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Title: Brooks's Readers, Third Year
Author: Brooks, Stratton D. (Stratton Duluth), 1869-1949
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Brooks's Readers, Third Year" ***

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                 [Illustration: IN A JAPANESE GARDEN.

                           (See page 178.)]



                           BROOKS'S READERS
                              THIRD YEAR

                                  BY
                          STRATTON D. BROOKS

           SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS



                            [Illustration]



                   NEW YORK ❖ CINCINNATI ❖ CHICAGO

                        AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY



                         COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY
                        AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY.
                       COPYRIGHT, 1907, TOKYO.

                    BROOKS'S READERS. THIRD YEAR.



                               CONTENTS


                                                                  PAGE

  The Magic Windows                                                 11

  The Land of Story Books       _Robert Louis Stevenson_            16

  O Big, Round World            _Alice C. D. Riley_                 18

  A Wonderful Ball              _Adapted_                           19

  The Great, Wide World         _William Brighty Rands_             21

  Flowers that Tell Time        _Kate L. Brown_                     22

  Dandelion                     _George Cooper_                     24

  The Farmer's Wheat Field      _W. E. Baldwin_                     25

  The Song of the Wheat         _Selected_                          27

  The Song of the Mill Wheel    _Selected_                          29

  The Sky Bridge                _Christina G. Rossetti_             30

  The Apple-tree Mother         _Selected_                          31

  The Diamond Dipper            _An Old Legend_                     39

  Beautiful Things              _David Swing_                       43

  My Country                    _Marie Zetterberg_                  44

  My Own Land Forever           _John G. Whittier_                  44

  Home, Sweet Home              _John Howard Payne_                 45

  Verses for September, October, November                           46
      _Emily Dickinson, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Dora Read Goodale_

  An Autumn Riddle              _Selected_                          48

  Leaves at Play                _Frank D. Sherman_                  48

  Where Go the Boats            _Robert Louis Stevenson_            49

  The Corn Song                 _John G. Whittier_                  50

  Shapes of Leaves              _Adapted_                           52

  Dogs that almost Talk         _Edith Carrington_                  56

  A Little Girl's Fancies       _Selected_                          60

  A Boy's Wishes                _William Allingham_                 61

  Rollo and George              _Jacob Abbott_                      62

  The Farmer's Story            _Jacob Abbott_                      64

  The Dog and his Image         _Æsop_                              68

  Belling the Cat               _Æsop_                              69

  The Dog in the Manger         _Æsop_                              70

  A Wise Indian                 _Adapted_                           70

  Clovernook                                                        73

  The Poet Sisters                                                  76

  Our Homestead                 _Phœbe Cary_                        78

  Suppose                       _Phœbe Cary_                        79

  November                      _Alice Cary_                        81

  Columbus in the New World                                         82

  Columbus returns to Spain                                         85

  Columbus at the Court of Spain                                    87

  The First Thanksgiving        _Marian M. George_                  90

  Thanksgiving Day              _Lydia Maria Child_                 94

  The Snow Baby                 _Josephine D. Peary_                96

  A Snow House                  _Adapted_                          101

  The Northern Seas             _William Howitt_                   104

  Verses for December, January,
      February                  _Mary Mapes Dodge_                 106

  Christmas Everywhere          _Phillips Brooks_                  107

  The Christmas Song            _Selected_                         108

  The New Year                  _Marie Zetterberg_                 110

  How Plants Grow               _Adapted_                          111

  Talking in their Sleep        _Edith M. Thomas_                  115

  A Riddle                      _George Macdonald_                 116

  Snowflakes                    _Frank Dempster Sherman_           117

  Fannie's Menagerie            _"Rainbows for Children"_          118

  How Lambkin White was Saved                                      122

  The Lamb                      _William Blake_                    129

  The Necklace of Truth         _Old Fairy Tales_                  130

  Speak the Truth               _Selected_                         135

  Saint Valentine               _Adapted_                          135

  A Famous Old House                                               138

  Hiawatha's Hunting            _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_       140

  Longfellow with his Children  _Adapted_                          143

  Letter to a Little Girl       _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_       147

  The Open Window               _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_       150

  The Village Blacksmith        _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_       151

  George Washington, the Young Surveyor                            154
      Surveying in the Wilderness                                  156

  Abraham Lincoln               _James Baldwin_
      His New Home                                                 158
      His First Great Sorrow                                       163

  Hana and Tora
      Their Home                                                   167
      Their Festival Days                                          173

  Verses for March, April, May                                     178
      _Dora R. Goodale, Thomas Bailey Aldrich_

  An Easter Song                _Mary A. Lathbury_                 179

  The Song of the Poppy Seed    _E. Nesbit_                        180

  Clovers                       _Helena L. Jelliffe_               181

  Who Told the News?            _Selected_                         182

  Air                           _Worthington Hooker_               183

  The Unseen Giant                                                 185

  What Robin Told               _George Cooper_                    190

  A Bird's Education            _Olive Thorne Miller_              191

  How Birds Learn to Sing       _Mary Mapes Dodge_                 196

  The Greatest of Beasts                                           197

  The Story of Giant Sun        _Mary Proctor_                     202

  Summer Sun                    _Robert Louis Stevenson_           205

  The Story of Phaethon         _Greek Myths_                      206

  A Sunflower Story             _Greek Myths_                      210

  Wynken, Blynken, and Nod      _Eugene Field_                     212

  Rosa Bonheur                  _Adapted_
      A Little Girl who Loved Animals                              214
      A Little Girl who Painted Animals                            217
      A Great Artist                                               220

  When Benjamin Franklin was a
      Boy                       _Adapted_                          225

  A Weaving Story               _Adapted_                          229

  America                       _Samuel Francis Smith_             234

  A Song for Flag Day           _Lydia Coonley Ward_               235

  Verses for June, July, August                                    236

  The Seasons. The Months                                          237

  For the Girls                 _Charles Kingsley_                 238

  For the Boys                  _Selected_                         238

  What would I Do?              _Selected_                         239


  PRONOUNCING KEY AND WORD LIST                                    241



                           ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


The selections from the writings of Henry W. Longfellow, Thomas Bailey
Aldrich, John G. Whittier, Frank Dempster Sherman, Olive Thorne
Miller, Dora Read Goodale, Lucy Larcom, Alice and Phœbe Cary, are used
by permission of and by special arrangements with Houghton, Mifflin &
Co., the authorized publishers of the writings of these authors.

Special arrangements have also been made with the following publishers
for permission to use selections from their publications: Little,
Brown & Co. for a stanza from Emily Dickinson's poems; The Macmillan
Company for "Clovers," copyright, 1902; Charles Scribner's Sons for
"Wynken, Blynken, and Nod," by Eugene Field, and for a stanza from
"Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge.

Acknowledgments are also due to Silver, Burdett & Company for "Flowers
that tell Time" and "Maple Leaves," from _The Plant Baby and its
Friends_, by Kate Louise Brown, copyright, 1897, and also for a
selection from _Stories of Starland_; to the Century Company for "How
Birds learn to Sing," by Mary Mapes Dodge, from _When Life is Young_;
to F. A. Stokes Company for a selection from _The Snow Baby_, by
Josephine D. Peary, copyright, 1901; to the Biglow & Main Company for
"The Easter Song," from _Little Pilgrim Songs_; to A. Flanagan Company
for "The First Thanksgiving," from _The Plan Book_; to James Baldwin
for "Abraham Lincoln," from _Four Great Americans_; to Alice C. D.
Riley and to Lydia A. C. Ward for selections from their writings.

Acknowledgments are due to Miss Frances Lilian Taylor of Galesburg,
Illinois, and to Mr. W. J. Button of Chicago for valuable assistance
rendered in choosing the selections comprised in this volume.

[Illustration: THE MAGIC WINDOWS.]



                          THE MAGIC WINDOWS


                                  I

Did you ever hear of the Magic Windows? Those who look through them
behold many strange and beautiful sights. If you will but make them
your own, you may enter the fairyland of wonder and see all its rich
treasures.

You ask me how you can do this? I will answer by telling you a story.

There was once a happy boy who played through the long summer days.
And where he played the meadows were green, and the sky was blue, and
the sunshine was bright.

On every side the flowers nodded like smiling playmates. Birds chirped
to him from the bushes. The rabbits gave him a friendly look as they
went leaping by. The squirrels watched him with bright eyes as they
ran up and down the trees.

A little brook flowed through the meadows. On its sandy bed the happy
boy found bright pebbles. His toy ships sailed proudly upon its waves or
rested in the quiet harbors along its banks. Tiny fishes darted from
their hiding places to eat the crumbs which he threw into the water.

"I wonder where the brook goes," said the happy boy. "I should like to
follow it and see. How I wish the school bell would never call me from
my play! I would rather sail my boat than learn to read, and I like
the rabbits and squirrels better than my books."


                                 II.

  harbor   magic     curious   spun
  crumbs   delight   slumber   cubs

The little brook heard the boy's words as it went flowing by. On its
way to the great river it ran through a forest where fairyland was
hidden. There it told the fairies of the happy boy and of his wishes.

By and by the sun went down and playtime ended. Night came, and the
Shut-eye train carried the boy far away to the Land of Slumber.

There a wise fairy met the happy boy. "Come with me," she said, "and I
will let you look through Magic Windows into a land of wonders."

[Illustration]

Through the Magic Windows the boy looked with delight. All the things
that he had ever wished to see were before him. There were the hiding
places of the wild birds. There were the animals that live in the
fields and in the woods.

[Illustration]

He could look into the birds' nests that hung on the tallest trees. He
could peep into the holes where the squirrels kept their little ones.

He could see the mole digging long halls under ground. He could watch
the spider as it spun the silk for its curious house.

Rabbits were hiding their young in the long grass, and little foxes
were playing by their rocky dens.

He could even see the bear's cubs curled up like balls in the hollow
trunks of trees.


                                 III.

  seal   reindeer   monkeys     crept
  huge   dashing    elephants   hollow

"Look to the north," said the fairy.

And then the happy boy looked away over the great round world. He saw
strange lands and strange people. Far off in the north he could see
the land of snow and ice. There were the homes of the seal, the
reindeer, and the white bear.

[Illustration]

Children dressed in fur crept out of snow houses. They went dashing
over the snow in sleds drawn by dogs.

Again the happy boy looked, and the wonder lands of the south lay
before him. Gay flowers blossomed everywhere. Bright-colored birds
found a safe home in the great forest.

[Illustration]

He could see the lion and his mate in their home. Hundreds of monkeys
played in the branches of the trees. Tigers ran through the tall
grass, and huge elephants pushed their way among the trees and bushes.

Once more the happy boy looked through the Magic Windows, and oh, how
wonderful! He could see into fairy land where animals talk, and where
the playthings are alive.

"Oh, kind fairy, let me stay here," said the happy boy. "I can not
leave this land of wonders."

"Would you like to have the Magic Windows for your own?" asked the
fairy. "Then listen well. When the school bell rings, it will call you
to the land of books. Through the Magic Windows of your books you may
see greater wonders than fairies can tell or fairy land can show."

Another day came with the rising sun. Once more the school bell rang.
Gladly the happy boy left his play, for in his books he would find the
Magic Windows.



                       THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS


      At evening, when the lamp is lit,
      Around the fire my parents sit;
      They sit at home and talk and sing,
      And do not play at anything.

      Now, with my little gun, I crawl,
      All in the dark along the wall,
      And follow round the forest track
      Away behind the sofa back.

      There in the night, where none can spy,
      All in my hunter's camp I lie,
      And play at books that I have read.
      Till it is time to go to bed.

      These are the hills, these are the woods,
      These are my starry solitudes;
      And there the river by whose brink
      The roaring lions come to drink.

      I see the others far away,
      As if in firelit camp they lay,
      And I, like to an Indian scout,
      Around their party prowled about.

      So, when my nurse comes in for me,
      Home I return across the sea,
      And go to bed with backward looks
      At my dear Land of Story Books.
                     --ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.



[Illustration]

      O, big round world, O, wide, wide world,
          How wonderful you are.
      Your oceans are so very deep,
          Your hills reach up so far;
      Down through your valleys wide and green,
          Such mighty rivers flow;
      Upon your great sky-reaching hills,
          Such giant forests grow.--ALICE C. D. RILEY.

  By permission of John Church Company,
        owners of the copyright.



                           A WONDERFUL BALL


  rough   surface   stretches   drifts
  level   islands   feathery    dreary

I have heard of a wonderful ball which floats in the sweet blue air,
and has soft white clouds about it as it floats along.

There are many charming stories to be told about this wonderful ball.
Some of them you shall hear.

It is so large that many houses are built upon it. Men and women live
upon it, and little children can play upon its surface.

In some places it is soft and green, like the long meadows between the
hills. In other parts there are trees for miles and miles on every
side. All kinds of wild animals live in the great forests that grow on
this wonderful ball.

Then again in some places it is steep and rough. And there are mountains
so high that the snow lies upon their tops all the year around.

In other parts there are no hills at all, but level land, and quiet
little ponds of blue water. There the white water lilies grow and
fishes play among the lily stems.

Now, if we look on another side of the ball, we shall see no ponds,
but something very dreary. A great plain of sand stretches away on
every side. There are no trees, and the sunshine beats down upon the
burning sand.

We look again, and we see a great body of water. Many islands are in
the sea, and great ships sail upon it.

Look at one more side of this ball as it turns around. Jack Frost must
have spent all his longest winter nights here. For see what a palace
of ice he has built for himself.

How cold it looks! See the clear, blue ice, almost as blue as the sky.
And look at the snow, drifts upon drifts, and the feathery flakes
filling the air.

Now, what do you think of this ball, so white and cold, so warm and
green, so dreary and rough, as it floats along in the sweet blue air,
with the flocks of white clouds about it?

I will tell you one thing more. The wise men have said that this earth
on which we live is just such a ball. We shall know more about this
when we are older and wiser.



                        THE GREAT, WIDE WORLD


      Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful world,
      With the wonderful water round you curled,
      And the wonderful grass upon your breast--
      World, you are beautifully dressed.

      The wonderful air is over me,
      And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree;
      It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,
      And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.

      You friendly earth, how far do you go,
      With the wheat fields that nod and the rivers that flow,
      With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles,
      And people upon you for thousands of miles?
                        --WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS.



                        FLOWERS THAT TELL TIME


  sign    remained    refreshing   curls
  jolly   nightgown   clambered    porch

Down in the grass plot of a pretty garden grew a little dandelion. He
wore a green jacket, and his head was covered with sunny, yellow curls.

[Illustration]

In the morning, he stood up boldly, lifting his jolly little face to
catch the dewdrops. In this way he took his morning bath, and he found
it very refreshing. At dusk he put on his green nightgown and went to
bed very early.

The mothers said, as they called the children from their play, "See,
there is the good dandelion! He knows when it is time to go to bed."

As the dandelion grew older, his yellow curls turned white. Then the
children would blow--one, two, three times. If all the hairs blew
away, it was a sign that mother wanted them at once.

[Illustration]

If there were ten hairs left, the children said, "Mother wants us at
ten o'clock." If but two hairs remained, they said, "Mother will look
for us at two o'clock."

When the children awoke in the morning, they saw the morning-glory
cups peeping in at the windows. "Six o'clock! Time to get up!" they
said. "The morning glories are calling us."

Every afternoon the four-o'clocks bloomed. Their red and white flowers
told the children that their father would soon be home.

In the evening the moon flowers unfolded their great white blossoms on
the vines that clambered over the porch. "Now it is bedtime," said
the children, "for the moon flowers are looking down at us."

All day long the time flowers, like our clocks, are telling us the
time of day.

                                           --KATE LOUISE BROWN.



                              DANDELION


      Dandelion, dandelion,
        Where's your cup of gold?
      Where's your jacket green and trim
        That you wore of old?
      Then you nodded to the birds
        In a jaunty way,
      And you danced to every tune
        The breeze could play.

      Dandelion, dandelion,
        Age comes creeping on,
      And your wig is snowy white,
        Golden locks are gone;
      But you've had a merry time
        Since your days began,
      And even now you're a cheery,
        Blithe old man.
                          --GEORGE COOPER.



                       THE FARMER'S WHEAT FIELD


  stalk   threshed   breeze     flour
  plump   healthy    bearded    grain
  forth   neighbor   thousand   cheer

There was once a stalk of wheat that grew in the middle of a field. It
was very tall and it lifted its head high and nodded in the wind.

[Illustration]

All around it were a thousand other stalks not quite so tall. Every
one was looking up at the sun and bowing to its neighbor, and saying,
"Good morning."

"How bright and golden we are!" said the tall stalk; "and how
beautiful we look, standing together like a great army of soldiers!
The sun shines to cheer us. And when the gentle rains fall, how sweet
and refreshing they are!"

"Yes, yes!" said the other stalks, waving back and forth in the
morning breeze. "All the world is very kind to us. We have nothing to
do but to live and grow and become bright and golden like the sun."

"Ah," said the tall stalk. "It is true that we must live and grow and
become yellow and golden. But after that, there must be something else
for us to do."

The very next day the farmer came into the fields to look at his
wheat. He took some of the bearded heads and rubbed them between his
hands. They were full of plump, round, golden grains.

"What fine flour these will make, and what good bread for little
Alice," he said. "The wheat is fully ripe and it must be cut at once."

Then all the golden-headed stalks waved back and forth in the wind.
"Now we understand it all," they whispered. "It is for the sake of the
farmer's fair little girl that we are here.

"She must live and grow and be healthy and beautiful. There is
nothing that can help her to do this so well as good bread made from
the best of wheat."

Very soon the golden stalks were cut. The wheat was threshed and
ground into the finest of flour. And then the flour was baked into
fresh, white loaves of bread.

But little Alice did not know that her bread was made of the wheat
that she had seen growing in the big field where the daisies bloomed.

                                             --W. E. BALDWIN.



                        THE SONG OF THE WHEAT


      Back of the bread is the snowy flour;
        Back of the flour is the mill;
      Back of the mill the growing wheat
        Nods on the breezy hill;
      Over the wheat is the glowing sun
        Ripening the heart of the grain;
      Above the sun is the gracious God,
        Sending the sunlight and rain.

[Illustration: THE OLD MILL WHEEL.]



                      THE SONG OF THE MILL WHEEL


        Round and round it goes,
        As fast as water flows,--
      The dripping, dropping, rolling wheel
      That turns the noisy, dusty mill.
        Round and round it goes,
        As fast as water flows.

        Turning all the day,
        It never stops to play,--
      The dripping, dropping, rolling wheel
      That keeps on grinding golden meal.
        Turning all the day,
        It never stops to play.

        Sparkling in the sun,
        The merry waters run
      Upon the foaming, flashing wheel
      That laugheth loud, but worketh still.
        Sparkling in the sun,
        The merry waters run.
                                 --SELECTED.


[Illustration]

      Boats sail on the rivers,
      Ships sail on the seas,
          But the clouds that sail across the sky
          Are prettier far than these.

[Illustration]

      There are bridges on the rivers,
      As pretty as you please,
          But the bow that bridges heaven,
          And overtops the trees,
          And builds a bridge from earth to sky
          Is prettier far than these.  Christina G. Rossetti.



                        THE APPLE-TREE MOTHER


                                  I.

  reason   mischief    pasture   couch
  bitter   exclaimed   sloping   steam

The old apple tree had stood in the corner of the pasture for so many
years that no one could tell when it was planted.

[Illustration]

It was a friendly old tree. Under its branches men and animals found
pleasant shade. In the spring it gave blossoms to all that came, and
in the fall it dropped apples at their feet.

The apple tree was easy to climb, as Dick well knew. From its top he
could see the sloping hillside and the little brook that flowed
through the pasture. Indeed, he spent so much time playing in the old
tree that his father often said, "Well, Dick, has the Apple-Tree
Mother kept you out of mischief to-day?"

And so Dick came to wonder a great deal about the Apple-Tree Mother.

The time of green apples had come, and all day long a hard wind had
been blowing. When supper time came Dick was ill. Perhaps the apple
tree could have told the reason.

Dick was lying on the couch, and his mother was busy making a cup of
tea for him.

After he had taken the hot and bitter drink he lay watching the steam
that rose from the teakettle. Just as he was closing his eyes in sleep
the steam began to turn from white to green. Then an apple tree grew
up out of the teakettle and stretched its branches to the ceiling.

"That looks like the apple tree in the corner of our pasture," thought
Dick.

And then he saw a woman sitting in the midst of the branches. She wore a
dress that was green and brown, like the apple-tree leaves in the fall.

"I suppose that is the Apple-Tree Mother," said Dick to himself. "If
she is as old as our tree, she must be very old indeed."

Then the Apple-Tree Mother laughed and all the leaves of the tree
danced. "My little boy," she said, "I am so old that I have grown
young again, and I bring with me pictures and stories of the world
that has lived about my tree."

"Pictures and stories!" exclaimed Dick. "Oh, can't you show me some of
them?"

"That is just why I came to visit you," she said. "Will you have
pictures of animals or of flowers?"

"I would like to see pictures of animals first," said Dick.


                                 II.

  dusty     oriole    drooping    happen
  handled   sadness   whistling   joyous


Then the room changed to the corner of the pasture. There was the
fence and the brook and the old apple tree. Just above the fence,
half hidden in the branches, was a nest that held five tiny eggs.

