said, to his lasting disgrace, 
 
 That he never was seen 
 
 With his hands at all clean, 
 Nor yet ever clean was his face. 
 
 His friends were much hurt 
 To see so much dirt, 
 And often and well did they scour ; 
 
 IO7
 
 DIRTY JACK. 
 
 But all was in vain : 
 He was dirty again 
 Before they had done it an hour. 
 
 When to wash he was sent, 
 
 He reluctantly went 
 With water to splash himself o'er; 
 
 But he left the black streaks 
 
 Running down both his cheeks, 
 And made them look worse than before 
 
 The idle and bad 
 
 May, like to this lad, 
 Be dirty and black, to be sure; 
 
 But good boys are seen 
 
 To be decent and clean, 
 Although they are ever so poor. 
 
 108
 
 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 "HE PUT A LITTLE SUGAR IN." 
 
 * CHARLEY, what is it that makes you so sweet ? " 
 said a loving mother one day to her little boy as she 
 pressed him to her bosom. 
 
 " I dess, when Dod made me out of dust, he put a 
 little thugar in," said Charley. 
 
 God has put a little sugar in the disposition of all 
 children. Some keep it there; and they are always 
 sweet, and we cannot help loving them. Some lose 
 the sugar that. God gave them, and then they become 
 sour and disagreeable. Keep yourselves always sweet, 
 dear children, with the sugar of love, and you will 
 always be loved. 
 
 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 So you want to be a sailor, do you, my lad ? You 
 think it would be fine to wear the sailor dress, and 
 come home from foreign countries to astonish stay-at- 
 home people. You've read exciting stories of poor 
 boys sailing away across the sea, and coming home 
 with gold and treasures, and having wonderful stories 
 of strange lands to tell. 
 
 Well, it does sound pleasant, I must say: and I 
 
 TIO
 
 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 ought to know; for I was just as wild to 'go to sea 
 when I was of your a^ as you are now. But let me 
 tell you a little about my life. I'll spin you a sailor's 
 yarn that shall be every word true ; which is not the 
 case with all sailors' yarns, I'm sorry to say. 
 
 I don't remember when I began to think about 
 going to sea. I think it must have been when I was 
 a baby : at any rate, when I was ten years old I had 
 but one wish in the world, to be a sailor. 
 
 My poor mother! how she used to beg me to go 
 to school, to try and be contented on shore ! and how 
 she would deny herself needed comforts . to make me 
 happy, and give me every chance in life ! It was all in 
 vain : nothing but a sailor's life had the least pleasure 
 for me. Instead of going to school, I would lie on the 
 ground in the orchard, or off on the seashore, and read 
 some exciting tale of the sea, till I was fairly wild 
 about it. Go to sea I must. 
 
 My mother would tell me, with tears in her eyes, 
 how hard was a sailor's life ; and, when that failed, she 
 talked to me of her loneliness when I should be gone ; 
 for I was all she had in the world. 
 
 " Ah, Willy ! " she would say, " how many nights I 
 shall lie awake, listening to the winds and the sea, and 
 thinking about my boy 1 " 
 
 Little did I care for her words then ; but, since the 
 day I came home and found her mound in the church- 
 yard, never do I hear the wind whistling through the 
 
 112
 
 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 rigging without remembering her words and the sad 
 look oi her dear face. ' * 
 
 Well, nothing would keep me ; and I took to haunt- 
 ing the docks of the nearest town, where many ships 
 came, trying to make friends with some of the sailors, 
 and get a chance to go. After trying this for a year, 
 and not succeeding in my wish, a real chance came in 
 my way. I was one day, as usual, hanging around a 
 ship, looking at every part of it. The men were busy 
 loading it for sea, and paid no attention to me ; and, 
 while prying around I came upon a snug little corner 
 behind some boxes. 
 
 At once the idea came into my mind, " Here is a 
 good place to hide till the ship sails, and then they 
 can't send me back." The temptation was too strong. 
 I tried to think a minute. I knew the ship would sail 
 that night I could think of no more. I slipped into 
 the little hiding-place, with no thought of my mother's 
 grief ; no dread of the fate I might bring on myself ; no 
 idea but that now I should surely sail, that my life of 
 adventure would now begin. 
 
 Ah, boy! it's hard to think of the hopeful, happy 
 boy I was when I stole on board that ship, and the 
 changes that came over me before I put foot on shore 
 again. ,.* 
 
 But I must cut my story short. The first thing I 
 got when I came out of my corner the next day, and 
 tremblingly told my story to the rough, brutal captain,
 
 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 was what he called "making a sailor of me." That 
 was a more severe thrashing with a rope's end than I 
 ever imagined a boy could have and live. Bruised and 
 sore, and hungry and sick, I crawled into the darkest 
 hole I could find in the ship ; and I think I would have 
 staid there and starved, if I had not been ordered out 
 by my hard master. 
 
 If we had been near shore, I should never have 
 been a sailor ; for that one whipping took out of me 
 any wish for life on the sea. I would have given half 
 my life to have gone to school that morning, and take 
 up life on shore again. But it was not to be. I could 
 not go back. I had chosen my lot, and could do noth- 
 ing but bear whatever was put upon me, and try to 
 endure, for a long voyage of many months, the life I 
 had wished for so long. 
 
 I shall not tell you all the hard times I had. It is 
 enough that the captain was a cruel, hard man, who 
 took delight in tormenting me because I had forced 
 myself on his ship, though he was brutal to all the 
 sailors. By hard knocks, in deadly sea-sickness, and 
 worse home-sickness, I learned to be a sailor ; though I 
 meant when I came home again to go to my mother, 
 get work on shore, and live to be a help and comfort if 
 I could. With this hope I lived through my long 
 voyage ; and, when the ship reached her dock, I was 
 one of the first to get on shore, and hurry to my moth- 
 er's cottage. 
 
 114
 
 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 Well, well ! it's many years ago : but yet I can't 
 tell you how I felt when I found the dear old roof 
 sheltering strangers ; when I learned that my mother 
 had gone broken-hearted to her rest a few months after 
 I ran away, though she left me her love and forgive- 
 ness. 
 
 I threw myself on her grave, and felt that I was 
 now, by my own act, alone in the world. The last 
 anchor was gone, and nothing was left for me but to 
 drift wherever the winds and waves drove me. Life 
 on shore, with my mother gone, seemed intolerable to 
 me then. Besides, the neighbors, who knew my story, 
 looked coldly on me , and I knew no way of earning 
 sixpence. So I took the only way open to me, and 
 shipped on another vessel. 
 
 That's long ago, as I said ; and I shall never be any 
 thing but a sailor, and shall find my grave under the 
 green waves some day : but never for an hour have I 
 ceased to repent of that one act which made me a 
 sailor, and broke my mother's heart.
 
 GOING TO SCHOOL. 
 
 GOING TO SCHOOL. 
 
 " I WISH," said little Susy, " I just wish, 
 Whoever made up spelling, had to learn it 
 
 I wish I was a sparrow or a fish ; 
 
 Then they might take my spelling-book, 
 and burn it. 
 
 " The meadows and the trees are just as 
 
 green ! 
 The little birds do look so sweet and 
 
 cheery ! 
 I wish I might be treated like a queen, 
 
 And not have any lesson-books come near 
 me. 
 
 " Why, queens have just the elegantest fun ! 
 
 Nobody ever makes them sew or study : 
 They just pick roses all day in the sun ; 
 
 And ain't afraid, I guess, of anybody. 
 
 116
 
 BUILDING A FORT. 
 
 " Oh, my ! I'm just as sure as sure can be 
 I sha'n't know more than half of that old 
 spelling ! 
 
 I wish I was a cricket or a bee, 
 
 And never had to study, or do felling." 
 
 BUILDING A FORT. 
 
 DOWN on the seashore three little brothers and 
 their sister were playing. They had dug holes in the 
 sand, they had picked up shells, and had watched the 
 ships and the fishing-boats ; and now they wanted 
 something fresh to do. 
 
 " Let us build a fort," said Ambrose, the eldest of 
 them : " then I will be king over it, and Nigel shall be 
 an enemy coming to take it from me." 
 
 Nigel, who was sitting on the edge of a boat lying 
 upon the beach, waved his cap, and shouted that it 
 would be good fun ; and Gyp, a sturdy little girl with 
 large blue eyes, brought a -load of sand in her pinafore, 
 whilst Walter patted it down to make it as hard as he 
 could. 
 
 "There must be a tower in the middle," said Am- 
 brose, " and a flag on the top of it." 
 
 " But we have not got a flag," said Walter. 
 
 118
 
 BUILDING A FORT. 
 
 " I have a long stick," said Ambrose, " and I can tie 
 Gyp's blue handkerchief to it : that will make a splen- 
 did flag." 
 
 "And if I can carry it off," shouted Nigel, " I shall 
 be king of the fort 1 " 
 
 Then he jumped down from the boat, and ran to 
 help with the building, so that it might be sooner 
 finished. 
 
 At last the fort was built ; and there was the tower, 
 with the flag upon it, and a wall all round ; and out- 
 side stood Ambrose and Walter and Gyp, whilst Nigel 
 was trying to dart in between them and seize the flag. 
 
 It was a long time before he could manage to do 
 so ; but, Walter having turned away his head for a 
 moment to look at a pretty sailing-boat quite near to 
 the shore, Nigel slipped past, and mounted the tower. 
 
 " I am king now I " said he, waving the flag. 
 
 So Ambrose was the enemy, and Nigel was king ; 
 then Walter ; and last of all Gyp said she wanted to 
 be king of the fort. 
 
 " But girls can't be kings," said Ambrose. 
 
 Gyp does not care : she will be king, and have the 
 flag. 
 
 And so Gyp was put into the fort ; and, instead of 
 leaving the flag on the tower, she held it fast in her 
 hands ; and, when Walter was making his way to her, 
 she ran away, so that he could not take it. * 
 
 Walter stumbled over one of the sand walls, and 
 119
 
 THE KIND NEIGHBOR. 
 
 fell ; but he did not hurt himself, as the sand was soft ; 
 and he hastened after Gyp, who had made her way to 
 nurse, who was sitting on the steps of a bathing- 
 house. 
 
 And nurse told the children they must stay with 
 her, and watch the tide coming in. 
 
 And the great waves came rolling along, and swept 
 away the walls of the fort, and then the tower, until at 
 last there was nothing of it left. 
 
 THE KIND NEIGHBOR. 
 
 ONCE, a great, great many years ago, in the far-oft 
 country of Judaea, a man set out on a journey. Now, 
 you must know, when people took journeys in those old 
 times, they could not go, as you do now, in great puffing 
 steamboats or railroad-cars. They had to travel very* 
 slowly on asses or mules ; for only kings and great 
 people could even have horses and carriages. 
 
 So this man mounted his ass, and set out to travel 
 from the great city of Jerusalem to another city called 
 Jericho. The road between these two cities was in a 
 wild country. There were no houses and beautiful 
 gardens to pass by ; but some very bad men used to 
 bide themselves among the rocks by the way, and 
 often jumped out on travellers to steal their mone} 
 and goods. 
 
 120
 
 THE KIND NEIGHBOR. 
 
 Our traveller had not gone very far when the 
 wicked thieves came upon him with their sharp knives 
 and cruel hearts. They took all his money, and even 
 stripped off his clothes to divide among themselves. 
 There were no policemen by, and no one to help, it 
 the poor man had cried ever so loud. I dare say he 
 called, as we would do if some one were almost killing 
 us. But, when he tried to keep his money and his 
 clothes, they ran their sharp knives into him until he 
 was half dead. Then they left him lying weak and 
 bleeding on the bare, hard ground. 
 
 Now, if you had passed fry, even such a little 
 child as you, you would have stopped to speak to 
 this poor man ; wouldn't you ? 
 
 Well, after a while a priest came by. He was 
 dressed in long clothes with great wide borders ; and 
 he thought, I suppose, that he was a very good man. 
 He should have been, because he had to teach other 
 people what was right ; but he walked right by the 
 poor traveller. He even kept on the other side of the 
 road, and wouldn't come near him. Perhaps he 
 thought the sight of blood would make him sick, or 
 perhaps he was afraid of soiling his long robes. 
 
 A little while after, some one else went by. I dare 
 say his neighbors thought him a real good man. 
 
 "Now," thought the sick man, if he could think at 
 all, " here is some one who will help me." 
 
 Oh, no ! This man, who was called a Levite. 
 
 122
 
 THE KIND NEIGHBOR. 
 
