0025m
Alittle gray mouse was out on his travels. He wanted to see the world and get some supper. It was late in the afternoon. It was growing dark, and mousie lighted a match.
You don't believe it?
Mousie really did it, though he did not mean to; and this is the way it happened: Mousie crept through a little hole into a nice, cosy room. It was very quiet and warm. Grandpa West sat there writing. There was a little pile of chips and bits of paper on the hearth, ready to light the fire next morning.
Mousie smelt crumbs of cake in one of the papers. He crept in and found them. They were very nice, but he wanted something more to eat. He nibbled some of the chips. There was a match among them.
Mousie found the match. He did not know what it was. Mousie never smoked, and never lighted fires. So he thought matches were of no use; that is, unless they were good to eat. He would try and see; so he nibbled the match.
0026m
Snap! went his wee white teeth. Up jumped a little flame right in his face.
"Quee!" screamed mousie, and ran back to his hole.
If no one had been in the room, mousie's match might have set the house on fire. It caught the papers and chips, and they blazed up in a second. But Grandpa took them up on a shovel, and threw them into the fireplace. Then he sat down in his easy-chair, and laughed to think how fast mousie ran. Mousie reached his nest in safety; and very likely he told his wife that the world was burning up.
0027m
Have you seen Denny,
My dear children all?
With lips like a rose,
And head like a ball,
With eyes like the sky,
When they sparkle in
school,
O, a prince among boys
Is Denny O'Toole.
His hat is in tatters,
But his young heart is sound,
And his shoes, though his
best,
Let his toes on the ground;
But who cares for tatters!
He keeps every rule,
And is kind to the smallest,
Our Denny O'Toole.
Then cheer for young Denny,
And cheer, too, for all
Who are honest and true,
Who defend weak and small
Cheer on and cheer ever,
At home or at school,
Each manly young hero
Like Denny O'Toole.
0028m
Carrie jumped from her seat because a spider was spinning-down before her from the ceiling. "They are such hateful black things!" she said.
"They are curious things," said Aunt Nellie. "They have eight fixed eyes."
9029
"Dear me! And maybe she's looking at me with all eight of them," groaned Carrie.
"They are very fond of music,"
"I shall never dare to sing again, for fear they 'll be spinning down to listen."
"They can tell you whether the weather is going to be fine or not. If it is going to storm, they spin a short thread; if it will clear, they spin a long one."
"That's funny."
"They are an odd family," Aunt Nellie went on. "I saw one on the window-pane the other day. She carrieed a little gray silk bag about with her wherever she ran. She had spun the bag herself. When it burst open, ever so many tiny baby spiders tumbled out, like birds from a nest, and ran along with her. Perhaps you did n't know that the spider can spin and sew, too? She spins her web, and she sews leaves together for her summer house."
"What a queer thing a spider is," said Carrie, beginning to forget her dislike.
"Yes, and she has a queerer sister in England, who makes a raft, and floats on pools of water upon it in search of flies for her dinner."
"I should like to know what it's made of."
8030
"She binds together a ball of weeds with the thread she spins."
"I wish we could go to England."
"And there's another of the family who lives under water in a diving-bell, which she weaves herself."
9030
"How I should like to see her!"
"Maybe you would rather see the one in the West Indies who digs a hole in the earth. She lines it with silk of her own making, and fits a door to it, which opens and closes when the family go in and out."
"Yes, yes," said Carrie, "how delightful!"
"But you would be afraid of the inmates?"
"Perhaps not, now I know their family affairs."
Little Fannie said she did wish her aunt wouldn't have a headache when mamma was busy, for then there was nobody to play with her. Perhaps the headache was better. She would go and see. So she tiptoed softly up the stairs, and rapped at aunty's door with the back of her hand; but it was just like rapping with a little pink cushion. No answer; and then she rapped with her finger-nails.