The sound of bird voices was heard, and there in the tree Dick saw two
orioles. They were singing a song together, and somehow Dick could
understand it all. They sang of their little home and of the eggs that
lay within it. And they sang of the happy time when five little birds
would come to be loved and cared for.

[Illustration: The Oriole's Nest.]

Then the two orioles rose slowly into the air and flew across the
field. The nest was left alone.

Down the road came a boy whistling and kicking up the dust with every
step.

Dick began to feel very unhappy, for he knew just what would happen
next.

The boy in the picture looked up and saw the brown nest among the
leaves. "There is an oriole's nest," thought he. And in a moment he
had climbed the tree, and the five tiny eggs were in his hand.

"I'll take them home," he said, as he put the eggs into his pocket.
But he handled them so roughly that three were broken.

With an angry word he threw all the eggs on the ground, and then went
on whistling and kicking up the dust.

A joyous bird song was heard in the air, and the two orioles darted
into the apple tree. The mother bird flew to her nest. Then she gave a
cry so sharp and sad that it hurt one's heart to hear it.

The father bird joined the poor mother in her outcries of fright and
sorrow. There on the dusty ground lay all that was left of the
beautiful eggs.

Far across the field flew the oriole mother, almost wild with sorrow.
The father, with his feathers drooping, sat on a fence post, and his
happy songs were changed to notes of sadness.


                                 III.

  empty    whining    shoulder    weary
  stolen   crooked    cruelly     shelter
  howled   rattling   pattering   limping
  second   wounded    terrible    banging

The Apple-Tree Mother looked very grave, but she only said, "Shall we
have another picture?"

Dick was afraid to say "No." He lay quite still, looking at the apple
tree. The rain was beginning to beat against the leaves. Then he saw a
weary little dog come limping to the tree, whining, and licking one of
his paws.

He was not a handsome dog. His legs were crooked and one ear was torn.
The branches of the tree bent above him. And when the poor dog looked up
at their shelter, one could see how big and soft and sad were his eyes.

With a splashing noise two boys came wading across the brook. Each boy
had a fishing pole over his shoulder, and in his hand was a small tin
pail in which he had carried bait.

As they came toward the tree one of them pointed to the poor little
dog. It was the same boy that had stolen the oriole's eggs.

[Illustration]

"Now for some fun!" he said. Then both the boys sat down on the ground,
and to work they went with a fishing line and one of the empty pails.

They did not see how the apple tree shook its head at them. They did
not hear how each raindrop called, "No! no! no!" as it fell pattering
on the leaves.

The poor little dog lay resting under the tree, safe from the storm.
All at once he was caught and held by rough hands. He howled with
fright and pain, but he could not get away. A strong cord was bound
around his thin little body, and his wounded foot was sadly hurt.

At last the boys let him go, and with a wild bound he jumped through
the fence and ran along the road.

But oh, what terrible thing is rattling and banging around him? At
every leap he is cruelly struck on his crooked little legs.

Dick had turned his head the other way. His cheeks burned and his
heart was sad. Then he opened his eyes and saw his mother standing
beside him with a second cup of bitter tea in her hand.

"Such a nice sleep as you have had," she said. "I really think you are
better. Now sit up and drink this like a man."

Never a word said Dick. He sat up and drank the bitter tea, while he
thought of many things. Had he seen himself in the pictures which the
Apple-Tree Mother had brought to his bedside?

                               --Adapted from "True Fairy Stories."



                          THE DIAMOND DIPPER


                                  I.

  rusty    narrow     further     fern
  dipper   towered    suffering   brim
  dying    withered   carefully   spill

Once upon a time it was very hot and very, very dry. No rain had
fallen for days and days. The thirsty birds had stopped singing. The
plants withered and the animals were dying for want of water. All the
people were praying for rain.

One morning a little girl started out to find some water for her sick
mother. In her hand she carried a tin dipper.

She climbed a high hill hoping to find a spring. Up and up she climbed.
On her way she saw the dusty plants, the quiet birds, and the suffering
animals.

[Illustration]

The sharp stones cut her feet. High rocks towered above her head.
Their strange shapes filled her with fear. But she thought of her sick
mother and she would not turn back. At last she came to a great wall
of rocks, and could go no farther.

"Oh, that some good fairy would show me where to find water!" she cried.

And then a beautiful fairy stood before her in a robe like the clouds at
sunset. She pointed to a narrow path among the rocks. The child followed
the path and soon came to a spring hidden under green fern leaves.

She filled her dipper to the brim. How carefully she held it! How
softly she stepped, so as not to spill one drop!

In her path down the hill there lay a rabbit almost dead from thirst.
The little girl needed all the water, but she poured a few drops upon
the rabbit's tongue. Then something wonderful happened! The rusty tin
dipper was changed to shining silver.


                                 II.

  hurried    twinkle    garments   stranger
  precious   faithful   diamonds   ragged


The little girl hurried home. With a happy heart she gave the water to
her sick mother. The gentle mother raised the dipper to her lips, but
she did not drink. "My faithful nurse, let her drink first," she said.

As she gave the silver dipper to the nurse, behold! it was changed to
yellow gold.

Again the mother raised the water to her lips. Just then a shadow fell
across the floor. In the open doorway stood an old woman. She was
ragged and pale and weak. She could only stretch out her thin hand
toward the water.

The mother and the little girl looked at each other. Could they give up
the last drop of the precious water? The mother nodded her head, and the
little girl put the golden dipper into the hands of the stranger.

The poor old woman took the water and drank it all. As she drank, her
rags were changed into beautiful garments, and the dipper sparkled
with diamonds.

"Oh, mother, look! There is the fairy I saw in the mountains," cried
the little girl. "And see! The dipper shines like diamonds!"

They looked again, but the fairy was gone. It was not long before clouds
spread over the sky, and a gentle rain began to fall. Soon there was
water for all the plants, the birds, the animals, and the people.

But the dipper could not anywhere be found. Night came, and the little
girl looked up at the stars. There, in the sky, she saw the dipper
shining like diamonds.

And now, when the evening stars twinkle overhead, the mothers point
out the great dipper in the northern sky and tell this story to their
children.

"Is the story true?" the children ask when the tale is ended.

And the mothers smile as they answer:--

"When you can tell what the story means, you will know that it is true."



                           BEAUTIFUL THINGS


      Beautiful hands are those that do
      Work that is earnest, brave, and true,
      Moment by moment, the long day through.

      Beautiful feet are those that go
      On kindly errands to and fro--
      Down humblest ways, if God wills it so.

      Beautiful faces are those that wear--
      It matters little if dark or fair--
      Whole-souled honesty printed there.
                                --DAVID SWING.



                              MY COUNTRY


      From sea to sea my country lies
      Beneath the splendor of the skies.

      Far reach its plains, its hills are high,
      Its mountains look up to the sky.

      Its lakes are clear as crystal bright,
      Its rivers sweep through vale and height.

      America, my native land,
      To thee I give my heart and hand.

      God in His might chose thee to be
      The country of the noble free!
                            --MARIE ZETTERBERG.



                         MY OWN LAND FOREVER


      Land of the forest and the rock,
        Of dark blue lake and mighty river,
      Of mountains reared on high to mock
      The storm's career and lightning's shock,
        My own green land forever!
                    --JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.



                           HOME, SWEET HOME


      'Mid pleasures and palaces, though we may roam,
      Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
      A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
      Which, seek through the world, is not met with elsewhere.

      An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;
      Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again;
      The birds singing gayly, that came at my call;
      Give me them, and that peace of mind, dearer than all.

            Home, home, sweet, sweet home,
            There's no place like home,
            Oh, there's no place like home.
                             --JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.



[Illustration]

                              SEPTEMBER


      The peaches are ripe in the orchard,
        The apricots ready to fall,
      And the grapes reach up to the sunshine
        Over the garden wall.
                         --THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.



[Illustration]

      The morns are meeker than they were,
        The nuts are getting brown,
      The berry's cheek is plumper,
        The rose is out of town.
                                --EMILY DICKINSON.



[Illustration]

                               OCTOBER


      October glows on every tree,
        October shines in every eye,
      While up the hill and down the dale
        Her crimson banners fly.
                       --DORA READ GOODALE.



[Illustration]

                               NOVEMBER


      Nuts are falling, trees are bare,
      Leaves are whirling everywhere;
      Plants are sleeping, birds have flown,
      Autumn breezes cooler grown,
        In the chill November.



                           AN AUTUMN RIDDLE


      They are seen on the trees,
        They are seen on the ground,
      They are seen in the air,
        Whirling softly around;
      They sing rustling songs
        As our footsteps they hear,
      And their name is well known,
        For they come every year.



                            LEAVES AT PLAY


      Scamper, little leaves, about
        In the autumn sun;
      I can hear the old wind shout,
        Laughing as you run;
      And I haven't any doubt
        That he likes the fun.

      So run on and have your play,
        Romp with all your might;
      Dance across the autumn day,
        While the sun is bright.
      Soon you'll hear the old wind say,
        "Little leaves, good night!"
                    --FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN.



                          WHERE GO THE BOATS


      Dark brown is the river,
        Golden is the sand;
      It flows along forever,
        With trees on either hand.

      Green leaves a-floating,
        Castles of the foam,
      Boats of mine a-boating--
        When will all come home?

      On goes the river,
        And out past the mill,
      Away down the valley,
        Away down the hill.

      Away down the river,
        A hundred miles or more,
      Other little children
        Shall bring my boats ashore.
                 --ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.



                            THE CORN SONG


      Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard!
        Heap high the golden corn!
      No richer gift has Autumn poured
        From out her lavish horn.

      Through vales of grass and meads of flowers,
        Our plows their furrows made,
      While on the hills the sun and showers
        Of changeful April played.

      We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain,
        Beneath the sun of May,
      And frightened from our sprouting grain
        The robber crows away.

      All through the long, bright days of June
        Its leaves grew green and fair,
      And waved in hot midsummer's noon
        Its soft and yellow hair.

      And now, with Autumn's moonlit eves,
        Its harvest time has come,
      We pluck away the frosted leaves
        And bear the treasure home.
                     --JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

[Illustration: IN THE CORNFIELD.]



                           SHAPES OF LEAVES


  notice   passages    fingers   peach
  veined   dandelion   currant   pipes

Did you ever take a feather in your hand and look at it? Did you
notice how the quill keeps the feather in shape and makes it strong?

[Illustration]

Now find the leaf of an apple tree. Hold it before your eyes and let
the light shine through it.

Do you see the large rib running along the middle of the leaf? Do you
see the fine ribs on each side of the large rib? Does not the large
rib make you think of the quill of a feather?

The ribs of a leaf have fine passages or pipes in them through which
the sap flows. These passages are called veins, and the large rib is
called a midvein. When a leaf has one strong midvein like the quill of
a feather, it is said to be feather-veined.

Let us go out of doors and find leaves that are shaped like feathers.

There is a peach tree. Pick a leaf and look at it. Yes, the peach leaf
is feather-veined. Now go to the pear tree. "These leaves look like
the apple leaves," you say.

Here is a dandelion plant growing in the grass. Take a leaf in your
hand and look at its ragged edges. There is one straight rib or vein
along the middle of the leaf. And so you see that the dandelion leaf
is also feather-veined.

[Illustration]

You can find feather-veined leaves on the plants in the garden and on
the flower stems that grow in our window boxes. And you can also find
feather-veined leaves on the weeds that grow by the side of the road.

Look again at the apple leaf. Do you see the fine network of veins?
Now take up a leaf of grass and hold it in the light. Can you see a
network of veins in it? No, the grass leaf has straight veins.

All the grass blades are long and narrow. Have you ever seen any other
leaves that were long and narrow like the grass?

[Illustration]

But what is this leaf under the maple tree? "It is a maple leaf," you
say. This leaf is not shaped like a feather.

Hold out your hand and stretch out your fingers. Does not the maple
leaf look as if it had fingers, too? We may call the maple leaf a
hand-shaped leaf. Perhaps we can find more hand-shaped leaves. Let us
go to the currant bushes. Yes, these also have hand-shaped leaves.

One of the strangest leaves in the world is shaped like a pitcher. It
has a lid that opens and shuts. Some leaves of this kind hold more
than a cup of water.

There are leaves shaped like hearts and leaves shaped like arrowheads.
And there are many other wonderful leaves which we may see if we keep
our eyes open.

[Illustration]

      Green leaves, what are you doing
        Up there on the tree so high?
      "We are shaking hands with the breezes,
        As they go singing by."

      What, green leaves! have you fingers?
        Then, the maple laughed with glee--
      "Yes, just as many as you have;
        Count them, and you will see!"
                         --KATE LOUISE BROWN.



[Illustration]

                        DOGS THAT ALMOST TALK


  human    scratched   tinkled   begged
  humble   drowning    cottage   wagged

It seems as if our friend the dog can talk without using words. He not
only makes other dogs understand him, but he also makes his wants
known to his master.

A little dog named Rudy was once taken to the city. One day he lost
his way in the streets and did not come home at night.

The next morning, as Rudy's master was looking out of the window, he
saw his little dog coming along the street with two other dogs.

The strangers left Rudy at his own door, and then went away. As they
left they seemed to say, "Good-by." But how did Rudy ask the other
dogs to show him the way home? This we should like to know.

Another dog called Prince often asked in his own way to be let out of
doors. But when he returned he could not always get into the house
again.

The bell was too high for Prince to reach it or he might have learned
to ring it. As he could not do this he found another way to get in. A
little girl who lived near by often played with him. He ran to her and
begged until she saw what he wanted. This he did day after day.

After the little girl had rung the bell for him, Prince never forgot
to thank her. He jumped around her and wagged his tail to show his
pleasure.

One day Prince could not find his little friend. So he begged a man
who was passing by to ring the bell. It was some time before the man
could understand what the dog wanted. But at last the bell tinkled,
the door was opened, and Prince ran into the house.

A faithful dog never forgets those he loves. Sometimes he proves to be
a good friend in time of great need.

One night a fire broke out in a shed close by a little cottage. The
watchdog saw the flames. He ran to the cottage and began to scratch the
door with his paws. He scratched and howled until he woke the family.

After the fire had been put out the children put their arms around the
faithful dog. They patted him and thanked him for saving their lives.
They treated him as if he were a human being instead of only a dog.

There are many true stories about dogs that have saved the lives of
children. A great artist has painted a beautiful picture of one of
these noble animals.

A dog has jumped into the sea and saved a child from drowning. He has
caught the child's clothes in his strong jaws, and has brought her to
the shore.

See, he is almost too tired to climb up beside her! There she lies on
his big paws. He seems to be waiting for help. Does he not look as if
he could speak?

[Illustration]

The artist who painted this picture was a great friend of dogs. His name
was Edwin Landseer. He has made hundreds of paintings of his humble
friends. Many of the dogs in his pictures look as if they could talk.



                       A LITTLE GIRL'S FANCIES


      O little flowers, you love me so,
        You could not do without me;
      O little birds that come and go,
        You sing sweet songs about me;

      O little moss, observed by few,
        That round the tree is creeping,
      You like my head to rest on you,
        When I am idly sleeping.

      O rushes by the river side,
        You bow when I come near you;
      O fish, you leap about with pride,
        Because you think I hear you;

      O river, you shine clear and bright,
        To tempt me to look in you;
      O water lilies, pure and white,
        You hope that I shall win you.

      O pretty things, you love me so,
        I see I must not leave you;
      You'd find it very dull, I know,
        I should not like to grieve you.



                            A BOY'S WISHES


      Ring-ting! I wish I were a primrose,
      A bright yellow primrose, blooming in the spring!
          The stooping bough above me,
          The wandering bee to love me,
      The fern and moss to creep across,
          And the elm tree for our king!

      Nay, stay! I wish I were an elm tree,
      A great, lofty elm tree with green leaves gay!
          The winds would set them dancing,
          The sun and moonshine glance in,
      And birds would house among the boughs,
          And sweetly sing.

      Oh, no! I wish I were a robin--
      A robin, or a little wren, everywhere to go,
          Through forest, field, or garden,
          And ask no leave or pardon,
      Till winter comes, with icy thumbs,
          To ruffle up our wing!
                             --WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.



                           ROLLO AND GEORGE


  scream   frightened   directly  treat
  hurting  frightening  opposite  harsh
  pushing  wheelbarrow  enemies   tomtit

One day Rollo and his playmate, George Cropwell, were running along
the road, pushing their little wheelbarrows.

Just as they came near George's home they saw before them a little boy
much smaller than Rollo. He was ragged and barefooted.

[Illustration]

"There is Tom," said George. "See how I will frighten him."

As he said this, George rolled his wheelbarrow directly toward Tom as
if he were going to run over him. Tom was very much frightened and
began to scream.

Just at that moment Farmer Cropwell happened to be coming up the lane
on the opposite side of the road. He called out,--

"George!"

George stopped his wheelbarrow.

"Is that right?" said the farmer.

"Why, I was not going to hurt him," said George.

"You did hurt him,--you frightened him."

"Is frightening him hurting him, father?"

"Why, yes; it is giving pain, and a very unpleasant kind of pain, too."

"I did not think of that," said George.

"Besides," said his father, "when you treat boys in that harsh, rough
way you make them your enemies. And it is a very bad plan to make
enemies."

"Enemies, father!" said George, laughing; "Tom could not do me any
harm if he were my enemy."

"That makes me think of the story of the bear and the tomtit," said
the farmer. "If you and Rollo will jump into the cart I will tell it
to you."

                                                 --JACOB ABBOTT.



                          THE FARMER'S STORY


                                  I.

  wolf    distance    impatient     breathe
  poked   scrambled   intending     pressed
  terror  perhaps     troublesome   punish

One pleasant summer morning a wolf met a bear in a lonely wood. In a
tree near by, a bird was singing.

"Brother," said the bear, "that is very good singing, indeed. What
kind of bird do you think it is?"

"That is a tomtit," said the wolf.

"I should like to see his nest. Where do you think it is?" asked the
bear.

"Perhaps we shall see if we wait until his mate comes home," said the
wolf.

Soon the mother bird came flying with some food in her mouth for her
children. She went to the tree where her mate was singing.

"Now, I shall climb the tree," said the bear.

"Not yet," said the wolf. "Wait until the birds leave the nest."

They walked away for some distance, but soon returned, for the bear
was impatient to see the nest. He scrambled up the tree, intending to
frighten the young birds.

"Take care," said the wolf. "The tomtits are very little, but little
enemies are sometimes very troublesome."

"Who is afraid of a tomtit?" said the bear, as he poked his black nose
into the nest.

"Go away! go away!" screamed the poor little birds in terror.

"What do you mean by making such a noise and talking so to me?" said
the bear. "I will teach you better manners."

So he put his great paw on the nest and pressed it down until the poor
little birds could hardly breathe. Then he left them and went away.

The young tomtits were terribly frightened, and some of them were
hurt. When the old birds came home they were very angry.

They could see the bear walking about among the trees, but they did
not know how to punish him.


                                 II.

  peeped    prudent    followed      toward
  flutter   whether    surrounded    nailed
  escape    prowling   overlooked    paused

Not far away there was a glen, surrounded by high rocks, where the
bear used to go to sleep because it was a lonely place.

One day, as he was prowling in the woods, he saw two hunters coming
with their guns. In fright, he fled to his glen, where he thought he
should be safe.

The tomtits saw the bear run to the rocks and hide in terror.

"Why is the bear hiding?" said one bird to the other.

"Do you see those hunters with their guns?" said the mother tomtit.
"If only they can find the bear, then our little ones will be safe.
Let us help them."

So the tomtits began to flutter around the hunters and fly a little
way toward the glen and then back again. The men followed the birds to
see what could be the matter.

By and by the bear saw the hunters coming, led on by his little enemies,
the tomtits. He ran from one side of the glen to the other. He hid
himself in a cave among the rocks. But he could not escape the hunters.

The wolf happened to be near by upon the rocks that overlooked the
glen. Hearing the noise, he came and peeped over.

As soon as he saw what had happened to the bear, he thought it would
be prudent for him to walk away. This he did, saying to himself as he
went:--

"Well, the bear has found out that a friend is better than an enemy,
whether he is great or small."

       *       *       *       *       *

Here the farmer paused. He had ended his story.

"What did they do with the bear?" asked Rollo.

"Oh," said the farmer, "they took off his skin to make caps of, and
nailed his claws up on the barn."

                                               --JACOB ABBOTT.



                        THE DOG AND HIS IMAGE


  snap     image     behold      jaws
  piece    within    plainly     greed
  snatch   bottom    hurrying    plank

A dog, with a piece of meat in his mouth, was hurrying home to eat his
supper in quiet. On his way he had to pass over a narrow plank which
lay across a small stream.

As he looked down into the water he saw his own image in the smooth
surface of the brook. This, he thought, was another dog with a larger
piece of meat in his mouth.

He put his head down near the water. Behold, the meat, which the other
dog carried, was plainly within his reach.

"Now, I shall have a fine dinner," he thought. And with a quick snap
of his jaws, he tried to snatch the meat from the dog in the water.

But as he opened his mouth, his own piece of meat fell to the bottom
of the brook. And thus, by greed, he lost all that he had.



                           BELLING THE CAT


  quiet     easily    manner    sly
  danger    enemy     coming    chief

Once upon a time some mice met together to find a way to save
themselves from their enemy, the cat.

"I have a plan," said a young mouse, "which will save the life of
every one of us. You all know that our chief danger lies in the cat's
sly and quiet manner of walking. If we could hear her coming, we could
easily run away.

