The Swallows' Song.
"Tweet! tweet! tweet!" the swallows say,"It is time we flew awayFar across the pathless sea,For it winter soon will be!Then will fall the rustling leaves,And our nests beneath the eavesWill be very damp and chill,While the fogs our playgrounds fill.""Tweet! tweet! tweet!" the swallows say,"It is time we flew away!""Tweet! tweet! tweet!" the swallows cry,As they circle far on high,Gathering thickly overheadNow that summer days have fled."See!" they say, "the flow'rets fairNow are drooping ev'rywhere,And no more the scented breezeRoves amid the leafy trees!""Tweet! tweet! tweet!" the swallows say,"It is time we flew away!""Tweet! tweet! tweet!" Alas! we hearAll you utter, swallows dear!And, if it indeed must be,Take your flight across the seaBut do not your friends forget,They who lose you with regret,And to us all swiftly wingWhen appear the flowers of Spring!"Tweet! tweet! tweet!" the swallows say,"We will come again in May!"
E. Oxenford.
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Stevie could hardly believe his eyes. But it was true, quite true, all the same for that, and he opened his blue eyes wider and wider till mother laughed and kissed them, and lifted him up into his high chair, saying, "Yes, Stevie, they are yours, your very own, and grandpa sent them to you because he remembered your birthday." Such a beautiful, sweet-smelling leather case it was, lined with purple velvet, and inside it a silver fork with a pretty "S" on the handle, and a knife that would reallycut. His first knife and fork! Oh, how Stevie had longed for them! And now that they had come, his very own, he felt quite a man, almost like father.
"Stevie must learn to handle them nicely, ready to show grandpa when he comes. Not that way, pet! Let the back of the blade look up to the ceiling, like little birdies after they drink, and keep the sharp edge down to the plate, and then little fingers won't be cut."
"All alone by myself, mother? all alone by myself?" cried Stevie eagerly; but mother stood beside him till the pie was cut up, and the pretty knife and fork had been laid aside to be washed and put back in their velvet case.
Stevie learned to handle his knife and fork quite nicely in a few days, but he found it rather hard that he was never allowed to have them to play with. He used them at the table and that was all. The day grandpa came Stevie was all excitement to show him how well he could use his beautiful present. Mother had gone to the station to meet him, and it seemed that the long morning of waiting would never be over. But twelve o'clock came at last, and nurse gave Stevie a biscuit and an apple, and sent him out in the garden so that he should not disturb baby's nap. He ran away down to the fountain and began to play dinner. Then he thought of his dear knife and fork. He knew just where they were, but he had been told never to touch them. He did want them so much, and theywerehis own. The apple would seem just like a real dinner if he only had them. Stevie ran into the dining-room and mounted the chair by the sideboard. For a moment he stopped; for it seemed as if some one said, "Don't touch, Stevie!" quite loud in his ear, but only the clock went "Tick, tack, tick, tack!" There was only the little voice of conscienceinsideStevie to say "Don't touch;" and he wouldn't listen to that, so he ran away with the pretty case in his hand.
Stevie played dinner, and old gray pussy sat on the fountain basin and looked at him. She played grandpa, at least Stevie said so; but somehow the apple didn't taste so sweet as at first, and he cut his thumb a little, and thought he would put the knife and fork back. Back in their case he did put them, clip went the little silver fastening, Pussy arched her back and swelled her tail, for the dog belonging to the baker had just come through the gate with his master. There was a rush and a tussle, and the baker ran to Stevie; but something had gone splash! into the fountain, and Stevie ran away crying. How everybody didhuntfor that knife and fork, while Stevie sat very pale and quiet, holding one fat thumb hidden by his hand.
Grandpa sat next to the high-chair. "Cheer up, little man: it will be found."
And mother said, "Never mind, pet; it can't be reallylost!"
Stevie's thumb hurt him, and he felt so miserable that he couldn't bear his trouble "all alone by himself" any longer, so he sobbed out, "'Tisn't lost! it is in the fountain! Wanted it all by myself!"
