THEY HEARD A GREAT NOISE OF CRACKING OF WHIPS.
THEY HEARD A GREAT NOISE OF CRACKING OF WHIPS.
The climate of Nice agreed with Mr. de Roisel so well that they stayed there nearly four months, and it was already the beginning of August when the family returned once more to their own home—the pretty comfortable old house where I first introduced Maurice to my little readers. Maurice was heartily glad to be back again at his own country-home, where he had his own little garden, where he knew everybody in the village, and where even the trees in the wood, and the little winding river with its pretty water-lilies, seemed like old friends to him.
The very first day of his arrival at home, the little boy ran off to the cottage of Fritz, to see if he had returned. He found it shut up, and no one in the village had heard anything about him since his departure. Although Maurice felt rather anxious at Fritz’s prolonged absence, it yet afforded him a sort of satisfaction; for he would have beensorry that Fritz, on their first meeting, should find him without the horse. A few days more, and he hoped to be in possession of it again.
In fact he had already collected together, out of the savings of his pocket-money, the sum of a hundred francs; and the day after their arrival at home, his father wrote to Mr. Duberger to say that he should have the pleasure of bringing his little boy, on the twelfth of the month, to pay him a visit and to redeem the horse.
On the morning of the twelfth, my little friend and his father were just preparing to start, when they heard a sound of carriage wheels and horses’ hoofs, accompanied by a great noise of cracking of whips, on the drive leading to the house. A minute afterwards a carriage with four horses and postillions drew up at the door.
From this carriage descended Eusèbe and his father. They were not expected, and never were visitors less wished for. Mr. de Malassise began by making their excuses for arriving so unexpectedly, and explained the reason. He said that Eusèbe had heard only the day before of Maurice’s return, and a violent fancy had seized him suddenly to come and pay a visit to his cousin. It had been impossible to persuade Eusèbe to delay the visit till they could write and give notice of their intention. Eusèbe, he said, had insisted upon starting early that morning; and had he been thwarted, that terrible attack of nervous fever, so much dreaded by his parents, might have come on at last. So they had made the journey with post-horses, and there they were!
It was a sad disappointment to Maurice that his visit to Mr. Duberger should be put off, but there was no alternative; and after all it was only a delay of perhaps a couple of days. Cressida could remain without inconvenience for another forty-eight hours at Mr. Duberger’s.
So thought our little Maurice; but we shall see presently what serious consequences arose from that delay of only a couple of days.
L
Little pretty butterfly,Fluttering ’mid the flowers,Thou must live so happilyThrough thy life’s short hours.
Little pretty butterfly,
Fluttering ’mid the flowers,
Thou must live so happily
Through thy life’s short hours.
Little pretty butterfly,Where the flowers are blowing,Where the pretty song-birds sing,Where the trees are growing;
Little pretty butterfly,
Where the flowers are blowing,
Where the pretty song-birds sing,
Where the trees are growing;
There we see thy bright wings burn,Fluttering free from sorrow:Ne’er a task hast thou to learn,To be said tomorrow.
There we see thy bright wings burn,
Fluttering free from sorrow:
Ne’er a task hast thou to learn,
To be said tomorrow.
Through the glad warm summer,Fluttering on thy way,With no thought or troubleFor a future day.
Through the glad warm summer,
Fluttering on thy way,
With no thought or trouble
For a future day.
But when comes the autumn,Thy short life is o’er,In the wintry gardensThou art seen no more.
But when comes the autumn,
Thy short life is o’er,
In the wintry gardens
Thou art seen no more.
Fluttering on in lightness,Soon thy life is past,Vanished in its brightness—Bright things do not last.
Fluttering on in lightness,
Soon thy life is past,
Vanished in its brightness—
Bright things do not last.
Flower
Cooking
O
Once upon a time there lived a poor woman who had five children. The eldest, Tom, went to school, but the others stayed at home with Jane, the eldest girl, to take care of them; Jane was seven years old.