[Illustration]

"Let us hang a bell to the cat's neck, and when we hear it ring we
shall all know that she is near."

"A fine plan! a fine plan!" cried all the mice. "But who will bell the
cat?"

"Not I, not I," cried all the mice at once.



                        THE DOG IN THE MANGER


  chose   manger    growled    pair
  oxen    feeding   mouthful   meal

A dog once chose to make his bed in a manger full of hay. Now this
manger was the feeding place of a pair of oxen who worked hard in the
fields all day.

When the tired beasts came for their evening meal, the dog growled and
showed his teeth. He could not eat the hay himself, and he would not
let the oxen have so much as a mouthful of it.

                                                     --ÆSOP.



                            A WISE INDIAN


  lazy      angry    observe     stool
  passes    owner    answered    short

An Indian boy sees many things which a white boy passes by without
seeing. Can you tell why?

The Indian boy is taught to look at things closely, and to think
about everything he sees. He learns to observe. Here is a good story
of an Indian who was trained to use his eyes when he was young.

An old Indian once lived in a village among white people. His little
hut was near the woods. A white man lived alone in a cabin near by.

One night the white man came home late from his work in the fields. He
had left a bag of corn hanging in his cabin. Some one had taken it.

He was very angry. "That lazy Indian who lives in the hut has stolen
my corn," he told his neighbors.

"Send for the Indian and let him speak for himself," said one of the
neighbors.

When the Indian came he said, "I did not take your corn."

"If you did not take my corn, who did?" asked the angry man.

"I can not tell you his name," the Indian answered. "I have never seen
him, but I can tell you something about him.

"Your corn was stolen by a white man. He is an old man, and he is a
short man."

One of the neighbors had seen a little old man. He was going to the
woods with a bag on his back.

They went out to hunt for him. Soon he was found, and the bag of corn
was returned to its owner.

How could the Indian tell who had taken the corn? Every one wanted to
know.

"I will tell you," said the Indian. "I knew that the thief was an old
man from the heavy mark of his feet in the earth. A young man's step
is much lighter.

"I knew he was a white man because he turned his toes out when he
walked. An Indian does not walk in that way.

"Did you not see that he stood on a stool to reach the bag of corn?
This shows that he was a short man."

"Now see," said the neighbors. "If you had kept your eyes open as the
Indian keeps his open, you would not have said that he stole your corn."



                              CLOVERNOOK


  group    cottage     repeating        sugar
  hymns    daughter    sweetbrier       cellar
  merry    gathered    old-fashioned    saucer

One summer morning, a merry group of children was helping to make hay
in one of the Clovernook hay fields.

Not far away stood a little brown house in the cool shade of cherry
trees and apple trees. A sweetbrier clambered over the windows, and in
the dooryard grew bushes of large red roses.

[Illustration]

Near the house was a deep well of clear, cold water. An old-fashioned
well sweep was used to draw up the water, as you see in the picture.

This was the Clovernook home. Here lived the merry children who were
helping in the hayfield, and there were nine of them. What if the
house was small? There was the barn in which they could play, and
there were the fields and woods in which they could wander.

[Illustration: "He liked to gather his children around him."]

They thought their gentle, blue-eyed mother the most beautiful woman in
the world. Their father was one of the kindest of men. Every child loved
him, and the horses and the cows followed him all over the farm.

He loved books, and went about his work repeating fine old hymns and
lines from grand poems. In the long winter evenings he liked to gather
his children around him before the open fire. Then he told them
wonderful stories of the olden time.

The Clovernook children learned to know the flowers and the trees by
name, and to tell the birds by their songs. In the spring they boiled
sap for maple sugar. In the fall they gathered nuts, and helped store
away the apples in the cellar.

There were two daughters of the Clovernook household who liked nothing
so well as their books. They went to school when their mother could
spare them from the work of the home. At night they often wished to
study, but they had no lamp. So they put some lard into a saucer and
used a piece of cloth for a wick.

Year after year these two girls spent all their spare moments in
reading and study. What they did when they were older, and how they
came to be called the Poet Sisters, you shall soon learn.



                           THE POET SISTERS


  Alice       Clovernook    postoffice    print
  Phœbe       Cincinnati    newspaper     parties

The Clovernook cottage was the home of the Cary family, and the Poet
Sisters were Alice Cary and Phœbe Cary.

While the sisters were still little girls, they began to write verses.
Phœbe was but fourteen years old when she sent her first poem to a
newspaper. She told no one, not even her sister Alice, what she had
done.

[Illustration: Alice Cary.]

At last her father brought the paper from the postoffice. When Phœbe
saw her poem in print she was so happy that she laughed and cried.
After that, she did not care if her clothes were plain, or if she
could not go to school as much as she wished.

The Clovernook home was near Cincinnati, Ohio. When Alice and Phœbe
grew older they left the home of their childhood and went to live in
New York city.

They were now able to earn money by writing stories and poems for
books and papers. At last they could make their home beautiful with
the books and pictures which they had so long wished for.

[Illustration: Phœbe Cary.]

Alice and Phœbe loved children, and they wrote many beautiful verses
for their little friends. In their charming stories they tell us about
their life in Clovernook, and of their plays in hayfield and barn.



                            OUR HOMESTEAD


      Our old brown homestead reared its walls
        From the wayside dust aloof,
      Where the apple boughs could almost cast
        Their fruit upon its roof;

      And the cherry tree so near it grew
        That when awake I've lain,
      In the lonesome nights, I've heard the limbs
        As they creaked against the pane.

      The sweetbrier, under the window sill,
        Which the early birds made glad,
      And the damask rose, by the garden fence,
        Were all the flowers we had.

      We had a well, a deep old well,
        Where the spring was never dry,
      And the cool drops down from the mossy stones
        Were falling constantly.

      And there never was water half so sweet
        As the draught which filled my cup,
      Drawn up to the curb by the rude old sweep
        That my father's hand set up.
                                   --PHŒBE CARY.



                               SUPPOSE


      Suppose, my little lady,
        Your doll should break her head,
      Could you make it whole by crying
        Till your eyes and nose are red?
      And wouldn't it be pleasanter
        To treat it as a joke,
      And say you're glad 'twas dolly's
        And not your head that broke?

      Suppose you're dressed for walking,
        And the rain comes pouring down,
      Will it clear off any sooner
        Because you scold and frown?
      And wouldn't it be better
        For you to smile than pout,
      And so make sunshine in the house,
        When there is none without?

      Suppose your task, my little man,
        Is very hard to get,
      Will it make it any easier
        For you to sit and fret?
      And wouldn't it be wiser
        Than waiting like a dunce,
      To go to work in earnest
        And learn the thing at once?

      Suppose the world doesn't please you,
        Nor the way some people do,
      Do you think the whole creation
        Will be altered just for you?
      And isn't it, my boy or girl,
        The wisest, bravest plan
      Whatever comes or doesn't come,
        To do the best you can?
                              --PHŒBE CARY.



                            THE RIGHT WAY


      The air for the wing of the sparrow,
        The bush for the robin and wren,
      But always the path that is narrow
        And straight, for the children of men.
                                   --ALICE CARY.



                               NOVEMBER


[Illustration]

      The leaves are fading and falling,
        The winds are rough and wild,
      The birds have ceased their calling,
        But let me tell you, my child,

      Though day by day, as it closes,
        Doth darker and colder grow,
      The roots of the bright red roses
        Will keep alive in the snow.

      And when the winter is over,
        The boughs will get new leaves,
      The quail come back to the clover,
        And the swallow back to the eaves.

      The robin will wear on his bosom
        A vest that is bright and new,
      And the loveliest wayside blossom
        Will shine with the sun and dew.

      So, when some dear joy loses
        Its beauteous summer glow,
      Think how the roots of the roses
        Are kept alive in the snow.
                              --ALICE CARY.



                      COLUMBUS IN THE NEW WORLD


  haste    remained   different    gentle
  spread   orchard    delighted    cotton
  bodies   paddled    ornaments    natives

[Illustration: Columbus in the New World.]

When Columbus reached the New World, he landed on a beautiful green
island. He tells us that the island was covered with trees like an
orchard. The trees and the flowers and the fruits were different from
any that he had ever seen before.

All day he remained on shore with his men. They were delighted with
the warm air, the clear streams, the bright flowers, and the fresh
fruit.

The natives were friendly and gentle. They wore no clothes, but their
bodies were painted with many colors. They came near the strangers and
seemed to wonder at their white faces.

Some of the natives wore rings of gold in their noses and ears.
Columbus tried to learn from them where they had found the gold. They
pointed to the south and said "Cuba." By signs they led him to believe
that Cuba was a land where there was much gold.

Columbus was in haste to reach the mines of gold and the rich cities
about which he had read. The next day he sailed with all his ships and
sailors toward the south.

They passed by many green islands as beautiful as the one on which
they had landed. Columbus sat on deck, watching the shore. He hoped
and he believed that he should soon see the towers of a city rise
toward the sky.

The news of the visit of the white men spread from island to island.
The natives ran to the shore to see the wonderful ships with sails
like white wings. They paddled out to the ships in their canoes, and
they brought fruit and balls of cotton yarn.

Columbus and his men were looking everywhere for gold. Whenever they
saw a village of huts they visited the chief and asked him where gold
could be found. They traded bells and beads for the gold ornaments
which the natives wore.

Soon Columbus reached the shores of Cuba. Everywhere he saw beautiful
flowers and fruits. He found gentle natives living in poor huts. But
he saw no cities and he found no mines of gold.

Columbus supposed that he had reached some small islands on the coast
of India. For this reason he called the dark-skinned people living
there Indians. He did not know that he had found the New World.



                      COLUMBUS RETURNS TO SPAIN


  January        obliged     several        court
  Isabella       decided     fifteenth      delay
  Ferdinand      wrecked     discovered     search
  Santa Maria    farewell    seaport        voyage

At last Columbus gave up the search for gold, and decided to return to
Spain. He wished to tell King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of the
islands he had visited.

He was sure that he had discovered a new way to India, and he wished
to ask the king for more ships and more men. He believed that great
riches could be found on these islands which he had visited.

Early in January he gave a farewell feast to the natives. Then he
sailed for Spain, taking with him six Indians.

His flagship, the _Santa Maria_, had been wrecked. One of his captains
had sailed away in the _Pinta_ and had not returned. And so Columbus
was obliged to cross the ocean in the _Nina_, which was the smallest
of his three ships.

The voyage was long and the storms were many. The little ship was
tossed about by the waves and was often in great danger. But at last
the shores of Spain were seen by the sailors, and great was their joy.

At noon, on the fifteenth of March, 1493, they sailed into the harbor
which they had left more than seven months before. All the people in
the town crowded to the shore. For a long time they had thought that
Columbus was lost at sea, and that they would never see him and his
sailors again.

The first act of Columbus was to lead his men to the church, where
they gave thanks to God for their safe return.

Very soon the good news spread over all Spain. Bells were rung, and
great fires were lighted on the hilltops.

King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella were several hundred miles from the
seaport town where Columbus landed with his sailors. As soon as the
king and queen heard of his safe return, they sent Columbus a letter
asking him to come without delay to their court.



                    COLUMBUS AT THE COURT OF SPAIN


  third     thronged     bearing      honor
  knelt     banners      received     turtle
  praise    kingdom      officers     parrots
  joined    listened     awaiting     account

The time of year was delightful for the long journey through Spain.
Every mile of the way Columbus and his men received a welcome. As they
passed along the plains and over the mountains, men, women, and children
came to see the brave sailors who had dared to cross the ocean.

When they reached the end of their journey, they were met by officers
of the king. Then all marched into the city through crowded streets
where banners were flying.

First came Columbus riding a fine horse. Next walked six Indians,
painted and wearing feathers in their hair.

The sailors followed, carrying strange birds and animals from across
the sea. Some had live parrots which they had caught and tamed.

One man carried a turtle shell almost as large as himself. Others
showed with great pride the curious rings and crowns of gold which
they had brought from the islands.

The king and queen sat on their throne awaiting Columbus. When he came
near, they rose to greet him, and they asked him to take a seat by
their side.

In the great room were the lords and ladies of the court and the chief
men of the kingdom. Every one looked with wonder at the painted
Indians and at the strange gifts which were carried by the sailors.

Columbus then gave an account of his wonderful voyage. When his story
was done, the king and queen knelt in thanks to God. Then the great
crowd of people joined them in thanksgiving and in a grand song of
praise.

So great was the honor paid to Columbus that he rode with the king and
his son through the streets of the city. The people thronged to see
him, and they called him the third king.

[Illustration: Painting by R. Baluac.

COLUMBUS BEFORE THE KING AND QUEEN.]



                        THE FIRST THANKSGIVING


                                  I.

  rejoice   Thursday      invited     quail
  rushes    lowlands      dainties    guests
  arrived   cranberries   already     whoops

Almost a year had passed since the first company of Pilgrims had come
to America. About fifty of those who had crossed the ocean in the
Mayflower were now living in their new home.

They had laid out a village street and had built a few houses in the
place which they called Plymouth. Their houses were made of logs. The
roofs were very steep and were covered with grass and rushes.

It had been a busy summer for the Pilgrims. They had worked hard in
the gardens and the fields. But the harvests were good and there would
be food enough for the coming winter. How thankful they were!

"Let us set aside a day in which to give thanks for this great
harvest," they said. "It is God who has sent the sunshine and the
rain to make the seeds grow. We will have a day of thanksgiving, and
ask the friendly Indians to come and rejoice with us."

So the Indian chief and his band were invited to the feast. Such a
busy time as that was for the Pilgrims! The men went to the forest to
hunt deer, wild turkeys, and other game. All the women were at work,
and the smoke of the ovens rose from the chimneys.

Even the children helped. Some of them gathered the cranberries that
were turning red in the lowlands. Some picked the wild grapes that were
growing purple on the vines. Others brought home the nuts which were
falling from the trees. The older boys were sent to the beach for clams.

The Indians were invited to come on Thursday. At sunrise on that day
the Pilgrims were awakened by whoops and yells which told them that
their guests had already arrived.


                                 II.

  game       feast      November    stew
  roasts     poured     turkeys     veil
  stuffed    sermon     popcorn     haze

It was in the month of November, but the weather was mild and lovely,
and a soft blue haze seemed to veil the woods.

Late wild flowers were blooming. Bright leaves were falling from the
trees. It was the time of year that we call Indian summer.

A great fire was built out of doors for the cooking, and long tables
were spread in the open air. When the loud roll of the drum was heard,
all the people went to the log fort on the hill which was used as a
meeting house. There they gave thanks to God for the rich harvest of
the year.

Everybody, young and old, was there. The little children must have
grown very tired of the long sermon. They must have wanted to go home
to the good dinner which they knew was waiting for them.

At last the Thanksgiving feast was ready. In the middle of the long
table stood a huge bowl of stew made of different kinds of game.

[Illustration]

There were great roasts of deer and roasted turkeys stuffed with nuts.
There were the cakes and puddings made by the Pilgrim mothers. And it
is said that the Indians brought a large basket of popcorn which they
poured on the table just as the meal began.

In this way the Pilgrims passed their first Thanksgiving Day in America.

                                         --MARIAN M. GEORGE.



                           THANKSGIVING DAY


      Over the river and through the wood,
        To grandfather's house we go;
          The horse knows the way
          To carry the sleigh
        Through the white and drifted snow.

      Over the river and through the wood,
        Oh, how the wind does blow!
          It stings the toes
          And bites the nose,
        As over the ground we go.

      Over the river and through the wood,
        To have a first-rate play;
          Here the bells ring,
          "Ting-a-ling-ding!"
        Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!

      Over the river and through the wood,
        Trot fast, my dapple-gray!
          Spring over the ground,
          Like a hunting hound!
        For this is Thanksgiving Day.

      Over the river and through the wood,
        And straight through the barnyard gate.
          We seem to go
          Extremely slow,
        It is so hard to wait!

[Illustration]

      Over the river and through the wood,
        Now grandmother's cap I spy!
          Hurrah for the fun!
          Is the pudding done?
        Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!
                         --LYDIA MARIA CHILD.



                            THE SNOW BABY


                                  I.

  freeze   shaggy     Eskimos    cliffs
  noisy    icebergs   enormous   hoofs

Hundreds and hundreds of miles away in the white frozen north, there is
a wonderful land of snow and ice. There strange little yellow people,
called Eskimos, live in snow houses, and dress in the skins of animals.

In summer, in this wonderful land, the sun never sets, but shines all
the time, day and night. Flowers spring up, and soft-eyed reindeer
wander about cropping the short grass.

The ice breaks up and drifts out to sea. Great rivers of ice push
forward into the water. Enormous icebergs break off from them and
float away like white ships.

The blue waves dance and sparkle in the sun. Singing brooks rush down
the mountains. Thousands of noisy sea birds come to the rocky cliffs
to lay their eggs.

Glossy seals swim in the water, and once in a while a shaggy white
bear goes running over the floating ice in search of seals.

The Eskimos, paddling swiftly through the water in their strange skin
boats, hunt these animals for food and clothing.

In winter there is no sunshine at all in Eskimo land. For four long,
long months it is dark all the time, just as it is here in the night.
The ground is covered deep with snow, and the poor deer must dig
through it with their hoofs for grass and moss.

The sea is covered thick with ice, and the birds fly away. The cold is
so terrible that the Eskimos would freeze to death were it not for
their thick, warm fur coats.


                                 II.

  hooded   blankets   veranda     bushy
  coffee   sealskin   September   sugar

Here in this wonderful land there was found, one September day, a
snow-white baby with big blue eyes.

[Illustration]

And such a funny little house it was where she was found. It was only
one story high. The walls were more than a foot thick, and the outside
was covered with heavy black paper. All around the house was a veranda.
Its walls were built of boxes of biscuit, sugar, coffee, and tea.

Inside the house, the little room where the baby lived was lined with
soft warm blankets. There was a bright carpet on the floor and
pictures on the walls.

All these things, like the boxes of food outside, came in the ship
which brought the baby's father and mother to this strange country.

One window of the baby's room looked out upon a great river of ice.
From the other window you could see high red and brown mountains. And
here was the sea in which strange-looking icebergs floated.


                                 III.

  August    mittens    trousers    sleigh
  steamed   northern   language    sledge

When the people of that land heard that there was a white baby in the
small black house, they came hundreds of miles to see the little
stranger.

They talked to the baby in their own queer language. They called her
the Snow Baby, and they brought her presents of fur mittens and little
sealskin boots.

After the sun went away the baby lived for days and weeks in a little
room lined with blankets. A lamp was kept burning in the room all the
time, both day and night.

One of the Eskimo women made a little suit of clothes for the baby,
all out of furs. There were only two pieces in this suit. First there
was a pair of little trousers and boots made together. Over this a
hooded coat was worn.

When the sun returned, the Snow Baby was taken out of doors every day.
No matter how cold it was she had a sleigh ride on her little Eskimo
sledge. You should have seen her team of dogs with their bright eyes,
their sharp-pointed ears, and their big bushy tails.

For nearly a year the Snow Baby lived in this strange, northern home.
But one day in August a big black ship came up the bay. It was the same
ship that had brought the Snow Baby's father and mother to the Snowland.

Then the baby and her mother went on board the ship and steamed away
south to their own American home.

                              _From "The Snow Baby."
                   Copyright, 1901, by Frederick A. Stokes Company._



                             A SNOW HOUSE


  knees   puppy    harness    dries
  force   needle   clothing   twists
  thaws   dimly    platform   whales

In the summer time the Eskimo people live in tents made of skins. In
the winter they build their houses out of hard blocks of ice and snow.

[Illustration]

Perhaps you would like to visit an Eskimo family, and see how these
yellow people live in a snow house. But how shall we get into the house?
There seems to be no door in this strange-looking mound of snow.

We must bow our heads and crawl on our hands and knees through a dark
passage. Soon we come to an open space where we stand upright in a
dimly lighted room.

All around the room is a bank of snow next to the wall of the house.
The top of this bank is broad and level like a table. It is covered
with the thick skins of reindeer, bear, and foxes. Here the family eat
and sleep, and here the children play.

Near the doorway stands the stove, on a raised platform. You would think
it a very poor stove, for it is only a hollow stone filled with oil and
moss. When the moss is lighted, it burns like the wick of a lamp.

This stove warms the room, melts the water for drinking, dries wet
clothing, and thaws the frozen meat. It lights the room dimly and we
see the Eskimo father, mother, and children in their snow house.

A bag is lying on the thick furs. Now it moves and the mother takes it
in her arms. See, it is a baby boy in a bag of feathers.

When an Eskimo baby is in the house, he lies in his feather bag. And
when he is out of doors, he is always on his mother's back, inside of
her fur hood.

As soon as an Eskimo boy is old enough to walk, he has a puppy for a
playmate. He learns to harness his dog and drive it all around the
room. Soon he will be able to drive a team of dogs, as his father
does, and ride swiftly over the snow.

[Illustration]

The large boys catch fish and hunt seal. They even help to kill great
whales and fierce white bears.

But what does the little Eskimo girl do? The little sister learns to
sew and to make clothes out of skins. She makes her own needle from a
hard bone or a piece of iron, and she twists thread from strips of
deerskin. Everything the Eskimos use they make with their own hands.

Sometimes our ships force their way through the frozen ocean to their
land of ice and snow. The Eskimo people think these great ships the
most wonderful things they have ever seen.



