THE WINTER PICNIC"Yes," said father, "we shall have plenty of wood. See, this wood with rough bark is maple. This, with smooth bark and lighter spots, is beech. We will not use it in our fireplaces. It might snap sparks out on the floor."And here is some beautiful white birch. This is for our fireplaces. Here is yellow birch, too. Yes, there is plenty for next winter.""If we were really Indians, we could make canoes out of the white birch bark," said Polly."Isn't it nice here? The trees are thick all about us. How still it is!""It is still in the woods in winter," said father. "I always like it.""I think it is too bad to cut the trees down, father. Will they grow again?""See, Polly," said father. "We havecut down only the largest trees. They were as large as they would ever be. Now the smaller ones will have a better chance to grow."I would not cut them all down, unless I planted more. It would not be good for my land to do that."This is the spot for our fire. Let us make it now."He found a place, near a log, where the snow was not deep. He cleared most of it away. There he built the fire. He used pieces of birch bark instead of paper. Small twigs made very good kindling wood.Peter and Polly pulled birch bark from the logs. They broke up the dry twigs.With his hatchet, father cut sticks of wood. He laid some of these on the fire. He stuck his kettle irons down into the snow. They looked like this:Then he lighted the fire.He filled the coffeepot with snow. He hung it on the hook of the kettle irons. It was quite near the blaze. When the snow had melted, more was put in.Father said, "It takes much snow tomake a coffeepot full of water. When the water boils, we will put in the bag of coffee."Polly had taken out the camp dishes. She said, "We must have three plates, three cups, three knives and forks and spoons. I willput them on this log. I will put the bread and butter on the log, too."Father had cut a straight stick. It looked like a cane. He took out the frying pan."This stick is my handle," said he. "See where it fits in. Now I shall not need to stand too near the fire. Frying would be hot work, if I had not a long handle. Give me the bacon, Peter."Soon the bacon was cooking nicely. How good it smelled! Then the eggs were dropped into the pan.When they were fried, father said, "Dinner is ready. Bring your cups. You are to have a little coffee. It will be mostly milk."This was a great treat. Peter and Polly did not drink coffee at home. Then father gave them their bacon and eggs."Why," said father, "I forgot the sugar for our coffee.""Mother did not," said Polly. "I saw her put it in, and here it is."How good everything tasted! They sat on the log near the fire to eat. So they were quite warm."This is the best dinner I ever had,"said Polly. "Who taught you to cook, father? I forgot all about playing Indians, I have been so busy."When dinner was over, father picked up the dishes. He wiped them with paper napkins. He put them into their case. Mother would wash them at home.The fire burned low. He threw some snow on it. This made it safe to leave."Now I will show you some tracks," said he. "They were made by the white-footed mouse. See how small they are. That line in the snow is where he dragged his tail."He must have gone up into this tree. But I cannot see him anywhere. Perhaps he lives in that old nest up there. He may have watched us eat our dinner.""Good-by, Mr. White-foot," called Polly. "We are sorry not to see you. We are going home now."Down the hill through the quiet woods they went. Polly had the big knapsack over her shoulder. It was quite empty now, and not at all heavy. Peter ran ahead.At the door, Polly said, "Thank you, father, for our good time. It is the best picnic that I ever had."THE SEWING LESSON"Mother," said Polly one day, "I wish I could sew something real. I am tired of my patchwork. I wish I could make a dress for my doll. She needs a new dress.""Then you shall try it, Polly. Go to the drawer in the sewing table. You will find a pattern at the back of the drawer. It is for you.""O mother!" said Polly. "How did you think of it?""I knew you would need it soon. Here is the cloth for the dress."She gave Polly some pretty blue cloth. She said, "Spread it out on the table. Pin the pattern smoothly to the cloth. Be sure to pin it straight. Now cut around the edge."Polly worked very carefully. At last she said, "See, mother, this is what I have left. There was too much."Just then Peter came into the room. "What are you doing?" he asked."I am cutting out a doll's dress. See my pattern. See my pretty cloth.""What is this piece for?" asked Peter."Nothing," said Polly. "That is left over. I do not need it at all.""I wish I could have it," said Peter. "I wish I could sew something, too.""You may have it," said mother. "You may sew something. What do you wish to sew?""Let me see, mother. I think I will make me some clothes.""There is not quite cloth enough for that, Peter. Besides, it would be hard to do. Why not make a bean bag?""That would be good," said Peter. "Where are the beans?""You shall have them when the bag is finished," said mother."But I must have them now. I must sew around them, mustn't I?""No, dear. This is the way we do it. First we cut it right. Then we turn the edges. Then we baste them together."Here is a little thimble. Here is a largeneedle. Begin at this corner. Make your stitches as small as you can."If they are too far apart, your beans will fall out, by and by. How are you getting on, Polly?""I have some of the pieces basted together. May I stop basting and sew a little?""If you like. Aren't you glad now that you can sew over and over so nicely?"Peter and Polly did not finish their work that day. But at