III.

Baby

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eskimos among some igloos

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A dogsled team

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

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

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

Up! up! let us a voyage take;Why sit we here at ease?Find us a vessel tight and snug,Bound for the northern seas.I long to see the Northern Lights,With their rushing splendors, fly,Like living things, with flaming wings,Wide o'er the wondrous sky.I long to see those icebergs vast,With heads all crowned with snow,Whose green roots sleep in the awful deep,Two hundred fathoms low.I long to hear the thundering crashOf their terrific fall;And the echoes from a thousand cliffs,Like lonely voices call.There we shall see the fierce white bear,The sleepy seals aground,And the spouting whales that to and froSail with a dreary sound.We'll pass the shores of solemn pine,Where wolves and black bears prowl,And away to the rocky isles of mistTo rouse the northern fowl.And there, in the wastes of the silent sky,With the silent earth below,We shall see far off to his lonely rockThe lonely eagle go.Then softly, softly we will treadBy island streams, to seeWhere the pelican of the silent NorthSits there all silently.—William Howitt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then softly, softly we will treadBy island streams, to seeWhere the pelican of the silent NorthSits there all silently.—William Howitt.

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

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

In the snowing and the blowing,In the cold and cruel sleet,Little flowers begin their growing,Underneath your feet.—Mary Mapes Dodge.

Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!Christmas in lands of the fir-tree and pine.Christmas in lands of the palm-tree and vine.Christmas where snow peaks stand solemn and white.Christmas where cornfields lie sunny and bright!Christmas where children are hopeful and gay,Christmas where old men are patient and gray,Christmas where peace, like a dove in his flight,Broods o'er brave men in the thick of the fight,Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night.For the Christ-Child who comes is the Master of all;No palace too great and no cottage too small.—Phillips Brooks.

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

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

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

—St. Luke.

The shepherds were watching their flocksOn a beautiful starlit night,When the sky was suddenly filledWith a band of angels bright.Oh! shepherds fear not but rejoice,For we bring good news, they sing;In Bethlehem is born this day,A saviour who is Christ your King!A glad and wonderful songRang through the heavens then;It was "Glory to God on high,Peace on earth, good will toward men."

The shepherds were watching their flocksOn a beautiful starlit night,When the sky was suddenly filledWith a band of angels bright.

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

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

THE CHRISTMAS SONG.THE CHRISTMAS SONG.

THE CHRISTMAS SONG.

The New Year comes in the midnight hourWhen the beautiful world is still,And the moonlight falls in a silver streamOver meadow and wood and hill.We can not hear the tread of his feet,For so silently comes he;But the ringing bells the good news tellAs they sound over land and sea.Where'er he steps new joys upspring,And hopes, that were lost or dim,Grow sweet and strong in the golden hours,That he everywhere bears with him.He brings us snow from the fleecy clouds;He sends us the springtime showers;He gladdens our world with the light of loveAnd fills its lap with flowers.Some day, as softly as he came,He will pass through the open door,And we who sing at his coming nowWill never see him more.—Marie Zetterberg.

The New Year comes in the midnight hourWhen the beautiful world is still,And the moonlight falls in a silver streamOver meadow and wood and hill.

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

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

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

Some day, as softly as he came,He will pass through the open door,And we who sing at his coming nowWill never see him more.—Marie Zetterberg.

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

An apple sliced in half

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apple Blossoms.Then it finds its way into every part of the plant. It changes into the rough bark and hard wood of the apple tree. It changes into pink apple blossoms and buds. It changes into red apples and yellow apples. The same sap makes sweet apples and sour apples. Every part of a plant is made from sap. Is not that very strange?We have learned that the roots take the food of plants from the earth. They do more than this. The roots are the feet of the plant.You could not stand without your feet. You would fall on the ground or the floor. And so the tree or the plant could not stand without its roots.Other plants grow just as the apple tree grows. The roots of a plant get food from the earth and keep the plant in its place in the ground. The stem makes the plant strong and holds it up in the air. And the leaves draw in just what the plants need from the air around them.

Apple Blossoms.

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

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

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

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

Fruit of the Apple Tree.Fruit of the Apple Tree.

Fruit of the Apple Tree.

"You think I am dead,"The apple tree said,"Because I have never a leaf to show—Because I stoopAnd my branches droop,And the dull gray mosses over me grow.But I'm still alive in trunk and shoot;The buds of next MayI fold away—But I pity the withered grass at my foot.""You think I am dead,"The quick grass said,"Because I have parted with stem and blade.But under the groundI am safe and soundWith the snow's thick blanket over me laid.I'm all alive and ready to shoot,Should the spring of the yearCome dancing here—But I pity the flowers without branch or root.""You think I am dead,"A soft voice said,"Because not a branch or root I own!I never have diedBut close I hide,In a plumy seed that the wind has sown.Patient I wait through the long winter hours;You will see me again—I shall laugh at you then,Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers."—Edith M. Thomas.

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

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

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

Capital O with snowflakes

ut of the sky they come,Wandering down the air,Some to the roofs, and someWhiten the branches bare;Some in the empty nest,Some on the ground below,Until the world is dressedAll in a gown of snow;Dressed in a fleecy gownOut of the snowflakes spun;Wearing a golden crown,Over her head the sun.Out of the sky againGhosts of the flowers that diedVisit the earth, and thenUnder the white drifts hide.—Frank Dempster Sherman.

ut of the sky they come,Wandering down the air,Some to the roofs, and someWhiten the branches bare;

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

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

Out of the sky againGhosts of the flowers that diedVisit the earth, and thenUnder the white drifts hide.—Frank Dempster Sherman.

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

Mother and baby ducks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"There is no wax here," said Fannie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—From "Rainbows for Children."

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

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

A herd of sheep

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He prayeth well, who loveth wellBoth man, and bird, and beast.He prayeth best, who loveth bestAll things both great and small;For the dear God who loveth us,He made and loveth all.—Samuel T. Coleridge.

A herd of sheep

Little lamb, who made thee?Dost thou know who made thee—Gave thee life, and bade thee feedBy the stream and o'er the mead;Gave thee clothing of delight,Softest clothing, woolly, bright;Gave thee such a tender voice,Making all the vales rejoice?Little lamb, who made thee?Dost thou know who made thee?Little lamb, I'll tell thee;Little lamb, I'll tell thee;He is callèd by thy name,For he calls Himself a Lamb.He is meek, and He is mild;He became a little child.I a child, and thou a lamb,We are callèd by His name.Little lamb, God bless thee!Little lamb, God bless thee!—William Blake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pearl talking to Merlin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At once the diamond was as bright as before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—From "Old Fairy Tales."

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