WHITTIER.
When Whittier was a little boy, he lived on a farm.
In the summer he ran about with bare feet. He went swimming and fishing.
His merry whistle could be heard as he hunted for strawberries.
He knew the songs of the birds. He liked to watch them make their nests and feed their young.
When he went into the woods, the squirrels played about him. They let him see where they hid their nuts.
He watched the bee gather honey from the flowers. He knew how it made its house.
Often, at night, he sat on the door-step to eat bread and milk.
Then he could see the clouds and hear the frogs. Sometimes the fireflies flew about looking like little lanterns.
He tells of all those happy times in a poem called “The Barefoot Boy.”
In another poem called “Snow-Bound,” Whittier tells what he did in the winter.
One morning they looked out to find everything covered with snow.
“See the well!” said one of the boys. “It looks like a castle.”
“That pole looks like an old man,” said another.
Just then their father called out, “Boys! Make a path.”
With merry shouts they made a path to the barn. In one place the snow was so deep that they played it was a cave.
The old horse heard them and put his head out of the barn window to see the fun.
The rooster heard them coming and crowed a good morning.
They fed the farm-yard animals and gave them straw for their beds.
In the evening they all gathered around the fireplace.
The dog lay asleep in the warm firelight. The cat opened and closed her yellow eyes as she sat beside him.
The boys roasted apples and ate the nuts which they had gathered.
Then their father told them a story about the Indians. Mother talked of the days when she was a little girl.
When bedtime came, they said good night.
The wind roared around the house. The snow fell through the roof upon their beds. But the children did not know it, for they were soon fast asleep.