                          THE NORTHERN SEAS


      Up! up! let us a voyage take;
        Why sit we here at ease?
      Find us a vessel tight and snug,
        Bound for the northern seas.

      I long to see the Northern Lights,
        With their rushing splendors, fly,
      Like living things, with flaming wings,
        Wide o'er the wondrous sky.

      I long to see those icebergs vast,
        With heads all crowned with snow,
      Whose green roots sleep in the awful deep,
        Two hundred fathoms low.

      I long to hear the thundering crash
        Of their terrific fall;
      And the echoes from a thousand cliffs,
        Like lonely voices call.

      There we shall see the fierce white bear,
        The sleepy seals aground,
      And the spouting whales that to and fro
        Sail with a dreary sound.

      We'll pass the shores of solemn pine,
        Where wolves and black bears prowl,
      And away to the rocky isles of mist
        To rouse the northern fowl.

      And there, in the wastes of the silent sky,
        With the silent earth below,
      We shall see far off to his lonely rock
        The lonely eagle go.

      Then softly, softly we will tread
        By island streams, to see
      Where the pelican of the silent North
        Sits there all silently.
                               --WILLIAM HOWITT.



                               DECEMBER


      And now December's snows are here,
        The light flakes flutter down,
      And hoarfrost glitters, white and fair,
        Upon the branches brown.
                                --SELECTED.



                               JANUARY


      Wintry day! frosty day!
      God a cloak on all doth lay;
      On the earth the snow he sheddeth,
      O'er the lamb a fleece he spreadeth,
      Gives the bird a coat of feather
      To protect it from the weather.
                                --SELECTED.



                               FEBRUARY


      In the snowing and the blowing,
        In the cold and cruel sleet,
      Little flowers begin their growing,
        Underneath your feet.
                     --MARY MAPES DODGE.



                         CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE


      Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!
      Christmas in lands of the fir-tree and pine.
      Christmas in lands of the palm-tree and vine.
      Christmas where snow peaks stand solemn and white.
      Christmas where cornfields lie sunny and bright!

      Christmas where children are hopeful and gay,
      Christmas where old men are patient and gray,
      Christmas where peace, like a dove in his flight,
      Broods o'er brave men in the thick of the fight,
      Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night.

      For the Christ-Child who comes is the Master of all;
      No palace too great and no cottage too small.
                                --PHILLIPS BROOKS.



                          THE CHRISTMAS SONG

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host
praising God, and saying: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth
peace, good will to man."

                                                      --ST. LUKE.


      The shepherds were watching their flocks
        On a beautiful starlit night,
      When the sky was suddenly filled
        With a band of angels bright.

      Oh! shepherds fear not but rejoice,
        For we bring good news, they sing;
      In Bethlehem is born this day,
        A saviour who is Christ your King!

      A glad and wonderful song
        Rang through the heavens then;
      It was "Glory to God on high,
        Peace on earth, good will toward men."

[Illustration: THE CHRISTMAS SONG.]



                             THE NEW YEAR


      The New Year comes in the midnight hour
      When the beautiful world is still,
      And the moonlight falls in a silver stream
      Over meadow and wood and hill.

      We can not hear the tread of his feet,
      For so silently comes he;
      But the ringing bells the good news tell
      As they sound over land and sea.

      Where'er he steps new joys upspring,
      And hopes, that were lost or dim,
      Grow sweet and strong in the golden hours,
      That he everywhere bears with him.

      He brings us snow from the fleecy clouds;
      He sends us the springtime showers;
      He gladdens our world with the light of love
      And fills its lap with flowers.

      Some day, as softly as he came,
      He will pass through the open door,
      And we who sing at his coming now
      Will never see him more.
                              --MARIE ZETTERBERG.



                           HOW PLANTS GROW


  trunk    halves   dissolves   juice
  swells   course   openings    blood

Cut an apple into halves and take out one of the little brown seeds.
How small it is! Now look at an apple tree. Did the apple tree come
out of a little brown seed like the one you hold in your hand?

[Illustration]

You say that it did. Look again. Which is larger, the seed or the
apple tree? And now you laugh, as you say: "Of course an apple tree is
larger than an apple seed." Then there must be something in the apple
tree that was not in the seed.

The tree has a trunk or stem. It has leaves and it has roots. How were
all these made?

Do you say that the apple tree grew? But what do you mean by growing?
Something must have come into the apple seed to make it grow into a
plant. And something must have come into the little green apple plant
to make it grow into a tree.

What was it? Where did the plant get it? Cut into a green stem of the
apple tree. See how the juice runs out!

The apple tree was made from this juice which we call sap. This sap is
the blood of the plant. It makes the plant grow just as your blood
makes you grow.

The sap came to the little apple plant all the time it was growing.
But where did the plant get the sap?

The food of a plant lies all about its roots. The rain, or water from
your watering pot, falls around the plant. It sinks into the ground.
Then the water dissolves the earth just as it dissolves sugar.

The seed swells, and the brown seed coat bursts. Then a little root runs
down into the earth. This root has hundreds of openings or mouths. The
little openings are so small that our eyes can not see them.

The roots suck in the water from the ground. The earth that is
dissolved in the water creeps up into the plant. This juice or sap
makes the plant grow.

But the plant must have air as well as food. The sap can not turn into
wood and bark and fruit until it has met the air. So the sap flows up
into the leaves and meets the air.

Then it finds its way into every part of the plant. It changes into
the rough bark and hard wood of the apple tree. It changes into pink
apple blossoms and buds. It changes into red apples and yellow apples.
The same sap makes sweet apples and sour apples. Every part of a plant
is made from sap. Is not that very strange?

[Illustration: Apple Blossoms.]

We have learned that the roots take the food of plants from the earth.
They do more than this. The roots are the feet of the plant.

You could not stand without your feet. You would fall on the ground or
the floor. And so the tree or the plant could not stand without its
roots.

Other plants grow just as the apple tree grows. The roots of a plant
get food from the earth and keep the plant in its place in the ground.
The stem makes the plant strong and holds it up in the air. And the
leaves draw in just what the plants need from the air around them.

[Illustration: Fruit of the Apple Tree.]



                        TALKING IN THEIR SLEEP


              "You think I am dead,"
              The apple tree said,
      "Because I have never a leaf to show--
              Because I stoop
              And my branches droop,
      And the dull gray mosses over me grow.
      But I'm still alive in trunk and shoot;
              The buds of next May
              I fold away--
      But I pity the withered grass at my foot."

              "You think I am dead,"
              The quick grass said,
      "Because I have parted with stem and blade.
              But under the ground
              I am safe and sound
      With the snow's thick blanket over me laid.
      I'm all alive and ready to shoot,
              Should the spring of the year
              Come dancing here--
      But I pity the flowers without branch or root."

              "You think I am dead,"
              A soft voice said,
      "Because not a branch or root I own!
              I never have died
              But close I hide,
      In a plumy seed that the wind has sown.
      Patient I wait through the long winter hours;
              You will see me again--
              I shall laugh at you then,
      Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers."
                                --EDITH M. THOMAS.



                               A RIDDLE


      I have only one foot, but thousands of toes;
      My one foot stands, but never goes;
      I have many arms and they're mighty all;
      And hundreds of fingers, large and small.
      None e'er saw me eat--I've no mouth to bite;
      Yet I feed all day in the full sunlight;
      In the summer with song I shake and quiver,
      But in winter I fast and groan and shiver.
                               --GEORGE MACDONALD.



                              SNOWFLAKES


      Out of the sky they come,
        Wandering down the air,
      Some to the roofs, and some
        Whiten the branches bare;

      Some in the empty nest,
        Some on the ground below,
      Until the world is dressed
        All in a gown of snow;

      Dressed in a fleecy gown
        Out of the snowflakes spun;
      Wearing a golden crown,
        Over her head the sun.

      Out of the sky again
        Ghosts of the flowers that died
      Visit the earth, and then
      Under the white drifts hide.
        --FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN.

[Illustration]



                          FANNIE'S MENAGERIE


                                  I.

  dozen     trickled    creatures   dive
  pounced   mustn't     shoulders   bunch
  seized    shouldn't   snatching   shawl

"What a long, long day!" said Fannie. "Rain, rain all the time, and
nothing pleasant to do. I wish mother would let me go out of doors and
play in the water.

[Illustration]

"The ducks seem to be having a fine time on the pond. They like the
rain. If I only had a coat of feathers, I shouldn't mind a little
wetting. I could dive and splash about all day long. But now I suppose
I must go to sleep, for there seems to be nothing else for me to do."

So Fannie threw herself on her bed. She lay with her eyes half open,
watching the raindrops as they trickled down the window panes.

Flap, flap, flap! "What is that at the window?" Flap, flap, flap! In
flew a dozen geese. "Quack, quack! quack! Who carried off our
feathers?" they were screaming. They flew around the room, beating
their wings against the walls and ceiling.

Flap, flap, flap! went the flock of geese over Fannie's head, and down
they pounced upon the pillow. In a few minutes it was torn to pieces,
and the feathers scattered all over the floor.

"Quack, quack, quack! Here are our feathers!" cried all the geese; and
each one seized a bunch of feathers in its bill. Then they flew off,
leaving the air full of soft, white down.

Patter, patter, patter! The door was gently pushed open, and there
stood a sheep. "Please walk in, madam," said Fannie; and in came a
whole flock of sheep.

"Baa, baa, baa! Where is the wool they cut from my back?" said a
great, black sheep.

"Baa, baa, baa! Who has carried off our wool?" cried all the other
sheep.

"I didn't carry off your wool," said Fannie. "Stop, stop! that's my
shawl. You mustn't take that. What are you pulling the carpet to
pieces for?"

Without minding a word Fannie said, the great, black sheep marched out
of the room with the shawl on its shoulders. All the other sheep
followed with pieces of carpet folded over them.


                                 II.

  swarm   nibbling   exclaimed     mattress
  troop   neighing   cranberries   bursting
  eaten   nonsense   disturbed     pillows

Buzz, buzz, buzz! "What comes to the window now?" In flew a swarm of
bees.

"Buzz, buzz, buzz! Where is our wax?" said the queen bee.

"Hum, hum, hum! Who stole our wax?" said all the bees.

"There is no wax here," said Fannie.

The bees flew about, crying, "Buzz, buzz, buzz! Hum, hum, hum!" They
seemed to be very angry about something.

"Oh, dear," exclaimed Fannie; "they have all lighted on my doll and
are nibbling away her pretty face. Oh, my beautiful wax doll! What
shall I do? What shall I do?"

At that moment there was a great noise in the hall. "I wonder what will
come next," said Fannie. In trotted a troop of horses, neighing loudly,
"Who stole our flowing manes? Who carried off our long, waving tails?"

"Here they are," said a great, white horse, and he began pulling the
mattress into pieces.

"I shall have no bed to sleep on," thought Fannie, as the horses went
galloping out of the room, with their mouths full of horsehair.

But what can be coming through the hall now, making so much noise?

"Fannie! Fannie! Why don't you come down to tea?" shouted Frank,
bursting into the room.

"Oh, Frank," said she, "did you meet the horses running downstairs?"

"Horses running downstairs! What are you talking about, Fannie?"

"Why, some geese flew in through the window, and took the feathers
from my pillows. A whole troop of horses came into my room and tore
the mattress to pieces. A flock of sheep carried off the carpet, and a
swarm of bees has eaten up my doll's head."

"Your doll is lying in her cradle, with cheeks as red as cranberries,"
said Frank. "The carpet looks as pretty as ever; and your bed has not
been disturbed. Sister dear, I think you have been dreaming a great
deal of nonsense for one afternoon."

                                  --From "Rainbows for Children."



                     HOW LAMBKIN WHITE WAS SAVED


                                  I.

  frolic    trestle   railroad    marsh
  leader    minute    suddenly    barrel
  bubbled   lambkin   companions  swamp

The morning sun was just rising over the hills when Lambkin White
opened his eyes and scrambled to his feet. All around him lay the
sleeping flock.

One after another the sheep and lambs awoke, and soon they were
feeding on the grassy hillside.

[Illustration]

After the morning meal the lambs began to frolic. They raced across
the pasture. They bounded over the stones that lay in their way. They
seemed to plan their plays as children do, and everywhere Lambkin
White was the leader.

Suddenly, he left his companions and ran to a large, flat rock. Upon
this he jumped and stood waiting. Every lamb followed him. What the
new game was called in sheep language no one can tell. But they chased
one another like boys in a game of tag.

The sun crept up the sky and the air grew hotter. And now the sheep
stopped eating grass. They turned, all together, into a path that led
to their drinking place.

But to-day they could find no water. Instead of the spring which had
bubbled out from under the great rock there were only stones and dry
sand.

Down the hill the flock slowly wound its way, looking for water. But
Lambkin White did not walk with the flock. He ran here and there. He
climbed rocks and hid behind trees. Indeed, could the mother sheep
have spoken, she would have called him a very troublesome lambkin.

The pasture sloped down to a piece of low, wet land. A wooden bridge or
trestle had been built across the marsh for a railroad track. Trains of
cars rolled over this high bridge nearly every hour of the day.

On came the sheep to the very edge of the swamp. Here they found black
mud, but not a drop of water to drink.

Near the end of the trestle was a cask, or water barrel, which had
been sunk into the ground. Lambkin White ran to the barrel and looked
in. There was some water in the cask, and the thirsty lamb stretched
his neck farther and farther down to get a drink. Before his mother
could reach him he fell, head foremost, into the water barrel.


                                 II.

  feebly   drowning   locomotive  distress
  monster  struggles  passengers  whistle

Poor little lamb! The smooth sides of the barrel were all around him
and he could not get out. The helpless mother was in great distress,
but what could she do? Her little one was drowning before her eyes,
and she could not save him!

The lamb's wild struggles were growing slower and slower. His limbs
now moved feebly. In a moment more the brave young heart would stop
beating. Soon there would be one less in the flock. Soon there would
be a sad mother sheep calling in vain for her little lamb.

Just then a shrill whistle sounded across the marsh. Over the trestle
came the great locomotive dragging a train of cars filled with
passengers.

The foolish sheep, in their terror, ran along the railroad track in
front of the moving train.

But Lambkin White's mother still stood by the water cask. Nearer and
nearer came the terrible noise of the engine. The black monster was
coming directly toward her. Soon it will be upon her!

Will she not run away from danger? Will she not join the flock? No!
for the mother heart is brave and the mother love is strong. If she
can not save her darling, she can, at least, die by his side.


                                 III.

  track   fireman  brakeman   drowned
  brakes  sunken   engineer   darling
  fleece  pumped   conductor  dripping

The engineer was watching with sharp eyes the flock of sheep on the
track ahead. He saw the lamb in the water barrel as the engine came
near the end of the trestle. "Down brakes!" he whistled, and the train
suddenly stopped.

The passengers crowded to the windows. What could be the matter? They
saw the engineer running. They saw him stoop down and lift a little
lamb from the sunken water barrel. Its fleece was dripping with water.

The engineer placed the half-drowned creature by its mother's side.
And then what a cheer arose from the passengers for the kind deed
which he had done.

The fireman drove the sheep from the track and turned them toward the
hillside pasture. A brakeman pumped the water barrel full of water for
the thirsty flock.

Back ran the engineer to his engine. "All aboard," shouted the
conductor, as he swung himself upon the last car of the rolling train.

Late that afternoon a happy mother sheep wandered back to the pasture
with Lambkin White following very slowly in her tracks.

       *       *       *       *       *

      He prayeth well, who loveth well
      Both man, and bird, and beast.
      He prayeth best, who loveth best
      All things both great and small;
      For the dear God who loveth us,
      He made and loveth all.
                      --SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE.

[Illustration]



                               THE LAMB


      Little lamb, who made thee?
      Dost thou know who made thee--
      Gave thee life, and bade thee feed
      By the stream and o'er the mead;
      Gave thee clothing of delight,
      Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
      Gave thee such a tender voice,
      Making all the vales rejoice?
      Little lamb, who made thee?
      Dost thou know who made thee?

      Little lamb, I'll tell thee;
      Little lamb, I'll tell thee;
      He is callèd by thy name,
      For he calls Himself a Lamb.
      He is meek, and He is mild;
      He became a little child.
      I a child, and thou a lamb,
      We are callèd by His name.
      Little lamb, God bless thee!
      Little lamb, God bless thee!
                            --WILLIAM BLAKE.



                        THE NECKLACE OF TRUTH


                                  I.

  Merlin   fault    necklace   clasp
  habit    wizard   untruths   shame

There was once a little girl named Pearl, who had a bad habit of telling
untruths. For a long time her father and mother did not know this. But
at last they found that she very often said things that were not true.

Now, at this time--for it was long, long ago--there lived a wonderful
man named Merlin. He could do such strange things, and he was so very
wise, that he was called a wizard.

Merlin was a great lover of truth. For this reason children who told
untruths were often brought to him, so that he might cure them of
their fault.

"Let us take our child to the wonderful wizard." said Pearl's father.

And the mother said, "Yes, let us take her to Merlin. He will cure
her!" So Pearl's parents went to the glass palace where Merlin lived.

When they reached Merlin's palace, the wise old man said, "I know very
well what is the matter with your child; she does not love the truth."

[Illustration]

Poor Pearl hid her head with shame and fear. But Merlin said, "Do not
be afraid. I am only going to make you a present."

Then the wizard opened a drawer and took from it a lovely necklace
with a diamond clasp. This he put on Pearl's neck, and told her
parents to go home happy, for the little girl would soon be cured.

As they were going away, Merlin looked at Pearl, and said, "In a year
from now I shall come for my necklace. Till then you must not dare to
take it off."


                                 II.

  coarse   satin     truthful    size
  sobbed   tassels   falsehood   wrong
  choked   weeping   confessed   coach

Can you guess what the necklace was? It was the wonderful Necklace of
Truth.

Next day Pearl went to school. When her schoolmates saw the beautiful
necklace, they crowded around her.

"Oh, what a lovely necklace! Where did you get it, Pearl?"

"My father gave it to me for a Christmas present," said Pearl.

"Oh, look, look!" cried the children. "The diamond has turned dim!"

Pearl looked down at her necklace and saw that the lovely clasp was
changed to coarse glass. Then she was very much afraid, and said, "I
will tell you the truth: the wizard Merlin gave it to me."

At once the diamond was as bright as before.

The girls now began to laugh, because they knew that only children who
told falsehoods were sent to Merlin.

"You need not laugh," said Pearl. "Merlin sent a lovely coach to bring
us. It was drawn by six white horses, and was lined with satin, and
had gold tassels."

She stopped, for all the children were laughing again. Then she looked
at her necklace, and--what do you think? It hung down to the floor! At
each false word she had spoken, the necklace had stretched out more
and more.

"You are stretching the truth!" cried the little girls.

Then Pearl confessed that all she had told them was false; and at once
the necklace changed to its right size.

"But what did Merlin say when he gave you the necklace?"

"He said it was a present for a truthful--"

She could not go on speaking. The necklace became so short that it
nearly choked her.

"O dear, no!" sobbed Pearl. "He said I did not love the truth, nor
speak the truth."

The girls did not laugh now. They were sorry for Pearl when they saw
her weeping.

At last Pearl was cured. She saw how wrong and how foolish it is to
tell falsehoods. "Never more will I tell a lie," said she. And she
kept her word.

Before the year was ended Merlin came for his necklace. He knew that
Pearl did not need it now, and he wanted it for another little girl.

Since Merlin died, no one can tell what has become of the wonderful
Necklace of Truth. Would you like to wear it? Are you sure the diamond
would always keep bright?

                                          --From "Old Fairy Tales."



                           SPEAK THE TRUTH

                           TO BE MEMORIZED


          Speak the truth!
      Speak it boldly, never fear;
      Speak it so that all may hear;
      In the end it shall appear
      Truth is best in age and youth.
          Speak the truth.

          Speak the truth!
      Truth is beautiful and brave,
      Strong to bless and strong to save;
      Falsehood is a cowardly knave;
      From it turn thy steps in youth--
          Follow truth.



                           SAINT VALENTINE


Here is one of the many stories that have been told about Saint
Valentine.

Father Valentine was a priest who lived a long time ago. He spent his
time in nursing the sick and in comforting the sorrowing. As he went
about among his people, the children, too, found a kind and helpful
friend.

They liked to talk with him, and to run by his side as he went from
one house to another. What wonderful stories he told them about the
birds and the flowers! How many beautiful things he taught them as
they walked together through the forest and by the river!

Father Valentine loved all the little creatures of the woods and the
streams, and they seemed to love him in return. The birds would come
at his call, and the squirrels would scamper down the trees to take
food from his hand.

Years went by, and at last the good priest became too old to visit his
people. How they must have wished to hear again the sound of his
footsteps at the door! How the children must have missed their kind
teacher and the stories that he told!

Father Valentine was very sad because he could no longer go about from
home to home. But he soon found a way by which he could still be of
use to those he loved.

As he sat in his room he wrote the kind words which had always made
his visits so full of good cheer. Every day his loving messages were
sent near and far. They were carried by the boys and girls who had
learned from him to be happy in helping others.

Soon his friends began to watch for the kind words that were sure to
come to them whenever they were in need of help. Even the little
children, when they were ill, would say, "I am sure that Father
Valentine will send me a letter to-day."

After a time the good father passed away from earth, but he has not
been forgotten.

Each year, when the fourteenth of February comes around, we still keep
his birthday.

       *       *       *       *       *

      Think of the lonely, remember the sad,
      Be kind to the poor, make every one glad,
          On good old Saint Valentine's Day.