Mother took him on her lap till she had made out what had happened. Then she tied up the poor cut thumb while grandpa went down to the fountain and fished up the knife and fork. Stevie ate his dinner with a spoon, for grandpa said he thought the knife and fork had better go away till the poor thumb was well. The pretty case was quite,quitespoiled. But Stevie got his knife and fork back; and we noticed that we didn't have to say, "Don't touch, Stevie!" nearly so often to him, and that he was not nearly so eager to have things "all alone."
The Wren's Gift.
A little maid was sittingUpon the wild-brook's edge.A little Wren came flitting,And chirrupped from the hedge.Close up to her he hopped,With eyes both bright and merry,And in her lap he droppedA golden shining berry."Eat it never fearing,"Said the little Wren,"It will give you hearingSeldom given to men."It made her tongue to tingleWhen she bit it through,And straightway all the dingleSeemed full of words she knew.She understood the wordsThe wild brook sang in straying,And what the woodland birdsAmong themselves were saying.But sweeter than all singingOf brook or birds above,She heard the bluebells ringingThe chimes the fairies love.
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It was Christmas Day, and very, very hot; for Christmas in South Africa comes at mid-summer, whilst the winter, or rainy season, occurs there in July and August, which certainly seems a strange arrangement to our ideas. However, whatever the temperature may be, Christmas is ever kept by all English people as nearly as possible in the same way as they were wont to keep it "at Home," for it is thus that all colonists lovingly speak of the land of their birth.
So, though little Vera Everest lived on an African farm, she knew all about Christmas, and did not forget to hang up both her fat, white socks, to find them well filled with presents on Christmas morning; and there were roast turkey and plum-pudding for dinner, just as you had last year.
She was not old enough to ride to the distant village church with her parents, but she amused herself during their absence with singing all the Christmas carols she knew to Sixpence, her Zulu nurse; and by and by she heard the tramp of the horse's feet, and ran to the door.
Instead of the cheerful greeting she expected, Mother hardly noticed her little girl. She held an open letter in her hand, and was crying—yes, crying on Christmas Day!
Mrs. Everest was indeed in sad grief; the mail had just come in, and she had a letter to say that her mother was seriously ill, and longing to see her. A few months ago there would have been no difficulty about the journey; but the Everests had lost a great deal of money lately, and an expensive journey was now quite out of the question, and yet it cut her to the heart not to be able to go to her mother when she was ill, and perhaps dying.
Vera was too young to be told all this, but she was not too young to see that Mother was in trouble.
"I do believe Santa Claus forgot Mammy's stocking," she said to herself: "she has not had a present to-day, and that's why she's crying."
So Vera turned the matter over in her mind, and came to the conclusion thatshemust give Mother a present, as Santa Claus had so shamefully neglected her.
She went to her treasure-box—a tin biscuit-case in which she kept the pretty stones and crystals which she picked up in her walks, and, after thinking a little, she chose a bright, irregular-shaped stone, and, clasping her hands tightly behind her, she went on to the veranda.
Mother was lying back in a cane chair and gazing with sad eyes over the sea.
"I've brought you a Christmas present, Mother," said Vera. "Don't cry any more, but guess what it is."
Mrs. Everest turned round and smiled lovingly at her child. Certainly little Vera made a pleasant picture for a mother's eyes to dwell upon as she stood there roguishly smiling in her cool white frock and blue sash, and a coral necklace on her fat neck, whilst her golden hair shone like a halo round her head.
"Guess, Mother dear," repeated Vera; then, unable to wait, she jumped on Mrs. Everest's lap, and, opening her little pink hands, she displayed the stone. "It's your Christmas present!" she declared.
Mrs. Everest kissed the child, but did not, so thought Vera, take enough notice of her handsome gift.
"It shines, doesn't it, Father?" she said, holding it up for Mr. Everest's inspection as he passed along the veranda.
Mr. Everest stopped, took the stone in his hand, then, turning deadly pale, he walked quickly into the house without saying a word. Vera felt the world was somewhat disappointing to-day; but in a minute or two her father reappeared, and hastily encircling both wife and child with his arm, he said gayly, "There, Sophy! kiss your little daughter, and congratulate her. She has made your fortune, and you can leave for home to-morrow, and engage a state cabin if you like."