Aunty raised herself on one elbow and listened. She thought it might be a mouse nibbling at her Albert biscuits in the closet. Then she heard the noise again, and it seemed like two mice.
8031
"O," said she, laughing, "I do believe it's Fannie. Come in."
"How you do?" said the little girl, walking up to her and looking very sorry. "How do you do? I have n't seen you since day 'fore yes' d'y to-mor' mornin'."
Then she searched in her pocket a long time, and at last found a red sugar-plum.
She gave it to aunty to cure the headache.
"Don't you think," said she, tucking it into her aunt's hand, "that will make you mos' pretty well, and you can comed down nex' week las' year?"
Aunty said she hoped so, and laid the sugar-plum on the table. But, strange to say, she never saw it again. Perhaps a mouse may have got it. What do you think?
5032
Iam the mother of three little children, not three chickens. I am quite sure the little chickens would be easier to take care of, for all they wish is plenty to eat and drink, and a warm nest to sleep in.
0032m
I never heard of a chicken that wished to be amused or played with. They never say, "Mamma, what can I do no!" I wish to help the little girls and boys, who, like my own, are sometimes at a loss what to do. I must first of all ask one question. Can you use scissors?
I wish you to make a book, not to write it, but to make it all of pictures. This is the way to go about it. Ask your mother and friends for illustrated papers and books which they would be willing to give you to cut the pictures from. Black and white pictures are as good as colored, and the two look well together.
0033m
Cut these out neatly and carefully, with smooth edges. Torn and worn-out picture-books usually have something left which will do to cut out, and thus save from being wholly lost. Then there are the Christmas, New-Year, and Birthday cards, of which nearly all of us have some.
Take for the pages of your book paper, muslin, or common glazed cambric; cut this into pieces ten inches long and eight inches wide. Three or four pages will make a book large enough to begin with. The cambric may be all white, or any color you prefer; pink, blue, red, or a part of each color.
On these pages paste the pictures neatly, on both sides, using your taste as to which pictures look well together and fit in nicely.
For the covers, take light pasteboard covered on both sides with cambric and sewed together over and over, or, what is better, in buttonhole stitch with colored worsted.
Then with the scissors make holes through all, and tie the covers and pages together with a narrow ribbon or twisted worsted. Children like this kind of book very much, as it is full of variety, and every page gives many a new thought.
It is also very strong, so that mischievous little hands cannot easily tear it, and so light that feeble and weary little hands can easily hold it. To the poor little children in hospitals nothing could be more welcome.
All it costs is patient and loving work. Then there is the pleasure of doing it. There are the happy moments spent in making a really useful and pretty thing. To this may be added the well-known pleasure of giving.
For God has placed us side by side
In this wide world of ill,
And that Thy followers may be tried,
The poor are with us still.
Mean are all offerings we can make;
But thou hast taught us, Lord,
If given for the Saviour's sake,
They lose not their reward.
"Come, come, Mrs. Brownie," says young Mr. Wren,
"'T is time to be building our nest;.
For the winter has gone, the spring blossoms have come,
And the trees in green beauty are dressed,
Dressed, dressed,
And the trees in green beauty are dressed.
"O, where shall we build it, my dear little wife,
O, where shall we build it?" says he,
"In the sweet woodbine bower, in the rose by the door,
Or way up in the old apple-tree,
Tree, tree,
Or way up in the old apple-tree?"
0035m
"From woodbine," says Brownie, "my dear Mr. Wren,
The sparrows would drive us away,
In the rose by the door cats would eat us, I'm sure;
Let us build in the apple-tree, pray,
Pray, pray,
Let us build in the apple-tree, pray."
So away high up in the old apple-tree
Mr. Wren built Brownie a nest,
And't is there she sits now, in the white-blossomed bough,
With the baby birds under her breast,
Breast, breast,
With the baby birds under her breast.
0036m
0037m
Two voices cry, "Be good, papa,
Don't work too hard to-day!"