last the bean bag was done. Then Peter took it to Tim's house. He wished to show Tim what he had made.At last the dress, too, was finished. How pleased Polly was! She put it on her doll at once.She said, "Now I will take her calling. I will show her to the other children. They will all wish to make dresses.""If they do, we will cut the patterns for them," said mother. "Perhaps we can have a little sewing school. I will be the teacher, and you may be my helper. Should you like that?""Oh, I should, I should, mother. You do think of nice things. I will go this minute and tell the other girls."FISHING THROUGH THE ICE"I wish I could go fishing," said Peter."You'll have to wait until summer," said Polly."Then I wish it were summer now.""Why, Peter Howe! When it was summer, you wished for winter. Now it is winter, you would like it to be summer.""Yes," said Peter. "You see, when I wished for winter, I forgot all about fishing. Anyway it will be summer soon.""Not very soon," said Polly. "Will it, mother?""I will take you fishing," said father."How can you?" cried Peter. "Can you make it summer?""No, but I can take you fishing just thesame. Get ready and we will go. Polly may come, too, if she likes.""Oh, oh, oh!" shouted Peter. "Where is my fish pole, mother?""You will not need it, Peter," said father. "We shall need just our lines, hooks, sinkers, and bait."Put an extra pair of mittens in your pocket. You might take the red ones that the snow man liked so well."They walked up the road. By and by they came to a bridge. At one end they climbed down to the river.Here they found a path. It took them on to the river. At the end of the path the snow was trodden down. Peter saw two holes in the ice."Father," he said, "see those holes. Who made them?""The blacksmith and his boy chopped them yesterday. Then they fished through them. You see now why the blacksmith did not shoe Brownie yesterday."He knew you would be sorry about that. So he told me to bring you fishing.""I'd rather do this than anything else," said Peter. "I will thank him for his holes.""You will not like to do it long," said father. "It is a cold day."He baited Polly's hook and Peter's hook. He showed them how far into the water to put their lines.Then he said, "While you are fishing, I will build a little fire. There are plenty of small pieces of wood by the bank. You may warm your fingers at my fire. Perhaps the fish will not bite to-day.""Did the blacksmith catch any?" asked Polly. "Oh, yes," said father."Maybe he caught them all," said Polly. "I haven't had a bite yet. I am getting cold standing here.""Then come and warm your fingers at my fire," said father.Just then Peter said, "I feel something!" And he began to pull up his line.As soon as he pulled, Polly cried, "Oh, I feel something, too. It's a bite, a bite!" And she began to pull up her line.All at once they both stopped pulling."I'm caught," said Polly."I'm caught," said Peter. "It won't come any farther. But it jerks. Maybe it isn't caught. Maybe it's a big fish."Father began to laugh. "I think your big fish is Polly," he said. "Let me see."He took Peter's line. He told Polly to let hers out slowly. Then he pulled. Surely enough, Peter's hook came up through his hole. Polly's hook came up, too.Peter and Polly had caught each other! How they laughed at this!Peter said, "I shall carry my big fishhome to mother. She will like it. But she will not cook it. Let us go now to tell her.""Very well," said father. "Roll up your line. Then warm your hands before we start."Polly had dropped her hook back into the water. All in a minute she felt a good bite."Oh, I have one, I have one!" she cried."Pull in!" said father.Polly pulled. Up through the hole came a beautiful big trout."Well, well, well!" said father. "Isn't that a beauty? I wonder how it happened to bite our pork. We must throw it back. It's too bad.""O father, my fish!" cried Polly. "Why did you? Wasn't it a good fish?""Indeed it was, Polly. But back it had to go. We can't keep trout in the winter.""Then let's go home now," said Polly. "I might catch more. And I should not like to throw them back.""I'm all ready," said Peter. "I think we have had a good time. You caught a big fish and I caught a big fish and we can't eat either of them."MAKING MOLASSES CANDYIt was a wet, rainy day. Peter and Polly had been out in the rain. It did not hurt them.They had on rubber boots, rubber coats, and rubber caps. Peter's rubber coat was yellow. Polly's was black. They played that they were firemen.In the afternoon, mother wished them to stay in the house.She said, "The rain makes the snow wet. It is not nice to play in. We will have a candy party. We will make molasses candy. You may each pull some.""I should rather do that than play out of doors," said Polly."So should I," said Peter."Very well, children. Put on your aprons. Now, Polly, get the molasses jug."Mother measured out the molasses. Then she put it on the stove to boil. Soon shemeasured out some white sugar. She poured it into the molasses."Peter, you may carry away the sugar. That is the way you helped grandmother, you know.""Now let me stir," said Polly."Oh, no," said mother. "We do not stir this candy. I thought you knew better than that."Soon the molasses boiled. The children liked to watch it. They liked the good smell.Peter said, "See it bubble up just like our spring.""It is the steam, trying to get out, that makes the bubbles," said mother. "You know that steam is strong. You have seen it lift the lid of the teakettle."Now let us try the candy. Bring a cup, Polly. Bring a cup, Peter. Fill them half full of cold water."Mother dipped a spoon into the boiling candy. She poured part of the spoonful into Polly's cup, and the