MISCHIEF

STORIES for LITTLE BOYS

STORIES for LITTLE BOYS

MISCHIEFBY ROSAMOND UPHAMMISCHIEF was a cunning little fellow from the very first day that I saw him. Such a round, plump little body, such short, clumsy legs, and such a roguish face; just the one of all his nine brothers and sisters about whom to write a story, and so you shall hear of his preparations for the long journey upon which he went when he was two months old.His playmates were sent away, one by one, until at last he was left all alone, with only the mastiff Rex for a companion, and a most forlorn little pup he was, running about all day long, trying to keep up with his new protector.One morning in January, the weather being very severe, Mischief was taken into the kitchen to live, and a happier dog than he could not be imagined, trotting about after the cook and housemaid from morning until night, chasing the cats, stealing towels and brushes—in fact, attending to all the mischief that came in his way.One day, about two weeks after he came into the house to live, a letter came from Milwaukee saying that he, too, must be sent off. And of course, Mischief knew about it. How could he help it, when the whole household were so sorry to have him go? And accordingly he began to make ready for the long journey he was so soon to take.As he sat by the range, evidently trying to make up his mind what to take with him, his first thought was of the old coat he had had as a bed; so he crossed the room, took the coatin his mouth, and with his paws scratched it up into a bundle.Then he thought of his milk-dish. Of course he must take that, for how could he drink from any other dish than the shiny one given him by the cook two weeks before? So he took that between his teeth and put it beside the coat. And the stove-hook, why not take that? No one seemed to be using it just at the moment. And a gelatin-box that had just been emptied, would it not be nice to pack his new collar in?So he ran tumbling across the floor for the box, and back again for the string, when just then a pair of mittens caught his eye, and in this cold weather the mittens would be a comfort on so long a journey, so they were added to the collection under the table. And Mischief was just thinking he was about ready to start, when the very thing he most dreaded to leave behind him ran across the floor—the little yellow kitten; why could she not go with him, and then the journey would not seem so long? Accordingly, he ran after her, caught her by the neck, and tried to put her down with his other baggage; but the kitten could not understand what Mischief meant, and scratched and spit in a way that plainly said she would not accompany him.Poor Mischief lay down in despair, and, after his hard morning’s work, took a long nap, only waking in time for his dinner. The next day he was put into a warm box, carried to the station, and after a three days’ journey arrived in Milwaukee, happy, well, and delighted with his new master, apparently quite forgetting his little mistress whom he left in her New Hampshire home.WILLIE AND HIS DOG DIVERBY H. N. POWERSWillie was a very little child and lived near a mill. One day he saw a big cruel boy come along and throw a little puppy into the mill-pond, and then run away. Willie cried out: “O Papa, Papa, do come here!”“What is the matter?” said his papa.“Oh, Papa! I want the little doggie! Please get him for me. He will be drowned!”His papa took a long pole and put it under the puppy’s neck and pulled it out of the water and gave it to Willie. He was very happy with his dog, which, by next year, grew to be a big, strong, shaggy fellow, and was named Diver. He used to go with Willie everywhere the boy went, and he loved Willie very much. Everybody said: “What a beautiful dog!” and Willie was proud of him.One day when the nuts were ripe, Willie took his basket and went to pick hazelnuts. One big bush full of nuts hung over a deep place in the mill-pond, and, as Willie reached for the top branch, he slipped and fell in the water out of sight. But when he came up, Diver jumped in, took him by his collar, and brought him safe to land. So if it was good for Willie to save the dog’s life when he was a little puppy, it was good for the dog to save Willie’s life whenhewas a little boy.And that was Diver’s way of thanking Willie for saving his life. It was a very good way, too! And Willie and Diver were always the best of friends.GORDON’S TOY CASTLE ON THE HILLBY EVERETT WILSONLast Christmas little Gordon Bruce had a fine, large Christmas tree and lots of toys, just as a great many other nice boys and girls had. The tree was up in his playroom, a great, big, sunny room that used to be called the “nursery” when he was a baby.A few days after Christmas, Gordon’s mother said: “Now, Gordon, I think we will have to take down your Christmas tree, for it is getting all dried up, and the little pine needles are dropping all over the floor, and the maid has to sweep them up every day.”Gordon was sorry to have the tree taken down, for it looked so bright and Christmas-y, and he knew it would be a whole year before he would have another Christmas tree, so he asked his mother if she wouldn’t wait just one day more. I think that is the way almost all the girls and boys feel. And his mother said she would wait until to-morrow.It was a rainy day, and as none of his little friends were with him, he began to play with all his toys one after the other; there were many of them, and some of the little ones were still hanging on the tree.Gordon’s father came from Scotland, and he had read to Gordon many stories of the old days in Scotland, when the great generals and the noble lords lived in strong castles set high up on the mountains, so that the soldiers could not get near them. Now among Gordon’s Christmas presents was a tiny castle just like the ones he had seen in the books his father read the stories from; and with this castle came a lot of soldiers.So this day Gordon got out his castle and soldiers and began to play with them. First he got a chair and put a big, thick rug over it to make it look like a steep hill; then he set the castle on top of the hill and stood the soldiers on the ground at the bottom of the hill—all in a row. He was making believe that the soldiers were trying to get up to the castle. Then he dropped some beautiful colored glass marbles, that his Uncle George had given him, down on the floor of the castle. The marbles rolled out of the front door of the castle and down the rug to the bottom of the hill, and bang! they would bump right against the tall soldiers and tumble them down. One after another Gordon would roll the marbles down until by and by every one of the soldiers would be knocked over, and as they were only wooden soldiers, of course they couldn’t get up by themselves. Then Gordon would stand them all up in a row again and roll the marbles down the hill until not a single soldier was standing. It was lots of fun for Gordon, for you know it really didn’t hurt the soldiers a bit, for they were only made of wood and their uniforms were just red and blue paint.The next day Gordon’s mother took down the tree, and packed up the beautiful things that were on it, and put them away until next Christmas.gordon’s make-believe castle on the hill.HANS THE INNOCENTWRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY M. I. WOODOnce upon a time there was a woman called Mrs. Stockchen and she had a son named Hans. They lived together in a little cottage and they had a hen and a cow.One morning Mrs. Stockchen said to her son: “Hans, my dear, will you take Cowslip, the cow, to pasture, and remember not to be late for supper.” “Very well,” said Hans, and he took up his stick and started for the field.The sun was very hot when he got there, and seeing a row of five shady trees, he lay down underneath them and fell asleep in two seconds. He snored with his mouth open. Cowslip had been watching him and when she saw his eyes close, she said, “Now! here’s my chance!” and, jumping over the fence, she ran away.Hans stopped snoring and awoke at supper-time. He looked for Cowslip, but she had disappeared; he ran about calling for her, but she did not come; and at last he went home to his mother with a very sad face and said: “Oh, mother, Cowslip ran away while I was asleep. I have looked for her and cannot find her anywhere.”“You lazy, careless, naughty, careless, naughty, lazy Boy!” cried Mrs. Stockchen. “You have left my poor cow wandering all alone. She will lose her way in the dark. Just you go and find her this instant. You will get no supper till you bring her back, or my name is not Matilda Maria!”Mrs. Stockchen had grown quite scarlet with rage and she shook the soup-ladle at her son to make him go faster. It was getting quite dark by the time Hans reached the field again and nowhere did he see any trace of the cow. He did not know in what direction she had gone, so he walked round and round the field, feeling very miserable.Just as 10 o’clock was striking, Cowslip stepped out from behind a tree, and kneeling at Hans’s feet, said in a choking voice, “I am really very sorry, Hans.” “Well,” said Hans, “I am sorry too, but let us get home now.” So they set out, tired and rather cross.But when they came within sight of the light in their own cottage window, they met two soldiers who stopped them, and asked what they were doing out so late. “We’re just going home,” said Hans. “Why,” said the soldiers “you ought to have been there two hours ago.”“Well, I couldn’t help it,” said Hans, “this cow ran away and I had to fetch her before going home to supper.”“Boy!” said the soldiers, “you are not speaking the truth, you have stolen the cow, and you are very impertinent as well. We will take you to prison.”They tied a rope round Hans’s neck and another round the cow’s, and took them to prison. They put Hans into a dungeon full of horrid creatures, but they let poor Cowslip wander about in the fields outside.One morning when Hans was crying because the door was locked and because the window bars looked so strong, Cowslip heard him. She came up beside the window, and standing on her hind-legs she peeped in and said, “Hans, my dear master, do you think that if I tried to knock down the wall with my horns, you could get out?” “I will try,” said Hans. It was rather hard work for Cowslip, but at last she made a big enough hole and Hans leaped out.He knocked off his hat in doing so, but then Hans didn’t care about a little thing like that.He jumped on her back, and away they went, over fallen trees, stones, ditches, hedges, everything. They came in sight of the cottage at last, and the sound of their approach caused Mrs. Stockchen to look out of the window. When she saw who it was she fairly jumped for joy and she rushed out at once to meet them.Hans fell into his mother’s arms. And they all lived happily ever afterward.A REAL LITTLE BOY BLUEBY CAROLINE S. ALLEN“‘yes, please,’ said little boy blue.”Once there were four little brothers. The oldest had black eyes. He was called Little Boy Black. But I haven’t time to tell about him just now. The second little brother had brown eyes. He was called Little Boy Brown. But I cannot tell you about him either. The third little brother had gray eyes, and was called Little Boy Gray. There is a very nice story I could tell you about him, but I am sure you would rather hear about the fourth little brother.For the youngest little brother had blue eyes; and his father and mother, his grandfather and grandmother, and every one else, called him Little Boy Blue. His eyes were very blue—as blue as the flowers you find down by the brook. You love the blue flowers, I know. And so I will tell you about Little Boy Blue.His jacket was blue, his trousers were blue, his stockings were blue, and even his little shoes were blue.One day Little Boy Blue’s mother said to him: “Do you want to go and visit Aunt Polly?” “Who is Aunt Polly?” asked Little Boy Blue. “Aunt Polly lives on a farm, on a high hill. She has horses, and cows, and pigs, and hens, and ducks, and geese—” “And elephants?” asked Little Boy Blue. “No, not any elephants. But she has a woolly white lamb.” “Oh, then I will go,” cried Little Boy Blue. So his mother went up-stairs and found a little blue traveling-bag. And in the little blue bag she packed some of Little Boy Blue’s clothes. Then Little Boy Blue and his mother went to visit Aunt Polly, who lived on a farm on a high hill.Little Boy Blue’s mother stayed two days, and Little Boy Blue stayed ten days. When his mother was going home, she said to Aunt Polly: “Little Boy Blue likes to play, but he likes to work, too. So be sure to give him some work to do every day.”“Very well,” said Aunt Polly. And so by-and-by Aunt Polly went to find Little Boy Blue. And she said to him: “Dear Little Boy Blue, what can you do to help?” He thought a minute, and then he said: “I can eat apples to see if they are ripe. And I can pull the roses in the garden, if you have too many.”“The apples are not ripe, and I have just enough roses in the garden,” said Aunt Polly. “Can you drive the cows out of the corn?”“Oh, yes, I can,” said Little Boy Blue, “if Towzer can come too.” Towzer was the dog.“And perhaps you can look after the sheep?”“Yes, Aunt Polly, I can do that,” said Little Boy Blue.On the shelf in Little Boy Blue’s room stood a little blue clock. And every morning at five o’clock the door of the clock flew open, and a cuckoo came out. The cuckoo said, “Cuck-oo,” five times, and then went into the little blue clock again, and the little door closed after him. Then Little Boy Blue knew it was time to get up.When he was dressed, he came down-stairs, and Aunt Polly gave him his breakfast. He had new milk in a blue bowl, and johnny-cake on a little blue plate. These he always carried out onto the door-step because he liked, while he was eating and drinking, to see the green grass bending in the breeze, and the yellow butterflies dancing here and there in the sunshine.“This is the creamiest milk I ever saw,” said Little Boy Blue.“That’s nice,” said Aunt Polly. “Do you want some more?”“Yes, please,” said Little Boy Blue. So Aunt Polly brought the blue pitcher, and poured more creamy milk into his little blue bowl, and Little Boy Blue said: “Thank you, Aunt Polly.”When Little Boy Blue could eat no more golden johnny-cake, and drink no more creamy milk, he jumped up from the door-step.First he put his arms around Aunt Polly’s neck, and gave her a hug and a kiss. Then he went into the house to get his horn. The horn was a little blue one, and it hung on a peg near the kitchen door.What do you suppose the horn was for? Why, Little Boy Blue watched the cows and the sheep. Then if they got into the wrong places, and trampled on the crops, Little Boy Blue blew the horn. One of the men always heard the horn, and came to help drive the cows or the sheep back where they belonged.All this was very pleasant. But one day—what do you think? The sheep ran away, and jumped over a stone wall into the meadow, and the cows got into the corn. Nobody knew how it happened. Little Boy Blue had gone out that morning, just as he always did, to look after them; and no one had heard any horn. At last Towzer ran up to the barn, barking loudly. That was to give the alarm—about the sheep and the cows.“How queer!” said Aunt Polly, who was in the barn-yard feeding the chickens.“How strange!” said Uncle Ben.“Where’s Little Boy Blue?” asked the men.“‘he’s under the haycock, fast asleep!’”“I’ll call him,” said Aunt Polly. So she walked, and she walked, all around the farm. As Aunt Polly walked she looked here, and she looked there. And she called:“Little Boy Blue! Come blow your horn.The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn.”Where do you think Aunt Polly found him? When the head-farmer asked her, “Where’s the little boy that looks after the sheep?” Aunt Polly said: “He’s under the haycock, fast asleep.”“Shall we go wake him?” said the head-farmer.“No, no; let him lie,” said Aunt Polly. “For if we should wake him, ‘he’d cry, cry, cry.’”You see Little Boy Blue got up so early, he grew sleepy. And the sun was hot. And the haymow made a soft pillow. So he fell sound asleep, and dreamed about the woolly white lamb.But on the day after that, Little Boy Blue took a nap, first, so that when he looked after the cows and the sheep he could keep awake. He never again had to be told to blow his horn.When Little Boy Blue’s visit was over, Aunt Polly said: “You’ve been a dear little helper. I’m going to give you something to take home.” And, oh, joy! it was the woolly white lamb!TRAVELS OF A FOXADAPTED BY CECILIA FARWELLThe Fox was digging under an old tree and found a bumblebee. He gathered it up and put it into his bag and tied the string. Then he went to the first cottage at the end of the village street and said:“Good morning, Good Mother. The way is long, and I am weary. May I leave my bag here while I go to the grocery store?”“That will be all right,” said the old woman, “put it behind the door.”So the Fox put the bag behind the door, saying, as he did so: “Be sure that you do not untie the string, Good Mother.” Then he went out of the cottage and on up the road.The old woman looked at the bag and said to herself: “Now, I wonder what that sly fellow carries so carefully? It will do no harm to see.”So she untied the string and started to look into the bag, and when the bag was opened the bumblebee flew out, and the rooster which was stalking about in the kitchen promptly ate him up.When the Fox came back he saw that his bag had been opened and he said to the old woman: “Where is my bumblebee?”“I opened the bag for but an instant,” said the old woman, “and the bumblebee flew out and the rooster ate him up.”“Then I must take the rooster,” said the Fox. So he gathered up the rooster, put him into the bag and tied the string, and threw the bag over his shoulder and went on down the road.When he came to the next cottage he knocked at the door and said: “Good morning, Good Mother. The way is long and I am weary. May I leave my bag here while I go on to the grocery store?”“That will be all right,” said the old woman, “put it behind the door.”So the Fox put the bag behind the door, saying as he did so: “Be sure that you do not untie the string, Good Mother,” and he went on down the road.The old woman looked at the bag and said to herself, “Now I wonder what it is that that sly old fellow carries so carefully. It will do no harm to see.”So she untied the string and started to look into the bag, and when the bag was opened the rooster flew out, and the pig which was in the kitchen promptly ate him up.When the Fox came back he saw that the bag had been opened, and he said: “Where is my rooster, Good Mother?”