"O Henry! what do you mean?" said the bewildered Mrs. Everest.
"Just what I say!" he declared. "Vera's gift to you is a diamond; and if I know anything, it will sell in Capetown for a good round sum. So don't fret any more, little woman, but pack up your traps and take your clever daughter with you, and we will start for Capetown to-night, so as to catch the first steamer for home."
Vera could not now think that her present was not enough appreciated, for Father would not let it out of his hand until he got to the jeweller's at Capetown, and had sold it for a large sum of money.
Vera and her mother sailed the very next day, and Grandma got better from the hour of their arrival. As for Mother, she was now always smiling; for with Grandma well, and no debts to worry her, she felt so happy that she seemed hardly to know how to be grateful enough.
Certainly there could not have been a more opportune present than Vera's Christmas Gift.
We all called him in private "Tommy Torment;" but his mother called him "My precious darling," and "My sweet, good boy," and spoiled him in a truly dreadful way. Anyhow, he was not a nice boy, and we never saw more of him than we could help.
He did not go to school even, for this seven-year-old boy was thought too delicate, and was taught at home by a governess with sandy curls, who brought books in a needlework bag that we all used to laugh at—I am sure I don't know why; but her teaching could not have amounted to much, for I went into the schoolroom one day, and found Tommy riding defiantly on the rocking-horse, while poor Miss Feechim stood by him with an A B C in one hand and a long pointer in the other, with which she showed him the letters. When he said them correctly, Miss Feechim gave him a sugar-plum out of the bag on her arm, but when he refused to look at them, which he did as often as not, she only said, "Oh, Tommy!" and shook her curls, and never attempted to make him mind her; and then he laughed and called her names, and rocked his horse so violently up and down that his poor mother came rushing up-stairs white with anxiety to know what was the matter.
You can imagine after this we were not overjoyed when we heard from Mother that Lady Mary was so ill her mother had taken possession of her, and that we were to have the pleasure of Tommy Torment's company at the seaside. Mother said she was very sorry, but she could not help it. The doctor said Lady Mary must have complete rest, and no worries; and Lady Mary had said she could not trust her precious treasure to any one else but Mother. So, when we set off on our annual holiday, Tommy was stuck into a corner of the omnibus.
Well, at first, and under Mother's eye, we really did think we had been rather hard on Tommy Torment, he seemed so like other boys; but presently, when the novelty had worn off, and he had become tired of being good, the real Tommy appeared, and for at least a week we had really what Nurse calls a "regular time of it." There was not a trick he did not know; and the worst of it was that our boys became tricky too, and we really did not know how to bear the rough usage we all received, for we never had a moment's pleasure or peace of our lives; and what with sand in our hair, wet star-fish down our backs, and seeing our dolls shipwrecked in their best clothes off the steepest possible rocks, we never felt secure for a moment, and we actually began to wish ourselves back in the city, when Nurse fortunately rose to the occasion, and, taking the law into her own hands, escorted the whole party up to Mother, which brought matters to a climax; for our boys were so ashamed of their cruelty and ungentlemanly behavior when Mother explained to them what their tricks really meant, that they became their own true selves, and we had the first good play together of the season the next morning on the shore, though Tommy did his best to bother us, and to draw off the boys again by promising to show them quite a new way of managing a shipwreck.
But the boys would not join Tommy, and so he went off alone, and we saw him five minutes after with Yellowboy, the sandy kitten, tied to the mast of his ship, doing his very best to drown the poor little thing, pretending he was rescuing it from the perils of the ocean.
I could fill pages were I to go on telling you only of Tommy's tricks; but as that cannot be, I am just going to let you know how we cured him. We simply let him alone. Mother only scolded him, or rather talked to him, once, and that seemed to have no effect on him at all, though Mother's "talkings" usually soften the hardest heart; so finally we all agreed to go our own ways just as if he were not there, Nurse promising to put all our toys and pets out of his reach, and to see that he came to no real harm.