 " looked on " the wounded traveller ; maybe he felt 
 sorry for him : but he too, like the priest, " passed by 
 on the other side." Perhaps he thought it was no 
 business of his, and no one was there to know if he 
 was kind or not. 
 
 But there was one who saw all he did ; for God is 
 everywhere. 
 
 While the poor man was lying faint and weak, 
 thinking he should die, God made another man pass 
 by, riding on an ass. A dear, kind-hearted man he 
 was, although the sick man looked upon him as an 
 enemy. 
 
 He got down straight from his ass, because he felt 
 so sorry even for his enemy who was so badly hurt. 
 He bound up the sick man's wounds, and poured oil 
 and wine into them to make them well. Then he put 
 this man who had never loved him on his own ass, 
 and took him to an inn, and paid the innkeeper for 
 taking care of him. He told the innkeeper too, that, 
 if he spent any more, the next time he came he would 
 pay it to him again. 
 
 Now, don't you think the sick man was sorry that 
 he had ever hated such a kind friend ? and don't you 
 think the truest way to conquer those who hate us is 
 to " love them," as the Lord has told us to do ? 
 
 123
 
 THE FATE OF FIVE LITTLE KITTENS. 
 
 THE FATE OF FIVE LITTLE KITTENS. 
 
 OLD TABBY had five dear little babies, and she put 
 them to bed in Grandma Grey's mending-basket. 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " said grandma, " what a silly old 
 thing ! Now it will never be good for any thing again, 
 and we must drown the kittens to-morrow." 
 
 But Tabby liked the basket very much, and kind- 
 hearted little Mabel brought her some hay to make her 
 bed feel softer. Tabby sang her babies to sleep with a 
 soft little purring song, and cuddled them all five close 
 to her furry sides. She was very happy until she 
 remembered the time when she had five little babies 
 before, and every single one of them had been carried 
 off. She rather thought they had come to harm ; but 
 they shut her in a dark closet, and she couldn't follow 
 to find out. 
 
 She twiddled her whiskers, and rubbed her eyes ; 
 and then she said to those five little kittens in grand- 
 ma's basket, "My dear little pets, I'm very much 
 afraid I can't keep you meow ! Something dreadful 
 will happen, I know meow ! " 
 
 But the kittens snored away, and never minded her. 
 They were blind, you see, and knew nothing about the 
 great world outside. 
 
 124
 
 THE FATE OF FIVE LITTLE KITTENS. 
 
 All this while, Mabel and Kate were up in the sitting- 
 room, coaxing grandma to save all the kittens alive. 
 
 " They won't do a bit of harm," said Mabel, " only 
 maybe eat a little milk." 
 
 " And they're so sweet and cunning ! " chimed in 
 little Kate. 
 
 "You can only have two of them, dearies," said 
 grandma, " only just two. And it's very good of rne 
 to let you have those ; for, what with scratched fingers 
 and torn dresses, I could really wish every kitten in the 
 old millpond." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " sighed Mabel ; and " Oh, dear 1 " sighed 
 little Kate. 
 
 " Now run away and pick out the two you will 
 have," said Grandma Grey ; " for the others must be 
 drowned to-night." 
 
 How hard it was to choose, and to think that the 
 other three which were not chosen would have to die 1 
 The tears stood in little Mabel's eyes, and in old 
 Tabby's too. 
 
 " Dear me ! " thought Mabel as they trudged off up 
 stairs to tie ribbons around the necks of their own two 
 little kittens, " I don't believe grandma cares what 
 becomes of the other three, so long as we don't keep 
 'em. I'll just carry 'em down to the barn-yard, and let 
 'em run. I guess they'll run away." 
 
 So she left her own little kitten with Kate, and 
 carried the three others off in her apron. 
 
 126
 
 THE FATE OF FIVE LITTLE KITTENS. 
 
 But who do you think walked behind on her tipsie- 
 toes? Why, old Tabby herself! Don't you suppose 
 she wanted to know what became of her three little 
 babies? When she saw Mabel put them on the 
 ground, and clap her hands and cry " Shoo " at them, 
 Tabby purred for joy. 
 
 Then, when Mabel had danced away, Tabby settled 
 this part of her family snugly in the hay-loft, gave 
 them their dinner, and went back to the house for her 
 own. 
 
 When grandma looked for the kittens, after the 
 children were in bed, there were only two of them left. 
 ""Well, well!" she said; "that sly old cat has 
 hidden the other three ! " 
 
 And she said nothing to the children, but looked 
 around in all the market-baskets and feather-beds in 
 the house. No kittens appeared. 
 
 " Well, well ! " said grandma at last ; " let them go." 
 
 But about two weeks after, one fine morning, Tabby 
 walked in with a kitten in her mouth, and laid it down 
 at grandma's feet. 
 
 " Why, that must be little Kate's ! " said grandma. 
 "Has she hurt it, Tabby?" 
 
 Grandma picked up the little thing, smoothed it, 
 and laid it down again. 
 
 Five minutes after, in walked the little mother with 
 another baby. " Why, there's a black kitten ! " cried 
 grandma, starting up from her chair. 
 
 127
 
 TIDE-MARKS. 
 
 "Why, grandma," said Mabel, "I shoo'ed those 
 kittens away ever so long ago." 
 
 She told grandma all about it ; and the dear old 
 lady couldn't help laughing. 
 
 " Now I suppose the things will have to live," she 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, please, please, grandma ! " cried the little girls. 
 
 " But," said she, trying to be very cross and cruel, 
 " if I ever find another set of kittens, every one must 
 go to the millpond, remember." 
 
 TIDE-MARKS. 
 
 IT was low tide when we went to Bristol, and the 
 great gray rocks stood up bare and grim above the 
 water ; but high up on all their sides was a black line 
 that seemed hardly dry, though it was far above the 
 water. 
 
 " What makes that black mark on the rock ? " I 
 asked my friend. 
 
 " Oh ! that is the tide-mark," she replied. " Every 
 day, when the tide comes in, the water rises until it 
 reaches that line ; and in a great many years it has 
 worn the stone until the mark is cut in the rock." 
 
 " Oh ! " thought I, " that is all, is it? Well, I have 
 seen a great many people that carry tide-marks on their 
 
 128
 
 TIDE-MARKS. 
 
 faces." Right in front of me was a pretty little girl, 
 with delicate features and pleasant blue eyes. But she 
 had some queer little marks on her forehead, and I 
 wondered how they came to be there ; until presently 
 her mother said, 
 
 " Draw down the blind now, Carrie : the sun shines 
 right in baby's face." 
 
 " I want to look out," said Carrie in a very peevish 
 voice. 
 
 But her mother insisted ; and Carrie drew the blind, 
 and turned her face away from the window. Oh, dear 
 me ! what a face it was ! The blue eyes were full of 
 frowns, instead of smiles ; the pleasant lips were drawn 
 up in an ugly pout ; and the queer marks on her fore- 
 head had deepened into actual wrinkles. 
 
 " Poor little girl ! " I thought. " How badly you 
 will feel, when you grow up, to have your face marked 
 all over with the tide-marks of passion ! for these ugly 
 ill tempers leave their marks just as surely as the 
 ocean does ; and I have seen many a face stamped so 
 deeply with self-will and covetousness, that it must 
 carry the marks to the grave." 
 
 Take care, my little folks ; and, whenever you give 
 way to bad temper, remember the tide-marks. 
 
 129
 
 BOY WHO TOOK CARE OF HIS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 THE BOY WHO TOOK CAKE OF HIS 
 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 THERE was never a better boy than little Victor. 
 He and his grandmother lived alone in a queer little 
 brown cottage in the edge of the woods ; and he was 
 such a comfort and help to the good old grandmother 
 that she never missed any other happiness in life, 
 though she was old and feeble and very poor. 
 
 Every day the two strange companions would go 
 into the woods together, and gather a great bundle of 
 fagots which the wind had broken off from the trees ; 
 and then the grandmother would take the big bundle 
 on her back, and the two would trudge homeward. 
 Then they would make up a big snapping fire of the 
 nice dry sticks, and cook their humble supper of cakes 
 of coarse meal baked on the hearth before the coals. 
 
 Little Victor was happy as the day is long, and 
 never thought his lot was hard. The grandmother 
 was lovingly good to him. The cakes tasted delicious, 
 though coarse. The air was spicy and fresh ; and the 
 woods oh, the woods were full of sweet and delight- 
 ful things ! He enjoyed them a thousand times more 
 than the proud owner, whc rode through them now 
 and then with a great party of men and horses and 
 
 130
 
 BOY WHO TOOK CARE OF HIS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 a pack of yelling dogs, and never stopped to feel the 
 sweet delicious breath of the trees, or the cool shade 
 or the lonely mysterious silence of its depths. 
 
 Victor could never remember any one but his 
 grandmother ; but she told him long stories, sometimes 
 in the winter evenings, of his father, who had gone far, 
 far away, to a strange new country called America, to 
 make a home for them, and who was coming back 
 some wonderful day to get them both. But months 
 had gone by since she had heard from him ; and 
 though she was sure he would come as he said, yet 
 the poor old grandmother would sigh when she told 
 the story. 
 
 Victor never thought much about all that. He 
 was more interested in the sparkle of the dry fagots 
 in the fire, the beautiful browning of the cakes on the 
 hearth, and the antics of his dear puss. And then he 
 would coax his grandmother to tell him a fairy-story ; 
 and she would get out her knitting, and sit in her low 
 arm-chair by the fire ; and Victor would lie full length 
 on the floor and watch the fire, and listen while she 
 told him of the woes and troubles o/ fairy princesses 
 and odd little goblins, till she forgot about his father 
 who didn't come home, and her rheumatic old bones; 
 and her needles would fly, and her tongue run on, till 
 the fire was burned to ashes, and it was time to creep 
 into bed. 
 
 Rut as winter came on, and the cold winds stole 
 732
 
 BOY WHO TOOK CARE OF HIS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 through the cracks, the poor old grandmother grew 
 very ill. She had to stay in her bed, and little Victor 
 had no one to do any thing for him. That didn't 
 trouble him, though ; not a bit of it. He never thought 
 of pouting and crying as some children I have heard 
 of would have done. No, indeed! He just went to 
 work to take care of her. 
 
 " I'm sure I'm big enough," said he, as he took 
 his fagot-rope and his hat, and started for the woods. 
 " I'll take the bucket too," he thought, as he saw it 
 hanging outside the door. " Maybe some nuts fell 
 down last night ; and wouldn't grandmother be sur 
 prised if I brought home some to roast for supper ! " 
 
 Shutting the door carefully after him, he started 
 bravely off for the woods alone. It took him a long 
 time to gather fagots enough to make a bundle as 
 big as his grandmother's ; for he was determined tcr 
 show her that he was almost a man, and could carry 
 very big loads. 
 
 After he had a nice big bundle all tied up, he went 
 to the old chestnut-tree, that was hanging full of the 
 prickly burrs. Eagerly he examined the ground. Yes 
 Jack Frost had been there in the n^ht, as he hoped, 
 and had opened the burrs, and thrown down lots of 
 glossy brown nuts. 
 
 In a moment Victor forgot that he was tired, and 
 fell to gathering nuts. A long time he worked till he 
 had as many as he could carry ; and then he took his 
 
 133
 
 BOY WHO TOOK CARE OF HIS GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 bundle on his back, and his bucket in the other hand 
 and started off for home. 
 
 He only stopped once, to pick up a bright feather 
 which some bird had lost in the woods, and put it in 
 his hat, before he reached the edge of the woods, where 
 hs could see the cottage. There he sat down on a rock 
 to rest, and enjoy the sweet wild air. 
 
 " Dear old grandmother ! " he said to himself, " how 
 glad she will be to see such a big pile of sticks, and 
 so many nuts ! She'll know then that I can take care 
 of her ; and she'll never cry when she is too sick to go 
 out, for fear we shall starve and freeze. No, indeed \ 
 I mean to take care of her always, and never let her 
 carry fagots again : she's too old. I shall soon be 
 a big man, and I shall work and get every thing she 
 wants." 
 
 The grandmother was pleased, as he thought she 
 would be ; but she could not eat any of the nuts, though 
 he roasted them beautifully. Nor could she eat any of 
 the meal-cakes which he mixed and baked so nicely 
 for her. The next day she was worse, and talked queer 
 and wild, and sometimes did not know him ; and Victor 
 got quite frightened, she acted so strangely. 
 