“I opened the bag for but an instant, and the rooster flew out and the pig ate him up,” said the woman.“Then I must have the pig,” said the Fox. So he gathered up the pig and put him into the bag and tied the string and threw the bag over his shoulder and went on down the road.When he came to the next cottage he knocked at the door and said: “Good morning, Good Mother. The way is long and I am weary. May I leave my bag here while I go to the grocery store?”“That will be all right,” said the old woman, “put it behind the door.”So the Fox put the bag behind the door, saying as he did so, “Be sure that you do not untie the string, Good Mother,” and went on down the road.The old woman looked at the bag and said to herself: “Now I wonder what it is that that sly old fellow carries so carefully. It will do no harm to see.”So she untied the string and opened the bag the least little bit, and the pig jumped out of the bag and ran into the house where the ox stood and the ox promptly gored him to death.When the Fox came back and saw that the bag had been opened he said: “Where is my pig, Good Mother?”“I opened the bag the least little bit, and the pig jumped out and the ox gored him to death,” said the woman.“Then I must have the ox,” said the Fox. So he went out into the yard and gathered up the ox and put him into the bag and tied the string and threw the bag on his back and went on down the road.When he came to the next cottage he knocked at the door and said: “Good morning, Good Mother. The way is long and I am weary. May I leave my bag here while I go to the grocery store?”“That will be all right,” said the old woman, “put it behind the door.”So the Fox put the bag behind the door, saying as he did so: “Be sure that you do not untie the string, Good Mother,” and went on down the road.“may i leave my bag here?” said the foxThe woman looked at the bag and said to herself: “Now I wonder what it is that that sly old fellow carries so carefully? It will do no harm to see.”So she untied the string and opened the bag and the ox jumped out and ran out into the yard, and the little boy who was playing there chased him off over the hill and into the wood.When the Fox came back he saw that the string had been untied, and he said to the old woman: “Where is my ox?”“I opened the bag the least little bit, and the ox jumped out and the little boy chased him over the hill and into the wood,” said the old woman.“Then I must take the little boy,” said the Fox.So he gathered up the little boy and put him into the bag and tied the string and threw the bag over his shoulder and started off down the road.When he came to the next house he knocked at the door and said: “Good morning, Good Mother. The way is long and I am weary. May I leave my bag while I go to the store?”“That will be all right,” said the woman, “put it behind the door.”So the Fox put the bag behind the door, saying as he did so: “Be sure that you do not untie the string, Good Mother,” and went off.This woman was very busy that morning, making cake, and she had no time to think of the bag, and it lay there for a long time. By-and-by when the cake was done her little boys gathered around the table, crying: “Let me taste the cake, Mother. Give me a piece of cake!” And she gave each one of them a piece of cake.The cake smelled so good that the little boy in the bag cried out: “Oh, I want a piece of cake, too.”When the woman heard the little boy cry out she went to the bag, and looking down at it, she said: “Now I wonder what that sly Fox has been about?” And the little boy cried out again, and the woman untied the string and let him out, and took the house dog and put him into the bag instead, and the little boy joined the others around the table, and she gave him a piece of the cake.When the Fox came back he saw that the bag was all tied up, and looked just as it had when he left it, so he took it from behind the door and threw it over his shoulder, saying to himself: “I have had a long journey to-day, and I am hungry. And I have not done so badly, either. I will now go into the woods and see how the little boy tastes.”So he went into the woods and untied the string to take the little boy out of the bag. But the little boy, as we know, was standing around the table with the other little boys eating cake. And no sooner was the string untied than the house dog jumped out of the bag and sprang right on the Fox, and they had a fight right then and there in the woods. Pretty soon the dog went trotting down the road. But the Fox did not go home. In fact he did not go anywhere at all.OEYVIND AND MARITOeyvind was his name. A low barren cliff overhung the house in which he was born, fir and birch looked down on the roof, and wild-cherry strewed flowers over it. Upon this roof there walked about a little goat, which belonged to Oeyvind. He was kept there that he might not go astray, and Oeyvind carried leaves and grass up to him. One fine day the goat leaped down, and—away to the cliff; he went straight up, and came where he never had been before. Oeyvind did not see him when he came out after dinner, and thought immediately of the fox. He grew hot all over, looked around about, and called, “Killy-killy-killy-goat.”“Bay-ay-ay,” said the goat, from the brow of the hill, as he cocked his head on one side and looked down.But at the side of the goat there kneeled a little girl.“Is it yours, this goat?” she asked.Oeyvind stood with eyes and mouth wide open, thrust both hands into the breeches he had on, and asked, “Who are you?”“I am Marit, mother’s little one, father’s fiddle, the elf in the house, grand-daughter of Ole Nordistuen of the Heide farms, four years old in the autumn, two days after the frost nights, I!”“Are you really?” he said, and drew a long breath, which he had not dared to do so long as she was speaking.“Is it yours, this goat?” asked the girl again.“Ye-es,” he said, and looked up.“I have taken such a fancy to the goat. You will give it to me?”“No, that I won’t.”She lay kicking her legs, and looking down at him, and then she said, “But if I give you a butter-cake for the goat, can I have him then?”Oeyvind came of poor people, and had eaten butter-cake only once in his life, that was when grandpapa came there, and anything like it he had never eaten before nor since. He looked up at the girl. “Let me see the butter-cake first,” said he.She was not long about it, took out a large cake, which she held in her hand. “Here it is,” she said, and threw it down.“Ow, it went to pieces,” said the boy. He gathered up every bit with the utmost care; he could not help tasting the very smallest, and that was so good, he had to taste another, and, before he knew it himself, he had eaten up the whole cake.“Now the goat is mine,” said the girl. The boy stopped with the last bit in his mouth, the girl lay and laughed, and the goat stood by her side, with white breast and dark brown hair, looking down.“Could you not wait a little while?” begged the boy; his heart began to beat. Then the girl laughed still more, and got up quickly on her knees.“No, the goat is mine,” she said, and threw her arms around its neck, loosened one of her garters, and fastened it around. Oeyvind looked up. She got up, and began pulling at the goat; it would not follow, and twisted its neck downward to where Oeyvind stood. “Bay-ay-ay,” it said. But she took hold of its hair with one hand, pulled the string with the other, and said gently, “Come, goat, and you shall go into the room and eat out of mother’s dish and my apron.” And then she sung,—“Come, boy’s goat,Come, mother’s calf,Come, mewing catIn snow-white shoes.Come, yellow ducks,Come out of your hiding-place;Come, little chickens,Who can hardly go;Come, my dovesWith soft feathers,See, the grass is wet,But the sun does you good;And early, early is it in summer,But call for the autumn, and it will come.”There stood the boy.He had taken care of the goat since the winter before, when it was born, and he had never imagined he could lose it; but now it was done in a moment, and he would never see it again.His mother came up humming from the beach, with wooden pans which she had scoured: she saw the boy sitting with his legs crossed under him on the grass, crying, and she went up to him.“What are you crying about?”“Oh, the goat, the goat!”“Yes; where is the goat?” asked his mother, looking up at the roof.“It will never come back again,” said the boy.“Dear me! how could that happen?”He would not confess immediately.“Has the fox taken it?”“Ah, if it only were the fox!”“Are you crazy?” said his mother; “what has become of the goat?”“Oh-h-h—I happened to—to—to sell it for a cake!”As soon as he had uttered the word, he understood what it was to sell the goat for a cake; he had not thought of it before. His mother said,—“What do you suppose the little goat thinks of you, when you could sell him for a cake?”And the boy thought about it, and felt sure that he could never again be happy. He felt so sorry, that he promised himself never again to do anything wrong, never to cut the thread on the spinning-wheel, nor let the goats out, nor go down to the sea alone. He fell asleep where he lay, and dreamed about the goat.Suddenly there came something wet close up to his ear, and he started up. “Bay-ay-ay!” it said; and it was the goat, who had come back again.“What! have you got back?” He jumped up, took it by the two fore-legs, and danced with it as if it were a brother; he pulled its beard, and he was just going in to his mother with it, when he heard some one behind him, and, looking, saw the girl sitting on the greensward by his side. Now he understood it all, and let go the goat.“Is it you, who have come with it?”She sat, tearing the grass up with her hands, and said,—“They would not let me keep it; grandfather is sitting up there, waiting.”While the boy stood looking at her, he heard a sharp voice from the road above call out, “Now!”Then she remembered what she was to do; she rose, went over to Oeyvind, put one of her muddy hands into his, and, turning her face away, said,—“I beg your pardon!”But then her courage was all gone; she threw herself over the goat, and wept.“I think you had better keep the goat,” said Oeyvind, looking the other way.“Come, make haste!” said grandpapa, up on the hill; and Marit rose, and walked with reluctant feet upward.“You are forgetting your garter,” Oeyvind called after her. She turned round, and looked first at the garter and then at him. At last she came to a great resolution, and said, in a choked voice,—“You may keep that.”He went over to her, and, taking her hand, said,—“Thank you!”“O, nothing to thank for!” she answered, but drew a long sigh, and walked on.He sat down on the grass again. The goat walked about near him, but he was no longer so pleased with it as before.The goat was fastened to the wall; but Oeyvind walked about, looking up at the cliff. His mother came out, and sat down by his side, he wanted to hear stories about what was far away, for now the goat no longer satisfied him. So she told him how once everything could talk: the mountain talked to the stream, and the stream to the river, the river to the sea, and the sea to the sky; but then he asked if the sky did not talk to any one; and the sky talked to the clouds, the clouds to the trees, the trees to the grass, the grass to the flies, the flies to the animals, the animals to the children, the children to the grown-up people; and so it went on, until it had gone round, and no one could tell where it had begun. Oeyvind looked at the mountain, the trees, the sky, and had never really seen them before. The cat came out at that moment, and lay down on the stone before the door in the sunshine.“What does the cat say?” asked Oeyvind, pointing. His mother sang,—“At evening softly shines the sun,The cat lies lazy on the stone.Two small mice,Cream thick and nice,Four bits of fish,I stole behind a dish,And am so lazy and tired,Because so well I have fared,”says the cat.But then came the cock, with all the hens.“What does the cock say?” asked Oeyvind, clapping his hands together. His mother sang,—“The mother-hen her wings doth sink,The cock stands on one leg to think:That gray gooseSteers high her course;But sure am I that never sheAs clever as a cock can be.Run in, you hens, keep under the roof to-day,For the sun has got leave to stay away,”says the cock.But the little birds were sitting on the ridge-pole, singing. “What do the birds say?” asked Oeyvind, laughing.“Dear Lord, how pleasant is life,For those who have neither toil nor strife,”say the birds.And she told him what they all said, down to the ant, who crawled in the moss, and the worm who worked in the bark.That same summer, his mother began to teach him to read. He had owned books a long time, and often wondered how it would seem when they also began to talk. Now the letters turned into animals, birds, and everything else; but soon they began to walk together, two and two;astood and rested under a tree, which was calledb, then camec, and did the same; but when three or four came together, it seemed as if they were angry with each other, for it would not go right. And the farther along he came, the more he forgot what they were: he remembered longesta, which he liked best; it was a little black lamb, and was friends with everybody; but soon he forgotaalso: the book had no more stories, nothing but lessons.One day his mother came in, and said to him,—“To-morrow school begins, and then you are going up to the farm with me.”Oeyvind had heard that school was a place where many boys played together; and he had no objection. Indeed, he was much pleased. He had often been at the farm, but never when there was school there; and now he was so anxious to get there, he walked faster than his mother up over the hills. As they came up to the neighboring house, a tremendous buzzing, like that from the water-mill at home, met their ears; and he asked his mother what it was.“That is the children reading,” she answered, and he was much pleased, for that was the way he used to read, before he knew the letters. When he came in, there sat as many children round a table as he had ever seen at church; others were sitting on their luncheon boxes which were ranged round the walls; some stood in small groups round a large printed card; the schoolmaster, an old gray-haired man, was sitting on a stool by the chimney-corner, filling his pipe. They all looked up as Oeyvind and his mother entered, and the mill-hum ceased as if the water had suddenly been turned off. All looked at the new-comers; the mother bowed to the schoolmaster, who returned her greeting.“the goat is mine,” she said,and threw her arms around its neck“Here I bring a little boy who wants to learn to read,” said his mother.“What is the fellow’s name?” said the schoolmaster, diving down into his pouch after tobacco.“Oeyvind,” said his mother, “he knows his letters, and can put them together.”“Is it possible!” said the schoolmaster, “come here, you Whitehead!”Oeyvind went over to him: the schoolmaster took him on his lap, and raised his cap.“What a nice little boy!” said he, and stroked his hair. Oeyvind looked up into his eyes, and laughed.“Is it at me you are laughing?” asked he, with a frown.“Yes, it is,” answered Oeyvind, and roared with laughter. At that the schoolmaster laughed, Oeyvind’s mother laughed; the children understood that they also were allowed to laugh, and so they all laughed together.So Oeyvind became one of the scholars.As he was going to find his seat, they all wanted to make room for him.“Now, what are you going to do?” asked the schoolmaster, who was busy with his pipe again. Just as the boy is going to turn round to the schoolmaster, he sees close beside him, sitting down by the hearthstone on a little red painted tub, Marit, of the many names; she had covered her face with both hands, and sat peeping at him through her fingers.“I shall sit here,” said Oeyvind, quickly, taking a tub and seating himself at her side. Then she raised a little the arm nearest him, and looked at him from under her elbow; immediately he also hid his face with both hands, and looked at her from under his elbow. So they sat, keeping up the sport, until she laughed, then he laughed too; the children had seen it, and laughed with them; at that, there rung out in a fearfully strong voice, which, however, grew milder at every pause,—“Silence! you young scoundrels, you rascals, you little good-for-nothings! Keep still, and be good to me, you sugar-pigs.”That was the schoolmaster, whose custom it was to boil up, but calm down again before he had finished. It grew quiet immediately in the school, until the water-wheels again began to go: every one read aloud from his book, the sharpest louder and louder to get the preponderance, here trebles piped up, the rougher voices drummed and there one shouted in above the others, and Oeyvind had never had such fun in all his life.“Is it always like this here?” whispered he to Marit.“Yes, just like this,” she said.Afterwards, they had to go up to the schoolmaster, and read; and then a little boy was called to read, so that they were allowed to go and sit down quietly again.“I have got a goat now, too,” said she.“Have you?”“Yes; but it is not so pretty as yours.”“Why don’t you come oftener up on the cliff?”“Grandpapa is afraid I shall fall over.”“Mother knows so many songs,” said he.“Grandpapa does, too, you can believe.”“Yes; but he does not know what mother does.”“Grandpapa knows one about a dance. Would you like to hear it?”“Yes, very much.”“Well, then, you must come farther over here, so that the schoolmaster may not hear.”He changed his place, and then she recited a little piece of a song three or four times over, so that the boy learned it.“Up with you, youngsters!” called out the schoolmaster. “This is the first day, so you shall be dismissed early; but first we must say a prayer, and sing.”Instantly, all was life in the school; they jumped down from the benches, sprung over the floor, and talked into each other’s mouths.“Silence! you young torments, you little beggars, you noisy boys! be quiet, and walk softly across the floor, little children,” said the schoolmaster; and now they walked quietly, and took their places, after which the schoolmaster went in front of them, and made a short prayer. Then they sung. The schoolmaster began in a deep bass, all the children stood with folded hands, and joined in. Oeyvind stood farthest down by the door with Marit, and looked on; they also folded their hands, but they could not sing.That was the first day at school.