He actually bore a whole week of it before he repented. We used to watch him from the corners of our eyes moping all by himself, and looking at the toes of his boots, or at his ship, which he really could not sail without our help, and felt so sorry for him. We longed to break our resolution; but Mother and Nurse helped us to keep firm, and one Monday morning Tommy came up to me and said, "Why won't you play with me, Hilda?"
"Because you are cruel and ungentlemanly," I said seriously, "and because you are selfish. We tried our best to be pleasant to you, though we never wanted you here, and in return you made the boys horrid to us, and never allowed us five minutes' peace. You spoiled a whole week of our precious holidays, and we can't afford to waste any more time over you. We can do without you perfectly well, and so please go away."
"But I am truly sorry, Hilda," he said, looking down. "I've been 'flecting" (he meant reflecting). "I'd much rather be agreeable and nice, and I won't be selfish if you'd not look away from me and forget me any more. If I'd your mother I'd be good perhaps, but I really think my mother doesn't understand boys." And he sighed deeply, and put his hands into his knickerbocker pockets.
"You'll not forget, and tease us again?" I asked firmly; "and you know I must ask Mother too."
"I'll promise, really," said Tommy, giving me a very grubby little hand; "only please do look at me as you look at Charley, and don't leave me all to myself again. I do get so tired of myself, you can't think."
I could, for once I had been left alone just in the same way; but I didn't tell Tommy this, and only went to Mother, and soon he was playing quite happily with us, and remained such a good boy. Nurse used to look out for spots on his chest every day when she bathed him, for she was quite sure that he must be going to be ill, but he wasn't; and he remained so good we were quite sorry to part with him, for he was really funny, and full of life. But as his mother kept very weak, Tommy was sent to school; and so, when we went back from the seaside, after the holidays were over, we did not meet again for nearly a year.
When we did meet, we hardly knew him again, he was such a jolly little fellow. And when he grew confidential, which he did the third day of the holidays, he said to me very solemnly, "I say, Hilda, if any little boys and girls are as rude and naughty as I used to be once, I know how to cure them. I shall first talk to them nicely, as your mother talked to me, and then I shall let them alone. It cured me, I know. You don't ever call me Tommy Torment now, do you, Hilda?"
My grandfather does give me nice things! Last birthday he gave me a lovely box of tools, and he gave me the rocking-horse when I was quite little, and the swing trapeze that hangs from the nursery ceiling, and books and toys,—I can't remember them all now. But his last present was best of all: it was a tricycle!
I was nine last birthday, and I couldn't help wondering—though it sounds rather greedy—what grandfather would give me, because I thought it wouldn't be a toy, and he had given me a book at Christmas, for he said I was growing "quite a man."
When the birthday morning came, and I ran down to breakfast, there was nothing at all from grandfather! I'm afraid I looked very disappointed just at first; but presently we heard a little noise outside, and there was grandfather himself, and a man with him, who was wheeling the dearest little tricycle you ever saw.
It was rather hard work at first, and I soon got tired; but now I can go ten miles with father, and not feel at all tired.
I'll tell you one thing that makes me so glad about my tricycle. I was just going out on it one morning, when mother came running out of the house, looking so pale and frightened that I was quite frightened too.
"Bertie," she said, "tell John to go at once to Dr. Bell's and ask him to come here at once—at once, remember. Your father has cut his hand very badly, and we can't stop the bleeding."
"I'll go, mother; let me go on the tricycle," I said.
And she answered, "Do, dear; only make haste!"
I don't think I ever went so fast before; but it was a good road, and that helped me, and I was saying to myself all the time, "Oh, don't let me be too late for the doctor!Pleaselet me find him and bring him to father."
And Ididfind the doctor at home. I was out of breath, but I managed to tell him what was the matter, and he was soon ready.
Of course I couldn't keep up with his pony-cart, as father could have done, but I got home not long after, and heard that the doctor was there, and the bleeding had stopped.
Father was very weak for some time, and his hand was not well for several weeks, but the doctor and mother said he would have died if I hadn't been able to fetch the doctor so quickly on my tricycle.