                          A FAMOUS OLD HOUSE


  fancy   buckles   victory        office
  bosom   ruffled   headquarters   freedom

[Illustration]

Here is a picture of a famous old house. It was built more than one
hundred years ago, and it still stands, painted yellow and white, as
in the days of old. People come from far and near to see it, and
perhaps some day you will visit it.

Do you wish to know why so many people travel miles and miles to see
this old place?

Two great men once lived here. The first one was a brave general. Long
ago he was called from his own home to take command of an army. In
those days, the yellow and white house was one of the finest places
for miles around. So it was given to the general for his headquarters.

If these old walls could only speak, what wonderful stories they could
tell! For in this house many plans were made, which helped to bring
freedom to our land.

We like to fancy that we can see the great general going in and out of
the front door. He used to wear a three-cornered hat and ruffled shirt
bosom, knee-breeches, and low shoes with silver buckles.

This brave and noble commander led his army through many dangers to
victory, and he afterward became the first president of the United
States. You need not be told that the great general who once lived in
the famous old house was George Washington.

After many years the old house became the home of another great and
good man. He did not lead armies, nor make laws, nor hold office. And
yet few men in our country have been so well known or so well loved.

His poems are read in all parts of the world, and his beautiful
thoughts have helped hundreds and hundreds of people to love the right
and to hate the wrong.

And now you are eager to speak the name of the great poet who once
lived in the famous old house--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.



                          HIAWATHA'S HUNTING


      Then the little Hiawatha
      Learned of every bird its language,
      Learned their names and all their secrets,--
      How they built their nests in summer,
      Where they hid themselves in winter,--
      Talked with them whene'er he met them,
      Called them "Hiawatha's chickens."

      Of all beasts he learned the language,
      Learned their names and all their secrets,--
      How the beavers built their lodges,
      Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
      How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
      Why the rabbit was so timid,--
      Talked with them whene'er he met them,
      Called them "Hiawatha's brothers."

      Forth into the forest straightway
      All alone walked Hiawatha
      Proudly, with his bow and arrows;
      And the birds sang round him, o'er him,
      "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"
      Sang the robin, sang the bluebird,
      "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"

      And the rabbit from his pathway
      Leaped aside, and at a distance
      Sat erect upon his haunches,
      Half in fear and half in frolic
      Saying to the little hunter,
      "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!"

      But he heeded not, nor heard them,
      For his thoughts were with the red deer;
      On their tracks his eyes were fastened,
      Leading downward to the river,
      To the ford across the river;
      And as one in slumber walked he.

[Illustration]

      Hidden in the alder bushes,
      There he waited till the deer came,
      Till he saw two antlers lifted,
      Saw two eyes look from the thicket,
      Saw two nostrils point to windward,
      And a deer came down the pathway,
      Flecked with leafy light and shadow.
      And his heart within him fluttered,
      Trembled like the leaves above him,
      As the deer came down the pathway.



                     LONGFELLOW WITH HIS CHILDREN


                                  I.

  eager     birthday   nursery    elm
  planned   question   musician   lawn

The famous old house looks very quiet and lonely in the picture. But
there was a time when many children ran about its halls and played
upon the lawn.

[Illustration]

"How many children did Mr. Longfellow have? Did he have any boys? What
were their names?"

These questions are asked again and again by little people who keep
the birthday of the poet and wish to learn about his life.

In his journal, Mr. Longfellow tells us about his children, and it is
there we may find answers to all our questions.

The poet's eldest son was named Charles. When Charles was two years
old his little brother Ernest was born. Longfellow then moved his
books into another room and gave up his study to his babies.

And so the room in which Washington had planned battles became the
nursery of the Longfellow children. Did any children ever have a more
famous nursery?

In this room which once belonged to Washington we like to think that
the children heard again and again the story of our first President.

When Ernest was but a few days old his father told a friend that the
little newcomer was a great musician. Do you know what the poet meant
by this?

While Charles and Ernest were still little boys, their baby sister
Fannie came to live in the nursery. Just as she was old enough to run
about, the dear little girl died. Then the house was full of sorrow.
Many of the poems Longfellow wrote at this time tell the story of his
grief at the loss of his little daughter.

Charles was six years old and Ernest four, when their father first
took them to school. He left them sitting on little chairs among the
other children in an old house near a large elm tree.

It was under this same tree that Washington took command of the
American army.

As time went on three little girls took the places of the boys in the
nursery. How all these children loved their father! They thought him
the best playfellow in the world, and so he was.

He made toys for them, taught them games, and wrote letters which he
placed under their pillows for them to find in the morning.


                                 II.

  beloved    loss    providing    wreaths
  sealing    grief   happiness    package
  coasting   meant   playfellow   pleasure

Longfellow writes in his journal about coasting with the boys for
hours upon the hillside, and of working hard with all the children
making a snow house in the front yard.

Again he tells of charming birthday parties when children played in
the hay and scrambled for sugar plums. These parties always ended with
a fine birthday supper.

On the first of May the children sometimes had a May party. The girls
wore wreaths upon their heads and danced around the May pole. Then
they all went to the summer house for a feast.

In summer the Longfellow children often went to the seaside with their
father and mother. All day long they played in the sand and waded in
the water.

But a great and terrible sorrow came suddenly to the Longfellow home.
One morning, as Mrs. Longfellow was sealing a package with hot wax,
her dress caught fire. Before the flames could be put out she was so
badly burned that she died soon after.

Never again was the poet full of joy as he had always been before. For
him the happiness of life was over. But he never forgot to provide
for the pleasure of his children.

Longfellow has told us about his three daughters in a beautiful poem
called "The Children's Hour." He has also written about them in a
letter to a little girl which you will be glad to read.



                      A LETTER TO A LITTLE GIRL


  Edith     exactly    merriest    piazza
  Allegra   memory     encamped    nankeen

                                      NAHANT, August 18, 1859.

Your letter followed me down here by the seaside, where I am passing
the summer with my three little girls.

The oldest is about your size; but as little girls keep changing every
year I can never remember exactly how old she is, and have to ask her
mamma, who has a better memory than I have. Her name is Alice. I never
forget that. She is a nice girl and loves poetry almost as much as you
do.

The second is Edith, with blue eyes and beautiful golden locks which I
sometimes call her nankeen hair to make her laugh. She is a busy
little woman and wears gray boots.

The youngest is Allegra, which you know means merry; and she is the
merriest little thing you ever saw--always singing and laughing all
over the house.

These are my three little girls, and Mr. Read has painted them all in
one picture which I hope you will see some day.

They bathe in the sea and dig in the sand and patter about the piazza
all day long. Sometimes they go to see the Indians encamped on the
shore, and buy baskets and bows and arrows.

I do not say anything about the two boys. They are such noisy fellows
it is of no use to talk about them.

And now, Miss Emily, give my love to your papa, and good night with a
kiss from his friend and yours,

                          HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

[Illustration]



                           THE OPEN WINDOW


      The old house by the lindens
        Stood silent in the shade,
      And on the graveled pathway
        The light and shadow played.

      I saw the nursery windows
        Wide open to the air,
      But the faces of the children,
        They were no longer there.

      The large Newfoundland house dog
        Was standing by the door;
      He looked for his little playmates,
        Who would return no more.

      They walked not under the lindens,
        They played not in the hall;
      But shadow, and silence, and sadness
        Were hanging over all.

      The birds sang in the branches
        With sweet, familiar tone;
      But the voices of the children
       Will be heard in dreams alone!
            --HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.



                        THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH


      Under a spreading chestnut-tree
        The village smithy stands;
      The smith, a mighty man is he,
        With large and sinewy hands;
      And the muscles of his brawny arms
        Are strong as iron bands.

      His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
        His face is like the tan;
      His brow is wet with honest sweat;
        He earns whate'er he can,
      And looks the whole world in the face,
        For he owes not any man.

      Week in, week out, from morn till night,
        You can hear his bellows blow;
      You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
        With measured beat and slow,
      Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
        When the evening sun is low.

[Illustration: THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

  From the Painting by Sir Edwin Landseer. Engraved by Henry W.
            Peckwell.]

      And children coming home from school
        Look in at the open door;
      They love to see the flaming forge,
        And hear the bellows roar,
      And catch the burning sparks that fly
        Like chaff from a threshing floor.

      He goes on Sunday to the church,
        And sits among his boys;
      He hears the parson pray and preach,
        He hears his daughter's voice
      Singing in the village choir,
        And it makes his heart rejoice.

      It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
        Singing in Paradise!
      He needs must think of her once more,
        How in the grave she lies;
      And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
        A tear out of his eyes.

      Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
        Onward through life he goes;
      Each morning sees some task begun,
        Each evening sees its close;
      Something attempted, something done,
        Has earned a night's repose.

      Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
        For the lesson thou hast taught!
      Thus at the flaming forge of life
        Our fortunes must be wrought;
      Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
        Each burning deed and thought.
                        --HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.



                GEORGE WASHINGTON, THE YOUNG SURVEYOR


  beyond    compass    Mount Vernon
  acres     bargain    undertake
  measure   surveyor   interesting

It is very interesting to know how George Washington passed his
boyhood. In many ways he was no better than other boys. He had a quick
temper, and he soon found that he must learn to control it.

But he wished to make a good and useful man of himself. This story
tells some of the ways in which he tried to do this.

He had learned to survey land, and this knowledge soon became of great
use to him. When he was sixteen years old, he went to live with his
brother Lawrence at Mount Vernon.

He took his compass and surveyor's chain with him. Nearly every day he
went out into the fields to measure his brother's land.

A tall, white-haired gentleman often came into the fields to see what
Washington was doing, and to talk with him. This was Sir Thomas Fairfax.
He had lately come to America from his home in England. He owned
thousands of acres of land in the new country beyond the mountains.

Sir Thomas was very fond of hunting, and he liked to have Washington
go with him. They often rode out together, and the old Englishman came
to like his young friend very much. He saw that the boy was manly and
brave and very careful in all that he did.

"Here is a boy who likes to make himself useful; I can trust him," he
said. And Sir Thomas soon made a bargain with young Washington to
survey his wild lands.

Washington loved out-of-door life, and he was very fond of riding on
horseback. So he was glad to undertake the work of surveying land for
Sir Thomas.



                     SURVEYING IN THE WILDERNESS


  cousin   knowledge   Englishman   paid
  yelled   drummed     gentleman    swam

One bright day in early spring the young surveyor started out on his
first trip across the mountains. With him was a cousin of Sir Thomas
Fairfax. Each young man rode a good horse and carried a gun.

As there were no roads in the wild country they found their way through
paths in the forest. They climbed mountains and swam rivers. At night
they slept in a hunter's cabin or by a camp fire in the woods.

Often they were wet and cold and without shelter. They cooked their
meat over the fire on forked sticks, and they used wooden chips and
leaves for plates.

One day they met a band of Indians. There were thirty of them, and
their bodies were half covered with war paint.

The Indians seemed very friendly. They built a huge fire under the
trees and danced their war dance. One of them drummed on a deerskin
stretched over an iron pot.

[Illustration: George Washington, the Surveyor.]

The others whooped and yelled as they danced around the fire. It was a
strange sight, and the young men looked on with wonder.

For weeks Washington and his companion lived in the forest. They
found the best places for hunting, and the best lands for farms.

When they returned home Sir Thomas was much pleased with all that the
young men told him about the new country. He made up his mind to move
across the mountains and to spend the rest of his life upon his own
lands.

George was well paid for his work of surveying. This was the first
money he had ever earned, and he enjoyed spending it because he had
worked hard for it.



                           ABRAHAM LINCOLN

                             HIS NEW HOME


                                  I.

  chain   patient    Kentucky    furry
  ashes   potatoes   Indiana     bacon
  rifle   inclosed   household   loosed

In the autumn after Abraham Lincoln was eight years old, his parents
left their Kentucky home and moved to Indiana.

They had no wagon, and all their household goods were carried on the
backs of two horses. At night they slept on the ground, sheltered only
by the trees.

It was not more than fifty or sixty miles from the old home to the
new; but it was a good many days before the family reached their
journey's end. Over a part of the way there was no road. The movers
had sometimes to cut a path through the thick woods.

The boy was tall and very strong for his age. He already knew how to
handle an ax, and few men could shoot with a rifle better than he. He
was his father's helper in all kinds of work.

It was in November when the family came to the place which was to be
their future home. Winter was near at hand. There was no house nor
shelter of any kind. What would become of the patient, tired mother,
and the gentle little sister?

Hardly had they reached the spot chosen for their home than Lincoln
and his father were at work with their axes. In a short time they had
built what they called a camp.

[Illustration]

This camp was but a rude shed made of poles and covered with leaves
and branches. It was inclosed on three sides. The fourth side was
left open, and in front of it a fire was built.

This fire was kept burning all the time. It warmed the inside of the
camp. A big iron kettle was hung over it by means of a chain and pole.
In the kettle the fat bacon, the beans, and the corn were boiled for
the family's dinner and supper. In the hot ashes the good mother baked
corn cakes, and sometimes, perhaps, a few potatoes.

One end of the camp was used as a kitchen. The rest of the space was
the family sitting room and bedroom. The floor was covered with
leaves, and on these were spread the furry skins of deer and bears and
other animals.


                                 II.

  Bible  hoeing    supplied   strength
  busy   plowing   chopping   taught

In this camp the Lincoln family spent their first winter in Indiana.
How very cold and dreary that winter must have been! Think of the
stormy nights, of the howling wind, of the snow and the sleet and the
bitter frost! It is not much wonder that the mother's strength began
to fail before the spring months came.

It was a busy winter for Thomas Lincoln. Every day his ax was heard in
the woods. He was clearing the ground, so that in the spring it might
be planted. And he was cutting logs for his new house. For he had made
up his mind, now, to have something better than a cabin to live in.

The woods were full of wild animals. It was easy for the boy and his
father to kill plenty of game, and thus keep the family supplied with
meat.

Lincoln, with chopping and hunting and trapping, was very busy. He had
but little time to play. Since he had no playmates we do not know that
he even wanted to play.

With his mother he read over and over the Bible stories which both of
them loved so well. And, during the cold, stormy days, when he could
not leave the camp, his mother taught him how to write.

In the spring the new house was built. It was only a log house, with
one room below and a loft above. But it was so much better than the
old cabin in Kentucky that it seemed like a palace.

The family moved into the new house before the floor was laid, or any
door was hung at the doorway.

Then came the plowing and the planting and the hoeing. Everybody was
busy from daylight to dark.



                           ABRAHAM LINCOLN

                        HIS FIRST GREAT SORROW


                                  I.

  silence     postage     autumn      duties
  finished    preacher    sycamore    comfort
  buried      grieving    minister    feeble

The summer passed, and autumn came. Then the poor mother's strength gave
out. She could no longer go about her household duties. She had to
depend more and more upon the help that her children could give her.

At length she became too feeble to leave her bed. She called the boy
to her side. She put her arm around him and said: "My boy, I shall
very soon leave you. I know that you will always be good and kind to
your sister and father. Try to live as I have taught you, and to love
your heavenly Father."

Then she fell asleep, never to wake again on this earth.

Under a big sycamore tree, half a mile from the house, the neighbors
dug the grave for the mother of Abraham Lincoln. And there they buried
her in silence and in great sorrow.

In all that new country there was no church; and no minister could be
found to speak words of comfort and hope to the grieving ones around
the grave.

But the boy remembered a preacher whom they had known in Kentucky. The
name of this preacher was David Elkin. If he would only come!

And so, after all was over, the lad sat down and wrote a letter to
David Elkin. Abraham was only a child nine years old, but he believed
that the good man would remember his mother, and come.

It was no easy task to write a letter. Paper and ink were not things
of common use, as they are with us. A pen had to be made from the
quill of a goose.

But at last the letter was finished and sent to Kentucky. How it was
carried I do not know, for the mails were few in those days, and
postage was very high.


                                 II.

  upright    forded       funeral      months
  justice    earliest     sympathy     hymns
  reward     preached     reverence    duty

Months passed. The leaves were again on the trees. The wild flowers
were blossoming in the woods. At last the preacher came.

He had ridden a hundred miles on horseback. He had forded rivers and
traveled through pathless woods. He had dared the dangers of the wild
forest. And all in answer to the lad's letter.

He had no hope of reward save that which is given to every man who
does his duty. He did not know that there would come a time when the
greatest preachers in the world would envy him his sad task.

And now the friends and neighbors gathered again under the great
sycamore tree. The funeral sermon was preached. Hymns were sung. A
prayer was offered, and words of comfort were spoken.

From that time forward the mind of Abraham Lincoln was filled with
high and noble thoughts. In his earliest childhood his mother had
taught him to love truth and justice, to be honest and upright among
men, and to honor God. These lessons he never forgot.

Long afterward, when the world had come to know him as a very great man,
he said: "All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother."

                                                --JAMES BALDWIN.



                            HANA AND TORA

                              THEIR HOME


                                  I.

  Tora   Japan    Japanese    gowns
  Hana   mirror   carriage    hastens

Hana is a little Japanese girl. Her name, in the language of Japan,
means flower or blossom. If you should see her you would say that she
is as beautiful as the gayest flower in the garden.

Tora is her brother and his name means tiger. He is called Tora because
his father and mother wish him to be as strong and as brave as a tiger.

Hana and Tora live in one of the beautiful islands of Japan. Let us
visit them in their home on the other side of the world.

We must cross the ocean to reach this far away land. So we go on board
a great steamer and for days and days we sail over the sea.

At last we come to the city where our little friends live. We leave
the ship and climb into a two-wheeled carriage which is drawn by a
man. He runs along the street with our carriage almost as fast as a
horse can trot.

[Illustration]

How strange everything seems. The men, women, and children all wear
gowns that look like dresses. They clatter along in wooden shoes, and
they carry paper umbrellas. We ride through narrow streets. There are
no sidewalks nor green lawns.

And now our carriage stops. We have come to the home of Hana and Tora.
The front of the house is open like a doll's playhouse, and we can
see through to the garden beyond.

How clean everything looks! The porch shines like a mirror. All the
floors are covered with matting made of the whitest straw. Even the
road in front of the house is swept.

We walk toward the house, and a little girl comes in from the garden.
She has a clear yellow skin, bright black eyes, and smooth black hair.
This is Hana, and she hastens to greet us.

She drops down on her knees, and bows so low that her head touches the
matting. Her mother will soon be at home, Hana says, and she begs us
to come in.

Does she ask us to take off our hats? Oh, no, she expects us to take
off our shoes. The Japanese always leave their shoes outside when they
go into a house.

Again and again the polite little girl bows her head to the floor as
we enter. We sit down on the thick matting, for in the houses of Japan
there are no chairs.


                                 II.

  closet    pickles     alphabet       knives
  parlor    pockets     embroidered    quilts
  observe   greetings   maidservant    screens

Little Hana looks like a butterfly in her loose dress embroidered all
over with bright flowers. Her sleeves are very large, and a wide sash
of soft red silk is tied around her waist.

And now Hana's mother returns, and Tora comes running in from his
play. There are more bows and more greetings.

Tora is dressed in a plain blue gown very much like his sister's. Both
the children have large pockets in their sleeves where they carry
their playthings.

Our friends invite us to spend the night with them. We are very glad to
do so. They take us to the parlor, which is at the back of the house.

It is now time for supper. A small table, about ten inches high, is
placed before each person in the room. We sit on the floor as we eat.
A little maidservant brings in cakes and candies shaped like flowers.
She kneels and bows low as she hands them to us.

[Illustration]

Next we have soup, which we drink from small bowls. Then come pickles
and strange kinds of food that we have never before seen. Last of all
rice is served from a large, round, wooden box, and we drink our tea
from tiny cups.

There are no knives and no forks, and so we observe our Japanese
friends as they eat with two long wooden sticks. Then we take our chop
sticks and try to eat the rice as they do. Hana and Tora watch us, but
they are too polite to smile.

After the supper is over, the grown people sit on the floor and talk
to one another, or watch the children at their games. Hana and Tora
play with small cards on which are printed the strange-looking letters
of the Japanese alphabet.

And so the evening passes and bedtime comes. The little maidservant
takes us upstairs. We see no beds, and we wonder where we shall sleep.
But screens are soon drawn together, and a room is made for us.

Then the little maid slides back another screen, and there in the wall
is a closet. Out of this she takes soft, thick quilts, and spreads
them on the matting, one on top of another. For a pillow she brings
each of us a small block of wood.

We do not like the wooden pillows, but we sleep soundly all night in
our beds on the floor.



                            HANA AND TORA

                         THEIR FESTIVAL DAYS


                                  I.

  merry    alcove    festival     polite
  packed   budding   storehouse   sashes

A beautiful garden lies back of the house where Hana and Tora live.

In Japan the people love the flowering trees and plant them in their
gardens. Now it is early springtime and the plum trees are just
beginning to burst into bloom.

The children ask us to go with them and look for the first plum
blossoms. The pink buds are pushing out of their brown coverings. "Oh,
I am so glad!" Hana says. "Soon the peach trees will bloom, and then
it will be time for the Doll Festival.

"How I wish I could show you my dolls! I have more than a hundred, but
they are all packed away in the storehouse.

"Some of them are very old. They used to belong to my grandmother and
to my great-grandmother. The doll I like best was given to me when I
was a baby. It is as large as I am, and it can wear my clothes.