BY ROSAMOND UPHAM

M

ISCHIEF was a cunning little fellow from the very first day that I saw him. Such a round, plump little body, such short, clumsy legs, and such a roguish face; just the one of all his nine brothers and sisters about whom to write a story, and so you shall hear of his preparations for the long journey upon which he went when he was two months old.

His playmates were sent away, one by one, until at last he was left all alone, with only the mastiff Rex for a companion, and a most forlorn little pup he was, running about all day long, trying to keep up with his new protector.

One morning in January, the weather being very severe, Mischief was taken into the kitchen to live, and a happier dog than he could not be imagined, trotting about after the cook and housemaid from morning until night, chasing the cats, stealing towels and brushes—in fact, attending to all the mischief that came in his way.

One day, about two weeks after he came into the house to live, a letter came from Milwaukee saying that he, too, must be sent off. And of course, Mischief knew about it. How could he help it, when the whole household were so sorry to have him go? And accordingly he began to make ready for the long journey he was so soon to take.

As he sat by the range, evidently trying to make up his mind what to take with him, his first thought was of the old coat he had had as a bed; so he crossed the room, took the coatin his mouth, and with his paws scratched it up into a bundle.

Then he thought of his milk-dish. Of course he must take that, for how could he drink from any other dish than the shiny one given him by the cook two weeks before? So he took that between his teeth and put it beside the coat. And the stove-hook, why not take that? No one seemed to be using it just at the moment. And a gelatin-box that had just been emptied, would it not be nice to pack his new collar in?

So he ran tumbling across the floor for the box, and back again for the string, when just then a pair of mittens caught his eye, and in this cold weather the mittens would be a comfort on so long a journey, so they were added to the collection under the table. And Mischief was just thinking he was about ready to start, when the very thing he most dreaded to leave behind him ran across the floor—the little yellow kitten; why could she not go with him, and then the journey would not seem so long? Accordingly, he ran after her, caught her by the neck, and tried to put her down with his other baggage; but the kitten could not understand what Mischief meant, and scratched and spit in a way that plainly said she would not accompany him.

Poor Mischief lay down in despair, and, after his hard morning’s work, took a long nap, only waking in time for his dinner. The next day he was put into a warm box, carried to the station, and after a three days’ journey arrived in Milwaukee, happy, well, and delighted with his new master, apparently quite forgetting his little mistress whom he left in her New Hampshire home.

BY H. N. POWERS

Willie was a very little child and lived near a mill. One day he saw a big cruel boy come along and throw a little puppy into the mill-pond, and then run away. Willie cried out: “O Papa, Papa, do come here!”

“What is the matter?” said his papa.

“Oh, Papa! I want the little doggie! Please get him for me. He will be drowned!”

His papa took a long pole and put it under the puppy’s neck and pulled it out of the water and gave it to Willie. He was very happy with his dog, which, by next year, grew to be a big, strong, shaggy fellow, and was named Diver. He used to go with Willie everywhere the boy went, and he loved Willie very much. Everybody said: “What a beautiful dog!” and Willie was proud of him.

One day when the nuts were ripe, Willie took his basket and went to pick hazelnuts. One big bush full of nuts hung over a deep place in the mill-pond, and, as Willie reached for the top branch, he slipped and fell in the water out of sight. But when he came up, Diver jumped in, took him by his collar, and brought him safe to land. So if it was good for Willie to save the dog’s life when he was a little puppy, it was good for the dog to save Willie’s life whenhewas a little boy.