That's why I like my tricycle so much, and think it such a useful thing. If it had been a pony, it would have had to be saddled and bridled; but I always keep it cleaned and oiled, so it was quite ready for use when it was wanted. Mother used to be rather afraid of my riding it at one time, but she doesn't mind it now, because she knows how useful it was the day father cut his hand.
On the Threshold
I.
Bring me my grandson, Agnes,Bring me your first-born boy;I may not be with you much longer,And he is my old heart's joy.
II.
Do you think he is old enough yet, girl,To remember me after I go?If not I must stay awhile longer,For he must not forget me, you know.
III.
You who are yet but a child, dear,Will see him as tall as the squireBut I must make ready to leave you,For have I not won my desire?
IV.
Old winter waits for the snowdropBefore he turns to depart,And I have stayed for the comingOf this last joy of my heart.
V.
We meet in the same wide doorway,And inward to life he tripsBut I to my death creep outwardsAnd, passing, we both touch lips.
F. W. H.
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Trot walked slowly up-stairs, repeating the words she had heard,—
"If you want the entertainment to be a success, you must draw up a programme, and carry it out."
She looked very solemn, for she felt the importance of the occasion. On the day following she and Toddles were to give their very first party; and four little girls and four little boys, not to mention the four dolls of the four little girls, were coming to take tea with Trot and Toddles and mother.
Trot had thought about it a great deal, and so had Toddles, wondering what would happen, and what they should do to make the guests enjoy themselves.
"TODDLES STOOD IN FRONT OF HER.""TODDLES STOOD IN FRONT OF HER."
"TODDLES STOOD IN FRONT OF HER."
The two children had spent many half-hours talking the matter over, and each time the conversation had ended by Toddles saying,—"Well, never mind; there'll be tea." He had found out from cook that there would be two kinds of jam provided for the tea-party, and he felt quite sure that even if there were fourteen little boys and fourteen little girls expected, they would enjoy themselves thoroughly if they had plenty of jam. But Trot did not agree with him, and declared that the question could not be settled that way.
"'HIGHER!' SHOUTED TODDLES.""'HIGHER!' SHOUTED TODDLES."
"'HIGHER!' SHOUTED TODDLES."
The speech which Trot had overheard suggested all kinds of plans, and she made her way into the nursery to talk over the party once more with Toddles.
Toddles was in the middle of a grand sea-fight. His tin soldiers were sailing about on books on the sea of the nursery floor, and Toddles was firing first at one ship, and then at another, with a large glass marble. Toddles did not wish to be disturbed.
"Toddles," said Trot, "the tea-party is settled at last. If you want the entertainment to be a success, you must draw up a programme, and carry it out."
"Six down at one shot!" cried Toddles; "and the captain among them, too."
"Toddles," said Trot solemnly, "you do want the entertainment to be a success, don't you?"
"TODDLES FELL DOWN.""TODDLES FELL DOWN."
"TODDLES FELL DOWN."
Bang! bang! "There'll be tea," cried Toddles.
Trot touched him on the shoulder.
"Do come and talk about the party, Toddles," she said. "I have thought of a new game to play at."
Toddles looked up at last; he was beginning to feel interested. Trot's new games always meant fun, though they sometimes ended in a scolding from nurse.
"What is it?" he asked.
"A circus," answered Trot, with a smile.
"No," said Toddles, jumping up from the floor. "Do you really mean it?"
Trot sat down in a chair, and Toddles stood in front of her, and rested his two chubby elbows in her lap.
"TROT PUT THE JAR UPON HER HEAD.""TROT PUT THE JAR UPON HER HEAD."
"TROT PUT THE JAR UPON HER HEAD."
"We must draw up a programme, and carry it out," said Trot, waving one arm, as she had seen her father do, when he had made the same remark down-stairs.
Toddles stared; he felt very much impressed, though he did not know in the least what Trot meant.
"And the circus will be the programme," continued Trot, drawing a dirty, crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket. "I will write it down on this. They will come at four o'clock."
"Oh, they'll come before that," objected Toddles. "You put 'Tea at 4' on the letters, and they are sure to come in plenty of time for tea. I should, because of the two kinds of jam, you know."