One day Jane’s mother went out, telling Jane to be quiet, and careful with the little ones, and on no account to touch anything that could hurt them or herself. For some time after their mother went outthe children were good and played with some old dolls. But presently Jane thought she would light a fire;—was she not naughty? She got on a chair to reach the matches from the mantel-piece, and in doing so, she knocked down an iron candlestick upon her brother Willy’s head. Willy screamed, and no wonder, for he had a great cut on his forehead. As soon as Willy stopped crying, Jane lighted the fire, and then she thought she would boil some potatoes; she found a saucepan, and popped them in.
The children crowded round her; she raised her arm to drive them off, over went the pan with the boiling water all over them. Jane’s ankle was terribly scalded, as well as Willy’s arm and Peter’s leg; and baby was scalded all over.
Just then in came mother. The doctor had to be sent for, and it was weeks before the children were well. So much for disobedience.
Pond flowers
Child and wolf-cubs
I
In a cottage that stood on a great range of mountains in Germany, there once lived a poor woman who had a little child and a flock of sheep. Now, one day she sat with her little child in the forest, and gave the child some porridge out of a pipkin, and the sheep were nibbling the grass in the glades around. But in the thick parts of the forest there werewicked wolves, and when the sheep went further away under the trees, the woman thought, “Perhaps the wolves may attack them.” So she gave the child the bowl with porridge in it, and a wooden spoon, and bade her eat it; saying, “Be sure not fill the spoon too full,” and off she went after the sheep.
And as the child sat alone, and ate and ate, there came a big she-wolf out of the forest; and she ran straight to the child and took hold of her by the jacket at the back, and carried her into the forest. So when the mother came back the child was gone; the bowl was there, but the spoon was not with it, for the child had held the spoon fast in her little hand. Directly the poor mother saw the child was gone, she thought the wolf must have taken it, so she ran back to the village, and called the people to come and help her to find her child.
Meantime a man who had lost his way in the wood, and was wandering about among the bushes, heard a sound of talking near him, and thought at once, “There must be some people here;” and a little voice kept saying, “Go, or I’ll give you something!” And when he looked through the bushes, to see what this might be, behold! there sat a little child on the ground, and six little wolf-cubs round her, which kept snapping at her hands; but the old she-wolf was gone. Each time that a little wolf-cub snapped at her hands, the child hit it on the nose with the wooden spoon, and said, “Go, or I’ll give you something!”
The man ran up quickly, and beat off the wolf-cubs with his stick, so they all ran away. Then he took up the child in his arms, for he feared the old wolf might come back. In a short time he met the villagers coming out to kill the wolf, and with them was the child’s mother. How rejoiced she was! How she thanked the man, and still more God, that her child was saved!
Children and lambs
I
I walk’d in a field of fresh clover this morn,Where lambs play’d so merrily under the trees,Or rub’d their soft coats on a naked old thorn,Or nibbled the clover, or rested at ease.
I walk’d in a field of fresh clover this morn,
Where lambs play’d so merrily under the trees,
Or rub’d their soft coats on a naked old thorn,
Or nibbled the clover, or rested at ease.
And under the hedge ran a clear water-brook,To drink from when thirsty or weary with play;So gay did the daisies and buttercups look,That I thought little lambs must be happy all day.
And under the hedge ran a clear water-brook,
To drink from when thirsty or weary with play;
So gay did the daisies and buttercups look,
That I thought little lambs must be happy all day.
And when I remember the beautiful psalm,That tells about Christ and His pastures so green,I know He is willing to make me His lamb,And happier far than the lambs I have seen.
And when I remember the beautiful psalm,
That tells about Christ and His pastures so green,
I know He is willing to make me His lamb,
And happier far than the lambs I have seen.
If I drink of the waters so peaceful and still,That flow in His field, I for ever shall live;If I love Him, and seek His commands to fulfil,A place in His sheepfold to me will He give.
If I drink of the waters so peaceful and still,
That flow in His field, I for ever shall live;
If I love Him, and seek His commands to fulfil,
A place in His sheepfold to me will He give.