And that was Diver’s way of thanking Willie for saving his life. It was a very good way, too! And Willie and Diver were always the best of friends.

BY EVERETT WILSON

Last Christmas little Gordon Bruce had a fine, large Christmas tree and lots of toys, just as a great many other nice boys and girls had. The tree was up in his playroom, a great, big, sunny room that used to be called the “nursery” when he was a baby.

A few days after Christmas, Gordon’s mother said: “Now, Gordon, I think we will have to take down your Christmas tree, for it is getting all dried up, and the little pine needles are dropping all over the floor, and the maid has to sweep them up every day.”

Gordon was sorry to have the tree taken down, for it looked so bright and Christmas-y, and he knew it would be a whole year before he would have another Christmas tree, so he asked his mother if she wouldn’t wait just one day more. I think that is the way almost all the girls and boys feel. And his mother said she would wait until to-morrow.

It was a rainy day, and as none of his little friends were with him, he began to play with all his toys one after the other; there were many of them, and some of the little ones were still hanging on the tree.

Gordon’s father came from Scotland, and he had read to Gordon many stories of the old days in Scotland, when the great generals and the noble lords lived in strong castles set high up on the mountains, so that the soldiers could not get near them. Now among Gordon’s Christmas presents was a tiny castle just like the ones he had seen in the books his father read the stories from; and with this castle came a lot of soldiers.

So this day Gordon got out his castle and soldiers and began to play with them. First he got a chair and put a big, thick rug over it to make it look like a steep hill; then he set the castle on top of the hill and stood the soldiers on the ground at the bottom of the hill—all in a row. He was making believe that the soldiers were trying to get up to the castle. Then he dropped some beautiful colored glass marbles, that his Uncle George had given him, down on the floor of the castle. The marbles rolled out of the front door of the castle and down the rug to the bottom of the hill, and bang! they would bump right against the tall soldiers and tumble them down. One after another Gordon would roll the marbles down until by and by every one of the soldiers would be knocked over, and as they were only wooden soldiers, of course they couldn’t get up by themselves. Then Gordon would stand them all up in a row again and roll the marbles down the hill until not a single soldier was standing. It was lots of fun for Gordon, for you know it really didn’t hurt the soldiers a bit, for they were only made of wood and their uniforms were just red and blue paint.

The next day Gordon’s mother took down the tree, and packed up the beautiful things that were on it, and put them away until next Christmas.

gordon’s make-believe castle on the hill.

WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY M. I. WOOD

Once upon a time there was a woman called Mrs. Stockchen and she had a son named Hans. They lived together in a little cottage and they had a hen and a cow.

One morning Mrs. Stockchen said to her son: “Hans, my dear, will you take Cowslip, the cow, to pasture, and remember not to be late for supper.” “Very well,” said Hans, and he took up his stick and started for the field.

The sun was very hot when he got there, and seeing a row of five shady trees, he lay down underneath them and fell asleep in two seconds. He snored with his mouth open. Cowslip had been watching him and when she saw his eyes close, she said, “Now! here’s my chance!” and, jumping over the fence, she ran away.

Hans stopped snoring and awoke at supper-time. He looked for Cowslip, but she had disappeared; he ran about calling for her, but she did not come; and at last he went home to his mother with a very sad face and said: “Oh, mother, Cowslip ran away while I was asleep. I have looked for her and cannot find her anywhere.”

“You lazy, careless, naughty, careless, naughty, lazy Boy!” cried Mrs. Stockchen. “You have left my poor cow wandering all alone. She will lose her way in the dark. Just you go and find her this instant. You will get no supper till you bring her back, or my name is not Matilda Maria!”

Mrs. Stockchen had grown quite scarlet with rage and she shook the soup-ladle at her son to make him go faster. It was getting quite dark by the time Hans reached the field again and nowhere did he see any trace of the cow. He did not know in what direction she had gone, so he walked round and round the field, feeling very miserable.

Just as 10 o’clock was striking, Cowslip stepped out from behind a tree, and kneeling at Hans’s feet, said in a choking voice, “I am really very sorry, Hans.” “Well,” said Hans, “I am sorry too, but let us get home now.” So they set out, tired and rather cross.

But when they came within sight of the light in their own cottage window, they met two soldiers who stopped them, and asked what they were doing out so late. “We’re just going home,” said Hans. “Why,” said the soldiers “you ought to have been there two hours ago.”

“Well, I couldn’t help it,” said Hans, “this cow ran away and I had to fetch her before going home to supper.”

“Boy!” said the soldiers, “you are not speaking the truth, you have stolen the cow, and you are very impertinent as well. We will take you to prison.”

They tied a rope round Hans’s neck and another round the cow’s, and took them to prison. They put Hans into a dungeon full of horrid creatures, but they let poor Cowslip wander about in the fields outside.

One morning when Hans was crying because the door was locked and because the window bars looked so strong, Cowslip heard him. She came up beside the window, and standing on her hind-legs she peeped in and said, “Hans, my dear master, do you think that if I tried to knock down the wall with my horns, you could get out?” “I will try,” said Hans. It was rather hard work for Cowslip, but at last she made a big enough hole and Hans leaped out.

He knocked off his hat in doing so, but then Hans didn’t care about a little thing like that.

He jumped on her back, and away they went, over fallen trees, stones, ditches, hedges, everything. They came in sight of the cottage at last, and the sound of their approach caused Mrs. Stockchen to look out of the window. When she saw who it was she fairly jumped for joy and she rushed out at once to meet them.

Hans fell into his mother’s arms. And they all lived happily ever afterward.

BY CAROLINE S. ALLEN

“‘yes, please,’ said little boy blue.”

Once there were four little brothers. The oldest had black eyes. He was called Little Boy Black. But I haven’t time to tell about him just now. The second little brother had brown eyes. He was called Little Boy Brown. But I cannot tell you about him either. The third little brother had gray eyes, and was called Little Boy Gray. There is a very nice story I could tell you about him, but I am sure you would rather hear about the fourth little brother.

For the youngest little brother had blue eyes; and his father and mother, his grandfather and grandmother, and every one else, called him Little Boy Blue. His eyes were very blue—as blue as the flowers you find down by the brook. You love the blue flowers, I know. And so I will tell you about Little Boy Blue.

His jacket was blue, his trousers were blue, his stockings were blue, and even his little shoes were blue.

One day Little Boy Blue’s mother said to him: “Do you want to go and visit Aunt Polly?” “Who is Aunt Polly?” asked Little Boy Blue. “Aunt Polly lives on a farm, on a high hill. She has horses, and cows, and pigs, and hens, and ducks, and geese—” “And elephants?” asked Little Boy Blue. “No, not any elephants. But she has a woolly white lamb.” “Oh, then I will go,” cried Little Boy Blue. So his mother went up-stairs and found a little blue traveling-bag. And in the little blue bag she packed some of Little Boy Blue’s clothes. Then Little Boy Blue and his mother went to visit Aunt Polly, who lived on a farm on a high hill.

Little Boy Blue’s mother stayed two days, and Little Boy Blue stayed ten days. When his mother was going home, she said to Aunt Polly: “Little Boy Blue likes to play, but he likes to work, too. So be sure to give him some work to do every day.”

“Very well,” said Aunt Polly. And so by-and-by Aunt Polly went to find Little Boy Blue. And she said to him: “Dear Little Boy Blue, what can you do to help?” He thought a minute, and then he said: “I can eat apples to see if they are ripe. And I can pull the roses in the garden, if you have too many.”

“The apples are not ripe, and I have just enough roses in the garden,” said Aunt Polly. “Can you drive the cows out of the corn?”

“Oh, yes, I can,” said Little Boy Blue, “if Towzer can come too.” Towzer was the dog.

“And perhaps you can look after the sheep?”

“Yes, Aunt Polly, I can do that,” said Little Boy Blue.

On the shelf in Little Boy Blue’s room stood a little blue clock. And every morning at five o’clock the door of the clock flew open, and a cuckoo came out. The cuckoo said, “Cuck-oo,” five times, and then went into the little blue clock again, and the little door closed after him. Then Little Boy Blue knew it was time to get up.

When he was dressed, he came down-stairs, and Aunt Polly gave him his breakfast. He had new milk in a blue bowl, and johnny-cake on a little blue plate. These he always carried out onto the door-step because he liked, while he was eating and drinking, to see the green grass bending in the breeze, and the yellow butterflies dancing here and there in the sunshine.

“This is the creamiest milk I ever saw,” said Little Boy Blue.

“That’s nice,” said Aunt Polly. “Do you want some more?”

“Yes, please,” said Little Boy Blue. So Aunt Polly brought the blue pitcher, and poured more creamy milk into his little blue bowl, and Little Boy Blue said: “Thank you, Aunt Polly.”

When Little Boy Blue could eat no more golden johnny-cake, and drink no more creamy milk, he jumped up from the door-step.

First he put his arms around Aunt Polly’s neck, and gave her a hug and a kiss. Then he went into the house to get his horn. The horn was a little blue one, and it hung on a peg near the kitchen door.

What do you suppose the horn was for? Why, Little Boy Blue watched the cows and the sheep. Then if they got into the wrong places, and trampled on the crops, Little Boy Blue blew the horn. One of the men always heard the horn, and came to help drive the cows or the sheep back where they belonged.

All this was very pleasant. But one day—what do you think? The sheep ran away, and jumped over a stone wall into the meadow, and the cows got into the corn. Nobody knew how it happened. Little Boy Blue had gone out that morning, just as he always did, to look after them; and no one had heard any horn. At last Towzer ran up to the barn, barking loudly. That was to give the alarm—about the sheep and the cows.

“How queer!” said Aunt Polly, who was in the barn-yard feeding the chickens.

“How strange!” said Uncle Ben.

“Where’s Little Boy Blue?” asked the men.

“‘he’s under the haycock, fast asleep!’”

“I’ll call him,” said Aunt Polly. So she walked, and she walked, all around the farm. As Aunt Polly walked she looked here, and she looked there. And she called:

“Little Boy Blue! Come blow your horn.The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn.”

Where do you think Aunt Polly found him? When the head-farmer asked her, “Where’s the little boy that looks after the sheep?” Aunt Polly said: “He’s under the haycock, fast asleep.”

“Shall we go wake him?” said the head-farmer.

“No, no; let him lie,” said Aunt Polly. “For if we should wake him, ‘he’d cry, cry, cry.’”

You see Little Boy Blue got up so early, he grew sleepy. And the sun was hot. And the haymow made a soft pillow. So he fell sound asleep, and dreamed about the woolly white lamb.

But on the day after that, Little Boy Blue took a nap, first, so that when he looked after the cows and the sheep he could keep awake. He never again had to be told to blow his horn.

When Little Boy Blue’s visit was over, Aunt Polly said: “You’ve been a dear little helper. I’m going to give you something to take home.” And, oh, joy! it was the woolly white lamb!

ADAPTED BY CECILIA FARWELL

The Fox was digging under an old tree and found a bumblebee. He gathered it up and put it into his bag and tied the string. Then he went to the first cottage at the end of the village street and said:

“Good morning, Good Mother. The way is long, and I am weary. May I leave my bag here while I go to the grocery store?”

“That will be all right,” said the old woman, “put it behind the door.”

So the Fox put the bag behind the door, saying, as he did so: “Be sure that you do not untie the string, Good Mother.” Then he went out of the cottage and on up the road.

The old woman looked at the bag and said to herself: “Now, I wonder what that sly fellow carries so carefully? It will do no harm to see.”

So she untied the string and started to look into the bag, and when the bag was opened the bumblebee flew out, and the rooster which was stalking about in the kitchen promptly ate him up.