rest into Peter's cup."Let it stand a minute. Then we will see if the candy is hard enough to pull. After that you may eat it."This was just what the children wished to do. They were glad because mother had to try the candy again.At last, it was poured into cake tins. It was set out of doors to cool. There was a big tin for mother, a little tin for Polly, and a little tin for Peter.Peter and Polly could hardly wait for the candy to cool. They were in such a hurry to begin pulling it. Polly stuck her finger into hers before it was ready. It almost burned her.A few minutes after this, mother said, "Yours is cool enough now. Mine is not. Wash your hands again. Then you may begin."What a sticky time there was!Polly pulled her piece over and over quite well. Soon it began to grow light colored. When it stuck to her hands, she ran out of doors. This cooled the candy.But Peter could not pull so fast. His piece stuck to both hands. It got between his fingers. Mother scraped it off and he began again.At last, he dropped part of it on the floor. Mother said, "Let it alone, Peter. I will scrape it up. It is not good to put with yours now."Peter said, "I guess I do not like to pull candy. I am going to make fly paper of mine. It is sticky enough.""Yes," said mother. "It is sticky. But you are doing very well.""Mine is ready to cut up, I think," said Polly.She laid it on the clean kitchen table. She pulled it out into a long, thin strip. Then she took a pair of clean scissors. She cut the strip into short pieces."That is just the way," said mother. "Put it on the buttered plate. You are a good candy maker. Grandmother musthave some of this. O Peter! What are you doing?"Poor Peter had somehow got his hand stuck to his hair."I am just trying to get my hand away," said Peter. "But it is stuck.""I should think it is," said mother. "You must sit quite still until I get my candy ready to cut. Then I will help you.""O Peter! How funny you look!" laughed Polly. And indeed he did look funny, with his hand held close to his hair."But I don't feel funny, Polly. You stop laughing at me."Mother gently pulled his hair away from the candy. Then she scraped his hands."Please save my candy, mother," said Peter."I cannot, Peter. It is not clean now."And Polly said, "You may have mine, Peter. I am sorry I laughed."Then mother washed Peter's hands. "I must wash your hair, too," she said. "But never mind. It needed washing. You have had fun with your candy, haven't you?"Peter answered, "Yes, I have, mother. But please do not make it so sticky next time."GRANDMOTHER'S BIRTHDAY PARTY"Here is grandmother. Light the fire, Peter. Light the fire, Polly."Peter and Polly each took a match. Peter lighted the open fire at the left. Polly lighted it at the right side.Soon the kindling wood began to crackle. Then the flames leaped high in the fireplace.Grandmother had come over to supper. She was to spend the evening. It was her birthday. Peter and Polly were to stay up later because of this.The Story Lady was coming to supper, too. Perhaps, just perhaps, she would tell them a story. She knew stories about everything."Here she is now," cried Polly. And the Story Lady walked in at the door with grandmother.Soon supper was ready. Polly had helped mother set the table. She thought that it looked very pretty.Grandmother's birthday cake was in the center. On it were a dozen small, colored candles. Polly had helped to put them there.When mother had shown her the candles, she had said, "Why, mother, grandmother is more than twelve years old."She must have a candle for every year. That is what I have.""I know you do, Polly," mother had said. "But grandmother is sixty years old. We cannot put sixty candles on this cake. It is not large enough."So we will count the fives in sixty. Then we will use one for every five years. That makes just twelve.""Yes," Polly had answered, "I have learned that. Twelve fives make sixty. It is a good way to do. I shall do it when I am sixty years old."Now the cake was on the table. Justbefore it was time to cut it, father lighted the candles.They all watched them burn for a few minutes. The melted wax ran down the sides. They grew shorter and shorter."See Nan Etticoat," said Polly. "The longer she stands, the shorter she grows. Do you know that story, grandmother?""My grandmother taught me to say Nan Etticoat," said grandmother. "That wasmany years ago. She told me about making candles, too."When she was a little girl, there were no electric lights. There were no gas lights. There were no lamps. Every one used candles."Not such pretty, colored ones as these. They were larger and quite rough. How should you like to make them, Polly?""Oh, I should like to," said Polly. "May we?""Perhaps not," said grandmother. "We do not need to do so. We have other lights."But in those old days, people made their own candles. They called it 'dipping candles.' It was a hard task."I am sure that they did not light many at once. I am sure that my grandmother did not have candles on her birthday cakes."Now, my son, the wax is dripping on the frosting. The candles are nearly burned. If you will put them out, I will cut my birthday cake."Mr. Howe pinched the lighted ends in his fingers. He did this very quickly."Don't they burn your fingers, father?" asked Polly."No, indeed, Polly. I do not give them time to burn me. This is better than to blow them out. Then there is smoke. But children must not do it this way."Grandmother took the knife and cut the cake. She cut it as a pie is cut. Each one had a very fat piece."Now we shall see if this cake is as good as it looks," said grandmother. "I am sure that it is, for your mother is a good cook, Polly."But Polly was not listening. She was looking