The lambs are at peace in the fields when they play,The long summer’s day in contentment they spend;But happier I, if in God’s holy wayI try to walk always, with Christ for my Friend.
The lambs are at peace in the fields when they play,
The long summer’s day in contentment they spend;
But happier I, if in God’s holy way
I try to walk always, with Christ for my Friend.
Lambs
Boat in a storm
I
In our last Sunday talk I told you how our Saviour healed the man with the withered hand: and how angry the Pharisees were at His doing so on the Sabbath. You understand, my children, that Christ was not teaching us to regard the Sabbath with less reverence, but He showed us by His example that works of mercy and kindness are consistent with the holiness of Sunday.Christ said, “It is lawful to do well on the Sabbath day.” To attend the sick, comfort the afflicted, teach the young and ignorant,—these are all good works; and to do these is “to do well.”
The Pharisees and Scribes were always on the watch for something, either in the doctrines that Christ taught, or in His acts, which might serve as a ground for arresting Him and bringing Him to trial. But besides the open enmity of these men, our Saviour had a difficulty to contend with in the want of thorough and perfect faith even in those who dearly loved Him—His own disciples; and some of the miracles He performed had for their object chiefly to confirm and strengthen the faith of His followers. The miracle I am going to tell you of—the stilling of the tempest—was one of these, and was witnessed only by the disciples who were with Him in the ship.
Not only was faith necessary for the disciples in order to give them confidence in the protection of God while they helped our Saviour in His work, or when they should have to continue it after Him, but perfect faith was needed before they could acquire the power of performing miracles. On one occasion, when some of them had attempted the miraculous cure of a boy, and failed, they asked Christ the reason of their failure. He replied: “Because of your unbelief. If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove, and nothing shall be impossible to you.”
The apostles—that is, the chosen few, who continued the mission of our Saviour after His crucifixion—had the power of working miracles conferred upon them. We may assume therefore that their faith was perfect. But let us come to the miracle I have to tell you of today.
Our Saviour had been teaching the people all day from a boat on the lake of Galilee; the people being ranged along the shore, so that they could all hear without crowding in upon Him. When evening came on, He desiredthe people to return to their homes, and bade His disciples put their boat from the land, and depart to the other side of the lake. As they left the shore, the water was smooth and calm, and the cool air blew gently from the mountains. Christ, tired out with the exertion of the day, lay down to rest and fell asleep.
The boat bore them over the rippling waves, and the disciples conversed most likely about the teaching of our Saviour which they had heard that day. They thought very probably that their faith in Him was quite strong: but it was soon to be tried. A terrible storm arose suddenly; the wind blew furiously; the great waves arose around the little vessel, and broke over its sides; the sail was torn, the mast broken. Then the disciples, in terror, rushed to our Saviour to wake Him, saying, “Lord, save us! we perish.”
Christ said unto them: “Why are ye fearful? oh, ye of little faith!” and He rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm.
But even after this the disciples did not seem thoroughly to understand our Saviour; for the scripture tells us that “they marvelled, saying, What manner of man is this that even the winds and the sea obey Him?”
Boat
Child with bird
L
Lena is the name of the little friend of mine I am going to tell you about. You may see by the picture that she is not an English child, nor does she belong to the class which we call gentlefolk. Lena is German, and the daughter of a fisherman; nevertheless she is one of my dearest little friends. She lives in a cottage on the banks of the river Rhine, a short distance from the city of Coblenz. Her father earns his living as a boatman and fisherman upon the river; her mother takes care of the cottage, of their only child, and of the poultry: she finds plenty of time for making lace besides. I will tell you how I came to make little Lena’s acquaintance.
I passed one summer not long ago at Coblenz, at a villa on the banks of the river just outside the city. One evening, after a very hot day, I wandered a little way along the road by the side of the great beautiful river. I watched the lights gradually appearing, like fireflies in the distance, in the windows of the old castle or fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, which crowns a rocky hill on the opposite bank; and I watched, too, the lights and shadows borne on the breast of the swift river beneath. I stood looking at the restless ever-flowing water, comparing the river in its course to my own life, or to the lives of others; and thinking many thoughts which you, my little readers, would hardly understand.