When the Fox came back he saw that his bag had been opened and he said to the old woman: “Where is my bumblebee?”

“I opened the bag for but an instant,” said the old woman, “and the bumblebee flew out and the rooster ate him up.”

“Then I must take the rooster,” said the Fox. So he gathered up the rooster, put him into the bag and tied the string, and threw the bag over his shoulder and went on down the road.

When he came to the next cottage he knocked at the door and said: “Good morning, Good Mother. The way is long and I am weary. May I leave my bag here while I go on to the grocery store?”

“That will be all right,” said the old woman, “put it behind the door.”

So the Fox put the bag behind the door, saying as he did so: “Be sure that you do not untie the string, Good Mother,” and he went on down the road.

The old woman looked at the bag and said to herself, “Now I wonder what it is that that sly old fellow carries so carefully. It will do no harm to see.”

So she untied the string and started to look into the bag, and when the bag was opened the rooster flew out, and the pig which was in the kitchen promptly ate him up.

When the Fox came back he saw that the bag had been opened, and he said: “Where is my rooster, Good Mother?”

“I opened the bag for but an instant, and the rooster flew out and the pig ate him up,” said the woman.

“Then I must have the pig,” said the Fox. So he gathered up the pig and put him into the bag and tied the string and threw the bag over his shoulder and went on down the road.

When he came to the next cottage he knocked at the door and said: “Good morning, Good Mother. The way is long and I am weary. May I leave my bag here while I go to the grocery store?”

“That will be all right,” said the old woman, “put it behind the door.”

So the Fox put the bag behind the door, saying as he did so, “Be sure that you do not untie the string, Good Mother,” and went on down the road.

The old woman looked at the bag and said to herself: “Now I wonder what it is that that sly old fellow carries so carefully. It will do no harm to see.”

So she untied the string and opened the bag the least little bit, and the pig jumped out of the bag and ran into the house where the ox stood and the ox promptly gored him to death.

When the Fox came back and saw that the bag had been opened he said: “Where is my pig, Good Mother?”

“I opened the bag the least little bit, and the pig jumped out and the ox gored him to death,” said the woman.

“Then I must have the ox,” said the Fox. So he went out into the yard and gathered up the ox and put him into the bag and tied the string and threw the bag on his back and went on down the road.

When he came to the next cottage he knocked at the door and said: “Good morning, Good Mother. The way is long and I am weary. May I leave my bag here while I go to the grocery store?”

“That will be all right,” said the old woman, “put it behind the door.”

So the Fox put the bag behind the door, saying as he did so: “Be sure that you do not untie the string, Good Mother,” and went on down the road.

“may i leave my bag here?” said the fox

The woman looked at the bag and said to herself: “Now I wonder what it is that that sly old fellow carries so carefully? It will do no harm to see.”

So she untied the string and opened the bag and the ox jumped out and ran out into the yard, and the little boy who was playing there chased him off over the hill and into the wood.

When the Fox came back he saw that the string had been untied, and he said to the old woman: “Where is my ox?”

“I opened the bag the least little bit, and the ox jumped out and the little boy chased him over the hill and into the wood,” said the old woman.

“Then I must take the little boy,” said the Fox.

So he gathered up the little boy and put him into the bag and tied the string and threw the bag over his shoulder and started off down the road.

When he came to the next house he knocked at the door and said: “Good morning, Good Mother. The way is long and I am weary. May I leave my bag while I go to the store?”

“That will be all right,” said the woman, “put it behind the door.”

So the Fox put the bag behind the door, saying as he did so: “Be sure that you do not untie the string, Good Mother,” and went off.

This woman was very busy that morning, making cake, and she had no time to think of the bag, and it lay there for a long time. By-and-by when the cake was done her little boys gathered around the table, crying: “Let me taste the cake, Mother. Give me a piece of cake!” And she gave each one of them a piece of cake.

The cake smelled so good that the little boy in the bag cried out: “Oh, I want a piece of cake, too.”

When the woman heard the little boy cry out she went to the bag, and looking down at it, she said: “Now I wonder what that sly Fox has been about?” And the little boy cried out again, and the woman untied the string and let him out, and took the house dog and put him into the bag instead, and the little boy joined the others around the table, and she gave him a piece of the cake.

When the Fox came back he saw that the bag was all tied up, and looked just as it had when he left it, so he took it from behind the door and threw it over his shoulder, saying to himself: “I have had a long journey to-day, and I am hungry. And I have not done so badly, either. I will now go into the woods and see how the little boy tastes.”

So he went into the woods and untied the string to take the little boy out of the bag. But the little boy, as we know, was standing around the table with the other little boys eating cake. And no sooner was the string untied than the house dog jumped out of the bag and sprang right on the Fox, and they had a fight right then and there in the woods. Pretty soon the dog went trotting down the road. But the Fox did not go home. In fact he did not go anywhere at all.

Oeyvind was his name. A low barren cliff overhung the house in which he was born, fir and birch looked down on the roof, and wild-cherry strewed flowers over it. Upon this roof there walked about a little goat, which belonged to Oeyvind. He was kept there that he might not go astray, and Oeyvind carried leaves and grass up to him. One fine day the goat leaped down, and—away to the cliff; he went straight up, and came where he never had been before. Oeyvind did not see him when he came out after dinner, and thought immediately of the fox. He grew hot all over, looked around about, and called, “Killy-killy-killy-goat.”

“Bay-ay-ay,” said the goat, from the brow of the hill, as he cocked his head on one side and looked down.

But at the side of the goat there kneeled a little girl.

“Is it yours, this goat?” she asked.

Oeyvind stood with eyes and mouth wide open, thrust both hands into the breeches he had on, and asked, “Who are you?”

“I am Marit, mother’s little one, father’s fiddle, the elf in the house, grand-daughter of Ole Nordistuen of the Heide farms, four years old in the autumn, two days after the frost nights, I!”

“Are you really?” he said, and drew a long breath, which he had not dared to do so long as she was speaking.

“Is it yours, this goat?” asked the girl again.

“Ye-es,” he said, and looked up.

“I have taken such a fancy to the goat. You will give it to me?”

“No, that I won’t.”

She lay kicking her legs, and looking down at him, and then she said, “But if I give you a butter-cake for the goat, can I have him then?”

Oeyvind came of poor people, and had eaten butter-cake only once in his life, that was when grandpapa came there, and anything like it he had never eaten before nor since. He looked up at the girl. “Let me see the butter-cake first,” said he.

She was not long about it, took out a large cake, which she held in her hand. “Here it is,” she said, and threw it down.

“Ow, it went to pieces,” said the boy. He gathered up every bit with the utmost care; he could not help tasting the very smallest, and that was so good, he had to taste another, and, before he knew it himself, he had eaten up the whole cake.

“Now the goat is mine,” said the girl. The boy stopped with the last bit in his mouth, the girl lay and laughed, and the goat stood by her side, with white breast and dark brown hair, looking down.

“Could you not wait a little while?” begged the boy; his heart began to beat. Then the girl laughed still more, and got up quickly on her knees.

“No, the goat is mine,” she said, and threw her arms around its neck, loosened one of her garters, and fastened it around. Oeyvind looked up. She got up, and began pulling at the goat; it would not follow, and twisted its neck downward to where Oeyvind stood. “Bay-ay-ay,” it said. But she took hold of its hair with one hand, pulled the string with the other, and said gently, “Come, goat, and you shall go into the room and eat out of mother’s dish and my apron.” And then she sung,—

“Come, boy’s goat,Come, mother’s calf,Come, mewing catIn snow-white shoes.Come, yellow ducks,Come out of your hiding-place;Come, little chickens,Who can hardly go;Come, my dovesWith soft feathers,See, the grass is wet,But the sun does you good;And early, early is it in summer,But call for the autumn, and it will come.”

There stood the boy.

He had taken care of the goat since the winter before, when it was born, and he had never imagined he could lose it; but now it was done in a moment, and he would never see it again.

His mother came up humming from the beach, with wooden pans which she had scoured: she saw the boy sitting with his legs crossed under him on the grass, crying, and she went up to him.

“What are you crying about?”

“Oh, the goat, the goat!”

“Yes; where is the goat?” asked his mother, looking up at the roof.

“It will never come back again,” said the boy.

“Dear me! how could that happen?”

He would not confess immediately.

“Has the fox taken it?”

“Ah, if it only were the fox!”

“Are you crazy?” said his mother; “what has become of the goat?”

“Oh-h-h—I happened to—to—to sell it for a cake!”

As soon as he had uttered the word, he understood what it was to sell the goat for a cake; he had not thought of it before. His mother said,—

“What do you suppose the little goat thinks of you, when you could sell him for a cake?”

And the boy thought about it, and felt sure that he could never again be happy. He felt so sorry, that he promised himself never again to do anything wrong, never to cut the thread on the spinning-wheel, nor let the goats out, nor go down to the sea alone. He fell asleep where he lay, and dreamed about the goat.

Suddenly there came something wet close up to his ear, and he started up. “Bay-ay-ay!” it said; and it was the goat, who had come back again.

“What! have you got back?” He jumped up, took it by the two fore-legs, and danced with it as if it were a brother; he pulled its beard, and he was just going in to his mother with it, when he heard some one behind him, and, looking, saw the girl sitting on the greensward by his side. Now he understood it all, and let go the goat.

“Is it you, who have come with it?”

She sat, tearing the grass up with her hands, and said,—

“They would not let me keep it; grandfather is sitting up there, waiting.”

While the boy stood looking at her, he heard a sharp voice from the road above call out, “Now!”

Then she remembered what she was to do; she rose, went over to Oeyvind, put one of her muddy hands into his, and, turning her face away, said,—

“I beg your pardon!”

But then her courage was all gone; she threw herself over the goat, and wept.

“I think you had better keep the goat,” said Oeyvind, looking the other way.

“Come, make haste!” said grandpapa, up on the hill; and Marit rose, and walked with reluctant feet upward.

“You are forgetting your garter,” Oeyvind called after her. She turned round, and looked first at the garter and then at him. At last she came to a great resolution, and said, in a choked voice,—

“You may keep that.”

He went over to her, and, taking her hand, said,—

“Thank you!”

“O, nothing to thank for!” she answered, but drew a long sigh, and walked on.

He sat down on the grass again. The goat walked about near him, but he was no longer so pleased with it as before.

The goat was fastened to the wall; but Oeyvind walked about, looking up at the cliff. His mother came out, and sat down by his side, he wanted to hear stories about what was far away, for now the goat no longer satisfied him. So she told him how once everything could talk: the mountain talked to the stream, and the stream to the river, the river to the sea, and the sea to the sky; but then he asked if the sky did not talk to any one; and the sky talked to the clouds, the clouds to the trees, the trees to the grass, the grass to the flies, the flies to the animals, the animals to the children, the children to the grown-up people; and so it went on, until it had gone round, and no one could tell where it had begun. Oeyvind looked at the mountain, the trees, the sky, and had never really seen them before. The cat came out at that moment, and lay down on the stone before the door in the sunshine.

“What does the cat say?” asked Oeyvind, pointing. His mother sang,—

“At evening softly shines the sun,The cat lies lazy on the stone.Two small mice,Cream thick and nice,Four bits of fish,I stole behind a dish,And am so lazy and tired,Because so well I have fared,”

says the cat.

But then came the cock, with all the hens.

“What does the cock say?” asked Oeyvind, clapping his hands together. His mother sang,—

“The mother-hen her wings doth sink,The cock stands on one leg to think:That gray gooseSteers high her course;But sure am I that never sheAs clever as a cock can be.Run in, you hens, keep under the roof to-day,For the sun has got leave to stay away,”

says the cock.