"When the Doll Festival comes I have a merry time. In the morning when
I get up I find all my dolls waiting for me in the guest room.

"With them are doll houses, little tables, sets of dishes, and boxes
full of pretty gowns and sashes. The first thing I do is to dress all
the dolls in their best clothes.

"Of course they must have something to eat, for it is the Feast of
Dolls.

"I make tea for them and put dishes of candy and cake and rice on
their little tables. It is not polite to leave anything on one's
plate, and so Tora and I have all the food that the dolls do not eat.

"For three whole days I can play with my dolls. Then I take off their
beautiful clothes and put on their sleeping coats. My mother packs
them in their boxes and stores them away for another year, until the
Feast of Dolls comes again."


                                 II.

  whole    current   images     rustle
  swords   success   generals   famous

"Tora does not care for the Feast of Dolls, because that is a girls'
festival. The Feast of Flags is the boys' day."

[Illustration]

"Oh, yes," Tora says, "I think the Flag Festival is the very best day
of the whole year. Then everybody flies kites and the boys have their
feast.

"What fun it is to see the huge paper fishes flying over all the houses
and gardens! Some of the fishes are as large as a man. They open their
mouths and swim about in the air as if they were in the water. All day
long they flap their fins and tails and rustle in the wind."

"But why are so many of your kites made like fishes?" we ask.

"Because there is one kind of fish in our country so strong and brave
that he swims up stream and leaps the waterfalls," Tora answered. "So
Japanese parents fly kites made like fishes to help their sons
remember that they must struggle bravely to win success.

"There are many kinds of fish, my father says, that can float down the
stream with the current; but there is only one fish that can swim up
the stream and leap over a waterfall.

"We have many other kites too. Some of them are shaped like
butterflies. Some are shaped like birds and they make a singing noise
when the wind blows through them.

"On the morning of the Flag Festival I find all my toys in the guest
room where Hana finds her dolls.

"Among my toys are wooden soldiers older than Hana's oldest dolls. My
grandfather's grandfather used to play with them when he was a little
boy.

"And there are banners and swords, and images of the famous generals
of Japan dressed in splendid armor. My father always plays with me on
the day of the Flag Festival, and he tells me about the brave soldiers
of our country.

"In the evening the people light their prettiest paper lanterns, and
hang them in the gardens and before every house and store.

"Sometimes my father takes me boat-riding, and the most beautiful
sight of all is the river with the many colored lights twinkling from
the boats."

Hana and Tora tell us about other great festivals of their country,
and they invite us to visit them again at the time of the Feast of
Cherry Blossoms.

       *       *       *       *       *

      A dip of the nose,
      A turn of the toes,
      A spread of the hand,
      A bend of the knees--
      It takes all these
        To say "Good day"
      In chrysanthemum land
        So far away.



                                MARCH


      In March come the March winds;
        They blow and they blow,
      They sweep up the brown leaves,
        That green ones may grow.
                               --SELECTED.



                                APRIL


      April, April, are you here?
        Oh! how fresh the wind is blowing!
      See! The sky is bright and clear;
        Oh! how green the grass is growing!
                        --DORA REED GOODALE.



                                 MAY


      Robins in the tree top;
        Blossoms in the grass;
      Green things a-growing,
        Everywhere you pass;
      Sudden little breezes;
        Showers of silver dew;
      Black bough and bent twig
        Budding out anew.
                       --T. B. ALDRICH.



                             EASTER SONG

                           TO BE MEMORIZED


      Snowdrops! lift your timid heads,
        All the earth is waking;
      Field and forest, brown and dead,
        Into life are waking.

[Illustration]

      Lilies! lilies! Easter calls!
        Rise to meet the dawning
      Of the blessed light that falls
        Through the Easter morning.

      Waken, sleeping butterflies,
        Burst your narrow prison!
      Spread your golden wings and rise,
        For the Lord is risen.
                      --MARY A. LATHBURY.

                  _From "Little Pilgrim Songs."
             Used by permission of the Biglow & Main Co._



                      THE SONG OF THE POPPY SEED

                           TO BE MEMORIZED


      Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,
        Are you awake in the dark?
      Here we lie cosily, close to each other;
        Hark to the song of the lark--
      "Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you,
        Put on your green coats and gay,
      Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you,
        Waken! 'tis morning--'tis May!"

      Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,
        What kind of flower will you be?
      I'll be a poppy--all white, like my mother,
        Do be a poppy like me.
      What! you're a sunflower? How I shall miss you,
        When you're grown golden and high!
      But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you,
        Little brown brother, good-by!
                                      --E. NESBIT.



[Illustration]

                               CLOVERS


      The clovers have no time to play:
      They feed the cows and make the hay,

      And trim the lawns and help the bees,
      Until the sun sinks through the trees.

      And then they lay aside their cares,
      And fold their hands to say their prayers,

      And drop their tired little heads,
      And go to sleep in clover beds.

      Then when the day dawns clear and blue
      They wake and wash their hands in dew;

      And as the sun climbs up the sky
      They hold them up and let them dry;

      And then to work the whole long day:
      For clovers have no time to play.
                       --HELENA LEEMING JELLIFFE.

                                _Copyright, 1902, The Outlook Company._



                          WHO TOLD THE NEWS?


      Oh, the sunshine told the bluebird,
        And the bluebird told the brook,
      That the dandelions were peeping
        From the woodland's sheltered nook;
      So the brook was blithe and happy,
        And it babbled all the way,
      As it ran to tell the river
        Of the coming of the May.

      Then the river told the meadow,
        And the meadow told the bee,
      That the tender buds were swelling
        On the old horse-chestnut tree;
      And the bee shook off its torpor,
        And it spread each gauzy wing,
      As it flew to tell the flowers
        Of the coming of the spring.

[Illustration]



                                 AIR


  squeeze   crevice    surrounds    gust
  motion    nothing    furniture    weigh

We say that a room with no furniture in it is empty. But this is not
exactly true. There is one thing that the room is full of to its very
top. It is something that you can not see. But it is as real a thing
as the furniture. This thing is air.

If you take all of your books out of the box in which you keep them,
you say there is nothing left in it. But the box is full of air. When
you shut it up and put it away, you put away a box full of air. When
the books were in it, it was full of books and air together. Now it is
full of air alone.

The air is everywhere. It is always ready to go where there is a place
for it. Every crack and crevice is filled with it.

You see a little boy playing with a ball. What is it that he is
throwing against the wall? It is a rubber ball, you say. But is this
all? Is there not something else besides the rubber?

Suppose that you prick a hole in the ball and squeeze it. It is now
good for nothing. But the rubber is all there. Why is the ball good
for nothing?

It is because the air which filled the ball and made it round has
escaped. The ball is of no use unless you can keep it full of air.

Perhaps you think that air does not weigh anything. But it does weigh
something, though very little, and its weight is well known.

You can not see air, but you can sometimes feel it. You can not feel
it while it is still if you are still at the same time. You can feel
it only when it is in motion. When the wind blows upon you, it is air
in motion that you feel.

When you fan yourself, the air strikes upon your face, and you feel
it. When there is a gust of wind, the air comes against you just as a
wave of water does.

Sometimes we say the wind blows very hard or very strong. This is
when the air moves very fast. When there is only a gentle breeze, the
air is moving very slowly.

When the air moves very fast, it sometimes does a great deal of harm.
It roots up trees and blows down houses.

The air is clear, like glass. That is, it lets you see through it. But
when you look up through the air, you see that it is of a blue color.
You call the blue air the sky. The sky is the blue air that surrounds
the earth.

                                           --WORTHINGTON HOOKER.



                           THE UNSEEN GIANT


                                  I.

  giant    perish    whistling   whirls
  mighty   stolen    meddles     voice
  tosses   racket    tumbling    prank

There is a mighty giant in the world, who is as old as the earth
itself. You have often heard his voice and felt his touch, but you
have never seen his face.

When he is angry, all men fear, and all the beasts of the field seek
their hiding places.

As he rages and whirls along his way, he tosses houses into the air as
easily as a boy tosses a ball. He throws down great trees or pulls
them up by the roots as he crashes through the forest.

[Illustration]

Sometimes he flies out over the sea and chases the ships. He rolls great
waves over their decks and drives the ships against the rocks to perish.

But he plays many a queer prank even in the midst of his anger. One
day he lifted a schoolhouse, turned it around in the air, and set it
down with the back of the house just where the front had been.

Once when he was tumbling down houses with a great racket, he found a
baby in a cradle. Catching it up, he was off like a flash.

Where had he taken the baby? Would it ever be found alive? "Never,"
the people said. But just then a cry was heard, and there was the
little child safe in the branches of a tree!

This giant meddles with everything within his reach. He knocks the
apples off the trees before they are ripe. He tears the vines from the
house, and picks the flowers from their stalks.

He is not always honest, for on washing days he often tries to steal
the clothes from the line. He takes things which boys and girls leave
in the yard, or on the doorstep.

Then the old giant goes whistling on his way to hide his stolen goods.
Sometimes he throws them under the bushes, and sometimes he tosses
them into the water.


                                 II.

  bugle    unseen     neither   flute
  music    chimney    thirsty   whence
  cattle   saddest    keyhole   grinds

The unseen giant is often kind and gentle. In the long, hot summer
time he softly fans sick children, and helps them to become strong and
well again.

[Illustration]

When he wishes, he can be one of the greatest workers in the world.
Sometimes he flies from town to town sweeping the streets. He draws
water for thirsty cattle, and he grinds wheat and corn for any miller
that asks his help.

Up and down the rivers, and over the sea, he works by day and by night,
carrying people where they wish to go. Had it not been for him, neither
Columbus nor the Pilgrims could have reached the shores of America.

He likes to play with boys and girls. Sometimes he is a little rough.
But when there are kites to fly or boats to sail, he is the best
playfellow that can be found.

The strong old giant is very fond of music, too. He loves to play on the
horn, the bugle, and the flute. Sometimes you hear him whistling in the
keyhole and singing in the chimney. Often he flies to the pine forests,
where he makes the sweetest, saddest music you have ever heard.

Everything you have heard about this wonderful giant is true. And when
you think of his name, you will remember many other things that he can
do.



                           WHAT ROBIN TOLD


      How do the robins build their nest?
          Robin Redbreast told me.
      First a wisp of amber hay
      In a pretty round they lay;
      Then some shreds of downy floss,
      Feathers too, and bits of moss,
      Woven with a sweet, sweet song,
      This way, that way, and across:
          That's what Robin told me.

      Where do the robins hide their nest?
          Robin Redbreast told me.
      Up among the leaves so deep,
      Where the sunbeams rarely creep.
      Long before the winds are cold,
      Long before the leaves are gold,
      Bright-eyed stars will peep and see
      Baby robins one, two, three:
          That's what Robin told me.
                            --GEORGE COOPER.



                         THE BIRD'S EDUCATION


                                  I.

  owlets    training    educated       worms
  hungry    nobody      raspberries    slipped
  protect   quietly     woodpecker     flutter

[Illustration: Copyright, 1900, by A. R. Dugmore.]

The young bird needs to be educated just as a child needs to be,
though not exactly in the same way.

After the young bird can fly, he needs to be taught to find his own
food, and also where to sleep.

He needs to know the different calls and cries of his family, and what
they all mean. He has to learn to fly, and he must learn to sing.
Then he must learn what to be afraid of, and how to protect himself
from his enemies. No doubt there are many lessons for him to learn
that we do not know about.

If you watch little birds just out of the nest, you may see them being
taught how to find their food.

The robin mother takes her little one to the ground and shows him
where the worms live, and how to get them. The owl mother finds a
mouse creeping about in the grass. She teaches the owlets how to
pounce upon it by doing it herself before them.

The old swallow takes her young ones into the air and shows them how
to catch little flies on the wing.

If you watch long enough, you may see the old bird, who is training a
young one, fly away. She may leave the young one alone on a tree or on
the ground and be gone a long time.

Before many minutes the little one will begin to call for food. But by
and by, if nobody comes to feed him, he will look around for something
to eat. Thus he will get his first lesson in finding food for himself.

Once I saw a woodpecker bring his little one to a fence close by some
raspberry bushes. He fed the young bird two or three raspberries, and
then quietly slipped away.

When the young bird began to feel hungry, he cried out; but nobody
came. Then he looked over at the raspberries and tried to reach one.
After trying three or four times he got one. Then how proud he was!

The father stayed away an hour or more. Before he came back that young
woodpecker had learned to help himself very well. But the minute his
father came, he began to flutter his wings and beg to be fed.


                                 II.

  watcher     hopped     scatter      perch
  knocked     alight     naughty      bathe
  suppose     coaxing    fluttered    plunge

It is very easy to see the birds teaching their little ones to fly.
You will find the young birds sitting quietly on fences or trees. All
at once the parents begin to fly around, with strange, loud calls. In
a minute the little birds will fly out and join them.

Around and around they all go till their little wings are tired, and
then they come down and alight again.

[Illustration]

Once I saw a young crow who did not fly when his parents called. All
the others flew around many times.

The mother's sharp eyes saw her naughty son. She flew right at him,
and knocked him off his perch. The next time she called, he flew with
the rest.

An old robin wanted to teach her young one to bathe. She brought him
to a dish of water kept for their use by some people who were fond of
birds.

The little one stood on the edge and watched his mother go in and
splash and scatter the water. He fluttered his wings and was eager to
try it for himself, but seemed afraid to plunge in.

At last the mother flew away and left him standing there. In a moment
she came back with a worm in her mouth. The young robin was hungry, as
young birds always are. When he saw the worm, he began to flutter his
wings and cry for it.

But the mother jumped into the middle of the water dish and stood there,
holding the worm in his sight. The little bird wanted the worm so much
that he seemed to forget his fear and hopped in beside his mother.

She fed him, and then began to splash about. The little fellow stayed
in the water and took a good bath.

A careful watcher can see the birds teach many interesting things to
their young ones. But one must be quiet and patient, and not frighten
the birds.

                                           --OLIVE THORNE MILLER.



[Illustration]

                       HOW BIRDS LEARN TO SING


      How do birds first learn to sing?
        From the whistling wind so fleet,
        From the waving of the wheat,
        From the rustling of the leaves,
        From the raindrop on the eaves,
        From the children's laughter sweet,
        From the plash when brooklets meet.

        Little birds begin their trill
        As they gayly float at will
        In the gladness of the sky,
        When the clouds are white and high;
        In the beauty of the day
        Speeding on their sunny way,
        Light of heart and fleet of wing--
      That's how birds first learn to sing.
                          --MARY MAPES DODGE.



                        THE GREATEST OF BEASTS


  grasp      Hindu      smelling       urge
  straight   feeling    earrings       trunk
  roamed     jungle     processions    tusks

Nandi, the Great One, was the baby's nurse. He was one of the strongest
nurses that ever took care of a baby anywhere on this round earth.

In the first place Nandi was large, as you have already guessed. He
was twice as high as the baby's father, and he was almost as tall as
the roof of the tiny hut where the baby lived.

Nandi had a long nose. It was a very long nose indeed. Perhaps you
will not believe it, but his nose was as long as you are tall, my
little reader.

And it was a wonderful nose. It was always moving, always feeling,
always smelling. With his nose Nandi could rock the cradle, and brush
away the flies that buzzed about the baby's face. With it he could pick
up the smallest toys from the ground, or open the door of the hut.

But you, my little readers, have another name for this wonderful, long
nose. You call it a trunk.

Nandi had two long, sharp teeth. They were longer than a man's arm,
and they were very strong. With them he could lift heavy logs and move
great stones.

But you have another name for these long, strong teeth. You call them
tusks. And you have already guessed that the baby's nurse was an
elephant.

The baby was a little Hindu boy, and he lived on the other side of the
world. He had a brown skin, black eyes, and black hair.

The Hindu baby had played with great Nandi's trunk ever since he could
grasp anything with his tiny hands. He had crawled around the elephant's
feet and slept on the ground in the shadow of the great beast. For, in
the warm country of India, where the baby lived, it is always summer.

One morning, the baby's father perched himself upon the elephant's
head and rode away from his home. The child screamed with grief for
his companion.

"Be still, love of my life," said the mother. "Thy father has need of
Nandi. He can no longer be idle. There is harder work for him to do
than to care for thee, O small one."

[Illustration]

The elephant's work was to pile heavy timbers in the lumber yard, and
to help unload the ships. Often he worked alone, for he needed no
driver to urge him to his task. His piles of wood were always
straight, and his work always well done.

Once Nandi belonged to a Hindu prince and walked in long processions
through the streets of cities. Then he wore gold rings in his ears and
silver rings around his tusks. Red cloth, trimmed with gold, covered
his great sides and hung almost to his feet. And he proudly bore upon
his back the officers of the prince.

[Illustration]

And longer ago than that, when he was young, he had lived in the
jungle. Ah! those were happy days! Then, with other elephants, he
roamed the forest, ate the tender branches, and swam the rivers.

But one day he was driven by the hunters through the forest and across
the hills. Suddenly he found himself shut in on every side by a
strong, high fence. Then he was caught and chained to a tame elephant
who afterwards taught him how to work.

Nandi often took part in great hunts for wild beasts, and he bore the
marks of a fierce tiger's claws upon his side. He helped to catch
other elephants in the dark forest, and taught great beasts like
himself to do many kinds of work.

Nandi did not care to be free. Truly, if he had wished to go back to
the jungle what could hinder? For he worked without chain or harness.

He was well cared for. He loved the evening bath in the river and the
evening meal of fresh leaves. He loved his master, who was always kind.

But best of all he loved the brown baby who fed him with bananas, and
always welcomed his return with childish glee. How old Nandi's bright
eyes would sparkle when his little friend came near.

And when the baby could run to meet him, and sit upon his great strong
neck, there was no prouder elephant in all the land of India.



                        THE STORY OF GIANT SUN


  globe    cannon    planets   wax
  finish   million   minute    travel

"Sister, I wish you would tell me a story about the sun," said Harry.
"Where does it go at night, and where does it come from in the morning?"

"We live on a big round globe called the earth," replied his sister,
"and we travel around the sun once every year. The sun is like a great
lamp in the sky. When we face the lamp, we see the light, and when we
turn away from it, we are in darkness.

"As the earth travels around the sun, it whirls like a huge top. When
the side of the earth on which we live is turned toward the sun, we
have day. But when the earth turns around so that the sun can not
shine on us, we have night.

"If the sun stopped shining, there would be no daylight, and soon
there would be no heat on the earth.

"The sun is very, very hot. If it should come nearer and nearer to the
earth, every plant and animal in the world would die. The rivers and
the seas would dry up, and at last the great earth would melt like a
ball of wax."

"How far away is the sun?" asked Harry.

"It is so far away that it would take more than a hundred years to
travel the distance by the fastest railroad train."

"Is it more than a thousand miles?"

"Yes, it is more than a million miles."

"Suppose there were a road all the way to the sun. How long would it
take me to walk there?"

"Let me see," said sister Mary, taking out her notebook. "If you
should walk four miles an hour and ten hours a day, you would be more
than six thousand years old before you could finish your journey."

"But suppose," asked Harry, his eyes bright with wonder, "some one
fired a big cannon at the sun. How long would it take the cannon ball
to get there?"

Mary looked in her notebook again. "If a cannon ball could be shot to
the sun, it would take nine years to reach it. Now what else do you
want to know about the sun, little brother?"

"I should like to know how large it is. Does any one know? Is it as
large as the earth?"

"Very much larger," replied Mary. "It is so large that if it were cut
up into a million parts, each one of the parts would be larger than
the earth.

"If a train should run at the rate of a mile a minute, it would take
five years for it to go around the sun. A train going at the same rate
could travel the distance around the earth in less than three weeks."

"Then the sun must be very large," said Harry. "It is larger than
anything I ever heard about. Let us call it Giant Sun."

"There are stars far away in the sky that are larger than the sun,"
said his sister. "And there are planets like our earth which are near
the sun. But I will tell you about them some other day. Now do not
forget what I have told you about Giant Sun."

"Forget! How could I, sister? It is better than any fairy tale I have
ever heard. Why, you have told me enough about Giant Sun to keep me
thinking all day."

               _From "Stories of Starland." Copyright, 1898.
             By permission of the publishers, Silver, Burdett & Co._

[Illustration]



                              SUMMER SUN


      Great is the sun, and wide he goes,
        Through empty heavens without repose;
      And in the blue and glowing days
        More thick than rain he showers his rays.

      Though closer still the blinds we pull
        To keep the shady parlor cool,
      Yet he will find a chink or two
        To slip his golden fingers through.

      The dusty attic, spider clad,
        He through the keyhole maketh glad;
      And through the broken edge of tiles
        Into the laddered hayloft smiles.

      Meantime his golden face around
        He bares to all the garden ground,
      And sheds a warm and glittering look
        Among the ivy's inmost nook.

      Above the hills, along the blue,
        Round the bright air with footing true,
      To please the child, to paint the rose,
        The gardener of the world, he goes.
                        --ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.



                        THE STORY OF PHAETHON


  Phaethon   welcome     chariot     dawn
  advice     promise     columns     fiery
  flashed    dwelling    lightning   hurled

You have read the true story of the great sun. Now you shall hear a
strange old tale told of Giant Sun, in the days of long ago.

[Illustration: PHAETHON AND THE SUN CHARIOT.]

Do you remember the beautiful picture of Aurora, and the story of
Apollo, the driver of the sun car? Here is another picture of the sun
chariot, in its flight across the heavens.