At length my meditations were disturbed by a woman who came out of a cottage close by, and who, walking to the edge of the bank, there sat down, threw her apron over her head, and began to cry bitterly. It seemed as if she had come out of the cottage on purpose to have a goodcry without disturbing some one within. After a moment’s hesitation, I went up and begged her to tell me what was the matter. She replied that her little girl was very ill with low fever, and the doctor had told her that very evening that he had scarcely any hope.
This woman was Lena’s mother. I asked her to let me see the child, whom I found flushed and restless, tossing from side to side in her bed. Poor little Lena! The cottage was near my own house, and I went every day after that to see her. Often did I watch part of the night by her sick bed while her mother rested. At length our little patient began to recover; and while she was still too weak to walk, she delighted to sit at the cottage door, and listen while I told her stories.
Now, besides the poultry about the cottage, Lena had a pair of white doves, and in one of my stories I had told her of a letter being sent by a carrier-pigeon. Lena took it into her head that one of her white doves should carry letters from her to me after I returned to England. One day, when she was almost well, I found her standing at the door of the cottage, with the dove perched upon her hand, and a letter tied round its neck. She had been trying if it would carry a letter to me to my house close by; but it had only wheeled round and round and come back again to her. She said sadly: “If it does not know how to take a letter that little distance, how will it ever take one to England?”
Dear simple Lena! she did not understand that pigeons will only return to places where they have lived; but we have managed to correspond without the help of carrier-pigeons. I have seldom seen a prettier picture than she presented that day, standing at the cottage door with the white dove upon her hand.
Flowers
FLOWER-BELLS.[play]
Allegretto.
1.The flower-bells are ringing! come one, and come all;Come plain and come pretty, come great and come small.The flower-bells are ringing! come quick, and you’ll say,Some queer little people have joined in our play.
1.
The flower-bells are ringing! come one, and come all;
Come plain and come pretty, come great and come small.
The flower-bells are ringing! come quick, and you’ll say,
Some queer little people have joined in our play.
2.They’ll do us no harm, and may do us some good;They’d make us all happy and wise, if they could.In cups of the flowers they love dearly to dwell;Now listen, and hear them each ringing a bell!
2.
They’ll do us no harm, and may do us some good;
They’d make us all happy and wise, if they could.
In cups of the flowers they love dearly to dwell;
Now listen, and hear them each ringing a bell!
3.“Come, boys and girls, come to our flower-school and learnThe lessons we find in each lily and fern;We’ll teach you to seek for the fair and the good,In city and village, in field and in wood.”
3.
“Come, boys and girls, come to our flower-school and learn
The lessons we find in each lily and fern;
We’ll teach you to seek for the fair and the good,
In city and village, in field and in wood.”
Flowers
Woodpeckers
H
Here we have a picture of Woodpeckers. See how they cling to the bark of the tree with their claws, and how eager the two little ones seem for the prize their mother has just captured. The woodpecker is a bird of very singular habits. It lives upon the insects which exist in the bark of trees, and is remarkably adapted by nature for obtaining this kind of food. Its bill is long and sharp and powerful; and with its hooked claws it clings to the tree while it sways its body to and fro to give force to the strokes of its bill. The object of these strokes is to shake the insects out of the tree, and they are given with wonderful force and in rapid succession. Then the bird thrusts its long tongue into the crevices, and the tongue being barbed at the end and covered with a sort of gum, it secures a vast number of insects as well as their eggs.
In the quiet of the woods the sound of the woodpecker tapping may be heard at a great distance. I remember once, when I was a little girl, being very much frightened by the noise: I will tell you how it happened.
The house where I lived in the country not only had a large garden, but beyond that was a little wood, which we called the shrubbery. This wood had a broad walk winding through it, with seats placed here and there. One beautiful summer morning I and my brother, who was some years older than I was, were sitting together upon one of these seats under the shade of the trees. He was on his way to go out fishing, and was only stopping to do something to his fishing tackle. Wanting a pair of scissors, he sent me into the house to fetch them, ordering me about in the sort of way in which big boys are apt to order their little brothers and sisters.