But the little birds were sitting on the ridge-pole, singing. “What do the birds say?” asked Oeyvind, laughing.

“Dear Lord, how pleasant is life,For those who have neither toil nor strife,”

say the birds.

And she told him what they all said, down to the ant, who crawled in the moss, and the worm who worked in the bark.

That same summer, his mother began to teach him to read. He had owned books a long time, and often wondered how it would seem when they also began to talk. Now the letters turned into animals, birds, and everything else; but soon they began to walk together, two and two;astood and rested under a tree, which was calledb, then camec, and did the same; but when three or four came together, it seemed as if they were angry with each other, for it would not go right. And the farther along he came, the more he forgot what they were: he remembered longesta, which he liked best; it was a little black lamb, and was friends with everybody; but soon he forgotaalso: the book had no more stories, nothing but lessons.

One day his mother came in, and said to him,—

“To-morrow school begins, and then you are going up to the farm with me.”

Oeyvind had heard that school was a place where many boys played together; and he had no objection. Indeed, he was much pleased. He had often been at the farm, but never when there was school there; and now he was so anxious to get there, he walked faster than his mother up over the hills. As they came up to the neighboring house, a tremendous buzzing, like that from the water-mill at home, met their ears; and he asked his mother what it was.

“That is the children reading,” she answered, and he was much pleased, for that was the way he used to read, before he knew the letters. When he came in, there sat as many children round a table as he had ever seen at church; others were sitting on their luncheon boxes which were ranged round the walls; some stood in small groups round a large printed card; the schoolmaster, an old gray-haired man, was sitting on a stool by the chimney-corner, filling his pipe. They all looked up as Oeyvind and his mother entered, and the mill-hum ceased as if the water had suddenly been turned off. All looked at the new-comers; the mother bowed to the schoolmaster, who returned her greeting.

“the goat is mine,” she said,and threw her arms around its neck

“Here I bring a little boy who wants to learn to read,” said his mother.

“What is the fellow’s name?” said the schoolmaster, diving down into his pouch after tobacco.

“Oeyvind,” said his mother, “he knows his letters, and can put them together.”

“Is it possible!” said the schoolmaster, “come here, you Whitehead!”

Oeyvind went over to him: the schoolmaster took him on his lap, and raised his cap.

“What a nice little boy!” said he, and stroked his hair. Oeyvind looked up into his eyes, and laughed.

“Is it at me you are laughing?” asked he, with a frown.

“Yes, it is,” answered Oeyvind, and roared with laughter. At that the schoolmaster laughed, Oeyvind’s mother laughed; the children understood that they also were allowed to laugh, and so they all laughed together.

So Oeyvind became one of the scholars.

As he was going to find his seat, they all wanted to make room for him.

“Now, what are you going to do?” asked the schoolmaster, who was busy with his pipe again. Just as the boy is going to turn round to the schoolmaster, he sees close beside him, sitting down by the hearthstone on a little red painted tub, Marit, of the many names; she had covered her face with both hands, and sat peeping at him through her fingers.

“I shall sit here,” said Oeyvind, quickly, taking a tub and seating himself at her side. Then she raised a little the arm nearest him, and looked at him from under her elbow; immediately he also hid his face with both hands, and looked at her from under his elbow. So they sat, keeping up the sport, until she laughed, then he laughed too; the children had seen it, and laughed with them; at that, there rung out in a fearfully strong voice, which, however, grew milder at every pause,—

“Silence! you young scoundrels, you rascals, you little good-for-nothings! Keep still, and be good to me, you sugar-pigs.”

That was the schoolmaster, whose custom it was to boil up, but calm down again before he had finished. It grew quiet immediately in the school, until the water-wheels again began to go: every one read aloud from his book, the sharpest louder and louder to get the preponderance, here trebles piped up, the rougher voices drummed and there one shouted in above the others, and Oeyvind had never had such fun in all his life.

“Is it always like this here?” whispered he to Marit.

“Yes, just like this,” she said.

Afterwards, they had to go up to the schoolmaster, and read; and then a little boy was called to read, so that they were allowed to go and sit down quietly again.

“I have got a goat now, too,” said she.

“Have you?”

“Yes; but it is not so pretty as yours.”

“Why don’t you come oftener up on the cliff?”

“Grandpapa is afraid I shall fall over.”

“Mother knows so many songs,” said he.

“Grandpapa does, too, you can believe.”

“Yes; but he does not know what mother does.”

“Grandpapa knows one about a dance. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Well, then, you must come farther over here, so that the schoolmaster may not hear.”

He changed his place, and then she recited a little piece of a song three or four times over, so that the boy learned it.

“Up with you, youngsters!” called out the schoolmaster. “This is the first day, so you shall be dismissed early; but first we must say a prayer, and sing.”

Instantly, all was life in the school; they jumped down from the benches, sprung over the floor, and talked into each other’s mouths.

“Silence! you young torments, you little beggars, you noisy boys! be quiet, and walk softly across the floor, little children,” said the schoolmaster; and now they walked quietly, and took their places, after which the schoolmaster went in front of them, and made a short prayer. Then they sung. The schoolmaster began in a deep bass, all the children stood with folded hands, and joined in. Oeyvind stood farthest down by the door with Marit, and looked on; they also folded their hands, but they could not sing.

That was the first day at school.