at something that she had found in her cake.She poked it with her fork. Then she took it up in her fingers."Why, mother," she said, "what a queer thing there is in my cake. How did it get there?"Just then Peter said, "There is a lump in my piece, too. It is something hard."Father said, "Clean the cake from your lumps and see what they are. Why, I have a lump myself.""And so have I," said the Story Lady."And so have I," said mother."Then," said grandmother, "I am the only one who has no lump. How did you let these lumps fall into your cake, daughter? Can I ever again call you a good cook?" And she laughed at Mrs. Howe.Just then her fork struck something."Dear me!" cried grandmother. "Alump in my piece, too! Now I think they must have been put in the cake on purpose.""Oh, see, see, grandmother! See what mine is!" And Polly held up a little, white china pig."Look at mine!" shouted Peter. He had scraped the cake from his lump. In his hand was a small, white china monkey."What is yours, Story Lady? And yours, mother? And yours, father?" asked Polly."Mine is a cat," said the Story Lady."And here is a kitten to go with her," said mother."And here is a naughty dog, to chase your cat and kitten," said father. "Let's put them in a row on the table. Then we can all see them.""But where is your lump, grandmother?" asked Polly.Grandmother held out her hand. On it, there lay a beautiful, gold thimble."Oh! Oh! Isn't it pretty!" cried Polly. "Who gave it to you?""Indeed it is, Polly. I think I know who gave it to me. It was you, my daughter. You knew that I had lost mine."I thank you for this. And I thank you for another happy birthday party. Perhaps you may put lumps in your cakes, just on birthdays.""I will not do it at other times," said mother. "Now let us all go into the other room and sit before the open fire.""When our bedtime comes we need not go, need we, mother?" asked Polly."Not to-night, Polly. You and Peter may sit up a while," said mother.AROUND THE OPEN FIREThe open fire was blazing well. "Let me draw the chairs about it," said father. "Then we can all enjoy it.""We do not need chairs, father," said Polly. "Peter and I will sit on the floor. I will sit next to grandmother.""I will sit next to mother," said Peter."When I was little," said grandmother, "I liked to sit on the floor. I thought it quite soft enough. Now that I am older, I like chairs better.""If you sit in a chair, it is never in the right place," said Polly. "A floor is always in the right place. It is a big seat, too.""What a good fireplace this is," said theStory Lady. "It is so large that you can put real logs into it. And it never smokes.""Just think of long ago, when there were no stoves," said grandmother. "How would it seem now to heat our houses with open fires?""Why weren't there any stoves, grandmother? And where were the furnaces?""People did not know how to make stoves and furnaces, Peter. They had very large fireplaces, instead. My grandmother told me about them.""What beautiful white birch logs," said the Story Lady. "They make such a good fire.""They came from our woods," said Peter. "We were up there one day. We went to see next winter's wood. There is plenty. Some is already cut and piled.""At first, I did not like to see the pretty trees cut down," said Polly. "But father told me that it is sometimes best.""So it is, Polly," said the Story Lady. "We need the wood to keep us warm, and for many other things, too. What are some of them?""Carts, sleds, telephone poles!" shouted Peter."Houses, barns, bridges!" shouted Polly."Yes, indeed, children, for all those and more. So we must cut down some of the trees. But we must take care that others grow in their places."Thousands of years ago, people believed strange things about trees. They believed that in some lived beings called dryads."These dryads were like lovely maidens. A maiden is a girl, you know. They could come out of their trees. But still they were a part of the tree."If a tree was cut down, the lovely dryad who lived in it died. So, in those days, most people did not wish to cut down trees. They were afraid of hurting the dryads."When trees grew old and fell, the dryads died, too. Sometimes kind people propped up old trees. Then the dryads could live a little longer.""Oh, I wish I could see one," said Polly. "What did they wear?""No one knows exactly, Polly, because no one ever saw a dryad. It is one of those stories that have come to us from thousands of years ago."Most of the stories are not true. We call them myths. And we like them very much.""Are myths as good as 'Once upon a time' stories?" asked Peter."Yes, indeed, Peter. Get your mother to tell you some, and see.""Now I shall think of this story, when I see our fire burning a dryad's house," said Polly."I shall play that there are dryads in our trees, too. Perhaps, if I play hard enough, one will really be there."When spring comes, I shall go to the woods often. I know where there is a hollow tree. That will make a good dryad's house.""Spring is coming soon," said mother. "The cold winter is nearly over. But, first of all, bedtime is coming. It has nearly come, now. Say good night, Peter and Polly. Then off with you."So Peter and Polly said good night and went upstairs to bed. Perhaps they dreamed of dryads. Perhaps they dreamed of spring-time. Perhaps they slept soundly and did not dream at all.
"Yes," said father, "we shall have plenty of wood. See, this wood with rough bark is maple. This, with smooth bark and lighter spots, is beech. We will not use it in our fireplaces. It might snap sparks out on the floor.
"And here is some beautiful white birch. This is for our fireplaces. Here is yellow birch, too. Yes, there is plenty for next winter."