I soon returned with the scissors, but no longer found mybrother where I had left him. The truth is he had gone off on his fishing expedition without waiting for my return. However, I looked about for him, and presently I heard a sound like somebody hitting a tree with a stick. “Ah, ah, so you are hiding, are you, Master Maurice?” thought I; and I looked behind different trees, one after another, thinking every moment to discover him. Then I began to fancy that the sound, although so clear and distinct, was some distance off; so I wandered on, still following it, and looking about as I went. Now and then the tapping ceased, but always went on again after a minute.
At last I began to be frightened, and called out:—“Maurice, dear Maurice, where are you? You are frightening me.” The tapping ceased from that moment, but my alarm did not. That such a noise should have been made without anybody to make it seemed to me very like something supernatural. I began to cry, and at the same time set off running towards home. I dared not look behind me as I ran, and when I reached the house, was at first too frightened and excited even to explain what was the matter. I must tell you that I was only seven years old at that time.
I remember the old gardener said, when he heard the story, that he suspected that it was only a woodpecker tapping; but I refused to believe that a bird could make so loud a noise. It was not till long afterwards, when I happened to both hear and see one, that I became convinced the old gardener was right.
The woodpecker is a handsome bird, about the size of a pigeon, of a greenish colour, with black and white marks upon the wings, and a crimson stain upon the head. It is heard much oftener than seen, for, being very timid, it is ingenious in hiding itself. It does not build a nest like other birds, but seeks for a decayed place in the trunk of some tree, where it scoops out a hole. There Mr. and Mrs. Woodpecker establish their little home: there the eggs are laid, and the young ones are reared.
Puzzle images
Now see if you can find out the names of all these objects. One of them begins with C, two with D, one with F, one with H, and one with T.
T
The visit of Mr. de Malassise and Eusèbe only lasted two days. Eusèbe went away very well satisfied with himself, for in those two days he had contrived to alarm his father several times by putting himself in a passion, and had teazed his cousin so ingeniously that he more than once brought tears into his eyes.
The morning after the departure of these unwelcome visitors, Mr. de Roisel and Maurice started off on their expedition to see Mr. Duberger, and to bring back the horse. They were going two days later than was intended, but a letter had been already sent to Mr. Duberger, explaining why they were obliged to postpone their visit from the twelfth of August to the fourteenth. That gentleman did not live habitually at Paris, but at a place called Palaiseau, which was not more than two or three hours’ drive from Maurice’s home. Mr. de Roisel drove Maurice in a light chaise with one horse; and they started very early, in order to avoid the heat of the day.
Palaiseau is a large straggling village situated in a pleasant valley; and on the hills around are many pretty country houses, one of which was inhabited by Mr. Duberger. Neither Maurice nor his father had been there before, so,on arriving in the village, they had to inquire which was the house. Just in front of the little inn of the village stood three or four men, conversing earnestly, and Mr. de Roisel inquired of them for the house he wanted. One of them replied:—
“It is a good half mile beyond the village, sir; and stands quite alone on the right hand side of the road. We were just talking about a report there is in the village this morning, that Mr. Duberger’s house was broken into by thieves last night; but the accounts are so different I hardly know if any of them are true.”
Mr. de Roisel touched his horse with the whip and hastened on, feeling very anxious and alarmed. After driving about half a mile along the road, he pulled up again to ask his way of a woman who was standing at the door of a cottage.
“Do you want to see Mr. Duberger?” exclaimed the good woman. “Ah, poor dear man! Only to think there are wretches in the world who would do him an injury! But they do not belong to these parts, I’m certain. He does so much good, that no one here would hurt a hair of his head.”
“Good heavens! Has he been murdered?”
“Murdered! No, no: but he was robbed last night of a great many valuable things. That’s bad enough, I hope. If you want to see him, sir, that’s his house, yonder among the trees. The turning there on the right leads directly up to it.” Saying this she pointed to a house, which, seen from a distance, had a good appearance.