Happy Days

Happy Days

WHAT THE CAT AND HEN DID“they were so busy making mud-piesthat they did not see ‘mrs. tomkins.’”Four little children were playing in their garden one day. There were Mollie and Jamie and Betty and Teddy.They were so busy making mud-pies that they did not see “Mrs. Tomkins,” the old cat, when she came and mewed, and mewed, and put up her paw, and touched Mollie and Jamie and Betty and Teddy—first one and then the other, as much as to say, “Do come, some of you, and help me! Do come,please!”By and by the children’s mama came out of the house and saw how queerly the cat was acting, and said: “Children, Mrs. Tomkins is trying to get you to go with her and see if her babies are all right.”So the children left their play, and said: “Come, Mrs. Tomkins, we will go with you now.”The old cat gave a thankful “m-i-e-o-u,” and started down the walk leading to the barn. Every now and then she looked back to see if the children were really coming. When she got to the stable, she ran and jumped up on the manger, and looked down into it, and gave a quick, sharp “m-i-e-o-u,” as if to say, “What do you think of that?” And the children looked in and saw a hen sitting upon the old cat’s kittens and trying to keep them all covered up! When the cat tried to go near them, the hen would peck at her and drive her away. How the children laughed! Mollie said: “Did you ever see anything so funny! I am going to ask Mama to write a funny story about it,—how our old hen ’dopted the kittens.”The hen had been sitting upon some eggs in a nest near where the cat had set up housekeeping, and when the cat went out, the hen came over and took the cat’s little family under her wings, just as if they had been so many chick-a-biddies. And when the cat went home again, the hen wouldn’t let her come near the kittens. Mollie took the hen off, and Mrs. Tomkins was happy.“every now and then she looked back to see if the children were really coming.”The next day she came again, looking as though she said, “I am very sorry to trouble you, but Imust.” Then she said, “M-i-e-o-u! m-i-e-o-u!” So the children left their play and went to the stable with her, and found the hen playing mother to Mrs. Tomkins’s kittens again and trying to make them keep still and stay under her wings. If one of them poked its head out, she would give it a sharp peck to make it go back.The children laughed again, and Mollie said: “Poor Mrs. Tomkins, I would look for a new house if I were you—you do have such meddlesome neighbors! Then she took the hen off, and Mrs. Tomkins picked up one of the kittens.“mrs. tomkins gave a sharp ‘m-i-e-o-u,’as if to say, ‘what do you think of that?’”The children’s mama was sitting in the library reading when the old cat came in, with a kitten in her mouth. She put it softly down, went out, and soon returned with another. She kept on doing this until she had moved all her family of five kittens. Then she settled herself in a cozy corner, and looked at the lady, and purred in this way: “If you only knew how much trouble I have had with that bad old hen, you would let me and my children stay here.”The lady laughed and said: “I will see what I can do for you.”Just then the children came in and begged to have the kittens stay. So a new home was made for them in a box in the woodhouse.DOT’S BIRTHDAY CAKEOnce there was a little girl called Dot. And she was just five years old. And she had a fine birthday cake. It was big and round, and it had five beautiful little pink candles set in pink rosebuds on top.Dot sat at the big table at dinner that day, and by and by they put a pretty pink paper cap on her head and then brought in the birthday cake. And the little candles were all burning bright. And when she saw it she said, “Oh! oh! how lovely! It is just too pretty to cut!”But her mama said, “I will cut it for you, dear.” So she cut one piece for Dot, and then she asked Dot, “Will Marie have a piece?” Marie was Dot’s big doll. And Dot looked at her and said, “Marie says, ‘No, thank you.’” And mama said, “Will Fuzzy have a piece?” Fuzzy was Dot’s Teddy Bear.And Dot looked at him and said: “He says, ‘No, thank you.’” And mama said, “Will papa have a piece?” And Dot said, “Oh, yes. Won’t you, papa?” And papa said, “Yes, please.” And Dot said, “Mama, you will. Youmusthave a piece of my birthday cake.” And mama said, “Yes, thank you.”And mama cut the cake and gave Dot a piece and papa a piece and herself a piece. But she left the parts of the cake where the candles were burning,—one, two, three, four, five. And Dot’s birthday cake lasted one, two, three, four, five whole days before it was all gone.NED AND ROVER AND JACKA boy named Ned had a little puppy-dog named Rover. One day, Ned’s papa gave him a nice new toy wagon. Ned was pulling it around the yard when he saw Rover. “Come, Rover!” he said, “I will give you a fine ride.” So he took Rover and put him in the wagon and gave him a ride.But just then Ned saw a boy he knew, named Tom. Tom was running down the street. Ned called to him but he did not hear. Ned wanted to show Tom his new wagon. So he ran after Tom as fast as he could go, calling, “Tom! Tom!” and never thinking of poor little Rover. He was barking with all his might, “Bow! wow! Bow-wow! bow-wow-wow-wow!” which means “Oh, stop! stop! I’m going to fall out!” And the next minute Rover went “bumpity-bump!” out into the road, and ran off home, crying, “Ow-wow-wow!” He was not hurt much, but he was badly frightened. But he soon forgot his ride, and he grew and he grew and he grew, till, by and by, he was a big dog. And then, Ned’s little brother, Jack, had a little wagon. But now Rover was too big to ride in it. So Jack said he would make Rover pull it andhewould ride.Ned helped him to harness Rover in it like a horse, and Jack climbed in and took the reins. “Get up!” said Jack, and away they went out into the yard and on into a big field. But just then a little rabbit started up in front of them, and the minute Rover saw it, he began to race after the rabbit. Poor Jack couldn’t hold him at all. Round and round they went, and they ran, and they ran, and they ran! Jack called out, “Whoa, Rover! Stop, Rover!” But Rover didn’t stop. He wanted to catch the rabbit and he forgot about Jack.At last the rabbit ran toward a hole under the wall, where Rover could not get him. But Rover dashed after him as fast as he could go. “Bumpity-bump” went the little wagon, and just as Rover missed the rabbit, the wheel struck a big stone and poorJacktumbled out on the ground. But he didn’t cry. He was not hurt much, and he wasn’t frightened at all. He ran and caught Rover, and said, “Oho! Who cares for a little bump like that? You’re a funny horse, Rover. But you didn’t catch your rabbit, you old runaway—did you?”I had a little kittenHOW POLLY HAD HER PICTURE TAKENBY EVERETT WILSONIt was a bright spring morning, and all the animals on the Meadowbrook Farm had been given their breakfast, and the Piggy-wig family had settled down to a cozy nap. Suddenly there was heard a great noise and rushing out in the apple orchard. Old Mother Piggy-wig jumped up on her hind legs and looked over the fence of her sty to see what it was all about. The little pig that went to market, and the little pig that stayed at home, also jumped up, quite as excited as their mother. Then the little pig that had roast beef, and the little pig that had none, woke up, and they, too, scampered about, wishing to know what was going on down under the apple-trees. But before old Mother Piggy-wig could tell them, the little pig, who, one day, could not find his way home, found a big hole in the lower board of the sty, and at once shouted:“Oh, I see what it is! It is little Polly going to have her picture taken.”And, sure enough, there was Polly’s brother Ned with his camera; and after him came Polly, and after Polly came—guess what!Well, first there came Blackie, the cat, then came Banty, the hen; and then came Gyp, the dog. And such a mew-mewing, and cluck-clucking, and bow-wowing you never heard!Polly had often had her picture taken, but it was always with her papa or her mamma, and she had never had her picture taken with her pets. So brother Ned had promised that on her birthday he would take her picture with all of her pets—if they would only keep still. This day was Polly’s birthday, and, as the weather was fine, her brother had told her to follow him out to the orchard.Ned fastened his camera on its three sprawling legs, while Polly tried to gatherher pets around her. But by this time Blackie, the cat, was chasing a squirrel (though he did not catch him), and Banty, the hen, was away off scratching for worms; and Gyp, the dog, was barking at a bossy calf down by the brook, for, of course, Polly’s pets did not know it was her birthday and that they were to have their pictures taken with her.Polly called, as loud as she could, “Here, Blackie, Blackie; here, Banty, Banty; here, Gyp, Gyp,” and as quick as a wink the animals came running up to her.At first she sat down, but all three of her pets got in her lap until you could scarcely see Polly behind them. That would not do, of course, because it was Polly’s picture that was the most important.Finally, she stood up and made her pets stand up, too. Then she had more trouble, for Gyp wanted to stand next to her, and so did Banty, and so did Blackie, but she told them if they were not good and did not stand just where she put them, they could not have their pictures taken at all. She even said she would get the little pig that could not find his way home, and would have her picture taken withhim. They did not like that, so they promised to be good. She stood Banty on one side of her, and Gyp on the other side, and then she put Blackie on one end next to Banty. But Gyp and Blackie jumped around so lively that Brother Ned ran into the house and brought out Polly’s toy cow, and stood her next to Blackie, and that kepthimquiet, because he was afraid the cow would hook him with her horns—he did not know it was not arealcow. Then Ned brought out Polly’s toy lion and put him next to Gyp, and that kepthimquiet, because he thought the lion would eat him up,—he did not know it was not areallion.So, after they were all nice and quiet, Ned called out:“Ready! Look pleasant! One, two, three—all over!”And here is the way they looked in the picture that Ned took that morning:IDLE BENIdle Ben was a naughty boy(If you please, this story’s true),He caused his teachers great annoy,And his worthy parents, too.Idle Ben, in a boastful wayTo his anxious parents toldThat while he was young he thought he’d play,And he’d learn when he grew old.“Ah, Ben,” said his mother, and dropped a tear,“You’ll be sorry for this, by-and-by”Says Ben, “To me that’s not very clear,But at any rate I’ll try.”So idle Ben, he refused to learn,Thinking that he could wait;But when he had his living to earn,He found it was just too late.Little girls, little boys, don’t delay your work,Some day you’ll be women and men.Whenever your task you’re inclined to shirk,Take warning by idle Ben.THE HOLE IN THE CANNA-BEDBY ISABEL GORDON CURTISOne evening in May, Chuckie Wuckie’s papa finished setting out the plants in the front yard. Into one large bed he put a dozen fine cannas. They looked like fresh young shoots of corn. He told Chuckie Wuckie that when summer came they would grow tall, with great spreading leaves and beautiful red-and-yellow blossoms.“Taller than me, papa?” asked the little girl, trying to imagine what they would look like.“Much taller; as tall as I am.”Chuckie Wuckie listened gravely while papa told her she must be very careful about the canna-bed. She must not throw her ball into it, or dig there, or set a foot in the black, smooth earth. She nodded her head solemnly, and made a faithful promise. Then she gathered up her tiny rake and hoe and spade, and carried them to the vine-covered shed to put beside her father’s tools.Next morning, when papa went to look at the canna-bed, he discovered close beside one of the largest plants a snug, round hole. It looked like a little nest. He found Chuckie Wuckiedigging with an iron spoon in the ground beside the fence.“papa told her she must be verycareful about the canna-bed.”“Dearie,” he said, “do you remember I told you, last night, that you must not dig in the canna-bed?”“Yes,” said the little girl.“Come and see the hole I found there.”So Chuckie Wuckie trotted along at her father’s heels. She stood watching him as he filled in the hole and smoothed down the earth.“I did not dig it,” said Chuckie Wuckie. “I just came and looked to see if the canna had grown any through the night, but I did not dig it.”“Really?” asked her papa, very gravely.“Really and truly, I did not put my foot on there,” said Chuckie Wuckie.Papa did not say another word. But he could not help thinking that the hole looked as if the iron spoon had neatly scooped it out.Next morning he found the hole dug there again, and Chuckie Wuckie was still busy in her corner by the fence. He did not speak of it, however. There were prints of small feet on the edge. He only smoothed down the earth and raked the bed. He did this for three mornings, then he led Chuckie Wuckie again to the canna-bed.“Papa,” she said earnestly, “I did not dig there. Truly, I didn’t. The hole is there every morning. I found it to-day before you came out, but I did not dig it.” There were tears in her brown eyes.“I believe you, Chuckie Wuckie dear,” said her father, earnestly.That night the little girl stood at the gate, watching for her father to jump off the car. She could hardly wait for him to kiss her. She took his hand and led him to the canna-bed.“Look!” she cried eagerly.She was pointing excitedly to a hole beside the roots of a fresh, green canna plant.“That hole again,” said her father. “There’s a stone in it now, isn’t there?”“No, that’s what I thought; stoop down and look close, papa!” cried Chuckie Wuckie.It was the head of a fat hop-toad, but all that could be seen was its mouth and bright eyes.It was staring at them. Papa poked it with the point of his umbrella. It scrambled deeper into the hole, until there was nothing to be seen but the dirt. It was slowly changing to the color of the black earth.“I watched him,” cried Chuckie Wuckie, excitedly—“oh, for an hour! When I found him he was just hopping on the canna-bed. He was looking for his house. He acted as if the door had been shut in his face. Then he began to open it. He crawled and scrambled round and round, and threw up the dirt, and poked and pushed. At last he had the hole made, just as it is every morning, and he crawled in. Then he lay and blinked at me.”“Clever fellow,” said papa. “Well, we won’t grudge him a home, and we won’t shut the door again in his face, will we, Chuckie Wuckie?”The cannas have grown very tall now—almost as tall as Chuckie Wuckie’s papa—and so thick that you cannot see where the roots are; but a fat, brown hop-toad has a snug, cool, safe little nest there, and he gratefully crawls into it when the sun grows very hot.The Conceited MouseBY ELLA FOSTER CASEOnce upon a time there was a very small mouse with a very, very large opinion of himself. What he didn’t know his own grandmother couldn’t tell him.“You’d better keep a bright eye in your head, these days,” said she, one chilly afternoon. “Your gran’ther has smelled a trap.”“Scat!” answered the small mouse—“’s if I don’t know a trap when I see it!” And that was all the thanks she got for her good advice.“Go your own way, for you will go no other,” the wise old mouse said to herself; and she scratched her nose slowly and sadly as she watched her grandson scamper up the cellar stairs.“Ah!” sniffed he, poking his whiskers into a crack of the dining-room cupboard, “cheese—as I’m alive!” Scuttle—scuttle. “I’ll be squizzled, if it isn’t in that cunning little house; I know what that is—a cheese-house, of course. What avery snug hall! That’s the way with cheese-houses. I know, ’cause I’ve heard the dairymaid talk about ’em. It must be rather inconvenient, though, to carry milk up that step and through an iron door. I know why it’s so open—to let in fresh air. I tell you, that cheese is good! Kind of a reception-room in there—guess I know a reception-room from a hole in the wall. No trouble at all about getting in, either. Wouldn’t grandmother open her eyes to see me here! Guess I’ll take another nibble at that cheese, and go out. What’s that noise? What in squeaks is the matter with the door? This is a cheese-house, I know it is—but what if it should turn out to be a—O-o-o-eeee!” And that’s just what it did turn out to be.End of ye Tale

“they were so busy making mud-piesthat they did not see ‘mrs. tomkins.’”

Four little children were playing in their garden one day. There were Mollie and Jamie and Betty and Teddy.

They were so busy making mud-pies that they did not see “Mrs. Tomkins,” the old cat, when she came and mewed, and mewed, and put up her paw, and touched Mollie and Jamie and Betty and Teddy—first one and then the other, as much as to say, “Do come, some of you, and help me! Do come,please!”

By and by the children’s mama came out of the house and saw how queerly the cat was acting, and said: “Children, Mrs. Tomkins is trying to get you to go with her and see if her babies are all right.”

So the children left their play, and said: “Come, Mrs. Tomkins, we will go with you now.”

The old cat gave a thankful “m-i-e-o-u,” and started down the walk leading to the barn. Every now and then she looked back to see if the children were really coming. When she got to the stable, she ran and jumped up on the manger, and looked down into it, and gave a quick, sharp “m-i-e-o-u,” as if to say, “What do you think of that?” And the children looked in and saw a hen sitting upon the old cat’s kittens and trying to keep them all covered up! When the cat tried to go near them, the hen would peck at her and drive her away. How the children laughed! Mollie said: “Did you ever see anything so funny! I am going to ask Mama to write a funny story about it,—how our old hen ’dopted the kittens.”

The hen had been sitting upon some eggs in a nest near where the cat had set up housekeeping, and when the cat went out, the hen came over and took the cat’s little family under her wings, just as if they had been so many chick-a-biddies. And when the cat went home again, the hen wouldn’t let her come near the kittens. Mollie took the hen off, and Mrs. Tomkins was happy.

“every now and then she looked back to see if the children were really coming.”

The next day she came again, looking as though she said, “I am very sorry to trouble you, but Imust.” Then she said, “M-i-e-o-u! m-i-e-o-u!” So the children left their play and went to the stable with her, and found the hen playing mother to Mrs. Tomkins’s kittens again and trying to make them keep still and stay under her wings. If one of them poked its head out, she would give it a sharp peck to make it go back.

The children laughed again, and Mollie said: “Poor Mrs. Tomkins, I would look for a new house if I were you—you do have such meddlesome neighbors! Then she took the hen off, and Mrs. Tomkins picked up one of the kittens.

“mrs. tomkins gave a sharp ‘m-i-e-o-u,’as if to say, ‘what do you think of that?’”

The children’s mama was sitting in the library reading when the old cat came in, with a kitten in her mouth. She put it softly down, went out, and soon returned with another. She kept on doing this until she had moved all her family of five kittens. Then she settled herself in a cozy corner, and looked at the lady, and purred in this way: “If you only knew how much trouble I have had with that bad old hen, you would let me and my children stay here.”

The lady laughed and said: “I will see what I can do for you.”

Just then the children came in and begged to have the kittens stay. So a new home was made for them in a box in the woodhouse.

Once there was a little girl called Dot. And she was just five years old. And she had a fine birthday cake. It was big and round, and it had five beautiful little pink candles set in pink rosebuds on top.

Dot sat at the big table at dinner that day, and by and by they put a pretty pink paper cap on her head and then brought in the birthday cake. And the little candles were all burning bright. And when she saw it she said, “Oh! oh! how lovely! It is just too pretty to cut!”