"Never mind," said Trot; "we can't do anything before tea, so the first thing to put down is 4Tea;" and she wrote the word in big printing letters.
Toddles watched her silently.
"After tea will come the circus," said Trot. "I wonder how you spell circus?"
"But will mother let us have the circus?" said Toddles. "There won't be room in here for all the horses and clowns, and ladies we saw the other day."
"THERE WAS ... A SMASH""THERE WAS ... A SMASH"
"THERE WAS ... A SMASH"
Trot laughed. "That isn't the kind of circus I mean," she said; "we're to be the circus!"
Toddles looked more astonished than ever.
"We shall ask the party to sit in a circle," said Trot; "and then we shall do things. Perhaps we may as well settle now what to do."
"We must jump through hoops, of course," said Toddles.
"And walk about with things on our heads," said Trot; "balancing, they call it."
"I do wish we could walk on a rope like the man did the other day," said Toddles.
"We will," said Trot, writing busily.
The spelling was rather a trouble to her; but Toddles quite approved of it, and both children were satisfied with the programme when it was finished, though perhaps any one else might have found difficulty in understanding it. It looked something like this:
"4 TEA AFTER TEA JUMPING THREW HOOPS BALLUNCING TITE ROPES."
"Won't they be surprised?" said Toddles.
"Now we will practise," said Trot. "As we can't have any horses, I will hold the hoop, and you shall jump through it."
"That is much too easy," said Toddles. "Couldn't you stand on a chair, and let me jump off another chair through the hoop?"
Trot looked doubtful—"Nurse doesn't like us to stand on the chairs," she said.
A Silent Friend
I who live in a house with a roof,And the cow who lives out of doors,The cow who walks with a cloven hoofAnd I who have shoes like yours,We two have been friends for many a dayThough we never have shaken hands,It is true she has little or nothing to say,But I'm certain she understands.She was browsing the grass by the brink of the brook,When I went down the garden to seeShe lifted her head with an earnest look,And slowly came over to me.I stood by the fence which stretches aboutTwixt garden and pasture-land,I pulled up a lettuce and held it out,And she munched it out of my hand.Since then we are very good friends indeed,But she never has spoken a word:But whatever I tell her she seems to give heed,I can see by her eyes she has heard.
F. W. Home.
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She fetched her big wooden hoop and held it up.
"Higher!" shouted Toddles, getting ready to make a spring.
Trot raised the hoop and Toddles jumped; then somehow Toddles and the hoop got mixed up together, and Toddles fell down on the ground.
"Oh dear!" said Trot. "I am sorry; we must try again."
Toddles picked himself up, and rubbed his elbows.
"Don't you think it will look stupid to jump through hoops when we can't ride on horses?" he said. "Of course if we had horses it would be easy enough. I think we had better leave that part out."
"'LET US TRY WALKING THE ROPE.'""'LET US TRY WALKING THE ROPE.'"
"'LET US TRY WALKING THE ROPE.'"
"Perhaps we had," said Trot; and she slowly drew her pencil through "JUMPING THREW HOOPS."
"We can both balance things," said Toddles, "I know;" and he jumped up quickly and ran across the room. "I will lie on my back, and put the footstool on my feet—"
"And throw it up in the air, and catch it," cried Trot. "Like the man with the tub the other day. That will be fine!—What shall I do?"
"Walk about with that pot on your head," suggested Toddles.
"That old thing," said Trot; "that will be very easy."
Toddles lay down on his back, and stuck the footstool on his feet, and Trot put the jar upon her head.
"It is quite easy," said Toddles, "and I am sure the party will like it."
"Quite easy," said Trot.
There was a sound of something falling, a cry, a little scream, and a smash.
"Oh!" cried Toddles.
"E—ee—eh!" cried Trot.
"THERE WAS A VERY LOUD SCREAM THIS TIME.""THERE WAS A VERY LOUD SCREAM THIS TIME."
"It came right on my nose," said Toddles. "I believe it's broken."
"I'm sure my toe is," said Trot.
There was no doubt at all about the pot, it was very much broken.
"Hush!" said Trot, "there's nurse!"