They turned up what might once have been a handsome avenue of trees, but many had died or been cut down, and never been replaced. A number of sheep were grazing beneath the trees of the avenue, and there reigned over the place that air of quiet and peace which brings repose both to the eyes and heart.
SHE SAID, “I WAS SURE YOU WOULD NOT BE READY.”
SHE SAID, “I WAS SURE YOU WOULD NOT BE READY.”
Reaching the iron gate of the courtyard, Mr. de Roisel got down to ring the bell, but finding that the gate was not fastened he opened it, and the chaise drew up at the stone steps of the entrance door. The house appeared large, but very much out of repair. The walls were crumbling in parts, and broken shutters hung at the windows;but this appearance of decay or disorder seemed rather the effect of negligence than of poverty.
They soon heard the sound of slow footsteps approaching from the inside, and an old woman, having the look of a housekeeper, appeared at the door. Glancing at our travellers, she turned back into the house, and they could hear her call out to some one within:—“It’s the gentleman who wrote to you the day before yesterday. I was sure you would not be ready to receive him.”
“Well, well, Marianne,” replied a man’s voice, “I’m making all the haste I can.”
“Sir,” said the old woman, coming forward again, and addressing Mr. de Roisel, making at the same time a curtsey after the manner of a peasant, “you are welcome. If you will trouble yourself to walk into the drawing-room, my master will join you there in an instant. Michel will take the horse to the stable, sir. See, he’s coming as quickly as he can. He doesn’t run very fast; his legs are like mine—a little stiff. In truth, he’s no longer young. He has been our gardener, sir, for more than fifty years.”
Michel was a little withered old man, bent from age, and from the habit of stooping at his work.
“Sir,” said he, in a shaking voice, “excuse my slowness; I have no longer the activity of a youth. Besides, I had a good walk this morning to go after the police.”
“It is true then, this robbery I have heard of? What has been stolen? Any money?”
“No, unfortunately,” replied the old woman; “if it were only money my master would not care so much. He thinks little about money—not enough, indeed. But the thieves have carried away some precious and curious things that never can be replaced. Still we ought to thank Providence that we all remained fast asleep while the robbers were in the house. If we had wakened up, perhaps they would have cut our throats. But come in, I beg, sir.”
As they entered the room, Marianne went on:—“It must be confessed that my master himself is partly toblame for what has happened. He never would have the doors fastened or the windows barred up. He trusts everybody. But won’t you sit down, sir?” (Here she put forward some chairs) “You see we might all have been murdered, sir. That would have mattered very little for Michel and me; we are so old; but for him!—I tremble to think of it.”
While the old woman chattered away, Mr. de Roisel looked round the room, but he saw nothing there to justify the character which Mr. Duberger bore of being an enlightened collector of curiosities and works of art, as well as a man of science. The furniture was extremely old, and of the fashion of fifty years ago. Some badly executed drawings hung on the walls; and an old-fashioned clock stood on the mantelpiece.
“What!” said Mr. de Roisel, observing it, “can it be past eleven?”
“Oh, no, sir,” replied Marianne; “pardon me, it is not yet ten. That clock is an excellent one, only if you do not understand its ways, it is apt to mislead. The thieves did not take anything from this room last night: they seemed to know where the valuable things were to be found. The furniture of this room, sir, my master sometimes says would not sell for fifty francs altogether: still it is of value to him—and to me also,—for it belonged to his grandmother, my first mistress. This old furniture is associated with the recollection of one we loved. These drawings were made by her, and her husband had them framed as you see. My master adored his grandmother, and these old things are precious to him for her sake.”
Mr. de Roisel felt a strong sympathy for the man who united such tenderness of heart with the rare intellect which had made him celebrated. Maurice also was touched, and took the withered hand of Marianne in his own.
“You are very good, my little gentleman; you remind me of my master in his childhood.” Then she went on: “After the death of my first mistress, I served the motherof Mr. Duberger. She died too young to see the success and honours of her son: I have never quitted my master since.”