 But he did not neglect his duty, for all that: he 
 bravely went into the woods, and brought home his 
 bundle of sticks. That night, after he had eaten his 
 supper, she seemed like herself, only very weak ; and 
 she talked to him about his father. She told him she 
 
 134
 
 BOY WHO TOOK CARE OF HIS GRANDMOTHER 
 
 thought she was going to die, and he must go himself 
 to America to find his father. She made him open her 
 chest, and take out some letters ; and she told him the 
 name of the place where his father was ; and she told 
 him where she had put away a little money for him. 
 She told him whom to gc to in the village, and how 
 to do, when she should be in heaven ; and her only 
 sorrow seemed to be, to leave her little boy alone in 
 the world. 
 
 But that sad thing was not to be. The very next 
 morning, a wonderful thing happened. It seemed just 
 like the fairy-stories she had so many times told him, 
 where the needed person comes in just at the moment 
 when he is wanted. The next morning he was wa- 
 kened by a noise at the door, and his grandmother tell- 
 ing him to see who was there. When he opened the 
 clumsy latch, who should stand there but a big brown- 
 faced man, with long whiskers, and strange-looking 
 clothes! and his grandmother gave one look, threw 
 up her arms, and cried faintly, 
 
 " My son ! O Victor ! " 
 
 And the big man sprang in, and caught her in his 
 arms ;^ and for a few moments there was nothing in the 
 house but hugging and kissing and crying ind laugh- 
 ing, all mixed up so, that little Victor never could 
 
 remember much about it. . 
 
 
 
 Only, at last, he found himself hugged very closely 
 in the arms of the stranger, saw the happy look n his
 
 MY SQUIRREL. 
 
 grandmother's face, and knew that he had found his 
 father. 
 
 I haven't room to tell you more about his life, 
 how that, when they had laid the dear old grandmother 
 softly to sleep among the daisies, his father took him a 
 long voyage to America, where he had a nice farm, 
 and where Victor found a new, sweet-faced mother, and 
 a baby sister, to make him happy ; nor about his 
 going to school, and growing up to be a good and 
 useful man. But one thing I can tell you : he never 
 forgot those happy days in the dear little cottage in the 
 woods, where he took care of his grandmother. 
 
 MY SQUIRREL. 
 
 I HAD a little squirry : 
 
 His step was quick and light, 
 His tail was long and furry, 
 
 And his eyes were large and bright 
 
 He'd burrow in my cowers, 
 Where almonds were, and dates ; 
 
 He'd pull to rags the flowers ; 
 He'd jump upon the plates. 
 136
 
 M\ SQUIRREL. 
 
 A bunch of cowslips yellow 
 To him was matchless fun ; 
 
 But, oh the greedy fellow ! 
 He ate them every one. 
 
 He built his nest aloft there, 
 
 Behind a barricade ; 
 And none can tell how soft there 
 
 His little crib he made ; 
 
 137
 
 MY LITTLE FRIEND. 
 
 LIVE high up in a city house all alone. My 
 room is a cosey little place, though there is 
 nothing very splendid in it, only my pic- 
 Ptures and books, my flowers, and my little 
 friend. When I began to live there, I was 
 very busy and therefore very happy; but 
 by and by, when I had more time to myself, 
 I often felt lonely. When I ate my meals I used to 
 wish for a pleasant companion to eat with me; and 
 when I sat by the fire evenings, I thought how much 
 more social it would be if some one sat opposite. 
 
 I was wishing for a cheerful friend one night, when 
 all of a sudden I found one; for, sitting on my hand,, 
 
 138
 
 MY LITTLE FRIEND. 
 
 I saw a plump, jolly-looking fly. He sat quietly star- 
 ing at me, with a mild little hum, as if to say, 
 
 "How are you? You wanted a friend, and here I 
 am. Will you have me?" 
 
 Of course I would, for I liked him directly, he was 
 so cheery and confiding, and seemed as glad to see me 
 as I was to see him. I waggled one finger, by way of 
 welcome, fearing to shake my hand, lest he should 
 tumble off and feel hurt at my reception. He seemed 
 to understand me, and buzzed again evidently saying, 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am; I should Hks to stay in your 
 warm room, and amuse you for nr board. I won't 
 disturb you, but do my best to fc O ood little friend." 
 
 So the bargain was struck, an-:t he stopped to tea. 
 I found that his manners had been neglected; for he 
 was inclined to walk over the butter, drink out of the 
 cream pot, and put his fingers in the jelly. A few 
 taps with my spoon taught him to behave with more 
 propriety, and he sipped a drop of milk from the wai- 
 ter with a crumb of sugar, as a well-bred fly should do. 
 
 On account of his fine voice, I named him 
 Buzz. He seemed to like his new quarters, and after 
 exploring every corner of the room, he chose his favor- 
 ite haunts and began to enjoy himself. I always knew 
 where he was, for he kept up a constant song, hum- 
 ming and buzzing, like a little kettle getting ready to 
 boil. 
 
 On sunny days, he amused himself by bumping 
 
 139
 
 MY LITTLE FRIEND. 
 
 his head against the window, and watching what went 
 on outside. Up in my hanging basket of ivy he made 
 his bower, and sat there on the moss, basking in the 
 sunshine, as luxuriously as any gentleman in his con- 
 servatory. He was interested in the plants, and exam- 
 ined them daily with great care. 
 
 The pictures also, seemed to attract his attention, 
 for he spent much time skating over the glasses and 
 studying the designs. Then he'd sit in the middle of 
 a brook, as if bathing his feet. He frequently kissed 
 my mother's portrait, and sat on my father's bald head, 
 as if trying to g ;t out some of the wisdom stored up 
 there, like hone) .T an ill-thatched bee-hive. 
 
 I'm afraid he w^b a trifle vain, for he sat before the 
 glass a great deal, and I often saw him cleaning his 
 proboscis, and twiddling his feelers, and I know he 
 was " prinking," as we say. The books pleased him, 
 too, and he used to run them over, as if trying to 
 choose which he would read, and never seemed able 
 to decide. 
 
 He frequently promenaded on the piazza of a little 
 Swiss chalet, standing on the mantel-piece, and thought 
 it a charming .residence for a single gentleman like 
 himself. The closet delighted him extremely, and he 
 buzzed in the most joyful manner when he got among 
 the provisions, for we kept house together. Such 
 revels as he had in the sugar bowl ! such feasts of 
 gingerbread and grapes; such long sips of milk, and 
 
 140
 
 MY LITTLE FRIEND. 
 
 sly peeps into every uncovered box and dish. But his 
 favorite nook was among the ferns in the vase which 
 a Parian dancing girl carried. She stood just over 
 the stove, on one little toe, rattling some castanets, 
 which made no sound, and never getting a step farther 
 for all her prancing. This was a warm and pretty re- 
 treat for Buzz, and there he spent much of his time, 
 swinging on the ferns, sleeping snugly in the vase, or 
 warming his feet in the hot air that blew up, like a 
 south wind from the stove. 
 
 I don't believe there was a happier fly in Boston 
 than my friend Buzz, and I grew fonder and fonder of 
 him every day. Then he was so interested in all I 
 did, it was delightful to have him round. When I 
 wrote he came and walked about over my paper to see 
 that it was right, peeped into my inkstand, and ran 
 after my pen. He never made silly or sharp criticisms 
 on my stories, but appeared to admire them very much; 
 so I am sure he was a good judge. 
 
 Well, little Buzz and I lived together many weeks 
 and never got tired of one another, which is saying a 
 good deal. At Christmas I went home for a week, 
 and left my room to take care of itself. I put the hy- 
 acinths into the closet to be warm, and dropped the 
 curtain, so the frost should not nip my ivy; but I for- 
 got Buzz. I really would have taken him with me, or 
 carried him down to a neighbor's room to be taken 
 care of while I was away, but I never thought of him 
 
 141
 
 MY LITTLE FRIEND. 
 
 in the hurry of getting my presents and myself ready. 
 Off I went without even saying "good-bye," and never 
 thought of my little friend, till Freddy, my small 
 nephew, said to me one evening at dusk, 
 
 "Aunt Weedy, tell me a story." 
 
 So I began to tell him about Buzz, and all of a 
 sudden I cried out, 
 
 "Mercy on me! I'm afraid he'll die of cold while 
 I'm gone." 
 
 It troubled me a good deal, and I wanted to know 
 how the poor little fellow was so much, that I would 
 have gone to see, if I had not been so far away. But 
 it would be rather silly to hurry away twenty miles to 
 look after one fly: so I finished my visit, and then 
 went back to my room, hoping to find Buzz alive and 
 well in spite of the cold. 
 
 Alas, no! my little friend was gone. There he lay 
 on his back on the mantel-piece, his legs meekly folded, 
 and his wings stiff and still. My poor little Buzz had 
 sung his last song, danced his last dance, and gone 
 where the good flies go. I was very sorry, and buried 
 him among the ivy roots, where the moss lay green 
 above him, the sun shone warmly on him, and the bit- 
 ter cold could never come. 
 
 L. M. ALCOTT.
 
 
 THEY are idols of hearts and of households, 
 They are angels of God in disguise; 
 His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, 
 His glory still gleams in their eyes. 
 
 Charles M. Dickenson,
 
 WiH Howsrs.
 
 GREEDY BIRD THAT WANTED TO EAT A BOY. 
 
 THE 'GREEDY BIRD THAT WANTED TO 
 EAT A BOY. 
 
 IN the best room of a low-roofed cottage that I 
 know of, away up among the mountain-tops, is a beau- 
 tiful object that would be the pride of a much larger 
 and grander house. But there's a story connected with 
 it, and no money could buy it from its owner. Many 
 a tempting sum has been offered him for his treasure ; 
 but although his house lacks many luxuries, and is a 
 bare place enough, he always refuses, and tells the 
 wondering traveller this story. 
 
 He had a son who was but a small boy when he 
 began to notice a pair of great eagles that had their 
 home among the rocks of one of the mountain-tops 
 near his father's house. Many a time did he watch 
 their long and splendid flight, as the father and mother 
 bird would go out in search of food for their hungry 
 family of eaglets. 
 
 It was almost the only life that the boy saw about 
 him ; . and he watched them so much, that he felt quite 
 well acquainted with them. And there grew in him 
 a great longing to see their home and their little ones ; 
 and he often lay for hours on a hard rock, looking at 
 them, and laying plans for climbing to their nest, and 
 getting nearer to them. 
 
 145
 
 GREEDY BIRD THAT WANTED TC EAT A BO* 
 
 But a time came when he was a little nearer than 
 he cared to be. It was a warm summer day ; and his 
 father and mother had gone down the mountain to the 
 little town at its foot, where they bought the few 
 articles of clothing necessary for the small family of 
 three. The boy lay on the rock as usual, watching the 
 two grand old birds circling around in search of some- 
 thing to carry home to fill the hungry mouths waiting 
 for them ; when suddenly the larger of the two began 
 to make circles around him, and seemed to fix his eyes 
 on him. 
 
 Whether he mistook him for a new kind of animal 
 which might be good to eat, or whether he resented 
 being so closely watched, I don't know ; but while the 
 boy lay watching him, as his circles grew smaller and 
 smaller, he suddenly made a dive, and came directly 
 towards him. Even then the boy never thought of 
 being afraid of him till he came so near as to show 
 his dreadful claws, quite strong enough to carry off a 
 boy, his fierce beak wide open as though to tear him to 
 pieces, and his wild eyes fixed upon him. 
 
 Then a sudden fear seized him, and he threw up 
 his arms to frighten the bird off. But the great crea- 
 ture pounced directly upon his breast ; and the boy 
 thought that moment was his last. A deadly sickness 
 came over him, and his eyes closed. Just at that 
 moment a shot rang upon the clear air, and the eagle 
 fell instantly dead. 
 
 146
 
 GREEDY BIRD THAT WANTED TO EAT A BOY. 
 
 But the boy knew nothing of it : he was in a faint. 
 He saw not the man who ran hastily up to see if he 
 was alive. He knew nothing of being carried in the 
 stranger's arms to his father's house and laid upon the 
 bed. When he did open his eyes, they rested on an 
 unknown face which was bending anxiously over him. 
 
 Of course, as he was not hurt, he was soon well ; 
 and he and the stranger who had saved his life went 
 out to look at the dead bird. It was a magnificent 
 creature, one of the largest of its kind, and had, no 
 doubt, carried off many a sheep and goat in its day. 
 