Once upon a time Phaethon, the son of Apollo, said to his mother, "I
go to-day to my father's palace," and he started for the land of the
sunrise.

For days and for nights he traveled until he came to a high mountain.
On its top was the shining palace of the sun. It had golden columns
and silver doors. On its wall were pictures of the wonders of the
earth and of the sea.

But Phaethon hurried by these beautiful sights. He entered the great
hall and found the Sun god just ready to drive his horses through the
clouds of dawn.

"Welcome, welcome, my son!" said Apollo. "I have waited long for thy
coming. What is thy wish? Tell me, and thy wish shall be granted thee."

"Oh, my father," said Phaethon, "let me drive the chariot of the sun
for one day across the sky."

"No hand but mine can hold these fiery horses," said Apollo. "Change
thy wish, foolish boy. You ask for death, not for honor."

"My father never breaks his promise," said Phaethon. "I will not
change my wish."

"Then follow my advice," said Apollo. "Hold fast the reins. Use not
the whip, and drive neither too high lest the earth freeze, nor too
low lest it burn."

Phaethon sprang into the sun car and grasped the lines. The horses
darted across the sky. Lower and lower they plunged. The heat of the
shining sun car dried the lakes and the rivers, and burned every green
thing upon the land.

The people cried for rain, and the great ruler of earth and air heard
their cries, and looked down from his dwelling place. He flashed his
lightnings at the mad driver, and hurled him from his seat.

Then the great ruler led the horses and the chariot to their old track
across the sky. But Phaethon never rose from the cold waters of the
river into which he had fallen.



                          A SUNFLOWER STORY


  Clytie   coral     blazing     Greek
  maiden   petals    swiftest    lulled

Clytie was a sea maiden, so the old Greek stories tell us. She lived
at the bottom of the ocean. The white sea sand was her carpet, a
beautiful shell was her bed, and the seaweed was her pillow.

One morning Clytie arose, put on her moss-green dress, and went to
ride in her seashell boat. A pair of fishes drew her over the
beautiful sea bottom. They swam around rocks with sharp, ragged edges,
and they passed through forests of sea weed and coral.

Indeed, so long and pleasant was the ride that Clytie fell asleep, and
she did not awaken until a big wave rolled her boat upon the shore of
a green island.

Then the little maiden opened her brown eyes very wide, for she had
never before seen the land. There was green grass at her feet, and such
flowers as never grew in her garden at the bottom of the deep sea.

In the trees were birds whose songs sounded sweeter than the music of
the waves that had so often lulled her to sleep.

Across the blue sky rode the Sun king in a chariot which shone like
blazing gold.

Clytie saw that all living things looked up and smiled when the golden
chariot rolled above the earth.

"Oh, that I were a land child!" she said; "then I too might gaze upon
the Sun king the whole day long."

Day after day the sea maiden came to the island. There she stood hour
after hour watching the bright Sun king until his golden chariot sank
into the western sea.

But one evening Clytie found that she could not move. Behold, she was
no longer a maid of the sea. Her dress was but a slender green stalk
with dark green leaves.

Her yellow hair had become a circle of golden petals. From their midst
looked out the brown eyes of Clytie, no longer a sea maiden, but a
beautiful sunflower with its face turned toward the sun.



                       WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD


      Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
        Sailed off in a wooden shoe--
      Sailed on a river of crystal light
        Into a sea of dew.
      "Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
        The old moon asked the three.
      "We have come to fish for the herring fish
        That live in this beautiful sea;
        Nets of silver and gold have we,"
          Said Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

      The old moon laughed and sang a song,
        As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
      And the wind that sped them all night long
        Ruffled the waves of dew;
      The little stars were the herring fish
        That lived in that beautiful sea.
      "Now cast your nets wherever you wish,
        But never afraid are we!"
        So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
          Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

      All night long their nets they threw
        To the stars in the twinkling foam,
      Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe,
        Bringing the fishermen home;
      'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
        As if it could not be;
      And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
        Of sailing that beautiful sea;
        But I shall name you the fishermen three:
          Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

      Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
        And Nod is a little head,
      And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
        Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
      So shut your eyes while mother sings
        Of the wonderful sights that be,
      And you shall see the beautiful things
        As you rock in the misty sea
        Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,--
          Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.--EUGENE FIELD

  _From "With Trumpet and Drum." Copyright, 1892, by Mary French Field.
                        Published by Charles Scribner's Sons._



                   A LITTLE GIRL WHO LOVED ANIMALS


  chubby    amused   wandered    proper
  Bonheur   eldest   firelight   passers
  France    sewing   landscape   auburn

A little four-year-old girl stood in her room making pictures upon the
white walls. On every side could be seen drawings of horses and dogs,
cows, rabbits, and sheep. The walls were covered with pictures as high
as the chubby hand could reach.

In the doorway stood the father, watching his little daughter. So
wonderful were her drawings for a little child that the neighbors
often came into the tiny room to look at the pictures on the walls.

"My little Rosa will be an artist some day," said the father, "but she
can never be a great artist because she is a girl. How I wish she were
a boy!"

In those days it was not thought proper for a girl to do anything that
would take her away from home. "A girl should stay in the house,"
people said. "She should spend her time in sewing and in helping her
mother."

[Illustration: Rosa Bonheur.]

Rosa Bonheur's home was in France. She was the eldest of four
children. Her father gave lessons in drawing and made pictures for
books. The little cottage in which she was born was in a beautiful
part of the country. Here, with her two younger brothers and a baby
sister, she lived a happy life.

Rosa loved animals, and she had many pets. Dogs that had no home came
to her, and they were never turned away. She fed the wild rabbits and
tamed the squirrels. If a stray horse wandered by, it was given food
and water, and cared for until its owner could be found.

The child artist drew pictures of all these animals. She studied them
as they ran or walked or lay down to rest.

When her little brothers were old enough to run about, they loved to
follow their sister from place to place. Often they went with her to
the roadside, where she made pictures for them in the sand with a
pointed stick.

Sometimes her dogs came too and sat for their pictures. The passers-by
stopped to see the rosy-cheeked little girl drawing animals and
landscapes along the sandy way.

In the long winter evenings Rosa amused herself and her brothers by
cutting pictures of animals and people from pieces of paper.



                  A LITTLE GIRL WHO PAINTED ANIMALS


  Paris    earnest    relatives    absence
  bunch    models     galleries    cherries
  pencil   modeled    contented    studio

But this free and happy life came to an end all too soon. When Rosa
was seven years old, the family moved to Paris, where they lived in
small rooms. The street was crowded with houses, and there was no yard
for the children to play in.

How Rosa longed for her old home and for the animals she loved.
Sometimes she ran across the street to pet a wooden pig which stood
just outside the door of a meat shop.

About this time a great sorrow came to the little Bonheur children.
Their beautiful mother died, and then they were all sent away from
home.

Poor little Rosa! She did not like to study or sew, and she was very
unhappy in the girls' school to which she was sent. Her only pleasure
was in visiting her father's studio. Here, if she could have a pencil,
or a bit of clay, she was always contented.

How she begged to leave school and stay with her father! Her relatives
thought this a foolish thing for her to do. "What would people think,"
they said, "to see a girl doing a boy's work?"

One day, when her father returned to the studio after a short absence,
he found that Rosa had painted a bunch of cherries. He looked at her
picture for a long time, and then he said, "If you can do as well as
that, I will give you lessons."

"And I will cut off my hair and wear boy's clothes," said Rosa. "Then
I can study with you, and no one will notice me." So she dressed like
a boy and went everywhere with her father.

Lessons in drawing and painting now began in earnest. It was not long
before she could help her father. Soon she was able to copy pictures
in the famous picture galleries of Paris.

And now the girl who did not like to study books, and who hated to
sew, became one of the hardest of workers. She painted from early
morning until night to earn money for her father and the younger
children.

At last the Bonheur family were able to have a home together once
more. In a quiet street in Paris, up six flights of stairs, they found
a few small rooms.

But what should they do for a garden and for a place to keep their
animals? It was Rosa's greatest wish to learn to draw and paint
animals from life, and she needed to study living models.

The windows of their rooms opened on a broad, flat roof. Here Rosa and
her brother made a roof garden and planted flowers. Here they kept
singing birds, a hen and chickens, and a pet sheep.

Every morning the two boys carried the sheep downstairs, and led it to
the pasture. In the evening they carried it up the long flights of
stairs to the studio. It was drawn standing and lying down, eating and
sleeping. It was painted and modeled in clay, again and again, by Rosa
and her brothers.



                            A GREAT ARTIST


                                  I.

  sketch   obliged     prize    won
  death    nineteen    skirts   oxen

Rosa Bonheur now spent all her time in painting animals. She took long
trips into the country to find animals to sketch. There she drew
flocks of sheep, oxen at work, and cows standing in the long grass.

Sometimes she went into pens where animals were kept, both in the
country and in the city of Paris. Because her long skirts were in the
way of her work she often dressed as men do.

Her pictures were shown in Paris with those of great artists. When she
was only nineteen years old, she won her first prize. This was a great
honor.

One of her finest pictures is called "Oxen Plowing." It was finished
just before her father's death. He was greatly interested in this
picture. When it was done, he was proud and happy to see that his
daughter had become a great artist.

[Illustration: Painting by Rosa Bonheur.

Oxen Plowing.]

Rosa Bonheur spent the last years of her life in a home of her own,
not far from Paris. Near by was a beautiful forest, and in a park
close to the house she kept a number of wild animals.

The studio in which the artist worked was very interesting. Paintings
hung on the walls and stood about the room. Birds sang in their
cages. Dogs and other pets walked about or lay on the skins of wild
animals which covered the floor.

To this home came many poor people, whom the great artist was always
glad to help. She was kind to every one, and even the animals loved her.


                                 II.

  legion     Empress    stepladder   mistress
  stroking   New York   museum       clinging

A large lion named Nero was one of Rosa's pets, and he often lay in
the studio while she painted her pictures.

Once, when she was leaving home for a long trip, she was obliged to
send Nero away. On her return she went to see him in one of the parks
of Paris. She found him in a cage, sick and blind.

"Nero, my poor Nero!" she exclaimed; "what has happened to you?"

[Illustration: Painting by Rosa Bonheur.

THE HORSE FAIR.]

The poor beast heard her voice. He crawled to the bars of the cage,
where he could feel her hand stroking his head. So great was the
love he showed that Rosa had him taken again to her home, and she
cared for him as long as he lived. He died clinging with his great
paws to the mistress he had loved so well.

Rosa Bonheur's most wonderful painting is "The Horse Fair." The artist
spent nearly two years in drawing horses before she began this great
work. The picture is so large that she was obliged to use a stepladder
to reach some parts of it.

"The Horse Fair" was bought by an American, and it can be seen in the
Museum of Art in New York city.

When the French people wish to honor an artist, they give him the
cross of the Legion of Honor. The Empress had often seen Rosa Bonheur
sketching in the forest, and she thought her the greatest of animal
painters.

One morning when Rosa Bonheur was painting in her studio, the Empress
came into the room and hung a beautiful white cross around the
artist's neck.

No woman had ever before worn the cross of the Legion of Honor.



                   WHEN BENJAMIN FRANKLIN WAS A BOY


  tools   public    scholar    boiler
  wicks   printer   grammar    tallow
  molds   candles   promoted   melted

When Benjamin Franklin was a boy there were no great public schools as
there are now. But Benjamin learned to read almost as soon as he could
talk, and he was always fond of books.

His nine brothers were older than he, and every one had learned a
trade. They did not care so much for books.

"Benjamin shall be the scholar of our family," said his mother.

And so, when he was eight years old, he was sent to a grammar school.
He studied hard, and in a few months he was promoted to a higher
class. But his father was poor and needed his help. In two years he
was obliged to leave school.

Benjamin was a small boy, but there were many things that he could do.
His father was a soap boiler, and candle maker. And so when the boy
was taken from school, what kind of work do you think he had to do?

You may be sure that Benjamin was kept busy. He cut wicks for the
candles, poured the melted tallow into the candle molds, and sold soap
to his father's customers.

Do you suppose that he liked to do this work?

He did not like it at all. And when he saw the ships sailing in and
out of Boston Harbor, he longed to be a sailor, and go to strange,
far-away lands, where candles and soap were unknown.

Benjamin's father saw that his boy did not like the work he was doing.
One day he said: "Benjamin, since you do not wish to be a candle
maker, what trade do you think you would like to learn?"

"I would like to be a sailor," said the boy.

"I do not wish you to be a sailor," said his father. "I intend that
you shall learn some useful trade on land; and I know that you will
do best the kind of work that is most pleasant to you."

The next day he took the boy to walk with him among the workshops of
Boston. They saw men busy at all kinds of work.

Benjamin was delighted. Long afterwards, when he had become a very
great man, he said, "It has ever since been a pleasure to me to see
good workmen handle their tools."

He gave up the thought of going to sea, and decided that he would
learn any trade his father would choose for him.

Soon after this, Benjamin's brother James set up a printing press in
Boston. He intended to print books and a newspaper.

"Benjamin loves books," said his father. "He shall learn to be a
printer."

And so, when he was twelve years old, he was sent to his brother to
learn the printer's trade. He was to have his board and clothing, but
no wages.

Benjamin never attended school again, but he kept on studying. At that
time there were no books written for children as there are nowadays.
His father's books were not easy to understand. We should think them
very dull.

But before he was twelve years old, Benjamin had carefully read the
most of them. All the money that came into his hands he laid out in
books.

Often he would borrow a book in the evening, and then sit up nearly
all night reading it so as to return it early in the morning.

He spent all his spare time in studying and reading the best books
that he could get. We shall find that afterward Benjamin Franklin
became the most learned man in America.



                          SOME WISE SAYINGS


      Lost time is never found again.
      One to-day is worth two to-morrows.
      God helps them that help themselves.
      Plow deep while sluggards sleep,
      And you shall have corn to sell and to keep.
                           --BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.



                           A WEAVING STORY


  Abner     glanced   shuttle    loom
  Silas     musket    threaded   coax
  Deborah   offered   possible   stitch

[Illustration]

It was a spring morning more than one hundred years ago. A young man
was plowing in a field near a low farmhouse.

Four men with guns on their shoulders passed along the road. "There is
Abner White," said one of them. "He ought to join the army. Call to
him."

"Abner, Abner," they shouted.

The young man left his plow and ran to the fence.

"We are raising a company to join Washington's army," they said. "We
march to-morrow. You must go with us, Abner."

Abner walked quickly to the little farmhouse. His mother was standing
in the door.

"My country needs me, mother," he said. "What shall I do?"

"If you feel it is your duty to fight for your country, Abner, you
must go," answered the brave woman. "When will the new company march?"

"To-morrow."

"To-morrow!" exclaimed Mrs. White. "You can not wear those old
trousers. We must make you a new pair."

"A soldier can not wait for new clothes, and I must march with my
company. A pair of trousers can not be made in a day."

"We shall see," thought his mother, as she hurried away to call her
daughters.

"Is there any woolen cloth in the house, Nancy?" she asked.

"Not a yard; I used the last yesterday."

"And there is no yarn, either," said Deborah, the oldest daughter.

"The sheep have not been sheared, and there is no wool. It is not
possible to make Abner a new pair of trousers before he goes. There is
no use to try!" said Nancy.

[Illustration: SPINNING THE WOOL.]

"We can never tell what we can do until we try," replied the mother.
"Where are the sheep?"

"They are in the pasture. I'll catch them," offered Silas, the younger
son.

"And I'll help," said little Faith. "I'll get some salt to coax them
with."

The children ran to the pasture. "Nan, Nan, Nan, Nan," they called.
And the sheep came running for the salt.

Nancy was hurrying to the field with a pair of large shears in her
hand. "Catch that black sheep if you can," she shouted.

Silas caught and held the sheep, while Nancy cut off the long, black
wool.

"Here is a white sheep with beautiful wool," called out Faith.

Silas put his arms around the patient animal, and Nancy cut off its
fine white wool.

"You may carry in all the wool we have, Faith," said Nancy. "Silas and
I will keep on shearing until we have enough."

The wool was quickly combed by Deborah, for there was no time to wash
the newly cut fleece. Very soon the mother commenced to spin. How the
spinning wheel buzzed as it twisted the soft wool into yarn!

Nancy threaded the loom. Deborah wound the shuttle full of new yarn,
and the weaving of the cloth began.

Back and forth the shuttle flew, Deborah and Nancy taking turns. Late
at night the cloth was woven, and Abner's new trousers were cut out.
All night long the sewing went on, every stitch by hand.

The next day at noon Silas sat on the gatepost watching.
Rub-a-dub-dub, rub-a-dub-dub, came the sound of drums.

"Here they come! Here they come! tell mother," he shouted.

They all hurried to the fence to see the soldiers march by.

Abner held his musket proudly as he passed. He glanced at his mother
and then down at his new trousers.

"No one looks finer than our Abner," said Deborah, as the soldier boys
marched by on their way to the war.



                               AMERICA

                           TO BE MEMORIZED


      My country, 'tis of thee,
      Sweet land of liberty,
        Of thee I sing!
      Land where my fathers died;
      Land of the pilgrims' pride;
      From every mountain side
        Let freedom ring!

      My native country, thee,
      Land of the noble free,
        Thy name I love;
      I love thy rocks and rills,
      Thy woods and templed hills;
      My heart with rapture thrills
        Like that above!

      Let music swell the breeze,
      And ring from all the trees,
        Sweet freedom's song;
      Let mortal tongues awake;
      Let all that breathe partake;
      Let rocks their silence break--
        The sound prolong!

      Our fathers' God, to Thee,
      Author of liberty,
        To Thee we sing!
      Long may our land be bright,
      With freedom's holy light!
      Protect us by Thy might,
        Great God, our King!



                         A SONG FOR FLAG DAY


        Out on the breeze,
        O'er land and seas,
      A beautiful banner is streaming.
        Shining its stars,
        Splendid its bars,
      Under the sunshine 'tis gleaming.

        Over the brave
        Long may it wave,
      Peace to the world ever bringing.
        While to the stars,
        Linked with the bars,
      Hearts will forever be singing.
                      --LYDIA COONLEY WARD.



[Illustration]

                                 JUNE


      Roses by the garden wall,
        Poppies red and lilies tall,
      Bobolinks and robins,--all
        Tell that June is here.



                                 JULY


      The clover meadows call the bees,
        The squirrels chatter on the trees,
      And robins sing their merry lays:
        Hurrah for glad vacation days!



                                AUGUST


      Sing a song of harvest time,
      When the golden grain is high,
        When the blossoms blow,
        And the sun in a glow
      Sweeps over a cloudless sky.



                             THE SEASONS


      Sing a song of seasons,
        Something bright in all,
      Flowers in the summer,
        Fires in the fall.
                  --ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.



                              THE MONTHS


      In January falls the snow,
      In February cold winds blow.

      In March peep out the early flowers,
      In April fall the sunny showers.

      In May the tulips bloom so gay,
      In June the farmer mows his hay.

      In July harvest is begun,
      In August hotly shines the sun.

      September turns the green leaves brown,
      October winds then shake them down.

      November fields are brown and sere,
      December comes and ends the year.



                            FOR THE GIRLS


      My fairest child, I have no song to give you,
        No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray.
      Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
        For every day:--

      Be good, sweet maid,
        And let who will be clever;
      Do noble things, not dream them, all day long;
        And so make life, death, and that vast forever,
      One grand, sweet song.
                              --CHARLES KINGSLEY.



                             FOR THE BOYS


      Dare to be right! Dare to be true!
      You have a work that no other can do;
      Do it so bravely, so kindly, so well,
      Angels will hasten the story to tell.

      Dare to be right! Dare to be true!
      The failings of others can never save you.
      Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith;
      Stand like a hero and battle till death.



                           WHAT WOULD I DO?


      If I were a bird I would warble a song,
        The sweetest and finest that ever was heard,
      And build me a nest in the old elm tree;
        Oh, that's what I'd do if I were a bird!

      If I were a flower I'd hasten to bloom,
        And make myself beautiful all the day through,
      With drinking the sunshine, the wind, and the rain;
        Oh, if I were a flower, that's what I'd do!

      If I were a brook I would sparkle and dance
        Among the green fields where sheep and lambs stray,
      And call, "Little lambkins, come hither and drink;"
        Oh, if I were a brook, that is what I would say!

      If I were a star I would shine wide and bright
        To guide the lone sailor on ocean afar,
      And travelers, lost in the desert and woods;
        Oh, that's what I'd do if I were a star!

      But I know that for me other tasks have been set,
        For I am a child and can nothing else be;
      I must sit at my lessons, and, day after day,
        Learn to read and to spell, and to add one, two, and three.

      Yet perhaps if I try I shall sometime find out
        How the birds sing so sweetly, how the roses grow red,
      What the merry brook says to the moss-covered stones,
        And what makes the stars stay so high overhead.



                    PRONOUNCING KEY AND WORD LIST


The following key to the pronunciation of words is in accordance with
Webster's International Dictionary. The modified long vowels in
unaccented syllables are indicated by the modified macron, as in
sen'ā̍te, ē̍ vent', ō̍ bey'. The silent letters are printed in
italics.

The list includes the more difficult words of the lessons in the Third
Reader not listed in the preceding books of the series.