At this moment Mr. Duberger entered.
“Leave us now, my good Marianne,” said he. Then embracing Maurice, he exclaimed: “Why, how you have grown! I think the good God watches over children that have kind hearts. You have been growing up in happiness and health, as a flower blossoms in the spring-time.” Then turning to Mr. de Roisel, he added: “I received your letter, sir, and regret very much indeed that the day of your coming was postponed.”
“I fear we have come at a very inconvenient time.”
“Oh, it is not that; but you are one day too late.” Then taking Maurice on his knee, he went on: “You are a brave boy, and no doubt have deprived yourself of a good deal in collecting these hundred francs; but they are useless after all. When we met in the Luxembourg gardens, I thought it better for you that your charity to the poor woman should cost you some real sacrifice; but I was wrong to take your horse in pledge for the money. Now I am your debtor, and a debtor who cannot pay.”
“I understand,” said Maurice, as he burst into tears; “the thieves carried off Cressida last night. But it is not your fault.”
“Yes, yes, it is my fault. I was wanting in prudence; I kept neither doors nor windows fastened. I am much to blame.”
“Not so, indeed, sir,” said Mr. de Roisel; “it has been a chance which nobody could foresee. But do you not think the thieves may yet be discovered?”
“Probably. I think they will betray themselves in trying to sell the things they have stolen.”
“Let us hope so,” rejoined Mr. de Roisel.
With this hope, and the chance it afforded of the recovery of the horse, Maurice tried to console himself.
Children in village
B
Baby, do you like your ride?Baby on the baa-lamb!Baby’s mother is besideBaby riding baa-lamb.
Baby, do you like your ride?
Baby on the baa-lamb!
Baby’s mother is beside
Baby riding baa-lamb.
Sisters too are dancing nearBaby,—near her baa-lamb;On the ground is brother dear,Almost touching baa-lamb.
Sisters too are dancing near
Baby,—near her baa-lamb;
On the ground is brother dear,
Almost touching baa-lamb.
Little birdies even stop,Perching close to baa-lamb,Now they chirp, and now they hop,—They have no fear of baa-lamb.
Little birdies even stop,
Perching close to baa-lamb,
Now they chirp, and now they hop,—
They have no fear of baa-lamb.
Yet another sister there,Comes to look at baa-lamb:Her clothes and shoes are left,—oh, where?Through haste to see poor baa-lamb.
Yet another sister there,
Comes to look at baa-lamb:
Her clothes and shoes are left,—oh, where?
Through haste to see poor baa-lamb.
The summer’s day too soon is pastFor children and for baa-lamb;You see our pleasure cannot last—Not even rides on baa-lamb.
The summer’s day too soon is past
For children and for baa-lamb;
You see our pleasure cannot last—
Not even rides on baa-lamb.
Sitting in front of the fireplace
L
Little Willie sits by the fire thinking. He lives in this cottage alone with his mother, who is out just now, and I will tell you what Willie is thinking about so earnestly. He is a clever good boy, and is making up his mind that he ought to go out into the world and seek for work, and try to earn his own living, instead of being dependent on his mother, who is very poor. He determines he will tell her so directly she comes in, and ask her leave to go.
Child and giant hands
Here is Willie, with his little bundle at his back, on his first day’s journey to seek his fortune. As he walks along he is startled to observe a white cloud resting on the ground, directly in his path. From this cloud come forth two enormous hands, and a voice from the cloud says:—“Don’t be afraid, Willie; I come to be your friend. No eyes but yours will be able to see me, but only persevere in your wish to work, and I will be ever near to help you.”
Willie, somehow, does not feel frightened, but says:—“Thank you, good hands.” And then they vanish.
Child and giant hands
The help promised to Willie by the hands makes him so happy that he runs and leaps with joy; but as evening draws on he feels very tired. He lies down under some trees, and eats some bread and cheese brought with him in his wallet. He is in a forest now, and thinks he hears the howling of wolves in the distance; still he is so tired that he must go to sleep. Presently he sees the giant hands spread themselves over him, forming a sort of tent. His heart is full of gratitude as he says his prayers, and falls asleep, feeling how safe he is beneath those giant hands.