"If we were really Indians, we could make canoes out of the white birch bark," said Polly.
"Isn't it nice here? The trees are thick all about us. How still it is!"
"It is still in the woods in winter," said father. "I always like it."
"I think it is too bad to cut the trees down, father. Will they grow again?"
"See, Polly," said father. "We havecut down only the largest trees. They were as large as they would ever be. Now the smaller ones will have a better chance to grow.
"I would not cut them all down, unless I planted more. It would not be good for my land to do that.
"This is the spot for our fire. Let us make it now."
He found a place, near a log, where the snow was not deep. He cleared most of it away. There he built the fire. He used pieces of birch bark instead of paper. Small twigs made very good kindling wood.
Peter and Polly pulled birch bark from the logs. They broke up the dry twigs.
With his hatchet, father cut sticks of wood. He laid some of these on the fire. He stuck his kettle irons down into the snow. They looked like this:
Then he lighted the fire.
He filled the coffeepot with snow. He hung it on the hook of the kettle irons. It was quite near the blaze. When the snow had melted, more was put in.
Father said, "It takes much snow tomake a coffeepot full of water. When the water boils, we will put in the bag of coffee."
Polly had taken out the camp dishes. She said, "We must have three plates, three cups, three knives and forks and spoons. I willput them on this log. I will put the bread and butter on the log, too."
Father had cut a straight stick. It looked like a cane. He took out the frying pan.
"This stick is my handle," said he. "See where it fits in. Now I shall not need to stand too near the fire. Frying would be hot work, if I had not a long handle. Give me the bacon, Peter."
Soon the bacon was cooking nicely. How good it smelled! Then the eggs were dropped into the pan.
When they were fried, father said, "Dinner is ready. Bring your cups. You are to have a little coffee. It will be mostly milk."
This was a great treat. Peter and Polly did not drink coffee at home. Then father gave them their bacon and eggs.
"Why," said father, "I forgot the sugar for our coffee."
"Mother did not," said Polly. "I saw her put it in, and here it is."
How good everything tasted! They sat on the log near the fire to eat. So they were quite warm.
"This is the best dinner I ever had,"said Polly. "Who taught you to cook, father? I forgot all about playing Indians, I have been so busy."
When dinner was over, father picked up the dishes. He wiped them with paper napkins. He put them into their case. Mother would wash them at home.
The fire burned low. He threw some snow on it. This made it safe to leave.
"Now I will show you some tracks," said he. "They were made by the white-footed mouse. See how small they are. That line in the snow is where he dragged his tail.
"He must have gone up into this tree. But I cannot see him anywhere. Perhaps he lives in that old nest up there. He may have watched us eat our dinner."
"Good-by, Mr. White-foot," called Polly. "We are sorry not to see you. We are going home now."
Down the hill through the quiet woods they went. Polly had the big knapsack over her shoulder. It was quite empty now, and not at all heavy. Peter ran ahead.
At the door, Polly said, "Thank you, father, for our good time. It is the best picnic that I ever had."
"Mother," said Polly one day, "I wish I could sew something real. I am tired of my patchwork. I wish I could make a dress for my doll. She needs a new dress."
"Then you shall try it, Polly. Go to the drawer in the sewing table. You will find a pattern at the back of the drawer. It is for you."
"O mother!" said Polly. "How did you think of it?"
"I knew you would need it soon. Here is the cloth for the dress."
She gave Polly some pretty blue cloth. She said, "Spread it out on the table. Pin the pattern smoothly to the cloth. Be sure to pin it straight. Now cut around the edge."
Polly worked very carefully. At last she said, "See, mother, this is what I have left. There was too much."
Just then Peter came into the room. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"I am cutting out a doll's dress. See my pattern. See my pretty cloth."
"What is this piece for?" asked Peter.
"Nothing," said Polly. "That is left over. I do not need it at all."
"I wish I could have it," said Peter. "I wish I could sew something, too."
"You may have it," said mother. "You may sew something. What do you wish to sew?"
"Let me see, mother. I think I will make me some clothes."
"There is not quite cloth enough for that, Peter. Besides, it would be hard to do. Why not make a bean bag?"
"That would be good," said Peter. "Where are the beans?"
"You shall have them when the bag is finished," said mother.
"But I must have them now. I must sew around them, mustn't I?"
"No, dear. This is the way we do it. First we cut it right. Then we turn the edges. Then we baste them together.
"Here is a little thimble. Here is a largeneedle. Begin at this corner. Make your stitches as small as you can.
"If they are too far apart, your beans will fall out, by and by. How are you getting on, Polly?"
"I have some of the pieces basted together. May I stop basting and sew a little?"
"If you like. Aren't you glad now that you can sew over and over so nicely?"
Peter and Polly did not finish their work that day. But at last the bean bag was done. Then Peter took it to Tim's house. He wished to show Tim what he had made.
At last the dress, too, was finished. How pleased Polly was! She put it on her doll at once.
She said, "Now I will take her calling. I will show her to the other children. They will all wish to make dresses."