And I turn to see the waving hands
Of my little Beth and Faye.
Two girls of bright and sunny hair,
Of deep and thoughtful eyes;
And in their voices, touched with love,
What tender magic lies!
All day, along the crowded street,
Within the busy town,
I seem to hear their voices sweet;
They chase me up and down.
0038m
And their dear words of
warning love
Pursue, where'er I
go;
They mean far more,
far more to me
Than those who speak
them know.
Have I no helping hand to reach
Out to my brother's need?
Do I seek my gain by others' loss?
Am I led to some wrong deed?
Do temptations press, within, without?
Do wrong impulses urge?
Of some dishonorable act
Stand I upon the verge?
Then comes that message, soft and clear,
From the dear home, miles away.
"Be good, papa! be good, papa!"
The childish voices say.
There rise before my faltering eyes
My little Beth and Faye.
I feel I dare not do the wrong;
I dare not go astray.
0039m
It was a very small family, only three; Mr. Snow, Mrs. Snow, and the baby. Mr. Snow did not look like other men. Mamma Snow did not look like your mamma. And their baby was such a funny one!
Where do you think I saw this strange family? It was in our school-yard, last winter. There had been a long snow-storm. Great piles of soft white snow were in the yard. Boys like to play in the snow. They are not afraid of the cold.
Well, my boys made a great snow-man. This they called Mr. Snow. Then they made a lady out of the snow. They called her Mrs. Snow. They said she was Mr. Snow's wife. At last they made a baby out of the snow. The baby stood beside Papa and Mamma Snow.
0040m
Then they called me out to see this family. I told them Mr. Snow was very pale for such a large man. One boy said, "Yes; it is a very pale family. We think they are not very well." Another boy said he was sure they would not live long.
Every day I asked my boys about Mr. Snow and his wife and baby. But one morning every one of the Snow family was gone. Where was Mr. Snow? Where was Mrs. Snow? And where was the funny little baby? They had lived in our yard just one week. No one knew where they had gone. No one but the south wind and the sun, and they would not tell.
0041m
O dear little rill!
Why don't you keep still!
I never can cross,
To that bank of moss,
With you racing past
The smooth stones so fast.
Are you ever still,
You swift little rill?
Don't you sometimes stay
In cool nooks to play,
For days or for hours,
With bees, birds, and flowers?
If only I knew,
I'd come and play too,
I don't think you'd mind,
Your voice sounds so kind.
Who taught you to sing,
You dear little thing!
And now for the moss!
I 'll toss you a bit,
You good-natured chit.
There! bear it away—
Since you will not stay—
And give it, for mo,
Dear rill, to the sea,—
The great sea so wide,
With ships on its tide!
Now please don't be rude,
Though I must intrude,
And wade fairly through
Your ruffles so blue.
How pretty they look,
You dear little brook!
Come on, Snip; don't fear!
You can't drown in here;
And, if you do get
Your dainty toes wet,
'T will not make you sick:
So come along, quick!
0042m
Thanks, kind little rill!
Though you can't keep still,
You did n't get cross.
—Mrs. M. J. TAYLOR.
0043m
One day Grandfather Shriff lost his spectacles. "Where can they be? Maybe they are on the mantel." So he hunted, but could not find them on the mantel.
"Where can they be? Perhaps they are among the books." So he hunted and hunted, but could not find them among the books.
"Perhaps they are in the other room." So he hunted and hunted and hunted, but could not find them in the other room.
"Perhaps they are up-stairs." So he hunted and hunted and hunted and hunted, but could not find them up-stairs. "Perhaps I dropped them somewhere in the front yard." So he hunted and hunted and hunted and hunted and hunted, but could not find them anywhere in the front yard.
"Perhaps they are out in the dining-room." So he hunted and hunted and hunted and hunted and hunted and hunted, but could not find them in the dining-room.