Toddles stopped in the middle of a scream, and the two children crept on their hands and knees to the door, and listened eagerly—but it was a false alarm.
"Let us try walking the rope," said Trot.
"I suppose you will do that," said Toddles, rubbing his nose; "though we haven't any rope."
"Then we must find something else," said Trot cheerfully, determined not to be beaten. "I think a walking-stick would do beautifully to practise on, and we'll get nurse to give us a rope to-morrow."
"It looked very easy the other day," said Toddles, as Trot began to arrange one end of the stick on a chair, and the other on a stool; "but I don't expect it is."
"We'll be more careful this time," said Trot. "You hold the walking-stick so that it sha'n't slip, and I'll hold this long stick so that I sha'n't slip."
"All right," said Toddles, in a tone of voice which meant that he thought it was all wrong.
There was a loud scream this time—a scream that brought nurse up-stairs very quickly, so that she might see what was the matter.
Both the children were on the floor, and sticks, chair, and stool were flying in every direction.
For a minute nurse was doubtful which was Trot, which was Toddles, and which were sticks and chair.
"What are you doing?" said nurse.
But neither of the children answered. Toddles's head felt as if it had suddenly become twice its usual size, and Trot did not feel quite sure where she was, or whether she was standing on her head or her heels.
"TODDLES AND TROT WERE SITTING SIDE BY SIDE.""TODDLES AND TROT WERE SITTING SIDE BY SIDE."
"TODDLES AND TROT WERE SITTING SIDE BY SIDE."
Nurse picked them up, and kissed them and comforted them, but quite forgot to scold the two miserable little pickles.
They didn't say anything about the circus, and somehow or other Toddles thought he would like to go to bed early; and of course there was no use in Trot staying up by herself, so she went to bed early too.
Next morning the children slept late, and did not seem very eager to get up when they did wake.
"Trot," said Toddles, sighing deeply, "it is the party day. What shall we do about the circus?"
Trot only answered with something between a groan and a growl.
"Children," said mother, coming into the nursery after breakfast, "shall we write to the boys and girls, and tell them to come another day?"
And though you will probably be astonished to hear it, Toddles and Trot nodded their heads and smiled.
"You wouldn't like it not to be a success," said mother.
"Trot," said Toddles, when mother had left the room, "you won't write a programme next time."
"If I do, Toddles," said Trot, "you may carry it out—out of the room, I mean."
But after all there was one part of the programme carried out.
At four o'clock that same afternoon Toddles and Trot were sitting side by side on the nursery floor, looking and feeling very unhappy and miserable.
"If only we hadn't hurt ourselves," said Trot, "we might have been having the party now."
"And the two kinds of jam," said Toddles. "Oh dear! oh dear!"
"Oh dear! oh dear!" said Trot.
The door opened, and nurse came into the room.
"Miss Trot, Master Toddles," said she, "you are to have tea down-stairs with mistress to-day."
Toddles and Trot looked surprised; but they jumped up quickly from the floor, forgetting for the moment all their aches and pains.
"Do you think," whispered Toddles to Trot, as they walked slowly down-stairs, "that there will be two kinds?"
Trot nodded her head. "I hope so," she said.
And there were.
BUTTERCUP LAND.
They sailed away in a paper boat,Nellie and Flo and Dan did,Wondering how they managed to float,For rather unsafe is a paper boat,Better it is to be candid!And after a voyage across the seasThey came to an island of flowers and trees.And, wishing to feel rather more at ease,They anchored their craft and landed!A bright little Fairy cried out from the strand,"You're welcome my darlings, to Buttercup Land!"They gazed around on a lovely scene,Nellie and Dan and Flo did,Golden the leaves of the trees, not green,No wonder they thought it a lovely scene,Happiness surely it boded!And buttercups grew on each inch of ground,No room for a pin could between be found,They gathered, and gathered, you may be bound,Till pinafores all were loaded!The bright little Fairy said, "Isn't it grandTo rule o'er the kingdom of Buttercup Land?""Alas!" they cried, "it is late, so late,Home we must all be sailing!"Sorrowful they that they could not wait,But they were good darlings 'tis right to state,Duty was ever prevailing!And so they embarked in their paper boat,And soon on the sea were again afloat,A merry cheer rang from each childish throat,Tho' tears down their cheeks were trailing!The bright little Fairy cried, waving her hand,"Come soon again, darlings, to Buttercup Land!"At last they came to their native shore,Nellie and Flo and Dan did,Noticing what they'd not noticed before,That beautiful too was their native shore,Better it is to be candid!Then one to the other remarked, "I sayI think that the sun must be hot to-day!I've been fast asleep, and sailed far away,Where I on an Island landed!"They laughed for they lay, gather'd flow'rs in each hand,Mid buttercups sweet as in Buttercup Land!