"If they do, we will cut the patterns for them," said mother. "Perhaps we can have a little sewing school. I will be the teacher, and you may be my helper. Should you like that?"
"Oh, I should, I should, mother. You do think of nice things. I will go this minute and tell the other girls."
"I wish I could go fishing," said Peter.
"You'll have to wait until summer," said Polly.
"Then I wish it were summer now."
"Why, Peter Howe! When it was summer, you wished for winter. Now it is winter, you would like it to be summer."
"Yes," said Peter. "You see, when I wished for winter, I forgot all about fishing. Anyway it will be summer soon."
"Not very soon," said Polly. "Will it, mother?"
"I will take you fishing," said father.
"How can you?" cried Peter. "Can you make it summer?"
"No, but I can take you fishing just thesame. Get ready and we will go. Polly may come, too, if she likes."
"Oh, oh, oh!" shouted Peter. "Where is my fish pole, mother?"
"You will not need it, Peter," said father. "We shall need just our lines, hooks, sinkers, and bait.
"Put an extra pair of mittens in your pocket. You might take the red ones that the snow man liked so well."
They walked up the road. By and by they came to a bridge. At one end they climbed down to the river.
Here they found a path. It took them on to the river. At the end of the path the snow was trodden down. Peter saw two holes in the ice.
"Father," he said, "see those holes. Who made them?"
"The blacksmith and his boy chopped them yesterday. Then they fished through them. You see now why the blacksmith did not shoe Brownie yesterday.
"He knew you would be sorry about that. So he told me to bring you fishing."
"I'd rather do this than anything else," said Peter. "I will thank him for his holes."
"You will not like to do it long," said father. "It is a cold day."
He baited Polly's hook and Peter's hook. He showed them how far into the water to put their lines.
Then he said, "While you are fishing, I will build a little fire. There are plenty of small pieces of wood by the bank. You may warm your fingers at my fire. Perhaps the fish will not bite to-day."
"Did the blacksmith catch any?" asked Polly. "Oh, yes," said father.
"Maybe he caught them all," said Polly. "I haven't had a bite yet. I am getting cold standing here."
"Then come and warm your fingers at my fire," said father.
Just then Peter said, "I feel something!" And he began to pull up his line.
As soon as he pulled, Polly cried, "Oh, I feel something, too. It's a bite, a bite!" And she began to pull up her line.
All at once they both stopped pulling.
"I'm caught," said Polly.
"I'm caught," said Peter. "It won't come any farther. But it jerks. Maybe it isn't caught. Maybe it's a big fish."
Father began to laugh. "I think your big fish is Polly," he said. "Let me see."
He took Peter's line. He told Polly to let hers out slowly. Then he pulled. Surely enough, Peter's hook came up through his hole. Polly's hook came up, too.
Peter and Polly had caught each other! How they laughed at this!
Peter said, "I shall carry my big fishhome to mother. She will like it. But she will not cook it. Let us go now to tell her."
"Very well," said father. "Roll up your line. Then warm your hands before we start."
Polly had dropped her hook back into the water. All in a minute she felt a good bite.
"Oh, I have one, I have one!" she cried.
"Pull in!" said father.
Polly pulled. Up through the hole came a beautiful big trout.
"Well, well, well!" said father. "Isn't that a beauty? I wonder how it happened to bite our pork. We must throw it back. It's too bad."
"O father, my fish!" cried Polly. "Why did you? Wasn't it a good fish?"
"Indeed it was, Polly. But back it had to go. We can't keep trout in the winter."
"Then let's go home now," said Polly. "I might catch more. And I should not like to throw them back."
"I'm all ready," said Peter. "I think we have had a good time. You caught a big fish and I caught a big fish and we can't eat either of them."
It was a wet, rainy day. Peter and Polly had been out in the rain. It did not hurt them.
They had on rubber boots, rubber coats, and rubber caps. Peter's rubber coat was yellow. Polly's was black. They played that they were firemen.
In the afternoon, mother wished them to stay in the house.
She said, "The rain makes the snow wet. It is not nice to play in. We will have a candy party. We will make molasses candy. You may each pull some."
"I should rather do that than play out of doors," said Polly.
"So should I," said Peter.
"Very well, children. Put on your aprons. Now, Polly, get the molasses jug."
Mother measured out the molasses. Then she put it on the stove to boil. Soon shemeasured out some white sugar. She poured it into the molasses.
"Peter, you may carry away the sugar. That is the way you helped grandmother, you know."
"Now let me stir," said Polly.
"Oh, no," said mother. "We do not stir this candy. I thought you knew better than that."
Soon the molasses boiled. The children liked to watch it. They liked the good smell.
Peter said, "See it bubble up just like our spring."
"It is the steam, trying to get out, that makes the bubbles," said mother. "You know that steam is strong. You have seen it lift the lid of the teakettle.
"Now let us try the candy. Bring a cup, Polly. Bring a cup, Peter. Fill them half full of cold water."