At last he asked old Aunt Harriet, the cook. "Why marster, there they is, right square on the top of your head." And, sure enough, there they were. Did n't we all laugh at grandfather!
0044m
See my baby brother
Sitting in mamma's lap;
He's just getting ready
To take a little nap.
But before to dreamland
My baby brother goes,
I want to count his fingers,
And see his chubby toes.
Mamma, can't you make him
Just talk and laugh again,
So we can find the dimples
In his sweet cheeks and chin?
His eyes shine like diamonds
When he looks up so glad.
O, he's the dearest brother
A sister ever had.
0045m
Now he talks a little,
And laughs, come quick,
and see
My baby brother's dimples,
As cunning as can be.
The angels love our baby,
He is so very fair;
And so they came and kissed
him,
And left the dimples there.
Agreat fat toad and Prim, my white kitten, are very good friends. He stays in the barn shed, where her milk-saucer is kept.
When the cows are milked, Prim always expects her saucer will be filled. If Fred forgets to give her any, she cries, "Mee-ow!" Then he remembers and gives her some milk.
Kit's friend, the toad, gets into her saucer and sits, and she doesn't mind it at all. She laps what milk she wants, and leaves the rest for him.
0046m
One day, when she went to eat her dinner, the toad put his foot up on her face lovingly, as you would pat and smooth your dear mamma's face.
Sometimes I bring the saucer and Toady into the parlor to show my visitors. He likes it, and winks his bright eyes at them.
He never tried to get out but once. Then he swung his long legs over the side of the dish, and was just going to jump, when I put my hand on him.
The ladies all screamed and ran. Then they all laughed.
0047m
Out in the fields to have some fun
With the soft green grass, the breezes and sun,
And the sweet new flowers, and birdies gay,
On this frolicksome, sunny, glad spring day.
Sister Nell is willing, you see,
A steady, gentle "old horse" to be.
She has carried her driver far and fast,
And now she is ready for rest at last.
Give her some grass, and take good care
Of your pretty horse with the golden hair;
Then off she'll go for another run
With her little driver, till play is done.
O, the breezes, how soft they blow!
Through the tree-tops singing they go:
And, chasing Maudie adown the hill,
Play with her glowing hair at will.
Hither and thither the birdies fly,
Glad in the freedom of earth and sky;
And blossoms open their eyes to see
How joyous and fair the day can be.
But there are no things so glad and gay
As our little ones at their merry play,
When sister Nell a pony will be,
And "make good times" for her darlings three.
We have nine little pigs. One is all white. One is light brown. The rest are spotted. These nine pigs live in a pen. It is in a yard near the barn. The pigs like to run in the yard. They turn up the soft dirt with their noses.
0048m
One day they made a hole under the fence. Piggy White got out of the yard first. The little brown pig came out next. Then all the spotted ones came out. Piggy White stopped to look around him. "Wee! wee! what a big world this is!" he said. Then all the other little pigs said "Wee! wee!" just like Piggy White.
Piggy White was larger than any of the others; so of course he knew all about it."
"Where shall we go?" said the little brown pig.
0049m
"Let us go up the hill," said a spotted one. The other little pigs said "Wee! wee!" again. That is the way they said yes.
So they started up the hill. It was a very small hill; but the pigs said, "What a large hill this is!" They were only baby pigs, you know. This was their first walk, out of their yard. By and by they came to the top of the hill. They saw a large house in a large yard "What a big pen!" said all the little pigs. "Do you think we shall find more pigs there?" said the brown pig. "Wee! wee!" said the others. You see, a pig thinks the whole world was made for pigs. Some one had left the gate open. The nine pigs went into the yard, one after another. No one was in sight, so they went on. They were still looking for pigs.
Before they got to the door, the cook came out. The pigs gave her one look. "That is no pig," said Piggy White.
Then they all ran back to their pen. But they knew more than when they left it. They had seen the world, and they had found that there are more than pigs in it.