E. Oxenford.
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Such a terrible tease was Ned! Mother's patience lasted longer than any one else's, but evenshewas perhaps not altogether sorry when holidays were over and the boys were safely back at boarding-school. He teased the cats and the dogs and the chickens, teased the servants terribly with his mess and pranks; teased his bigger brother George, and more than all teased his good little sister Lizzie. "Lizababuff," she called herself, which was as near as her wee mouth could get to Elizabeth. George was something of a tease too, if the truth must be owned, only, beside Ned, people didn't notice him so much. Yet tease as they might, by hanging her dolls high out of reach in the walnut-tree, setting her dear black kitty afloat on the pond in a box, or laughing at her when she failed to catch little birds by putting salt on their tails, or any other way, and they had a great many, Lizzie never sulked; she forgave them directly, and wherever the boys played, in garden, orchard, or paddock, Lizzie's little fat face and white sun-bonnet could always be seen close by.
A very favorite place with the children was the paddock gate; here they would often swing for hours or amuse themselves by watching anything that might come along the road. Not much traffic passed that way, to be sure, but knowing every one in the village, they seemed to find enough to interest them.
"Here comes Tom Crippy with two baskets," cried Ned, as they all leaned over the gate one sunny afternoon,—an afternoon on which even Lizzie's sunny temper had almost given way, for both boys were in an especially teasing mood, and had brought tears very near her blue eyes more than once. "Don't they look heavy?" he went on. "My! He's got carrots and ripe apples in one. All ours are as hard as wood."
"Going to take them up to the house, Tom?"
"Not to yours, Master Ned," Tom answered, setting down his baskets and resting on a low wall. "This one is for you; but this one, with the apples, is for Mrs. Veale."
George looked at the baskets. "It is very hot, and you look tired right out," he said. "Suppose you leave Mrs. Veale's basket here while you take ours."
Tom Crippy agreed at once, and gladly made his way up to the house with his lightened load, Ned shouting after him, "I say, Tom, you may as well spare us an apple when you come back!"
"Wouldn't it be fun to hide his basket?" Ned went on; but, having offered to take care of it, both boys dismissed the idea asmean.
"Now for the apple," they said, when he returned.
In vain Tom protested, "I never promised it. It isn't mine to give! not even father's! Mrs. Veale has bought and paid for these apples."
George would have let him go after a bit; but Ned was somewhat greedy, and hankered after the apple, as well as after what he called a bit offun.
"Well, it won't be more than a mouthful apiece," said Tom, at last. "Who'll have first bite?" and he took a ripe, red apple from the basket.
"I," cried Ned at once.
"Well!" said Tom, "I should have thought you would have let the little lady!"
He looked at George, who at once blinded Ned's eyes. Widely, eagerly, he opened his mouth, to close his teeth upon—a carrot.
People who tease can rarely stand being teased themselves. Frantic with rage, Ned struck out right and left, then dashing the basket over, trampled and smashed the delicious apples with his feet.
Well, the apples had to be paid for, and the boys had to be punished; even mother couldn't overlook such an afternoon's work asthis.
The boys' pocket-money would be stopped till the two shillings were made up. Threepence a week each, and a month seemed long to look forward to. Gloomily they leaned over the gate in the evening. Patter, patter, nearer and nearer came little feet. "Lizababuff has opened her money-box, and here is sixpence for George and sixpence for Ned."
How they hugged the sun-bonnet! "Lizzie, you are a brick! But we won't take your money, nor tease you any more!"