 When the boy's parents came home, they heard the 
 strange story, how the strange gentleman, who was 
 a naturalist, that is, one who spends his life studying 
 the ways of birds and animals, happened to notice 
 the swoop of the eagle, and, wondering what he was 
 after, had hurried nearer, and, just at the moment he 
 reached the boy, had raised his ready gun, and shot 
 him dead fortunately at the first shot, or he might have 
 done serious injury. 
 
 The grateful parents could not do enough for the 
 man ; and he finally spent tht whole summer at the 
 cottage, hunting birds and finding out their ways, and 
 going off on long excursions among the mountains. 
 The boy always followed him, anxious to do something 
 for him, and eager to learn what the good naturalist 
 loved to teach. 
 
 The first thing he learned was to preserve and stuff 
 148
 
 GREEDY BIRD THAT WANTED TO EAT A BOY. 
 
 the eagle which had so nearly killed him ; and it is the 
 stuffed bird, mounted on a tree-branch over the rude 
 mantle of the cottage, that is the treasure I spoke of. 
 
 But he taught him many other things also, how 
 to watch the shy wild creatures, see how they live, and 
 what they do ; and how to make his knowledge useful. 
 In the evenings he taught him to read ; and when 
 winter came, and there was no more work to do out 
 of doors, and the father brought out his carving-tools, 
 and went to his winter's work of cutting toys out of 
 wood, which he sold in the village for meal, the natu- 
 ralist persuaded him to let the boy go every day to the 
 village to school. 
 
 That was the beginning of a new life for the boy. 
 He grew fond of books, and spent all his days study- 
 ing. When he was older, he went to the town to live ; 
 and now, when he is about thirty years old, he is quite 
 well known in his native country as a naturalist, and a 
 writer of books. 
 
 The old father is very proud of his learned son ; 
 .and that is why he will never part with .the old stuffed 
 -eagle. He loves to remember the good fortune that 
 the greedy bird, who wanted a boy to eat, brought to 
 the boy he selected. 
 
 149
 
 WASHED ASHORE. 
 
 WASHED ASHORE. 
 
 IT was a bright sunshiny day in June ; and on the 
 pebbly beach of the South Bay was a merry group of 
 busy children, who had been kept in doors by the equi- 
 noctial storms which had raged for a week or more, 
 when their attention was drawn to the farthermost end 
 of the cliff, where were strewed broken spars and masts, 
 which gave sad evidence of the violence of the recent 
 gales that had visited the coast. Their boisterous play 
 was suddenly hushed as they spied among the scattered 
 relics of the ^rcck a large chest ; and curiosity took 
 possession of their little minds as they examined the 
 battered trunk which lay on the shore. 
 
 "O Willie! suppose there should be a lot of 
 money and diamonds and pretty things inside of that 
 old box ! I wonder where it came from," said Mattie, 
 a lively little lass of ten years. 
 
 " Well, Miss Curiosity, and suppose there was : it 
 wouldn't be none of our business. It don't belong to- 
 us, anyhow," answered Willie Norman. 
 
 " Yes, Willie ; but you know it would be no harm 
 if we did just peep through the hole and see. I should 
 so like to know what there is inside ! " 
 
 "Just like all you girls. You're never satisfied 
 150
 
 WASHED ASHORE. 
 
 unless you know every thing that's going on. I 
 should be ashamed of myself to be so inquisitive, 
 I should." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say, Willie ! Of course you don't care 
 to know any thing about it. Why, you're almost dying 
 
 to find it out, I'm sure. I shouldn't wonder if it were 
 you thai cut the cord." 
 
 " No, Miss Pert : I wouldn't be so mean. I wonder 
 if it didn't belong to some poor sailor who had got
 
 WASHED ASHORE. 
 
 drowned; and, if we could only find out who it be- 
 longed to, we could send it home to their friends, any- 
 how. I won't touch it myself ; but I'll run home and 
 tell father all about it." 
 
 " I am sorry, Willie, that I spoke so cross," replied 
 Mattie. " I didn't mean to. You are a good boy, after 
 all. Let me go along with you, will you ? " 
 
 So Willie ran home as fast as he could to tell his 
 father ; and, when they opened the chest, they found a 
 little midshipman's uniform, and a bundle of letters 
 tied up in a bit of oil-skin, and a photograph of a 
 lady, besides some little curiosities from India, China, 
 and other countries. 
 
 Willie's father thought he had seen the person 
 before whose photograph was in the chest, and made 
 inquiries in the neighboring towns. Not long after- 
 wards, he found that it belonged to a sailor-boy who 
 had been wrecked on his first voyage ; but that, though 
 the ship and its cargo were all lost, yet the lives of the 
 crew and passengers were saved, and that the boy was 
 now a strong, hearty, and good man, the only support 
 of his widowed mother. 
 
 You may be sure they were very much obliged to 
 Willie and his father, who had taken so much trouble 
 to find an owner for the trunk; and every now and 
 then the sailor sent a little present tc Willie, in 
 remembrance of the sea-chest which was " washed 
 ashore." 
 
 152
 
 BOBBIT'S BOAT. 
 
 BOBBITS BOAT. 
 
 HARRY was cross that morning. I don't know 
 what began it. Perhaps he got out of bed the wrong 
 way ; or maybe his breakfast did not suit him. How- 
 ever it was, nothing went right with him. His blocks 
 wouldn't build well ; his velocipede-wheel came off ; 
 Willy couldn't please him ; even baby Bess got a rude 
 shove when she reached out her pretty baby hand to 
 take one of his blocks : in fact, every thing was out of 
 sorts. 
 
 Mamma was very busy, and wanted to work all day ; 
 but, when she saw the trouble among the little folks, 
 she quietly put away her papers, shut up her books, 
 and said, 
 
 " Come, children, we'll go down to the beach 
 a while." 
 
 A great shout went up from Willy ; baby Bess 
 clapped her hands ; and even Harry looked pleased a 
 minute, and smiles at the corners of his mouth threat- 
 ened to drive away the ugly scowls on his forehead. 
 For these children did not live on the seashore : they 
 had been there but a few days, and it was still new 
 and delightful to them. 
 
 Down to the beach they went ; and, before long, 
 153
 
 BOBBIT'S BOAT. 
 
 mamma was seated on the warm sand, with umbrella 
 over her head, and book in her lap ; Bess was running 
 about ; and the boys were digging in the sand, making 
 forts and caves and mountains and roads, and bring- 
 ing water to wet the sand when it became too dry to 
 keep in shape. 
 
 They were having a very pleasant time, and the 
 cross wrinkles were almost gone from Harry's face, 
 when, as he was coming up with a pail of water, he 
 saw a boy and girl coming directly towards them. He 
 stopped a minute, and looked at them ; and the boy 
 climbed into a small boat which was partly drawn up 
 on the beach, but the little girl walked up to see what 
 they were doing. 
 
 " Go 'way, girl ! " said Harry crossly : " we don't 
 want anybody to trouble us." 
 
 The child said nothing, and stepped back a step or 
 two, but was so interested in the small sand city they 
 were building, that she stopped again, looking eagerly 
 on at the work. 
 
 Harry began again, " Go 'way, I say 1 " 
 
 " For shame, Harry ! " said Willy : " she don't hurt 
 us. Let her stay if she wants to." 
 
 " Well, she's too near," Harry went on. " She's right 
 in the track of the road I'm going to build to my fort." 
 
 " She can come my side," said Willy pleasantly. 
 " Come over this side if you want to," he added to her. 
 
 She smiled, and came nearer to him. 
 154
 
 BOBBiT'y tSOAT. 
 
 " See here," he went on : " this is my fort. See the 
 guns ? They ain't really guns, you know ; only stones. 
 An' this is the cave where the big bear lives ; an' the 
 soldiers 'r going out to shoot him, bang I Wish't I 
 had something for a bear," he broke out. " I can't find 
 a big enough stone, an' the cave keeps tumbling down." 
 
 A long time the children played their delightful 
 game, and the little girl looked on equally interested. 
 But the sun was warm, and the water cool and inviting ; 
 and suddenly Harry suggested, 
 
 "Let's wade!" 
 
 No sooner said than done. Down went the pails 
 and shovels ; bears and cannon, forts and caves, were 
 left to fall to pieces ; and both boys rushed eagerly 
 down to the water. 
 
 "You may take my pail and shovel if you want to," 
 shouted Willy to the little girl as he went ; and in less 
 than two minutes the boys were up to their knees in 
 the water, and the little stranger was busily filling the 
 pail with sand. Suddenly she seemed to think of 
 something. She set the pail carefully down, laid the 
 shovel beside it, and saying shortly, " Got something," 
 she started off on a run as fast as her little brown 
 legs would carry her. A little way up the beach was 
 a fisherman's cottage; and into that she dashed, and 
 in a moment was out again, holding in her two hands a 
 wonderful little boat, with masts and streamer all com- 
 plete, sails all spread ready for a sail. 
 
 156
 
 BOBBIT'S BOAT. 
 
 Where is the boy who doesn't love a boat ? Both 
 the boys gave a cry of delight, and started on a run 
 towards her, each eager to be first. Harry was the 
 largest ; so he was first : but she held her boat closely 
 hugged in her arms, and ran by him till she came up 
 to Willy ; when she quickly put the treasure into his 
 hands, saying, 
 
 " You may sail it." 
 
 Harry was going to be angry ; but he remembered 
 his crossness to her, and was ashamed instead. He 
 turned sulkily, and walked toward the little boat, where 
 the boy sat looking on, and rocking back and forth oi> 
 the sand. 
 
 As for Willy, he was almost too happy to breathe. 
 He held the pretty toy carefully, and hurried down to 
 the water ; but his tongue could not long be still, and 
 he began : 
 
 " Where did you get it ? " 
 
 " Daddy made it," said the child, who kept by his 
 side. " Her name's ' The Mary Ann ; ' see ; " and she 
 pointed out the name painted on the stern. 
 
 " The Mary Ann of Seabeach," Willy slowly spelled 
 out ; for he was not very old, and of course couldn't be 
 expected to read very well. 
 
 " Oh," sighed Willy, " I wish my papa would make 
 me one ! " 
 
 " Is he a fisherman ? " asked the girl eagerly. 
 
 44 No ; course not," said Willy. " He's a doctor." 
 157
 
 BORBIT'S BOAT. 
 
 " Then he can't make one," said she. " My daddy's 
 a fisherman, 'n he can make any thing." 
 
 But now the vessel was in the water, and Willy was 
 too busy watching it to say any more ; and the child 
 went back to her digging. 
 
 In a few moments baby Bess ran hastily up to 
 mamma, and buried her shy face on her shoulder, as 
 she always did when a stranger came near. Mamma 
 looked up ; and there stood the funny little maiden, with 
 a pail full of clean white sand, and a bright smile on 
 her round brown face. 
 
 " Want some nice sand, m'm ? " she asked politely. 
 
 " Why, what could I want of sand ? " asked mam- 
 ma. 
 
 " Scrub your floor," said the smiling damsel. 
 
 Mamma laughed. " No, I thank you," she said. 
 41 But who are you ? What's your name ? " 
 
 "Name's Bobbit." 
 
 "What else? " mamma went on. 
 
 " Daddy's dumplin'," said she demurely. 
 
 "Where do you live, little Bobbit?" 
 
 " Over there ; " and she held out her little brown paw 
 towards the cottage. "Is your little girl sick?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " No," said mamma ; " but she's shy of strangers. 
 But now it is lunch-time, Miss Bobbit : I will be happy 
 to have you stay to lunch." 
 
 " Hey ? " said Bobbit doubtfully. 
 158
 
 BOBBIT'S BOAT. 
 
 " I have some cakes in my basket," said mamma : 
 " will you sit down with us, and eat some ? " 
 
 Now was Bobbit's turn to be delighted. Little 
 vessels were common enough in her life ; but cakes! 
 she did not have them every day. She sat down 
 demurely in the sand, and folded her small hands 
 politely on her lap. 
 
 " Boys," said mamma, " don't you want some 
 lunch ? " 
 
 Then there was a scramble. Harry sprang down 
 from the boat where he had been talking with the boy, 
 or rather had listened while the boy talked about boats 
 and such delightful things, and told how he was going 
 to be a sailor, and go across the ocean. 
 
 " Harry," said mamma, " why don't you invite your 
 friend to come ? Who is he ? " 
 
 " Don't know," said Harry. 
 
 " Please, m'm, he's Tom," said Bobbit. 
 
 "Tom," said mamma, "would you like a cake?" 
 