Mother dipped a spoon into the boiling candy. She poured part of the spoonful into Polly's cup, and the rest into Peter's cup.
"Let it stand a minute. Then we will see if the candy is hard enough to pull. After that you may eat it."
This was just what the children wished to do. They were glad because mother had to try the candy again.
At last, it was poured into cake tins. It was set out of doors to cool. There was a big tin for mother, a little tin for Polly, and a little tin for Peter.
Peter and Polly could hardly wait for the candy to cool. They were in such a hurry to begin pulling it. Polly stuck her finger into hers before it was ready. It almost burned her.
A few minutes after this, mother said, "Yours is cool enough now. Mine is not. Wash your hands again. Then you may begin."
What a sticky time there was!
Polly pulled her piece over and over quite well. Soon it began to grow light colored. When it stuck to her hands, she ran out of doors. This cooled the candy.
But Peter could not pull so fast. His piece stuck to both hands. It got between his fingers. Mother scraped it off and he began again.
At last, he dropped part of it on the floor. Mother said, "Let it alone, Peter. I will scrape it up. It is not good to put with yours now."
Peter said, "I guess I do not like to pull candy. I am going to make fly paper of mine. It is sticky enough."
"Yes," said mother. "It is sticky. But you are doing very well."
"Mine is ready to cut up, I think," said Polly.
She laid it on the clean kitchen table. She pulled it out into a long, thin strip. Then she took a pair of clean scissors. She cut the strip into short pieces.
"That is just the way," said mother. "Put it on the buttered plate. You are a good candy maker. Grandmother musthave some of this. O Peter! What are you doing?"
Poor Peter had somehow got his hand stuck to his hair.
"I am just trying to get my hand away," said Peter. "But it is stuck."
"I should think it is," said mother. "You must sit quite still until I get my candy ready to cut. Then I will help you."
"O Peter! How funny you look!" laughed Polly. And indeed he did look funny, with his hand held close to his hair.
"But I don't feel funny, Polly. You stop laughing at me."
Mother gently pulled his hair away from the candy. Then she scraped his hands.
"Please save my candy, mother," said Peter.
"I cannot, Peter. It is not clean now."
And Polly said, "You may have mine, Peter. I am sorry I laughed."
Then mother washed Peter's hands. "I must wash your hair, too," she said. "But never mind. It needed washing. You have had fun with your candy, haven't you?"
Peter answered, "Yes, I have, mother. But please do not make it so sticky next time."
"Here is grandmother. Light the fire, Peter. Light the fire, Polly."
Peter and Polly each took a match. Peter lighted the open fire at the left. Polly lighted it at the right side.
Soon the kindling wood began to crackle. Then the flames leaped high in the fireplace.
Grandmother had come over to supper. She was to spend the evening. It was her birthday. Peter and Polly were to stay up later because of this.
The Story Lady was coming to supper, too. Perhaps, just perhaps, she would tell them a story. She knew stories about everything.
"Here she is now," cried Polly. And the Story Lady walked in at the door with grandmother.
Soon supper was ready. Polly had helped mother set the table. She thought that it looked very pretty.
Grandmother's birthday cake was in the center. On it were a dozen small, colored candles. Polly had helped to put them there.
When mother had shown her the candles, she had said, "Why, mother, grandmother is more than twelve years old.
"She must have a candle for every year. That is what I have."
"I know you do, Polly," mother had said. "But grandmother is sixty years old. We cannot put sixty candles on this cake. It is not large enough.
"So we will count the fives in sixty. Then we will use one for every five years. That makes just twelve."
"Yes," Polly had answered, "I have learned that. Twelve fives make sixty. It is a good way to do. I shall do it when I am sixty years old."
Now the cake was on the table. Justbefore it was time to cut it, father lighted the candles.
They all watched them burn for a few minutes. The melted wax ran down the sides. They grew shorter and shorter.
"See Nan Etticoat," said Polly. "The longer she stands, the shorter she grows. Do you know that story, grandmother?"
"My grandmother taught me to say Nan Etticoat," said grandmother. "That wasmany years ago. She told me about making candles, too.
"When she was a little girl, there were no electric lights. There were no gas lights. There were no lamps. Every one used candles.
"Not such pretty, colored ones as these. They were larger and quite rough. How should you like to make them, Polly?"
"Oh, I should like to," said Polly. "May we?"
"Perhaps not," said grandmother. "We do not need to do so. We have other lights.
"But in those old days, people made their own candles. They called it 'dipping candles.' It was a hard task.
"I am sure that they did not light many at once. I am sure that my grandmother did not have candles on her birthday cakes.
"Now, my son, the wax is dripping on the frosting. The candles are nearly burned. If you will put them out, I will cut my birthday cake."
Mr. Howe pinched the lighted ends in his fingers. He did this very quickly.
"Don't they burn your fingers, father?" asked Polly.
"No, indeed, Polly. I do not give them time to burn me. This is better than to blow them out. Then there is smoke. But children must not do it this way."
Grandmother took the knife and cut the cake. She cut it as a pie is cut. Each one had a very fat piece.