But her mama said, “I will cut it for you, dear.” So she cut one piece for Dot, and then she asked Dot, “Will Marie have a piece?” Marie was Dot’s big doll. And Dot looked at her and said, “Marie says, ‘No, thank you.’” And mama said, “Will Fuzzy have a piece?” Fuzzy was Dot’s Teddy Bear.And Dot looked at him and said: “He says, ‘No, thank you.’” And mama said, “Will papa have a piece?” And Dot said, “Oh, yes. Won’t you, papa?” And papa said, “Yes, please.” And Dot said, “Mama, you will. Youmusthave a piece of my birthday cake.” And mama said, “Yes, thank you.”

And mama cut the cake and gave Dot a piece and papa a piece and herself a piece. But she left the parts of the cake where the candles were burning,—one, two, three, four, five. And Dot’s birthday cake lasted one, two, three, four, five whole days before it was all gone.

A boy named Ned had a little puppy-dog named Rover. One day, Ned’s papa gave him a nice new toy wagon. Ned was pulling it around the yard when he saw Rover. “Come, Rover!” he said, “I will give you a fine ride.” So he took Rover and put him in the wagon and gave him a ride.

But just then Ned saw a boy he knew, named Tom. Tom was running down the street. Ned called to him but he did not hear. Ned wanted to show Tom his new wagon. So he ran after Tom as fast as he could go, calling, “Tom! Tom!” and never thinking of poor little Rover. He was barking with all his might, “Bow! wow! Bow-wow! bow-wow-wow-wow!” which means “Oh, stop! stop! I’m going to fall out!” And the next minute Rover went “bumpity-bump!” out into the road, and ran off home, crying, “Ow-wow-wow!” He was not hurt much, but he was badly frightened. But he soon forgot his ride, and he grew and he grew and he grew, till, by and by, he was a big dog. And then, Ned’s little brother, Jack, had a little wagon. But now Rover was too big to ride in it. So Jack said he would make Rover pull it andhewould ride.

Ned helped him to harness Rover in it like a horse, and Jack climbed in and took the reins. “Get up!” said Jack, and away they went out into the yard and on into a big field. But just then a little rabbit started up in front of them, and the minute Rover saw it, he began to race after the rabbit. Poor Jack couldn’t hold him at all. Round and round they went, and they ran, and they ran, and they ran! Jack called out, “Whoa, Rover! Stop, Rover!” But Rover didn’t stop. He wanted to catch the rabbit and he forgot about Jack.

At last the rabbit ran toward a hole under the wall, where Rover could not get him. But Rover dashed after him as fast as he could go. “Bumpity-bump” went the little wagon, and just as Rover missed the rabbit, the wheel struck a big stone and poorJacktumbled out on the ground. But he didn’t cry. He was not hurt much, and he wasn’t frightened at all. He ran and caught Rover, and said, “Oho! Who cares for a little bump like that? You’re a funny horse, Rover. But you didn’t catch your rabbit, you old runaway—did you?”

I had a little kitten

BY EVERETT WILSON

It was a bright spring morning, and all the animals on the Meadowbrook Farm had been given their breakfast, and the Piggy-wig family had settled down to a cozy nap. Suddenly there was heard a great noise and rushing out in the apple orchard. Old Mother Piggy-wig jumped up on her hind legs and looked over the fence of her sty to see what it was all about. The little pig that went to market, and the little pig that stayed at home, also jumped up, quite as excited as their mother. Then the little pig that had roast beef, and the little pig that had none, woke up, and they, too, scampered about, wishing to know what was going on down under the apple-trees. But before old Mother Piggy-wig could tell them, the little pig, who, one day, could not find his way home, found a big hole in the lower board of the sty, and at once shouted:

“Oh, I see what it is! It is little Polly going to have her picture taken.”

And, sure enough, there was Polly’s brother Ned with his camera; and after him came Polly, and after Polly came—guess what!

Well, first there came Blackie, the cat, then came Banty, the hen; and then came Gyp, the dog. And such a mew-mewing, and cluck-clucking, and bow-wowing you never heard!

Polly had often had her picture taken, but it was always with her papa or her mamma, and she had never had her picture taken with her pets. So brother Ned had promised that on her birthday he would take her picture with all of her pets—if they would only keep still. This day was Polly’s birthday, and, as the weather was fine, her brother had told her to follow him out to the orchard.

Ned fastened his camera on its three sprawling legs, while Polly tried to gatherher pets around her. But by this time Blackie, the cat, was chasing a squirrel (though he did not catch him), and Banty, the hen, was away off scratching for worms; and Gyp, the dog, was barking at a bossy calf down by the brook, for, of course, Polly’s pets did not know it was her birthday and that they were to have their pictures taken with her.

Polly called, as loud as she could, “Here, Blackie, Blackie; here, Banty, Banty; here, Gyp, Gyp,” and as quick as a wink the animals came running up to her.

At first she sat down, but all three of her pets got in her lap until you could scarcely see Polly behind them. That would not do, of course, because it was Polly’s picture that was the most important.

Finally, she stood up and made her pets stand up, too. Then she had more trouble, for Gyp wanted to stand next to her, and so did Banty, and so did Blackie, but she told them if they were not good and did not stand just where she put them, they could not have their pictures taken at all. She even said she would get the little pig that could not find his way home, and would have her picture taken withhim. They did not like that, so they promised to be good. She stood Banty on one side of her, and Gyp on the other side, and then she put Blackie on one end next to Banty. But Gyp and Blackie jumped around so lively that Brother Ned ran into the house and brought out Polly’s toy cow, and stood her next to Blackie, and that kepthimquiet, because he was afraid the cow would hook him with her horns—he did not know it was not arealcow. Then Ned brought out Polly’s toy lion and put him next to Gyp, and that kepthimquiet, because he thought the lion would eat him up,—he did not know it was not areallion.

So, after they were all nice and quiet, Ned called out:

“Ready! Look pleasant! One, two, three—all over!”

And here is the way they looked in the picture that Ned took that morning:

Idle Ben was a naughty boy(If you please, this story’s true),He caused his teachers great annoy,And his worthy parents, too.

Idle Ben, in a boastful wayTo his anxious parents toldThat while he was young he thought he’d play,And he’d learn when he grew old.

“Ah, Ben,” said his mother, and dropped a tear,“You’ll be sorry for this, by-and-by”Says Ben, “To me that’s not very clear,But at any rate I’ll try.”

So idle Ben, he refused to learn,Thinking that he could wait;But when he had his living to earn,He found it was just too late.

Little girls, little boys, don’t delay your work,Some day you’ll be women and men.Whenever your task you’re inclined to shirk,Take warning by idle Ben.

BY ISABEL GORDON CURTIS

One evening in May, Chuckie Wuckie’s papa finished setting out the plants in the front yard. Into one large bed he put a dozen fine cannas. They looked like fresh young shoots of corn. He told Chuckie Wuckie that when summer came they would grow tall, with great spreading leaves and beautiful red-and-yellow blossoms.

“Taller than me, papa?” asked the little girl, trying to imagine what they would look like.

“Much taller; as tall as I am.”

Chuckie Wuckie listened gravely while papa told her she must be very careful about the canna-bed. She must not throw her ball into it, or dig there, or set a foot in the black, smooth earth. She nodded her head solemnly, and made a faithful promise. Then she gathered up her tiny rake and hoe and spade, and carried them to the vine-covered shed to put beside her father’s tools.

Next morning, when papa went to look at the canna-bed, he discovered close beside one of the largest plants a snug, round hole. It looked like a little nest. He found Chuckie Wuckiedigging with an iron spoon in the ground beside the fence.

“papa told her she must be verycareful about the canna-bed.”

“Dearie,” he said, “do you remember I told you, last night, that you must not dig in the canna-bed?”

“Yes,” said the little girl.

“Come and see the hole I found there.”

So Chuckie Wuckie trotted along at her father’s heels. She stood watching him as he filled in the hole and smoothed down the earth.

“I did not dig it,” said Chuckie Wuckie. “I just came and looked to see if the canna had grown any through the night, but I did not dig it.”

“Really?” asked her papa, very gravely.

“Really and truly, I did not put my foot on there,” said Chuckie Wuckie.

Papa did not say another word. But he could not help thinking that the hole looked as if the iron spoon had neatly scooped it out.

Next morning he found the hole dug there again, and Chuckie Wuckie was still busy in her corner by the fence. He did not speak of it, however. There were prints of small feet on the edge. He only smoothed down the earth and raked the bed. He did this for three mornings, then he led Chuckie Wuckie again to the canna-bed.

“Papa,” she said earnestly, “I did not dig there. Truly, I didn’t. The hole is there every morning. I found it to-day before you came out, but I did not dig it.” There were tears in her brown eyes.

“I believe you, Chuckie Wuckie dear,” said her father, earnestly.

That night the little girl stood at the gate, watching for her father to jump off the car. She could hardly wait for him to kiss her. She took his hand and led him to the canna-bed.

“Look!” she cried eagerly.

She was pointing excitedly to a hole beside the roots of a fresh, green canna plant.

“That hole again,” said her father. “There’s a stone in it now, isn’t there?”

“No, that’s what I thought; stoop down and look close, papa!” cried Chuckie Wuckie.

It was the head of a fat hop-toad, but all that could be seen was its mouth and bright eyes.It was staring at them. Papa poked it with the point of his umbrella. It scrambled deeper into the hole, until there was nothing to be seen but the dirt. It was slowly changing to the color of the black earth.

“I watched him,” cried Chuckie Wuckie, excitedly—“oh, for an hour! When I found him he was just hopping on the canna-bed. He was looking for his house. He acted as if the door had been shut in his face. Then he began to open it. He crawled and scrambled round and round, and threw up the dirt, and poked and pushed. At last he had the hole made, just as it is every morning, and he crawled in. Then he lay and blinked at me.”

“Clever fellow,” said papa. “Well, we won’t grudge him a home, and we won’t shut the door again in his face, will we, Chuckie Wuckie?”

The cannas have grown very tall now—almost as tall as Chuckie Wuckie’s papa—and so thick that you cannot see where the roots are; but a fat, brown hop-toad has a snug, cool, safe little nest there, and he gratefully crawls into it when the sun grows very hot.

The Conceited Mouse

BY ELLA FOSTER CASE

Once upon a time there was a very small mouse with a very, very large opinion of himself. What he didn’t know his own grandmother couldn’t tell him.

“You’d better keep a bright eye in your head, these days,” said she, one chilly afternoon. “Your gran’ther has smelled a trap.”

“Scat!” answered the small mouse—“’s if I don’t know a trap when I see it!” And that was all the thanks she got for her good advice.

“Go your own way, for you will go no other,” the wise old mouse said to herself; and she scratched her nose slowly and sadly as she watched her grandson scamper up the cellar stairs.

“Ah!” sniffed he, poking his whiskers into a crack of the dining-room cupboard, “cheese—as I’m alive!” Scuttle—scuttle. “I’ll be squizzled, if it isn’t in that cunning little house; I know what that is—a cheese-house, of course. What avery snug hall! That’s the way with cheese-houses. I know, ’cause I’ve heard the dairymaid talk about ’em. It must be rather inconvenient, though, to carry milk up that step and through an iron door. I know why it’s so open—to let in fresh air. I tell you, that cheese is good! Kind of a reception-room in there—guess I know a reception-room from a hole in the wall. No trouble at all about getting in, either. Wouldn’t grandmother open her eyes to see me here! Guess I’ll take another nibble at that cheese, and go out. What’s that noise? What in squeaks is the matter with the door? This is a cheese-house, I know it is—but what if it should turn out to be a—O-o-o-eeee!” And that’s just what it did turn out to be.

End of ye Tale

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