The couch walked clumsily to the door. It couldn't get through.
"Tee-hee-hee!" giggled Mollie. The Pouts took to their heels. "Tee-hee—"
Mollie stopped laughing and looked around in amazement. Everything in the room was just as it ought to be, except that she and Dear Doll Dainty were both on the floor.
But Mollie thought the rabbits winked at her as she laid Dear Doll Dainty gently on the couch and put the book in its place on the table.
INDIAN HUGHIE
Hughie had always wanted to be an Indian. One day he told his mamma about it.
"Well," she said, "why notbean Indian?"
Hughie looked down at his little blue suit and his low shoes. "I can't be an Indian," he said. "I haven't any bow and arrow 'r—'r anything Indians have. And anyway, little boys can't be Indians."
"Oh, yes, they can," said his mamma. "Indians are strong and brave. Any little boy can be that. How do you do, Chief Hughie?" she added, with a low bow.
Hughie drew himself up until he was at least an inch taller. "Heap—heap strong and brave, thank you," he said gravely.
That very day Hughie's mamma bought him a bow and arrow. Then Hughie felt himself a real Indian indeed.
But Chief Hughie grew tired of shooting at a mark with his new bow and arrow.
It would be much more fun, he thought, to shoot at something that moved.
Just as he thought that, a bird flew up from the snowball bush. Chief Hughie hastily slipped an arrow into his bow. Bing! it went, toward the bird.
"Hughie!"
Hughie turned around. "Chief Hughie," he corrected, politely.
"No," said his mamma, "notChief Hughie. Squaw Hughie! Chiefs are strong and brave. Chief Hughie would never shoot at a dear little bird. Only a cowardly Indian, a squaw Indian, would do that."
She came down the path and took away Hughie's bow and arrow.
"Squaws don't carry weapons," she said.
Hughie threw himself down on his stomach and screamed with anger.
"Squaws cry," said his mamma.
She walked back to the house, leaving Hughie sitting on the grass. He was wondering how long it would take for a squaw to become a chief once more.
"I FORGOT"
Inside of little Jean there lived a naughty imp. His name was "I Forgot." One time this imp made Jean do a very wicked thing.
Jean owned a canary, named Goldie because of his golden feathers. Whenever Jean came into the room where his cage hung, Goldie would pour out a flood of song.
But one morning when Jean came in there was no flood of song from the yellow throat. The tiny singer lay still on the bottom of his cage. Jean slipped in her hand in alarm and drew out her little pet.
"Mamma, mamma," she cried, "something's the matter with Goldie!"
The imp "I Forgot" laughed as he heard her, but Jean's mamma did not laugh. She knew about "I Forgot," and she laid her hand tenderly on Goldie's little body, all thin under the fluff of feathers.
Jean slipped her hand into the cage and drew out GoldieJean slipped her hand into the cage and drew out Goldie
"Goldie has starved to death, Jean," shesaid sadly. "Why didn't you feed him?"
"I f-forgot!" sobbed the little girl.
"Forgot! Poor Goldie!" Jean's mamma stroked the golden feathers. "It's too bad, Jean, that you couldn't remember to do that one small thing for Goldie when he did so much for you, with his songs and his cheer."
Jean's tears fell fast. Her mamma looked thoughtfully at the bird. "We can do nothing more for Goldie," she said at last, "but I have thought of a way you can help other birds for his sake, Jean."
Jean wiped her eyes. "How?" she asked.
Jean felt happier when her mamma had explained the way to her.
And if you should pass Jean's house some morning before breakfast, you could see the way for yourself. For every day Jean scatters crumbs and grain on the lawn for the birds and puts fresh water in their drinking bowl.
"For Goldie's sake," she whispers to herself, as the birds fly down for their breakfast.
As for the naughty imp "I Forgot," he is fast turning into the lovely fairy "I Remember."
HOW SAMMY WAS CURED
Sammy was a pretty good boy in some ways, but in one way he was a very naughty boy indeed. He never got up when he was called.
"Ye-aw-w-w!" he would yawn. "Uh-huh!" And with that he would roll over and go fast asleep again.
This always happened at least three times every morning. Often it happened more times. Then when everybody was out of patience and breakfast was nearly over, Sammy would come creeping down, digging his fists into his eyes and still yawning "Ye-aw-w-w!"
One morning Sammy's father had just called him the second time, and Sammy had grunted "Ye-aw-w-w!" and turned over for another nap, when the door opened softly.
Sammy didn't see the little man with twinkling eyes and queer clothes who entered the roomSammy didn't see the little man with twinkling eyes and queer clothes who entered the room
Creep, creep, creep, came quiet steps. But Sammy didn't see the little man with twinkling eyes and queer clothes enter the room. He didn't know that the little man lifted him out of bed, slipped him quickly into a sack, and swung him over his shoulder. Sammy was too fast asleep to know anything.
"Crickety, flickety, fle-flo-fli!" cried the little man. And away they flew, straight through the window!