Child and giant hands
The next day Willie obtains employment in the service of a farmer. Here we see him in the corn-field reaping, and doing as much work as two strong men could do. But under the shelter of the high corn are the giant hands at work helping him. Willie whistles and cuts away: his sickle glistens as the corn falls under its long sweeps.
In the evening the farmer comes into the field, and stares to see the long rows of well-tied sheaves. He looks at Willie with astonishment, and promises himself that he will do his best to keep so good a servant.
Child and giant hands
“If he can reap so well, perhaps he can plough,” says the farmer to himself, as he leaves the cornfield; and the next morning sees Willie employed as a ploughman. The giant hands guide the plough, unseen by any but Willie; and the land is ploughed in furrows as straight as the flight of an arrow. The farmer watches from his window, and again blesses his good fortune. As time goes on, he feels grateful to the industrious lad, who seems to take pleasure in working for him; and gradually Willie is placed over the other labourers and trusted with everything.
Child and giant hands
One day, while the sheep are out on the hills, a heavy storm comes on, and the low ground between the hills is quickly flooded. Willie goes out to bring in his master’s sheep, but by the time he has collected them, the water is pouring on like a river in a narrow valley which separates them from the farm. “How I wish the hands would help me now!” thinks Willie. In a moment the giant hands spread themselves over the turbid water, forming a bridge. He drives the sheep across, and reaches the farm in safety, to the joy of all, for they have given him up for lost.
Child and giant hands
One night Willie is wakened up by a cry of “Fire! Fire!” He dresses in a moment, and rushes out into the farmyard. Here he finds his master and the farm-servants running about, frantic with terror; pigs are squealing, geese cackling, everybody is shouting, but there is no water handy. The flames are making their way from room to room, and now reach the chamber of the farmer’s pretty daughter. She is still there; what is to be done? The staircase is burnt; no ladder will reach the window; and there stands the girl, in the midst of the smoke, screaming,and stretching out her arms for help. Willie looks on in despair. Suddenly the giant hands appear to him, and placing themselves against the side of the house, form a ladder with their fingers, up which he quickly springs. He catches the girl in his arms, and in a moment brings her down, safe and sound, to her weeping father.
Now I daresay my little readers have been sufficiently interested in these seven scenes in the life of Willie to wish to know what became of him. Well then, Willie had such good wages that he was able to send money to his mother, and as soon as he grew to be quite a man, he married the farmer’s pretty daughter, whose life he had saved. Everybody liked him, and he soon took the entire management of the farm.
But now do you know the meaning of these giant hands? They signify the strength and power arising from industry, talent, and perseverance. The giant hands will come to help all those who, in the right way, try to help themselves.
When Willie was a rich farmer and had a large family, he used to say to his children: “Be honest, kind, industrious, and persevering; then the giant hands will come to help you.”
Multiplication is vexation,Division is as bad,The Rule of Three doth puzzle me,And Practice drives me mad.
Multiplication is vexation,
Division is as bad,
The Rule of Three doth puzzle me,
And Practice drives me mad.
Child doing sums
Horse
T
I am sure you would like to hear about an old horse that belonged to my papa when I was a little girl.
Tom had been so handsome when he was young, and thought so much of, that my father kept him long after he was past work. Tom used to lead a very happy life of it in a nice large field, where he had plenty to eat all the summer-day, and no work to do. But there was no pond in this field, only a pump, with a large tub to hold the water; and one of the men used to fill it every day for old Tom.
However, one day, when hay-making was going on, there was a great deal to do for all hands about the place, and Bob the odd man, whose work it was to give old Tom water, was busy helping cart the hay. So when the old horse felt thirsty, and went to his tub for water, he found it empty. He gave a great neigh, and a stamp with his foot; but finding that nobody came, he thought he would help himself, and fell to pumping water into the tub for himself, as you see him in the picture.