 Tom looked as though he would, but he said noth- 
 ing; only kicked up the sand with his bare toes. 
 Mamma opened the basket, and took out a big dough- 
 nut, and a cooky with a hole in it, which she ave to 
 Harry to take to Tom ; and then she gave all the hun- 
 gry little folks doughnuts and cookies till the basket 
 was empty, and their mouths were filled. 
 
 " Willy," said Bobbit sweetly, as they turned again to 
 the beach to play, " Harry may take my boat some too."
 
 MOTHER DARLING'S FAMILY. 
 
 MOTHER DARLING'S FAMILY. 
 
 >THER Darling is Clara's pet cat. 
 One very rainy day she came into 
 the house with what do you sup- 
 pose in her mouth? 
 
 " A mouse ! " exclaimed one. 
 "No." 
 
 " Oh ! a little mite of a kitty ! " 
 cries another, who is certain she is right. 
 
 But she is not. It was a cunning lit- 
 tle white rabbit. She showed it to Clara 
 first, then carefully deposited it in the old 
 basket where her own babies lay fast asleep. 
 She smoothed its tumbled fur purred loud- 
 ly when Clara took kitties and rabbit into her 
 lap rubbed her head against Clara's foot, then 
 walked out of the house. 
 
 "Why, Mother Darling!" cried Clara, in amaze- 
 ment when she returned with the second rabbit, "where 
 have you been in the rain to find another? " 
 
 Puss preserved a discreet silence as to where she 
 found her new babies, but she purred her delight when 
 Clara took the second rabbit into her lap. After see- 
 ing that this was made welcome, she went to the door 
 again and mewed to be let out. 
 
 "Do you suppose, mother, she'll bring in another?" 
 
 160
 
 MOTHER DARLING'S FAMILY. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know. We'll try her and see." 
 "And I'll watch and find out which way she comes 
 
 from." 
 
 But all Clara's watching did no good. She turned 
 
 her head a moment, and in that moment, sly Mother 
 
 Darling came in with the third rabbit. 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " cried mamma, " we shall have the 
 house full of rabbits if she keeps on ! " 
 
 "But isn't it funny!" said Clara, laughing merrily, 
 "what do you suppose she'll do with them?" 
 
 Mother Darling answered the question herself by 
 cuddling down in the basket and gathering her 
 
 161
 
 MOTHER DARLING'S FAMILY. 
 
 babies close. She seemed to give special attention to 
 her adopted children. 
 
 " I guess she got them over to Jamie Gilbert's. 
 He keeps rabbits, you know, mamma." 
 
 "Well, when Carlos comes home he had better run 
 over and see." 
 
 " O mamma, wait till to-morrow, they look so cun- 
 ning together." 
 
 " Perhaps Jamie will want them if they belong to 
 him." 
 
 " But don't send over, mamma. Mother Darling 
 will take good care of them." 
 
 , They decided to make no inquiries that day. Did 
 puss hear and understand? Before night eight rab- 
 bits shared the old basket with the kittens. 
 
 Clara was almost wild with delight, but, mamma 
 began to look sober. If Mother Darling had a mania 
 for stealing rabbits, what would the end be ? 
 
 When Carlos came home he said at once that the 
 rabbits belonged to Jamie. " But the old ones are 
 dead got killed somehow and he'll be glad to 
 have Mother Darling adopt them. But what possessed 
 the old lady to tug them over here, I wonder." 
 
 "You darling Mother Darling !" exclaimed Clara, 
 warmly, "You didn't want the dear little things to 
 starve to death, did you ? " and she hugged cat, kittens, 
 and rabbits, all in a bunch. 
 
 The rabbits and kittens flourished together, won 
 
 162
 
 THE GIRL WHO WAS AFRAID OF A DOG. 
 
 derfully. And soon Mother Darling's family became 
 the chief attraction to the children of the neigborhood. 
 When the rabbits became old enough or rather 
 when Clara was willing they should leave their foster- 
 mother, the trouble was not how to find homes for so 
 many; but how to make them hold out, so that all the 
 children who wished, could have a pet from Mother 
 Darling's family. 
 
 LAURIE LORING. 
 
 THE GIRL WHO WAS AFRAID 
 OF A DOG. 
 
 : ITTLE Jeanie Carter started for school one fine 
 morning in June, with her dinner-pail on one 
 arm, and a big basket of flowers which her 
 mamma had picked for the teacher on the other. As 
 her mother kissed her good-by at the door, she said, 
 
 "Good-by, dear. You look just like little Red 
 Riding Hood going to her grandmother's." 
 
 Now Jeanie could not yet read, but Bridget, the 
 nurse, had often told her the story of that celebrated 
 little woman, and acted it out as she went along, to 
 make it somewhat more thrilling. So it was not to 
 Jeanie the nice little story it is to you, where the wolf 
 
 163
 
 THE GIRL WHO WAS AFRAID OF A DOG. 
 
 gets well punished, and Red Riding Hood lives to a 
 respectable old age. To her it was a dreadful tragedy 
 that had surely happened once to a little girl, and 
 might happen again, for when she tremblingly asked 
 Bridget if there were any wolves now, she said, 
 
 " Yes, sure ; and mind ye're a nice little gal, and lie 
 still, or maybe one'll come growling around the house." 
 
 Of course mamma didn't know anything about 
 this, and never thought of frightening the poor child, 
 but having seen her well on her way, went back to 
 her sewing. Jeanie meanwhile crept fearfully along 
 towards school, wondering how it would seem to meet 
 a wolf, and if he would eat her. 
 
 When she had nearly reached the school-house, 
 she turned a corner suddenly, and there stood a large, 
 shaggy dog. He seemed to be lost, and looking for 
 somebody, and when he saw a nice little girl, he came 
 towards her, wagging his tail, and saying as pleasantly 
 as he could in his way, 
 
 "Good morning, little girl. May I walk along by 
 you ? I've lost my master, and I feel lonely." 
 
 Unfortunately, Jeanie didn't understand dog-talk, 
 and this creature looked like the picture of a wolf 
 that hung in the nursery. 
 
 She started back in terror, squeezing herself against 
 the stone wall, and trying to get past him. But part 
 of her lunch that day was a doughnut, still warm from 
 the pan, and it must be that the dog smelled it, for he 
 
 164
 
 THE GIRL WHO WAS AFRAID OF A DOG. 
 
 came close to her, and snuffed at her pail as though 
 he would like to eat it. 
 
 Poor Jeanie crowded herself against the wall, and 
 dared not move, and the dog ran out his red tongue 
 and licked his^chops as though the smell of the fra- 
 grant cake was good enough to eat. 
 
 I don't know how long she would have stood there, 
 with the pleasant dog trying to make her acquaintance, 
 but one of the big girls came along and made him 
 understand that he was not wanted, and Jeanie took 
 hold of her hand and went to school. 
 
 The story got out among the scholars, and didn't 
 the boys and girls laugh at her for being afraid of Mr. 
 Taintor's Carlo, and fancying he wanted to eat her! 
 
 When mamma found it out, she talked to Bridget, 
 and forbade her telling stories to the children. 
 
 Jeanie was called Red Riding Hood till she grew 
 up to be a woman ; and she often said she was never 
 in her life so terrified as when she stood against that 
 wall, expecting to be eaten by a wolf. 
 
 OLIVE THORNE. 
 
 165
 
 CAMELS. 
 
 CAMELS. 
 
 DON'T you think that is a queer-looking horse, 
 children, with a great hump on his back, and such a 
 strange, crooked neck ? You don't think it is a horse, 
 perhaps ; but at least it does a horse's work, and even 
 more work than a horse can do. In those very hot 
 countries where camels live, people don't use many 
 horses : they let this queer creature serve instead. 
 You have no idea how much baggage he can carry at 
 a time on that great humpy back of his. He doesn't 
 like to do it, though. In fact, he is not good-natured at 
 all, but very cross and quarrelsome. He doesn't learn 
 to love his master as our horse does. Even if people 
 are very kind to him, he doesn't love them back. Isn't 
 that an ugly temper to show ? He gets a great many 
 beatings for it too. 
 
 In those hot countries there are great deserts 
 covered with sand, where for miles and miles there are 
 no trees or plants, and no water. Sometimes, when 
 people are travelling on these great deserts, the water 
 which they carried with them is almost gone : there is 
 none to spare for the poor old camel. Then what do 
 you think he does? Why, he, too, carries his own 
 supply of water. God has put something inside o/ 
 
 166
 
 KEEPING ROBBIE STILL. 
 
 him to hold water, so that he need not go thirsty. 
 Then, if there is no food for him, do you think 
 he starves ? Not he, so long as the great lump 
 of fat lasts which God has put inside of him. You 
 see, he has food and drink in his own private dinner- 
 basket. 
 
 In those great deserts there are sometimes terrible 
 storms of wind, which blow the sand about so that 
 people have to lie down and cover their faces. But 
 God has given the camel little doors to go before his 
 eyes, and keep the dust quite out of them. Don't you 
 think the camel ought to be better-natured when God 
 has been so good to him ? But, then, God has given 
 to us a great deal more than he has to the camel ; and 
 we are not always grateful. 
 
 If you look in your Bible, you can read about a 
 man who had three thousand of these animals. Who 
 was it? 
 
 KEEPING ROBBIE STILL. 
 
 LITTLE ROBBIE was sent into the country to his 
 aunt once, when his dear mamma was ill. Everybody 
 was careful to see his clothes, his stout boots, and his 
 warm stockings, put into the big bag his papa was to 
 take for him. But no one thought of Dick his head- 
 less rocking-horse, of his drummer-boy, or his fife and 
 
 168
 
 KEEPING ROBBIE STILL. 
 
 trumpet ; and they were far more to Robbie than all his 
 clothes were. 
 
 This aunt's house was very neat: you could not 
 find a speck of dirt in it, nor a bit of paper nor a 
 chicken's feather on the lawn. No flowers were 
 allowed there, except those which aunt Phebe put up, 
 stiff and straight, in her parlor vases. The dear little 
 boy hunted around for a big stick to ride in place of 
 Dick, and, having found one, galloped joyfully into the 
 room. 
 
 " O Rob I " she cried out, " carry that old stick into 
 the shed, and do keep still." 
 
 "That isn't an old stick," said Rob in surprise. 
 41 That's a hoss, auntie." 
 
 " I don't wonder your mother s sick," said auntie, 
 " if you are so noisy all the time at home. You must 
 keep still here, or you'll make me crazy." 
 
 So the good child put away " Dick," and got the 
 big dinner-bell, and went up stairs and down, and out 
 on the piazza, which he called the deck, calling on the 
 passengers to pay their fares. 
 
 " Now, Rob, you will craze me 1 " said his aunt. 
 " Give me the bell, and sit down on the lowest step of 
 the piazza, and keep still." 
 
 So Rob folded his dear little hands on his lap. He 
 fixed his eyes on the stepping-stone before the dooi. 
 and drew a long sigh. After a little he said, "O 
 auntie dear, I do pity stones sol" 
 
 160
 
 KEEPING ROBBIE STILL. 
 
 " Pity stones ? What for, Robbie ? " 
 
 " 'Cause they have to keep so still all their lives. 
 I'm so glad I ain't a stone!" 
 
 " There's no danger of your turning into a stone. 
 Rob : you don't keep still long enough." 
 
 "Oh, dear! how stones must ache, keepin' still 
 always! I ache now just in this little speck of time. 
 I'm glad I ain't a fence, nor a tree, nor a rag-baby that 
 can't move till somebody pulls you. O auntie, my 
 head aches, and my hands and feet are cold, and my 
 eyes are crooked, keepin' still such a long time ! " 
 
 " Your mouth is all right, little boy," said the lady. 
 11 That hasn't kept still at all." 
 
 Then grandma came in, and asked what was the 
 matter ; and Rob said, " I'm all hard, I've been sittin' 
 still such an awful long time." 
 
 " One minute," said aunt Phebe. 
 
 " O auntie, it's an hour, and I'm all asleep but my 
 head ! Can't I get up ? say ? " 
 
 " Yes," said grandma. " You may come up in my 
 room, and make a train of cars with the chairs." 
 
 " Won't you be crazy, grandma ? " 
 
 " No, my dear : noise does not trouble me much. 
 But it is a good plan for little boys to learn to be still, 
 so that they will not trouble those who are not well. 
 To-morrow morning I wish you would fold your hands 
 and sit still one minute, and again in the afternoon. 
 We will call that your ' lesson in silence.' By and by 
 
 170
 
 WILLY'S NAUGHTY DAY. 
 
 you can sit still two, three, and five minutes, to please 
 those who do not like a noise." 
 