  ā māte     ī pīne        ṳ  rṳde        ow cow

  ă măt      ĭ pĭn         û  fûr        c  can

  ä jär     ĩ sĩr         ụ  fụll        ç  çent

  a̤ ca̤ll                 ȳ  mȳ          g  get

  â âir     ō nōte        y̆  city̆       ġ  ġem

  ȧ ȧsk      ŏ nŏt         o͞o mo͞on       s  so

            o̤ do̤         o͝o fo͝ot       s̞  as̞

  ē wē                    oi oil        ch chair

  ĕ wĕt      ū ūse         oy toy        th thin

  ẽ hẽr      ŭ ŭs          ou out        t̶h  t̶hem


  ạ=ŏ whạt                 ȯ=ŭ sȯn

  ã=ẽ cellãr    e̱=ā the̱y   õ=ẽ com'fõrt  ọ=o͝o wọlf

  ê=â thêre     o̤=o͞o mo̤ve  ô=a̤ ôr       ṉ=ng iṉk

  Ab'nẽr
  A'brȧ hăm
  ăb'senç_e_
  ăc count'
  ā'cr_e_
  ăd vīç_e_'
  ȧ greed'
  ăl'cōv_e_
  ăl'dẽr
  Ăl'ĭç_e_
  ȧ lī_gh_t'
  Al lē'grȧ
  ȧ lo͞of'
  ăl'phȧ bĕt
  a̤l rĕ_a_d'y̆
  a̤l'tẽr_e_d
  A mĕr'ĭ cȧ
  ȧ mūs̞_e_d'
  ān'ġel
  ăṉ'gry̆
  ănt'lẽr
  ăn'vĭl
  ā'prĭ cŏt
  A'prĭl
  ăr rīv_e_'
  ăr'rō̍_w_
  ăr'rō̍_w_ hĕ_a_d
  ȧ shōr_e_'
  ăt'tĭc
  a̤_u_'bûrn
  A̤_u_'gŭst
  ȧ wā_i_t'

  bā'c_o_n
  băng'ing
  băn'nẽr
  bär'gain (_-gĕn_)
  băr'rĕl
  bāt̶h_e_
  bē_a_rd'ed
  b_e_âr'ing
  b_ea_ū'tē̍ _o_ŭs
  bē̍ hōld'
  bĕl'lo_w_s (_lŭs_)
  bē̍ lȯv_e_d'
  bē̍ nē_a_th'
  Bĕn'jȧ mĭn
  Bĕt̶h'lē̍ hĕm
  bē̍ yŏnd'
  bĭs'c_u_ĭt
  Bī'bl_e_
  bĭt'ter
  blă_c_k'smĭth
  blăṉ'kĕt
  blīt̶h_e_
  blood (_blŭd_)
  Bly̆ṉ'kĕn
  bŏd'ĭ_e_s̞
  bŏd'y̆
  boil'ẽr
  Bŏn _he_ũr'
  bŏt'tom
  bou_gh_
  brāk_e_
  brāk_e_' man
  br_e_āk
  breez'y̆
  brĭm
  bŭ_c_'kl_e_s̞
  bŭd'dĭng
  bū'gl_e_
  bŭnch
  bur'ied (_bĕr'ĭd_)
  bûrst'ing

  căb'ĭn
  căn'dl_e_
  cā̍ reer'
  câr_e_'fụl
  câr_e_'fụl ly̆
  căr'rĭ_a_ġ_e_
  çē_a_s_e_
  çĕl'lãr
  chānġ_e_
  chānġ_e_'fụl
  chăr'ĭ ŏt
  cheer
  cheer'y̆
  chĕr'rĭ_e_s̞
  chĕs_t_'nŭt
  chĭm'n_e_y̆
  choir (_kwīr_)
  chŏp'ping
  chōs̞_e_
  chŭb'by̆
  Çĭn'çĭn nä'tĭ
  clăm'bẽr
  clăm'bẽr_e_d
  clȧsp
  clĭffs
  clō_a_k
  clŏs̞'ĕt
  clōth'ing
  Clō'vẽr no͝ok
  Clȳ'tĭ_e_
  cō_a_ch
  cō_a_rs_e_
  cō_a_st'ing
  cō_a_x
  cŏl'ŭm_n_
  cȯm'fõrt
  cŏm păn'ĭon
  cȯm'pā̍ss
  cŏn dŭct'õr
  cŏn fĕss'
  cŏn'stant
  cŏn'stant ly̆
  cŏn tĕnt'ed
  cŏr'al
  côr'nẽr
  cō's̞ĭly̆
  cŏt'tā̍ġ_e_
  cŏt't_o_n
  couch
  cō_u_rs_e_
  cō_u_rt
  crăn'bĕr rĭ_e_s̞
  crē_a_k
  crē̍ ā'tion
  crĕpt
  crĕv'ĭç_e_
  crĭm's̞_o_n
  cro͝ok'ed
  Crŏp'wĕll
  crṳ'ĕl
  crṳ'ĕl ly̆
  crṳ'ĕl ty̆
  crŭm_b_s̞
  cûrb
  cûrl
  cŭr'rants
  cŭr'rent

  dā_i_n'tī_e_s̞
  dăm'ask
  dăn'dē̍ līon
  dān'ġẽr
  dăsh'ing
  da̤_ugh_'tẽr
  dăz'zl_e_
  dĕ_a_th
  Dĕb'ō̍ rȧ_h_
  Dē̍ çĕm'bẽr
  dē̍ cīd'ed
  dē̍ lā_y_'
  dē̍ lī_gh_t'
  dē̍ lī_gh_t'ed
  dī'ȧ mȯnd
  dĭm'ly̆
  dĭp'pẽr
  dĭ rĕct'ly̆
  dĭs cȯv'ẽr
  dĭs'tanç_e_
  dĭs tûrb'
  dīv_e_
  dō_o_r'wā_y_
  dȯz'_e_n
  draught (_drȧft_)
  drē_a_r'y̆
  drĭfts
  drĭp'ping
  drown
  drown_e_d
  drown'ing
  dŭnç_e_
  dŭst'y̆
  dȳ'ing

  ē_a_'gl_e_
  ẽ_a_r'nĕst
  ē_a_r'rĭngs
  E_a_s'tẽr
  ē_a_t'_e_n
  ĕc_h_'ō̍
  ĕd'ū cāt ed
  ĕld'est
  ĕlm
  ĕls_e_'whêr_e_
  ĕm broi'dẽr
  ĕmp'ty̆
  ĕn cămp_e_d'
  ĕn'ē̍ mĭ_e_s̞
  ĕn'ē̍ my̆
  ĕn ġĭ neer'
  Eng'lĭsh (_ĭṉ-'_)
  Eng'lĭsh man
  ē̍ nôr'm_o_ŭs
  Ẽr'nĕst
  ĕr'rand
  ĕs cāp_e_'
  Es'kĭ mō̍
  ēv_e_
  ex ăct'ly̆ (_egz-_)
  ĕx clā_i_m'
  ex'īl_e_
  ex trēm_e_'
  ex trēm_e_'ly̆

  Fâ_i_r'făx
  fa̤ls_e_'ho͝od
  fā'm_o_ŭs
  făn'çĭ_e_s̞
  făn'çy̆
  fâr_e_ wĕll'
  fâsh'_i_ȯn_e_d
  făth'ȯm
  fa̤_u_lt
  fĕ_a_th'ẽr y̆
  Fĕb'rụ ā̍ ry̆
  feed'ing
  fee'bl_e_
  Fẽr'dĭ nănd
  fẽrn
  fĕs'tĭ val
  fī'ẽry̆
  fĭfteenth
  fĭṉ'gẽr
  fĭn'ĭsh
  fīre'lī_gh_t
  fīr_e_'man
  flăsh_e_d
  fleeç_e_
  fleeç'y̆
  flour
  flūt_e_
  flŭt'tẽr
  fō_a_m'ing
  fo͝ot'stĕp
  fōrç_e_
  fōrġ_e_
  fŏr ĕv´ẽr
  fōrth
  Frȧnç_e_
  free´dȯm
  freez_e_
  fr_i_ĕnd´ly̆
  frī_gh_t´_e_n
  frŏl´ĭc
  frŏst´ed
  frown
  fûr´nĭ tūr_e_
  fŭr´rō̍ws̞
  fûr´ry̆
  fu̇r´thẽr

  găl´lẽr y̆
  gām_e_
  gär´ment
  găth´er
  ga̤_u_z´y̆
  ġĕn´ẽr al
  ġĕn´tl_e_ man
  g_h_ōst
  glăd´dens̞
  glȧnç_e_
  glee
  glōb_e_
  glō_w_´ing
  gown
  grā´çi_o_ŭs
  grā_i_n
  grăm´mãr
  grȧsp
  greed
  Greek
  gr_i_ēv_e_
  grīnd´ing
  gro̤_u_p
  growl_e_d
  g_u_ĕst
  gŭst

  hăb´ĭt
  hälf
  hälv_e_s̞
  Hä´nä
  hăn´dl_e_d
  hăp´p_e_n
  här´nĕss
  härsh
  hāst_e_
  hās´_te_ns̞
  hāz_e_
  hĕ_a_d
  hĕ_a_d qua̤r´tẽrs̞
  h´ĕ_a_lth´y̆
  hĕav´_e_n
  h´_e_ī_gh_t
  hĕr´rĭng
  Hĭn´dṳ
  hō_a_rd
  hō_e_´ing
  hŏl´lō̍_w_
  hōm_e_´stĕ_a_d
  _h_ŏn´ĕst
  _h_ŏn´ĕst y̆
  ho͞ofs
  hōp_e_´ful
  hŏpp_e_d
  hous_e_´hōld
  howl_e_d
  hūġ_e_
  hū´man
  hŭm´bl_e_
  hŭṉ´gry̆
  hûrl_e_d
  hụr rä_h_´
  hŭr´rĭ_e_d
  hŭr´ry̆
  hûrt´ing
  hy̆m_n_s̞

  iç_e_´bẽrg
  ī´çy̆
  ī´dly̆
  ĭm´ā̍ġ_e_
  ĭm pā´tienç_e_
  ĭn clōs̞_e_´
  In´dĭ ăn´ȧ
  ĭn stĕ_a_d´
  ĭn tĕnd´ing
  ĭn´tẽr ĕst ing
  ĭn vīt_e_´
  Is̞´ȧ bĕl´lȧ
  ī_s_´lands̞
  ī_s_l_e_s̞
  ī´vy̆

  Jā´cob
  Jăn´ū̍ ā̍ ry̆
  Jȧ păn´
  Jăp ȧ nēs̞_e_´
  jä_u_n´ty̆
  join
  joy´_o_us
  jū_i_ç_e_
  Jūn_e_
  jŭṉ´gl_e_

  Kāt_e_
  Kĕn tŭ_c_k´y̆
  kīnd´ly̆
  kĭng´dȯm
  _k_nāv_e_
  _k_nees̞
  _k_nĕlt
  _k_nŏ_w_l´e_d_ġ_e_

  lā_i_n
  lăm_b_´kĭn
  lăṉ´guā̍ġe
  la̤_w_n
  lā´zy̆
  lē_a_d´ẽr
  lē_a_p´ing
  lĕv´ĕl
  lī_gh_t´nĭng
  lĭm_b_s
  lĭmp´ing
  Lĭṉ´co_l_n
  lĭs´_te_n_e_d
  Lŏng´fĕl lō̍_w_
  lōn_e_´sȯm_e_
  lo͞om
  lō_w_´lănds̞
  lō_w_´ly̆

  măġ´ĭc
  mā_i_d´_e_n
  măn´nẽr
  mā´pl_e_
  märsh
  măt´tress
  Mā_y_
  mē_a_l
  mē_a_n
  mĕ_a_nt
  mĕ_a_s´ū̍r_e_
  mĕd´dl_e_
  mĕm´ō̍ ry̆
  Mẽr´lĭn
  mĕr´rĭ ĕst
  mĭd´ve̱_i_n
  mĭl´lion (_-yŭn_)
  mĭn´ĭs tẽr
  mĭn´ute (_-ĭt_)
  mĭr´rõr
  mĭs´chĭ_e_f
  mŏd´ĕl
  mō´mĕnt
  mo͞on´lĭt
  mo͞on´shīne
  mō´tion (_-shun_)
  mouth´fụl
  mū´s̞ĭc
  mu si´cian (_mū zĭsh´an_)
  mŭs´kĕt

  Na hănt´
  nā_i_l_e_d
  năn keen´
  nā´tĭv_e_
  na̤_ugh_´ty̆
  nĕ_c_k´lā̍ç_e_
  ne̱_igh_´bõrs̞
  ne̱_igh_´ing
  nĕt´wọrk
  news̞´pā pẽr
  nĭb´bling
  nī_gh_t´gown
  Nī´ṉȧ
  nīn_e_´teen
  nō´bl_e_
  nõ´bŏd y̆
  nois̞´y̆
  nŏn´sĕns_e_
  nŏs´trĭls̞
  nō´tĭç_e_
  Nō̍ vĕm´bẽr
  nûrs´ẽr y̆

  ō̍ blīġ_e_d´
  ŏb s̞ẽrv_e_´
  Oc tō´bẽr
  ŏf´fẽr
  ŏf´fĭç_e_
  ŏf´fĭ çẽrs̞
  once (_wŭns_)
  ō´p_e_n ing
  ŏp´pō̍ s̞ĭt_e_
  ôr´chãrd
  ō´rĭ ōl_e_
  ôr´nȧ ment
  ō´vẽr lo͝ok´
  owl´ĕt
  ō_w_n´ẽr
  ŏx´_e_n

  pă_c_k´ā̍ġ_e_
  pă_c_k_e_d
  păd´dl_e_
  pâ_i_r
  pān_e_
  Păr´ȧ dīs_e_
  pär´d_o_n
  Păr´ĭs
  pär´lõr
  păr´rȯt
  pär´tĭ_e_s̞
  păs´sā̍ġ_e_
  pȧss´ẽrs̞
  pȧs´tū̍r_e_
  pā´tient (_-shent_)
  păt´tẽr ing
  pa̤_u_s̞_e_
  p_e_âr
  peep_e_d
  pĕl´ĭ can
  pĕn´çĭl
  pẽrch
  pĕr´ĭsh
  Phā´ē̍ thŏn
  Phœ´be (_fē´bē_)
  pĭ ăz´zȧ
  pĭc´kl_e_s̞
  p_i_ēç_e_
  pĭ´ġ_e_ȯn
  pĭl´lō̍_w_s̞
  Pĭn´tȧ
  pīp_e_s
  plā_i_n´ly̆
  plăn´ĕt
  plăṉk
  plănn_e_d
  plăt´fôrm
  plā_y_´fĕl lō̍_w_
  plow´ing
  plūm´y̆
  plŭnġ_e_d
  pŏ_c_k´ĕts
  pōk_e_d
  pō̍ līt_e_´
  pŏp´côrn
  pōrch
  pŏs´sĭ bl_e_
  pōst
  pōst´ā̍ġ_e_
  pounç_e_d
  pō_u_r_e_d
  prā_i_s̞_e_
  prăṉk
  prâ_ye_rs̞
  prē_a_ch´ẽr
  prĕ´çĭ_o_ŭs
  prĕss_e_d
  prīd_e_
  prĭm´rōs̞_e_
  Prĭnç_e_
  prĭnt
  prĭnt´ẽr
  prīz_e_
  prō̍ çĕs´sion
  prō̍ mōt´ed
  prŏp´ẽr
  prō̍ tĕct´
  proud´ly̆
  prō̍ vīd_e_´
  prō̍ vīd´ing
  prowl_e_d
  prowl´ing
  prṳ´dent
  pŭb´lĭc
  pụd´dĭng
  pŭmp´kĭn
  pŭn´ĭsh
  pŭp´py̆
  pu̇sh´ing

  quā_i_l
  quĭ_c_k
  quī´ĕt ly̆
  quĭlt

  ră_c_k´ĕt
  răg´gĕd
  rā_i_l´rō_a_d
  răs̞_p_´bĕr rĭ_e_s̞
  răt´tlĭng
  rē_a_r_e_d
  rē_a_´s̞_o_n
  rē̍ çē_i_v_e_´
  rē̍ frĕsh´ing
  rē̍ joiç_e_´
  rĕl´ȧ tĭv_e_s̞
  rē̍ mā_i_n´
  rē̍ pē_a_t´
  rē̍ pōs̞_e_´
  rī´fl_e_
  rī´p_e_n ing
  rĭs̞´_e_n
  rō_a_m
  rō_a_st
  rŏ_c_k´y̆
  rōll´ing
  Rŏl´lō
  Rō´s̞ȧ
  rough (_rūf_)
  Rṳ´dy̆
  rŭf´fl_e_
  rŭs´_t_l_e_
  rŭs´_t_ling
  rŭst´y̆

  săd´dest
  săd´nĕss
  Săn´tȧ Mȧ rī´ȧ
  săsh´es̞
  săt´ĭn
  sa̤_u_´çẽr
  scăm´pẽr
  sc_h_ŏl´ãr
  scōld
  scout
  scrăm´bl_e_
  scră_t_ch_e_d
  scrē_a_m
  screen
  sē_a_l
  sē_a_´pōrt
  sẽ_a_rch
  sĕc´ȯnd
  sē̍ lĕct´ed
  Sĕp tĕm´bẽr
  sẽr´mȯn
  sĕv´ẽr al
  sĕx´tȯn
  shăg´gy̆
  shām_e_
  sha̤_w_l
  shĕl´tẽr
  shĕp´_h_ẽrd
  shôrt
  shō_u_l´dẽr
  shŭt´tl_e_
  sī_g_n
  Sī´las
  sī´lenç_e_
  sī´lent ly̆
  sĭn´ew y̆
  sīz_e_
  skĕ_t_ch
  slĕ_d_ġ_e_
  sleet
  slē_igh_
  slĭpp_e_d
  slōp´ing
  slŭg´gãrd
  slȳ
  smīl´ing
  snăp
  snă_t_ch
  snō_w_´flāk_e_
  snō_w_´y̆
  sŏbb_e_d
  sō´fȧ
  sŏl´em_n_
  sŏl´ĭ tūd_e_s̞
  spär´kling
  spĭll
  splĕn´dõr
  squeez_e_
  squĩr´rĕl
  sta̤_l_k
  stär´lĭt
  stär´ry̆
  stē_a_m
  stĭ_t_ch
  stōl´_e_n
  sto͞ol
  strān´ġẽr
  strĕngth
  strĕ_t_ch´es̞
  stū´dĭ ō̍
  stŭff_e_d
  sŭc çĕss´
  sŭd´dĕn
  sŭd´dĕn ly̆
  sŭf´fẽr
  sŭf´fẽr ing
  su´gar (_sho͝og´ĕr_)
  sŭnk´en
  sŭp plī_e_d´
  sûr´fā̍ç_e_
  sŭr rounds̞´
  sûr ve̱_y_´
  sûr ve̱_y_´õr
  swạmp
  swa̤rm
  sweet´brī ẽr
  swĕll
  s_w_ōrd
  sy̆c´ȧ mōr_e_

  tăl´lō̍_w_
  tȧsk
  tăs´s_e_l
  ta̤_ugh_t
  tĕmpt
  tĕr´rĭ bl_e_
  tĕr rĭf´ĭc
  tĕr´rõr
  thătch_e_d
  tha̤_w_
  thĩrd
  thou´s̞and
  thrĕ_a_d
  thrĕsh_e_d
  threw
  thrŏng
  Thûrs̞´dā̍_y_
  tĭm´ĭd
  tĭṉ´kl_e_d
  tŏm´tĭt
  to͞ols̞
  Tō´rȧ
  tow´ẽr_e_d
  tră_c_k
  trĕ_a_d
  trē_a_t
  trĕs´_t_le
  tro͞op
  tr_o_ŭ´bl_e_ sȯm_e_
  trŭn´dl_e_
  trŭṉk
  trṳth
  trṳth´fụl
  tŭm´bl_e_
  tūn_e_
  tûr´tl_e_
  tŭsk
  twĭṉ´kl_e_
  twĭst

  ŭn´dẽr nē_a_th´
  ŭn´dẽr tāk_e_´
  ŭn seen´
  ŭn trṳth´
  ûrġ_e_

  Văl´en tīn_e_
  vāl_e_s̞
  văl´l_e_y̆
  ve̱_i_l
  ve̱_i_n
  vĕst
  vĭc´tō̍ ry̆
  vĭs̞´ĭt

  wăgg_e_d
  wā_i_t´ing
  wạn´dẽr
  wạ_t_ch´dŏg
  wăx
  wā_y_´sīd_e_
  wē_a_´ry̆
  weep
  we̱_igh_
  wĕl´cȯm_e_
  whāl_e_
  whĕnç_e_
  whĕth´ẽr
  whī´t_e_n
  whīn´ing
  whĭs´_t_lĭng
  _w_hōl_e_
  who͞op
  wĭ_c_ks
  wĭl´dẽr nĕss
  wĭn´dō̍_w_
  wĭn´try̆
  wĭt̶h´ẽr_e_d
  wĭt̶h ĭn´
  wĭz´ãrd
  wọlf
  wȯn
  wȯn´dẽr
  worms (_wûrmz_)
  wound´ed
  _w_rē_a_th
  _w_rĕck_e_d
  Wy̆ṉk´en



Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation and spelling errors have been fixed throughout.

Inconsistent hyphenation is as in the original.

The [th], th ligature, in the pronunciation key and list has been
replaced with t̶h as there is no character for the th ligature.

Dora Reed Goodale and Dora Read Goodale left as in the original.





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