"Now we shall see if this cake is as good as it looks," said grandmother. "I am sure that it is, for your mother is a good cook, Polly."
But Polly was not listening. She was looking at something that she had found in her cake.
She poked it with her fork. Then she took it up in her fingers.
"Why, mother," she said, "what a queer thing there is in my cake. How did it get there?"
Just then Peter said, "There is a lump in my piece, too. It is something hard."
Father said, "Clean the cake from your lumps and see what they are. Why, I have a lump myself."
"And so have I," said the Story Lady.
"And so have I," said mother.
"Then," said grandmother, "I am the only one who has no lump. How did you let these lumps fall into your cake, daughter? Can I ever again call you a good cook?" And she laughed at Mrs. Howe.
Just then her fork struck something.
"Dear me!" cried grandmother. "Alump in my piece, too! Now I think they must have been put in the cake on purpose."
"Oh, see, see, grandmother! See what mine is!" And Polly held up a little, white china pig.
"Look at mine!" shouted Peter. He had scraped the cake from his lump. In his hand was a small, white china monkey.
"What is yours, Story Lady? And yours, mother? And yours, father?" asked Polly.
"Mine is a cat," said the Story Lady.
"And here is a kitten to go with her," said mother.
"And here is a naughty dog, to chase your cat and kitten," said father. "Let's put them in a row on the table. Then we can all see them."
"But where is your lump, grandmother?" asked Polly.
Grandmother held out her hand. On it, there lay a beautiful, gold thimble.
"Oh! Oh! Isn't it pretty!" cried Polly. "Who gave it to you?"
"Indeed it is, Polly. I think I know who gave it to me. It was you, my daughter. You knew that I had lost mine.
"I thank you for this. And I thank you for another happy birthday party. Perhaps you may put lumps in your cakes, just on birthdays."
"I will not do it at other times," said mother. "Now let us all go into the other room and sit before the open fire."
"When our bedtime comes we need not go, need we, mother?" asked Polly.
"Not to-night, Polly. You and Peter may sit up a while," said mother.
The open fire was blazing well. "Let me draw the chairs about it," said father. "Then we can all enjoy it."
"We do not need chairs, father," said Polly. "Peter and I will sit on the floor. I will sit next to grandmother."
"I will sit next to mother," said Peter.
"When I was little," said grandmother, "I liked to sit on the floor. I thought it quite soft enough. Now that I am older, I like chairs better."
"If you sit in a chair, it is never in the right place," said Polly. "A floor is always in the right place. It is a big seat, too."
"What a good fireplace this is," said theStory Lady. "It is so large that you can put real logs into it. And it never smokes."
"Just think of long ago, when there were no stoves," said grandmother. "How would it seem now to heat our houses with open fires?"
"Why weren't there any stoves, grandmother? And where were the furnaces?"
"People did not know how to make stoves and furnaces, Peter. They had very large fireplaces, instead. My grandmother told me about them."
"What beautiful white birch logs," said the Story Lady. "They make such a good fire."
"They came from our woods," said Peter. "We were up there one day. We went to see next winter's wood. There is plenty. Some is already cut and piled."
"At first, I did not like to see the pretty trees cut down," said Polly. "But father told me that it is sometimes best."
"So it is, Polly," said the Story Lady. "We need the wood to keep us warm, and for many other things, too. What are some of them?"
"Carts, sleds, telephone poles!" shouted Peter.
"Houses, barns, bridges!" shouted Polly.
"Yes, indeed, children, for all those and more. So we must cut down some of the trees. But we must take care that others grow in their places.
"Thousands of years ago, people believed strange things about trees. They believed that in some lived beings called dryads.
"These dryads were like lovely maidens. A maiden is a girl, you know. They could come out of their trees. But still they were a part of the tree.
"If a tree was cut down, the lovely dryad who lived in it died. So, in those days, most people did not wish to cut down trees. They were afraid of hurting the dryads.
"When trees grew old and fell, the dryads died, too. Sometimes kind people propped up old trees. Then the dryads could live a little longer."
"Oh, I wish I could see one," said Polly. "What did they wear?"
"No one knows exactly, Polly, because no one ever saw a dryad. It is one of those stories that have come to us from thousands of years ago.
"Most of the stories are not true. We call them myths. And we like them very much."
"Are myths as good as 'Once upon a time' stories?" asked Peter.
"Yes, indeed, Peter. Get your mother to tell you some, and see."
"Now I shall think of this story, when I see our fire burning a dryad's house," said Polly.
"I shall play that there are dryads in our trees, too. Perhaps, if I play hard enough, one will really be there.
"When spring comes, I shall go to the woods often. I know where there is a hollow tree. That will make a good dryad's house."
"Spring is coming soon," said mother. "The cold winter is nearly over. But, first of all, bedtime is coming. It has nearly come, now. Say good night, Peter and Polly. Then off with you."
So Peter and Polly said good night and went upstairs to bed. Perhaps they dreamed of dryads. Perhaps they dreamed of spring-time. Perhaps they slept soundly and did not dream at all.