 " Yes, grandma dear, I will ; but I hope mamma 
 will soon be well, I'm so tired of keeping still," said 
 the dear little boy. 
 
 WILLY'S NAUGHTY DAY. 
 
 " Now be good children," said mamma as she 
 stepped into the carriage. " Auntie and I will be home 
 to lunch ; and this afternoon you shall all have a ride, 
 if you are good." 
 
 The children shouted their good-bys till the car- 
 riage turned out of the yard, and then they went back 
 into the house. 
 
 " Now, what would you like to do ? " asked matronly 
 little Molly of her two cousins Claude and Lily, who 
 stood together inside of the door rather bashfully ; for 
 they had not been in the house long enough to feel 
 much acquainted. 
 
 " Let's swing ! " shouted Molly's brother Willy. 
 " It's splendid this morning out under the trees." 
 
 " Would you like to swing ? " Molly asked of the 
 two guests. " I have to work all the morning on the 
 scrap-book I'm making, or I shall not get it done for 
 
 171
 
 WILLY'S NAUGHTY DAY. 
 
 you to take home to Maudie ; but Willy can show you 
 the swing." 
 
 " I'd rather go with you," said cousin Lily modestly : 
 " I want to see you make it." 
 
 " So would I," said Claude, who did not much like 
 Willy's rough ways. 
 
 " Well," said Molly, " I'd like to have you go. 
 You can swing, Willy, if you like." 
 
 " No, I can't," whined Willy, " unless you come and 
 push me." 
 
 " I can't do that," said Molly. " I can hardly get 
 the book done anyway." 
 
 " Let the old book go," said Willy fretfully. 
 
 "Why, Willy I" said. Molly. "Think of poor little 
 Maudie lying all the time on her bed, and how she 
 will like a nice big picture-book." 
 
 " I don't care," said Willy, pouting. 
 
 Molly said no more, but led the way to her nice 
 little room where the half-finished scrap-book lay open 
 on the table, and cut pictures all around it. She 
 glanced lovingly at her new book, a beautiful one 
 which auntie had brought her, and which she had 
 hardly found time to look at yet. 
 
 " I'll lay this on the table, where I can see it as 
 I work," she said: "that will be next best to read- 
 ing it." 
 
 " It's a real nice story," said Lily. " I told mamma 
 I knew you would like it." 
 
 172
 
 WILLY'S NAUGHTY DAY. 
 
 , " I know I shall," said Molly. " It looks splendid." 
 And she sat down to her work. 
 
 The two cousins looked on a while, selected pictures 
 to suit the pages; and talked about their home, their 
 friends, and their school. They were having a very 
 nice time, when Willy bounced in. 
 
 "Say, Moll, you come and swing me," he began 
 rudely. 
 
 " Why, Willy ! " remonstrated Molly. " What would 
 mother say to see you act so ? You know, she said 
 we must be good." 
 
 " I don't care," said Willy crossly. " I can't have a 
 bit of fun, 'cause you're so hateful." 
 
 Molly blushed for her little brother; and the two 
 cousins felt so ashamed for him, and so sorry for her, 
 that they went and looked out of the window, pretend- 
 ing to be very much interested in something in the 
 street. 
 
 " Will you come ? " shouted Willy. 
 
 " You know I can't," answered Molly. 
 
 "Then I'll smash your old bowl, and scatter the 
 paste all over ! " said he, seizing her new book and a 
 slate, and holding them up threateningly. 
 
 " O Willy ! " cried Molly imploringly, " don't touch 
 my new book! You'll hurt it!" 
 
 " Course I will," said he teasingly, " get it all 
 paste, and spoil the scrap-book." 
 
 "You know mamma'll punish you, Willy, if you 
 
 174
 
 WILLY'S NAUGHTY DAY. 
 
 <lo any mischief," said poor Molly, anxiously looking 
 after ner treasure. 
 
 " Well, here goes," said Willy. " Now I'll give you 
 three chances to save it. 
 
 " One to begin: will you go? " 
 
 " Willy, you know I can't," said Molly. " Now do 
 put that down, and be good." 
 
 " Two to show : will you go ? " 
 
 " No," said Molly. " I'm awfully ashamed of you. 
 What will cousin Claude think of you ? " glancing over 
 to where the cousin still gazed out of the window. 
 
 " Three to make ready" went on Willy. " The last 
 call : will you go ? " 
 
 Molly did not answer. She had no idea that he 
 would dare to do as he threatened, and he did not really 
 mean to : he only meant to scare her, and torment her, 
 till she would give up. 
 
 "Four to go" he went on deliberately, raised the 
 book and slate high, and brought them down with a 
 crash on the table, just avoiding the bowl as he in- 
 tended, but, alas I losing his hold of the slippery book, 
 which fell heavily to the floor. 
 
 " Oh, oh ! my book ! " cried Molly, jumping up, and 
 seizing the beautiful gift. It was nearly a wreck, 
 one corner bent up, and the binding broken loose from 
 the back. 
 
 That was too much for any little girl to endure. 
 Hugging the broken treasure in her arms, Molly
 
 WILLY'S NAUGHfY DA V . 
 
 rushed out of the door and to her mother's room, 
 where she threw herself on to the bed, and cried 
 bitterly. 
 
 Willy sat silent. He was struck with horror at 
 what he had done ; for he only meant to frighten her, 
 and he knew his mother would punish him. Indigna- 
 tion got the better of Claude's diffidence, and he spoke 
 out earnestly, " I think you're the meanest boy I ever 
 saw ; " while " Shame on you I " came even from Lily's 
 gentle lips. 
 
 Willy couldn't stand that : so he went out of the 
 room, and went down to the swing, and tried to make 
 believe he didn't care. 
 
 \Vhe^ Ti^mmp pnH -j'uitie came back, and the chil- 
 Iren came down to lunch, all were very sober. Molly's 
 eyes were red, and her face swollen ; but she did not 
 complain. Willy's whole face was red, and the cousins 
 looked as though they wanted to go home. 
 
 After looking sharply at them a few moments, 
 mamma asked Willy what was the matter ; and he was 
 obliged to tell the whole story, though he softened it 
 as much as he could. Nothing more was said till after 
 lunch, when, as the carriage drove up to take them all 
 to ride, mamma pronounced his sentence. 
 
 " Willy, I'm sorry to punish you while your cousins 
 are here ; but I am obliged to do so. For being 
 naughty, and teasing your sister, you lose your ride 
 this afternoon ; and, for your careless accident to her 
 
 176
 
 A QUEER FAIRY, 
 
 z>ook, you will take money out of your bank, and buy 
 ner a new one just like it. The broken one you can 
 keep to remind you of your naughtiness." 
 
 To lose the ride was dreadful ; but to take so much 
 of his money, carefully saved for months to buy a 
 velocipede with, was a serious grief to Willy, and he 
 never forgot it as long as he lived. 
 
 A QUEER FAIRY. 
 
 " Now, Nora dear," said her mother, " I must go to 
 the village to look after poor Mrs. Jones's broken arm. 
 If you will peel the apples for my pies before I come 
 home, you may pour out father's tea the first night 
 after he comes back." 
 
 Nora's face shone at once with little glimmering 
 smiles. She had been breaking out into smiles for a 
 whole week past, this dear little girl ; and this was the 
 reason. 
 
 For four long years " father " had been sailing out 
 on the great wide sea. Through storms and through 
 sunshine his great ship had been going round the 
 world, and only once in a long time a letter or a 
 message would reach Nora and her mother. 
 
 But one week ago a letter had come to them, say- 
 ing that father was on the way ; that he might any day 
 
 177
 
 A QUEER FAIRY. 
 
 reach home. There was a great jubilee after that. 
 Day by day they watched for him ; and every night 
 they said, " Perhaps he will come to-morrow." 
 
 So Nora was very much pleased at the thought of 
 pouring out father's tea on the first night of his 
 coming. She sat down on mother's chair by the 
 dresser, and took the great bowl of apples in her lap ; 
 but I am very sure she never once thought of the pies
 
 A QUEER FAIRY. 
 
 they were to make. First she began thinking of father 
 and how much she loved him. Then, because the 
 afternoon sun shone so pretty and bright, she fell to 
 thinking of green woods, and flowers, and the fairies 
 in her story-books. 
 
 " How I wish one would come now ! " said Nora to 
 herself : " she would have on a forlorn red petticoat, I 
 suppose, and lean on a stick, to make me think she was 
 old and poor." 
 
 Nora broke into a happy little laugh. 
 
 " Then she would ask me for a drink of water, or a 
 crust of bread ; and if I said, ' Go away, and don't 
 bother,' or threw an apple-skin at her, she would make 
 toads and all sorts of ugly things come after me." 
 
 Click, click, went the gate-latch ; and a man came 
 hurrying up the road. 
 
 " And if I said, ' Oh, yes, dear dame ! ' " Nora went 
 on to herself, " and ran to get her a drink, and a slice 
 of bread and butter, she would turn into a beautiful 
 lady, and make me ride in a carriage." 
 
 Rap, rap, at the door. Nora cried out, " Come in," 
 almost thinking to see the queer little old woman in a 
 red-flannel petticoat : only she remembered how mother 
 had told her there were no fairies, and God was better 
 than even the best of the beautiful fairy ladies she 
 loved to read about. 
 
 A rough-looking man opened the door, and stood 
 with his hat in his hand. " Day, miss," he said. 
 
 179
 
 A QUEER FAIRY. 
 
 "There's a man fallen faint just down by the road 
 yonder, sun-stroke, like enough. Wish you'd come 
 along, and bring some brandy, and let us fetch him up 
 here a bit. It's about as nigh as anywheres." 
 
 "Oh, dear!" sighed Nora, "I wish"- She 
 was going to say, " I wish you would take him a 
 little farther on, to Mrs. Peterson's." "How ever 
 will my apples get done?" she thought to herself; 
 "and father may come to-night, and I can't pour the 
 tea." 
 
 Just then a little verse that she had learned once in 
 sabbath school came into her mind : " Be ye, therefore, 
 merciful." She rose then, put down her apples, and 
 went to the cupboard for the brandy. " Mother isn't 
 home," she said : " but I guess you can bring him up ; 
 and I will go with you, if you like." 
 
 So they went out together in the sweet afternoon 
 sunshine, Nora and the rough, strange man, and 
 Nora carried the brandy. 
 
 There was a little crowd down at the gate, and 
 some people were carrying a man, the man who had 
 been sun-struck, Nora supposed. 
 
 Some one took the brandy from hex, and held it to 
 his lips ; and, a moment after, he opened his eyes. 
 Nora thought she had seen those eyes before; and 
 all at once she gave a great cry, and threw her little 
 arms close, close around him. 
 
 When mother came home, she found this poor man 
 1 80
 
 I HAD A vSWEET LITTLE DOLL. 
 
 lying on her own bed, with the shutters closed and 
 darkened; and Nora sat beside him, with her hand 
 clasped in his, as happy as a little queen, happier, 
 perhaps. 
 
 " O mother, mother ! he has come 1 " she said, cry- 
 ing and laughing together. Mother cried too ; and of 
 course there was a great deal to tell and to hear. But 
 by supper-time father was so much better, that he lay 
 on the sofa while Nora poured tea for him, although 
 the apples were still unpeeled. Nora felt as though a 
 good fairy in red petticoats had really come, and turned 
 out a beautiful lady ; or rather as though God had sent 
 some kind angel to teach her a lesson. 
 
 I HAD A SWEET LITTLE DOLL. 
 
 I ONCE had a sweet little doll, dears, 
 
 The prettiest doll in the world : 
 Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears 1 
 
 And her hair was so charmingly curledl 
 But I lost my poor little doll, dears, 
 
 As I played in the heath one day : 
 And I cried for her more than a week, dears ; 
 
 But I never could find where she lay. 
 181
 
 I HAD A SWEET LITTLE DOLL. 
 
 I found my poor little doll, dears, 
 As I played in the heath one day. 
 
 Folks say she is terribly changed, dears ; 
 For her paint is all washed away, 
 
 And her arm trodden off by the cows, dears, 
 And her hair not the least bit curled : 
 
 Yet for old sakes's sake she is still, dears, 
 The prettiest doll in the world.
 
 HOW THE SWEEP FOUND HE WAS BLACK. 
 
 How THE SWEEP FOUND HE WAS 
 BLACK. 
 