And still Sammy slept. He didn't know he was not in his own bed till the little man slipped him out of the sack and gave him a shake.
You're the little boy that never gets up when he's calledYou're the little boy that never gets up when he's called
"Ye-aw-w-w!" muttered Sammy sleepily.
"So you are Sammy Sleepyhead!" a loud voice interrupted him. Sammy woke up so quickly that he bit his tongue. "I know you. You're the little boy that never gets up when he's called."
Sammy looked about him in surprise. He was in a room filled with the queerest little men he had ever seen, men with funny clothes and twinkly eyes; while right in front of him on a throne sat a very splendid person. Sammy knew by his robes and his crown that this splendid person must be a king.
Sammy had never before seen a real king. He opened his mouth in awe.
The king thought Sammy was going to yawn.
"No yawning here!" he cried, giving Sammy a sharp little rap with his scepter. "This is the Land of the Wide-Awakes. We always wake up the sleepy people."
And then, just because he knew he mustn't, Sammy yawned. "Ye-aw-w-w!" he said, so loud that it frightened him, and he clapped his hand quickly over his mouth.
But the king had heard him.
"Sleepy Cure Number One, men!" he cried.
The men in the funny clothes at once formed in two lines, facing each other and twinkling more than ever.
"Sammy Sleepyhead, step forward between the lines," commanded the king sternly.
Sammy saw each queer little man pull a small paddle from his pocket. His knees were shaking with fear, but he dared not disobey.
"Run!" ordered the king.
Sammy started. Spat! went the first paddle. "Ouch!" screamed Sammy.
"Faster!" cried the king.
Spat! Spat! Spat! went the paddles as he ran. "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" screamed Sammy.
"Done!" cried the king, as Sammy, breathless and crying, reached the end of the lines.
"Awake? Cured?" inquired the king.
"Uh—uh—uh-huh!" hiccoughed Sammy, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his nightie.
"No, you're not," cried the king. "Only sleepyheads say 'Uh-huh.' Cure Number Two!"
Poor Sammy stood, scared and crying, while the little men, grinning broadly now, brought big sponges dripping with water.
"Squeeze!" cried the king.
Squash! went the first sponge, right over Sammy's head.
"Ugh!" screamed Sammy as the ice-cold water poured down his back. "Ugh! Ugh!"
The next little man stepped up, lifted his sponge, started to squeeze it, then changed his mind.
"Crickety, flickety, fle-flo-fli!" he cried instead.
The next thing Sammy knew, he was standing in his own bathtub, wet and shivering. His father stood beside him, holding a big dipper.
"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!" gasped Sammy, while the water dripped from his yellow head.
"I'm sorry, Sammy," said his father, handing him a towel. "But we can't have any more of this nonsense about getting up. This will happen every time you have to be called more than once. Dry yourself now, and hurry into your clothes."
Sammy gulped and nodded. He couldn't think of anything to say just then. But he did as his father told him to, and never once dug his fists into his eyes or said "Ye-aw-w-w."
The next day he joined the Wide-Awakes. Sammy Sleepyhead was cured.
Mary Jane came back with her pail full of waterMary Jane came back with her pail full of water
THE GOING-TO CLUB
The Going-To Club had only one member. Bobby Brant was that member. In fact, Bobby was the club.
It was his mother who named him the Going-To Club. It always took at least two askings to get Bobby to do anything. Sometimes it took three or four. Bobby was always "going to."
This club always met when there was something Bobby wanted particularly to do; and it met most often in the spring, when the boys were out flying their kites. In the spring nobody could get Bobby to do anything.
One spring Bobby had a very fine new kite that he and his father had made together. They named it the Skylark, because they thought it would fly higher than any of the other kites. But something was wrong. Instead of sailing up gracefully, as it should, the first time Bobby tried to fly it, the Skylarkpitched about so violently that Bobby had to wind it in.
Just then he heard Mary Jane calling, "Bobby, will you get me some water?"
"All right," cried Bobby. "I wonder what ails it," he added, as he turned the kite about.
"Bob-by-y!"
"I'm going to," answered the Going-To Club impatiently, and straightway forgot all about it.
Pretty soon Mary Jane came down the path with the water pail. Mary Jane had little brothers. Perhaps she could tell what was the matter.
"Mary Jane," said Bobby, "my kite won't fly straight. Will you help me fix it?"
A naughty twinkle came into Mary Jane's eyes. "All right, Bobby," she said, and went on to the well.
"Will you?" urged Bobby, as she came back with her pail full.
"I'm going to, Bobby."
Bobby followed Mary Jane to the house.
"Mary Jane——"
Mary Jane dried, her hands and picked up the kiteMary Jane dried, her hands and picked up the kite
Mary Jane set down the pail and went on with her washing. "I'm going to," she promised.
Rub-a-dub! Rub-a-dub! Rub-a-dub! went the clothes.