 ONCE upon a time there was a little chimney-sweep, 
 and his name was Tom. That is a short name, and 
 you have heard it before : so you will not have much 
 trouble in remembering it. He lived in a great town 
 in the North country, where there were plenty of chim- 
 neys to sweep, and plenty of money for Tom to earn 
 and his master to spend. He could not read nor write, 
 and did not care to do either ; and he never washed 
 himself, for there was no water up the court where he 
 lived. He had never been taught to say his prayers. 
 He never had heard of God or of Christ, except in 
 words which you never have heard, and which it would 
 have been well if he had never heard. He cried half 
 his time, and laughed the other half. He cried when 
 he had to climb the dark flues, rubbing his poor knees 
 and elbows raw ; and when the soot got into his eyes, 
 which it did every day in the week ; and when his 
 master beat him, which he did every day in the week ; 
 and when he had not enough to eat, which happened 
 every day in the week likewise. And he laughed the 
 other half of the day, when he was tossing halfpennies 
 with the other boys, or playing leap-frog over the 
 
 183
 
 HOW THE SWEEP FOUND HE WAS BLACK. 
 
 posts, or bowling stones at the horses' legs as they 
 trotted by ; which last was excellent fun when there 
 was a wall at hand behind which to hide. As for 
 chimney-sweeping, and being hungry, and being beaten, 
 he took all that for the way of the world, like the rain 
 and snow and thunder, and stood manfully with his 
 back to it till it was over, as his old donkey did to a 
 hail-storm, and then shook his ears, and was as jolly 
 as ever. 
 
 One day a smart little groom rode into the court 
 where Tom lived. Tom was just hiding behind a wall 
 to throw half a brick at his horse's legs, as is the cus- 
 tom of that country when they welcome strangers ; but 
 the groom saw him, and hallooed to him to know where 
 Mr. Grimes the chimney-sweep lived. Now, Mr. 
 Grimes was Tom's own master ; and Tom was a good 
 man of business, and always civil to customers : so he 
 put the half-brick down quietly behind the wall, and 
 proceeded to take orders. 
 
 Mr. Grimes was to come up the next morning to 
 Sir John Harthover's at the place ; for his old chimney- 
 sweep was gone to prison, and the chimneys wanted 
 sweeping. 
 
 Now, I dare say you never got up at three o'clock 
 on a midsummer morning. Some people get up then 
 because they want to catch salmon ; and some because 
 they want to climb Alps ; and a great many more 
 because they must, like Tom. 
 
 184
 
 HOW THE SWEEP FOUND HE WAS BLACK. 
 
 So he and his master set out. Grimes rode the 
 donkey in front ; and Tom and the brushes walked 
 behind, out of the court and up the street, past the 
 closed window-shutters, and the winking weary police- 
 men, and the roofs all shining gray in the gray dawn. 
 
 On they went ; and Tom looked and looked, for 
 he had never been so far into the country before, and 
 longed to get over a gate and pick buttercups, and 
 look for birds' nests in the hedge ; but Mr. Grimes was 
 a man of business, and would never hear to that. 
 
 And now they had gone three miles and more, and 
 came to Sir John's lodge-gates. But Tom and his 
 master did not go in through the great iron gates as if 
 they had been dukes or bishops, but round the back 
 way, and a very long way round it was, and into a 
 little back-door, where the ash-boy let them in, yawning 
 horribly. And then the housekeeper turned them into 
 a grand room all covered up in sheets of brown paper, 
 and bade them begin, in a lofty and tremendous voice. 
 And so after a whimper or two, and a kick from his 
 master, into the grate Tom went, and up the chimney, 
 while a housemaid staid in the room to watch the 
 furniture. 
 
 How many chimneys Tom swept, I cannot say ; but 
 he swept so many that he got quite tired, and puzzled 
 too, for they were not like the town flues to which he 
 was accustomed. So Tom fairly lost his way in them : 
 not that he cared much for that, though he W2u~ in 
 
 1 86
 
 HOW THE SWEEP FOUND HE WAS BLACK. 
 
 pitchy darkness, for he was as much at home in a 
 chimney as a mole is under ground ; but at last, 
 coming down, as he thought, the right chimney, he 
 came down the wrong one, and found himself standing 
 on the hearth-rug in a room the like of which he had 
 never seen before. 
 
 The room was all dressed in white. The carpet 
 was, all over, gay little flowers ; and the walls were 
 hung with pictures in gilt frames, which amused Tom 
 very much. 
 
 Under the snow-white coverlet, upon the snow- 
 white pillow, lay the most beautiful little girl that 
 Tom had ever seen. Her cheeks were almost as white 
 as the pillow, and her hair was like threads of gold 
 spread all about over the bed. 
 
 " She never could have been dirty," thought Tom to 
 himself. And then he thought, " And are all people 
 like that when they are washed ? " and he looked at his 
 own wrist, and tried to rub the soot off, and wondered 
 whether it ever would come off. " Certainly I should 
 look much prettier then, if I grew at all like her." 
 
 And, looking round, he suddenly saw, standing close 
 to him, a little ugly, black, ragged figure, with bleared 
 eyes and grinning white teeth. He turned on it 
 angrily. What did such a little black ape want in that 
 sweet young lady's room ? And, behold ! it was him- 
 self, reflected in a great mirror, the like of which Ton* 
 had never seen before. 
 
 IS"
 
 FATHER'S PORTRAIT. 
 
 And Tom, for the first time in his life, found out 
 that he was dirty, and burst into tears with shame and 
 angei. 
 
 FATHER'S PORTRAIT. 
 
 " FATHER, let me paint your portrait ; ah, do I " said 
 George. " How is one ever to become a great artist, if 
 one does not try ? " 
 
 " George wants to use his Christmas-present," cried 
 Dick : " he's been glued to that old easel ever since 
 Monday morning. And would you believe it, father, 
 he's even painted the baby, and the old yellow hen ; and 
 now he wants to practise on you." Dick fell to laugh- 
 ing so hard, that he rolled over and over on the floor. 
 
 " Nothing can be done without trying, my boy," 
 said mother. 
 
 " Patience and perseverance have made many a 
 fortune," said grandma gently. 
 
 But father still turned over the newspaper, with no 
 word of encouragement. 
 
 " Please come and sit, father," said George good- 
 humoredly. 
 
 " I'm sitting very comfortably, thank you," said 
 father. 
 
 " But come to the studio," said George, " and sit for 
 your picture." 
 
 1 88
 
 FATHER'S PORTRAIT. 
 
 The " studio " was a store-closet in the attic, with a 
 north window, where mother had allowed George to 
 settle for a time. 
 
 "The studio! ^ ha, ha 1 " laughed Dick. "I 
 guess I'll go down to my summer-parlor > and hoe corn." 
 
 But father was carried off, newspaper and all, and 
 seated on a very hard chair which had only three legs, 
 and which had to be propped up by a kindly old trunk. 
 But father didn't mind, so long as he kept his paper. 
 
 " Now turn your head a little to the left," said 
 George. 
 
 " All right, my son." 
 
 " And, father, if you would only cock your hair up 
 a little more on the forehead." 
 
 Father rubbed his hair over the bald spot into 
 quite a fine little top-knot. 
 
 " Father," said George in five minutes more, " I 
 think if you smiled a little, just a very little, you know, 
 and opened your eyes, we might get along better." 
 
 So father smiled a great deal, and opened his eyes 
 as wide as he could. 
 
 " It's going to be a great success," said George. 
 
 " Glad of it," said father ; " for I really must go in 
 five minutes." 
 
 Of course no artist could really finish a portrait in 
 such a very short time ; but George allowed father to 
 show the picture at the dinner-table, after he had 
 touched it up a little. 
 
 IQO
 
 FATHER'S PORTRAIT. 
 
 "Is that father ?" cried sister Kate as the picture 
 passed around. " He looks as if his brain had been 
 set to rise. If mother's dough worked in that way, 
 we'd look for sour bread." 
 
 " He does look a little as if he had a bad fever," 
 said mother. " Perhaps the air of the studio didn't 
 agree with him." 
 
 " Why, father ! " cried Dick, " you look as slippery 
 and sweet as if you had been living on honey and 
 lard ! " 
 
 Mother saw the tears gathering in George's eyes ; 
 and she said very kindly, 
 
 " I think George improves. It really seems to me 
 this is better than the old yellow hen." 
 
 " George shall have lessons," said father. " He'll 
 make an artist yet ; for he knows how to persevere." 
 
 George had lessons in painting, and he loved to 
 paint more and more. He always had liked it, even 
 before he knew how. His patience and perseverance 
 were so great, that in five years he painted a portrait of 
 father which even sister Kate was proud to hang in 
 the front parlor. 
 
 191
 
 TWO FAMILIES. 
 
 Two FAMILIES. 
 
 ONCE there was a quiet and well-behaved family, 
 that lived in a comfortable barn-yard. 
 
 Top-Knot, the head of the family, was a fine, hand- 
 some fellow, a little vain of his bright colors, and 
 particularly of his long tail-feathers, which he carried 
 behind him in a graceful curve. 
 
 But he was faithful in his duties. He never failed 
 to cry " Cockadoodledoo " at the proper times. 
 
 No matter how tired and sleepy he was, he always 
 crowed at midnight. The hens of the family were the 
 very nicest of hens. 
 
 Speckle had the prettiest brood of chickens in the 
 world, little soft, downy things ; some of them 
 speckled like herself, and some bright yellow like a 
 canary. 
 
 Silver- Wing was a good-hen too. She laid a fresh 
 egg every day, and sang " Cutcutcadarcut " as loud as 
 any one. And there was Yellow- Leg, a pretty pullet ; 
 and many more. 
 
 Twice a day the farmer's wife called " Biddy, biddy, 
 biddy 1 " They all lost no time in running to meet 
 her ; and she spread them a nice dinner of corn or meal 
 
 192
 
 TWO FAMILIES. 
 
 on the smooth glass, and they had a sociable time eat- 
 ing it and talking; about it. 
 
 They were a little dissatisfied with their hen-house, 
 
 " I am afraid i^ is not safe, my dears," said Top- 
 Knot. " I heard once of a fox who got into a hen- 
 house at night, and killed some one; and I im sure 
 a fox could get in here, if he wished to." 
 
 " Goodness ! " said Yellow- Leg : " what a terrible 
 thing to happen 1 " 
 
 Speckle had a strong coop for herself and her 
 chickens : so she was not afraid of a fox. 
 
 " I must speak to Rover about it," said Top-Knot, 
 " the next time I meet him." 
 
 He met him that day. 
 
 " Rover," said he, " did you ever hear of such a 
 thing as a fox ? " 
 
 " Fox, indeed I " said Rover, and he smacked his 
 lips. " Some think a watch-dog knows nothing about 
 a fox ; but show me one, and I'll show you what I- have 
 to say to him." 
 
 " But, Rover," said Top-Knot, " did you ever hear 
 of a fox in a hen-house ? " 
 
 " Show me a fox in a hen-house, and I'll be the 
 death of him," said Rover. 
 
 " Look at this place," said Top- Knot. " Any fox 
 could get in, if he had a mind to." 
 
 " You're right," replied Rover. " He could indeed." 
 
 "What's to be done about it? "asked Top-Knot
 
 TWO FAMILIES. 
 
 " I can't mend it. What is master thinking of, that he 
 leaves us so unprotected ? Something will happen, I 
 am sure." 
 
 J I don't know of any fox round here," said Rover. 
 - I've hunted and hunted. I'll tell you. You know 
 where I sleep, under the steps. If you hear any thing 
 around in the night, just call to me. I shall hear you. 
 I always hear you crowing away when every one's 
 asleep. What do you do that for, pray ? " 
 
 " I do it," said Top-Knot with dignity, " because 
 some one must do it, and I feel that I am the one." 
 
 Rover was called away then, and Top-Knot went 
 back to his family. 
 
 " Rover has promised to take care of us, my dears ; 
 so you can sleep in peace," said he. 
 
 Not far away, on the hillside, lived another family, 
 not so quiet or well-behaved, a fox and her six 
 little ones. She was a handsome red fox, with a 
 splendid bushy tail, and black tips to her ears ; and she 
 had very bright eyes, and could see in the dark. 
 
 Her little ones were dear little soft things ; but they 
 had sharp teeth, and would have bitten you, 1 think, if 
 you had touched them. 
 
 They were hungry little things too. Nobody ever 
 called them to their dinners and suppers, arid spread 
 nice food before them on the grass. Their poor mother 
 >ad to bring them every thing they ate, in her mouth ; 
 
 IQ4
 
 TWO FAMILIES. 
 
 and sometimes it was at the risk of her life : for if a 
 dog saw her, or even thought he scented a fox in the 
 air, he would call all the dogs in the country ; and they 
 would make such a touse, that she would be lucky if 
 she ever saw her little ones again. 
 
 "I must go out to-night and get something for 
 these poor things," said the fox to herself. " Farmer 
 Green has plenty of fat chickens : I should think he 
 might spare one now and then." So, when the quiet 
 night came, out stole the fox. She ran quickly over 
 fields and roads till she came near Farmer Green's 
 hen-house. All was still. Rover slept well. She 
 crept along to the hen-house, and stepped softly in, and 
 there saw a sight that made her mouth water, Top- 
 Knot and three or four fat hens in a row, sound asleep 
 on the roost. 
 
 " What a supper for my pets I " said she as she 
 gazed at them. " How shall I get one ? I must catch 
 him by those long feathers ; for I can't reach his throat." 
 
 She stood some time on her hind-legs, with one 
 paw on a cask, thinking if there was any better plan, 
 and at last made a spring at Top-Knot's tail-feathers. 
 
 But what an outcry he made 1 She fled in terror, 
 and never stopped till she was safe in her burrow ; for 
 she heard Rover's voice, and knew he was waked by 
 the clamor, and would soon be there. 
 
 He was on the spot the next moment. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said he. 
 196
 
 CARRIE'S PICNIC. 
 
 " Matter enough," replied Top-Knot. " I'm more 
 dead than alive. Something gave a terrible pull at my 
 feathers ; and it's a wonder I have any left." 
 
 " Nothing to be seen," said Rover. " You dreamed 
 it." 
 
 " Never 1 " said Top-Knot. " Wait till daylight, and 
 then see." 
 
 The next morning Farmer Green came to find what 
 caused the disturbance. 
 
 " Aha 1 a fox has been here ! " said he. " I must 
 mend this old hen-house before night." 
 
 And he did, to be sure. 
 
 When the fox mustered courage to come again, she 
 could not get in. 
 
 " That rogue of a farmer hasn't left a crack big 
 enough for me to put my nose through," said she. 
 " Never rnind," she added as she trotted home empty- 
 mouthed : " they're tough old things, I'll be bound." 
 
 CARRIE'S PICNIC. 
 
 IT was Saturday morning, and mother was very, 
 busy ; for there were pies and cake to make, and a 
 great plum-pudding for Sunday. Carrie was to stone 
 the raisins, and beat the eggs, and shell the peas, and 
 any other odd duties which her little hands might do 
 Little hands are very useful sometimes. 
 
 197
 
 CARRIE'S PICNIC. 
 
 Carrie had always liked to be mother's little helper; 
 but to-day the girls were going on a picnic to the pine- 
 woods, and how she wanted to be with them ! 
 
 " I'd like to let you go, my dear," said her mother ; 
 "but I have too much on hand. Besides, your own 
 gloves are out at the fingers, and I don't think you 
 have more than two buttons on your Sunday shoes." 
 
 Carrie pouted, and looked very cross. " I think it's 
 real mean," she said to herself. " I could go just as 
 well as not." 
 
 Carrie was stoning the raisins when the little girls 
 went by ; but we may as well confess that a good many 
 naughty little seeds were left for people's teeth to crack 
 in the Sunday pudding. 
 
 "Oh, dear! there they go," she sighed, with her 
 little face as cross as you can imagine: "ain't they 
 having good times ? " 
 
 Just then there came a great cry from the nursery, 
 which told mother that baby was in trouble. 
 
 " No one is quite so important as that baby," 
 thought cross little Carrie as mother threw down her 
 cake-pans and ran up stairs. 
 
 Then a naughty thought came to her. The girls 
 were only a little past the house : she would walk with 
 them just a little ways, and make believe she was 
 going on a picnic too. Out she ran in the hot sun, and 
 she saw the sun-bonnets and the baskets bobbing up 
 and down just at the turning of the road. She had 
 
 198
 
 CARRIE'S PICNIC. 
 
 no time to stop for a bonnet or a basket ; but she ran 
 shouting after them. 
 
 "Why, there's Carrie!" they cried. "Are you 
 coming, Cad?" 
 
 " Just a little ways," said Carrie stiffly. 
 
 But they seemed so glad to have her, that in two 
 minutes she was quite as merry as they ; and they went 
 along laughing, and picking flowers, until Carrie had 
 quite forgotten the raisins and the peas, and the holes 
 in her Sunday gloves. 
 
 " Oh, isn't it nice ! " cried they all. 
 
 But just then a great drove of cows came along the 
 road behind them. Meek, harmless old cows they 
 were ; but they seemed very fierce and savage to the 
 little girls. They all began to run, and they all ran in 
 different ways, until, the first thing she knew, Carrie 
 found herself all alone in a field of grass that was 
 away above her head. There were no cows near her ; 
 but she roused some angry bumble-bees, which stung 
 her cruelly on both her cheeks. Carrie cried and cried, 
 and wished herself back stoning raisins again. 
 
 " I'll mind mother next time," she said. " God must 
 think I'm very naughty." 
 
 " Poor dear mother, working so hard all alone ! " she 
 sobbed as she went trudging up the dusty road about 
 two o'clock, and crept shyly into the kitchen. 
 
 " Well, Carrie, my child," said mother. 
 
 " I didn't mean to stay so long," sobbed Carrie. " I 
 200
 
 A MISERABLE MAN. 
 
 forgot, and I'm awful sorry. The cows scared us so 1 
 O mother I " 
 
 Carrie ran into mother's arms. She couldn't have 
 been more sorry than she was when mother kissed 
 ner. 
 
 " I am very tired, Carrie," she said ; " and little 
 orother has had a bad fall, and is quite sick. You 
 shall go up and sit with him, and think of what you 
 have done." 
 
 As Carrie thought and thought, she almost wished 
 mother had whipped her. It seemed to make it so 
 much worse to think that mother was so sorry too ! 
 
 " I never, never want to go on another picnic again 
 as long as I live," thought Carrie, "if mother will 
 only forgive me." 
 
 A MISERABLE MAN. 
 
 ONCE upon a time there was a boy who cared for 
 nothing but money. Every bit of iron he saw, and 
 every old rag, he would pick up, and hide away in 
 holes and hiding-places around his father's house, till 
 he had enough to sell to some junk-man, and get a few 
 pennies. These he would hide away in the garret, 
 under a board he had loosened in the floor. 
 
 Though he hated work, if one offered him a few 
 cents for doing any thing no matter how hard or 
 
 201
 
 A MISERABLE MAN. 
 
 how dirty he would do it at once, and eagerly grab 
 the pay, and add it to his hoard in the garret. At 
 night, when he lay in his bed, he would be making 
 plans to get money ; and in the day-time, when he 
 walked about, his eyes were always on the ground, 
 eagerly hunting around to find something by which he 
 could get a few cents. 
 
 He was always making sharp bargains with the 
 boys ; and he soon became so eager to add pennies to 
 his box, that he learned to cheat them and trick them : 
 so, very soon, they would not trade with him. And as 
 he grew older, and lost his interest in every thing but 
 money, the boys left off playing with him ; and at last 
 he got to be a strange, lonely boy. 
 
 He never saw any of the beauty of the world. He 
 never saw the blue sky, because his eyes were always 
 in the dirt, hunting pennies. The beautiful flowers 
 and the grand trees he never looked at. The birds 
 sang unheard, the brook gurgled over the stones, 
 the leaves rustled in the breeze ; and he might as well 
 have been deaf. Money, money, money! was all his 
 thought. 
 
 This boy grew into a miserable man, or what we 
 have shortened into miser. He lost all his friends ; for 
 who can love one who thinks of nothing but gold? 
 When his hiding-place in the attic was full, he sewed 
 the money into his clothes, and started out in the world ; 
 for he was now almost a man, and his father who 
 
 202
 
 A MISERABLE MAN. 
 
 was an honest worker refused to feed him any longer, 
 since he would neither work, nor pay for his food. 
 
 He went to a large city ; and there he traded and 
 hoarded, and starved and nearly froze, till he gathered 
 together a large amount of gold, and had warehouses 
 and clerks, and carried on a large business. But, 
 though he grew richer and richer, he still lived in a 
 rickety tumble-down building that the owner had 
 deserted, to save paying rent ; and his only pleasure 
 in life was to handle and count his gold. 
 
 Miserable wretch 1 with no comforts, no friends, no 
 home ; nothing in the wide, beautiful world to love but 
 gold ; nothing to fear but that some one will steal it. 
 
 See him as he hears the rough boards that serve 
 for a blind falling under the hands of some other man 
 who loves gold ! See the horror in his greedy face ! 
 See the panic with which he stuffs the yellow idol into 
 his bag! 
 
 See the narrow, mean-souled, unhappy wretch, who 
 never did a generous or useful deed in his life ; who 
 has not a friend to shed a tear for him ; who has given 
 the whole world, with its beauty and love and happi- 
 ness, to collect a pile of gold which other people will 
 scatter when he can no longer hold it 1 
 
 To desire and work for money for the good it can 
 do, and the beautiful things it can bring to those we 
 love, is right and honorable ; but to love it for its own 
 sake, merely to collect a vast pile of it, either to handle 
 
 204
 
 THE BIRD'S WEEK. 
 
 in secret like this miser, or to make people stare, 
 makes one mean and narrow, and puts him in danger 
 of becoming like this dreadful picture, a miserable 
 wretch. 
 
 THE BIRD'S "WEEK. 
 
 " OH I where have you been, my birdie bright? 
 Oh ! where have you been since Saturday night 
 What have you seen, and what have you heard ? 
 Oh 1 where have you been, my darling bird ? " 
 
 " Monday I hopped on the woodbine bower 
 And sucked the honey from many a flower ; 
 From bush to bush, from tree to tree, 
 Raced with the butterfly and the bee. 
 Then next to the milkmaid's side I flew, 
 As she went out in the morning dew. 
 She milked steadily ; I sat by : 
 She sang merrily ; so did I. 
 I laughed a little, though sang the while, 
 When she and the pail fell over the stile. 
 
 " Tuesday it rained : so I took to the barn, 
 And perched on a beam to be safe from harm. 
 A large black cat came up to my side : 
 His eyes were keen, his claws were wide. 
 205
 
 THE BIRD'S WEEK. 
 
 He looked at me with a cowering leer, 
 As much as to say, " Come down, my dear ; " 
 But I darted that moment through the air, 
 As much as to say, ' Excuse me, sir.' 
 
 " Wednesday I rose quite stout and bold : 
 
 The flowers were jewels, the sky was gold. 
 
 I revelled in plenty and delight, 
 
 When I thought I heard the scream of a kite ; 
 
 And a poor little dove dropped down and died, 
 
 With spots of blood on its milk-white side. 
 
 Twas a pitiful sight, I cannot deny ; 
 
 But I whispered, ' Much rather the dove than I.' 
 
 '' Thursday I went to view the town ; 
 
 For I would not be thought a country clown. 
 
 No stable-gleanings or stunted tree 
 
 Were meant for free-born birds like me ; 
 
 But the pert young sparrows made themselves so free, 
 
 As to hint that I was not good company, 
 
 Because I uttered a harmless joke 
 
 Of their little black jackets, and smell of smoke. 
 
 " Friday I joined a courtly band 
 Of merry wanderers in the land : 
 The cherries were ripe, the feasts were long, 
 And loud and clear was the thankful song. 
 
 206
 
 THE BIRD'S WEEK. 
 
 A grave old judge would have looked away 
 From a troop of thieves so glad and gay, 
 Unless this judge should prove to be 
 The owner of that same cherry-tree. 
 
 " Saturday I was picking worms at a cottage-door 
 
 A nurse and child were playing before ; 
 
 When I heard the cruel old monster say, 
 
 ' You may have that bird for your dinner to-day : ' 
 
 To catch the bird you will not fail, 
 
 If you take some salt, and put on his tail." 
 
 But, before the boy could turn his eye, 
 
 I was a mile towards the sky. 
 
 " Sunday I made the steeple my perch 
 To watch the people going to church ; 
 And, when they were in, I fluttered about 
 To watch the people coming out. 
 Many nice boys I looked at there, 
 With snow-white collars and shining hair ; 
 But among them all I could not see 
 Any like James or little, brave Ben to me. 
 So now I've come back to the old hall-door, 
 Never to leave James or Ben any more." 
 
 208
 
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