"Mary Jane——"
And this time Mary Jane dried her hands and picked up the kite.
"Tail's too long," she said. "And, by the way, Bobby," she added with a laugh, "what do you think about the Going-To Clubnow?"
Bobby grinned and hung his head.
WHEN P'RAPSY SAID "YES"
P'rapsy Perrin was never quite certain about things. She always said "P'raps" instead of "Yes," or "No." That's how she came to be called P'rapsy.
But there was one thing P'rapsywascertain about—she loved to go barefoot; and just as soon as the first warm spring day came, P'rapsy teased to take off her shoes and stockings.
But Mrs. Perrin only laughed. "You'll catch cold, P'rapsy. And you know what you have to take when you get sick."
P'rapsy thought of the big white bottle on the bathroom shelf, and stopped teasing. But she didn't forget.
That afternoon Mrs. Perrin went out to make some calls.
"Be a good girl, P'rapsy," she said as she left the house.
You'll take cold," finally ventured the biggest little girlYou'll take cold," finally ventured the biggest little girl
"Yessum," promised P'rapsy. But she must have added "P'raps" inside; for she ran straight to the back yard and called to the two little girls next door.
"Yoo-hoo!" she cried. "Come on over and go wading."
A pool of water had been left in the hollow of the yard by the heavy spring rains. "Dare you!" it seemed to twinkle up at P'rapsy.
"Oo-o-o, I dassent!" cried the biggest little girl, carefully smoothing down her stiff, clean dress.
"Oo-o-o, I dassent!" echoed the littlest little girl.
P'rapsy eyed them scornfully as she took off her shoes and stockings and splashed into the pool.
"'Fraid cats!" she jeered. "'Fraid cats! 'Fraid cats! 'Fraid cats!"
The little girls watched P'rapsy in scared silence.
"You'll take cold," finally ventured the biggest little girl.
"P'raps I will," retorted P'rapsy.
"You're getting wet," said the littlest little girl.
P'rapsy only sniffed. But it wasn't so very much fun, after all. P'rapsy kept hearing, "Be a good girl, P'rapsy." "Yessum."
When she had proved that she, at least, was not a 'fraid cat, P'rapsy splashed out.
"You needn't tell," she cried over her shoulder, as her bare feet twinkled back to the house.
That night Mrs. Perrin heard strange sounds in P'rapsy's room: "Ker-choo! Ker-choo! Ker-choo!" She went to the door. P'rapsy was sitting up in bed.
"I'b dot sick, babba," she explained. "I'b just—ker-choo!"
Mrs. Perrin left the room. When she returned she carried a big white bottle and a spoon.
"Do, do, do!" screamed P'rapsy, as her mother poured out the thick, slippery oil. "I'b dot——"
What she was "dot" was lost in a gurgle and a splutter as the oil slid down her throat.
When she returned she carried a big white bottle and a spoonWhen she returned she carried a big white bottle and a spoon
P'rapsy was not happy. She drew the blankets up around her, and buried her head among the pillows.
"P'rapsy," said her mother when the dose was down, "you've disobeyed me. Are you sorry?"
"P-p-pr—yes!" sobbed P'rapsy under the bedclothes.
WHAT HAPPENED TO WAGGLES
Waggles was Jimmie's chum. He was never cross, and he loved Jimmie. And Jimmie loved Waggles, but sometimes Jimmiewascross. It was when he was cross that he tied the can to Waggles's tail.
Waggles thought it was a new game, but at his first jump the can bounced up and struck him.
This frightened Waggles, and he tried to run away from the horrid, bouncing Thing. But the faster he ran the harder the Thing bounced, and the oftener it struck him. Waggles became wild with fright, and he gasped for breath as he raced along.
Suddenly he heard a voice that he loved: "Waggles! Waggles! Waggles!"
Waggles stopped running, and dropped, exhausted, at the feet of Jimmie's father.
"Poor Waggles!" said Mr. Brown tenderly as he cut the string. "I didn't suppose there was a boy in this town mean enough to do a thing like that."
Waggles thought it was a new gameWaggles thought it was a new game
Waggles licked his hand and looked up at him gratefully. But Waggles was too much of a gentleman to tell on Jimmie, even if he could have spoken.
When Mr. Brown went home Waggles trotted along beside him.
"Jimmie," asked Mr. Brown that evening, "who tied that can to Waggles's tail?"
Jimmie said nothing, but his face grew red.
"Very well," said his father. "A boy who could treat a dog like that, doesn't deserve to have one. I shall give Waggles away."
Jimmie was very unhappy. He cried himself to sleep that night. But next morning who should come bounding in but Waggles! He jumped, and barked, and said "I forgive you" in every doggie way that he knew.
Jimmie hugged Waggles, and looked wistfully at his father.
"Well, Jimmie," said Mr. Brown, "since Waggles has forgiven you, I think I shall have to forgive you, too. Waggles may stay."
TURN OVERTURN OVER