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+Project Gutenberg's Here and Now Story Book, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Here and Now Story Book
+       Two- to seven-year-olds
+
+Author: Lucy Sprague Mitchell
+
+Illustrator: Hendrik Willem Van Loon
+
+Release Date: October 28, 2008 [EBook #27075]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Suzanne Shell, Anne Storer and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK
+
+
+
+
+ HERE AND NOW
+ STORY BOOK
+
+ TWO- TO SEVEN-YEAR-OLDS
+
+ Experimental Stories Written for the
+ Children of the City and Country School
+ (formerly the Play School)
+ and the Nursery School of the
+ Bureau of Educational Experiments.
+
+ _by_
+ LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL
+
+ _Illustrated by_
+ Hendrik Willem Van Loon
+
+
+ [Illustration: Logo - CLASSICS TO GROW ON]
+
+
+ _Published by E. P. Dutton & Company, Inc., for_
+ PARENTS' INSTITUTE, Inc.
+ Publishers of Parents' Magazine
+ and Approved Publications for Young People
+ 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York
+
+
+
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1921,
+ BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY, INC.
+
+ COPYRIGHT (RENEWAL) 1948
+ BY LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL
+
+ _All Rights Reserved_
+
+
+ _Printed in the United States of America_
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+                                                                PAGE
+
+ FOREWORD: BY CAROLINE PRATT                                      ix
+ INTRODUCTION                                                      1
+   _Content_: Its educational and psychological basis              4
+   _Form_: Its patterns in words, sentences and stories           46
+
+
+ STORIES:
+
+  _Two-Year-Olds_: Types to be adjusted to individual
+          children. Content, personal activities, told in
+          motor and sense terms. Form reduced to a succession
+          of few simple patterns.
+      MARNI TAKES A RIDE                                          73
+      MARNI GETS DRESSED IN THE MORNING                           81
+
+  _Three-Year-Olds_: Content based on enumeration of
+          familiar sense and motor associations and
+          simple familiar chronological sequences. Some
+          attempt to give opportunity for own contribution
+          or for "motor enjoyment."
+      THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN          89
+      THE MANY HORSE STABLE                                       99
+      MY KITTY                                                   105
+      THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS                                   109
+      THE LITTLE HEN AND THE ROOSTER                             114
+
+  _Jingles_:
+      MY HORSE, OLD DAN                                          115
+      HORSIE GOES JOG-A-JOG                                      118
+      AUTO, AUTO                                                 119
+
+  _Four- and Five-Year-Olds_: Content, simple relationships
+          between familiar moving objects, stressing
+          particularly the idea of use. Emphasis on
+          sound. Attempt to make verse patterns carry
+          the significant points in the narrative.
+    HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME                                        121
+    THE DINNER HORSES                                            131
+    THE GROCERY MAN                                              137
+    THE JOURNEY                                                  141
+    PEDRO'S FEET                                                 147
+    HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED THE KNOWING SONG                      153
+    THE FOG BOAT STORY                                           167
+    HAMMER, SAW, AND PLANE                                       177
+    THE ELEPHANT                                                 185
+    HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE                                         189
+    THE SEA-GULL                                                 192
+    THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP                                    197
+    WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS                                 203
+    THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE                                   211
+    HOW THE SINGING WATER GOT TO THE TUB                         219
+    THE CHILDREN'S NEW DRESSES                                   229
+    OLD DAN GETS THE COAL                                        237
+
+  _Six- and Seven-Year-Olds_: Content, relationships
+          further removed from the personal and immediate
+          and extended to include social significance of
+          simple familiar facts. Longer-span pattern which
+          has become organic with beginning, middle and end.
+    THE SUBWAY CAR                                               241
+    BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS  251
+    BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK                            267
+    SPEED                                                        281
+    FIVE LITTLE BABIES                                           291
+    ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY                                299
+    THE WIND                                                     309
+    THE LEAF STORY                                               315
+    A LOCOMOTIVE                                                 320
+    MOON, MOON                                                   322
+    AUTOMOBILE SONG                                              323
+    SILLY WILL                                                   325
+    EBEN'S COWS                                                  340
+    THE SKY SCRAPER                                              353
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+
+Our school has always assumed that children are interested in and will
+work with or give expression to those things which are familiar to them.
+This is not new: the kindergarten gives domestic life a prominent place
+with little children. But with the kindergarten the present and familiar
+is abandoned in most schools and emphasis is placed upon that which is
+unfamiliar and remote. It is impossible to conceive of children working
+their own way from the familiar to the unknown unless they develop a
+method in understanding the familiar which will apply to the unfamiliar
+as well. This method is the method of art and science--the method of
+experimentation and inquiry. We can almost say that children are born
+with it, so soon do they begin to show signs of applying it. As they
+have been in the past and as they are in the present to a very great
+extent, schools make no attempt to provide for this method; in fact they
+take pains to introduce another. They are disposed to set up a rigid
+program which answers inquiries before they are made and supplies needs
+before they have been felt.
+
+We try to keep the children upon present day and familiar things until
+they show by their attack on materials and especially upon information
+that they are ready to work out into the unknown and unfamiliar. In the
+matter of stories and verse which fit into such a program we have always
+felt an almost total void. Whether other schools feel this would depend
+upon their intentional program. Surely no school would advise giving
+classical literature without the setting which would make the stories
+and verse understandable. It is a question whether the fact of desirable
+literature has not in the past and does not still govern our whole
+school program more than many educators would be willing to admit. What
+seems to be more logical is to set up that which is psychologically
+sound so far as we know it and create if need be a new literature to
+help support the structure.
+
+In the presence of art, schools have always taken a modest attitude. For
+some reason or other they seem to think it out of their province. They
+regard children as potential scientists, professional men and women,
+captains of industry, but scarcely potential artists. To what school of
+design, what academy of music, what school of literary production, do
+our common schools lead? We are not fitting our children to compose, to
+create, but at our best to appreciate and reproduce.
+
+Mrs. Mitchell as story teller in this new sense of writing stories,
+rather than merely telling them, is having an influence in the school
+which has not been altogether unlooked for. The children look upon
+themselves as composers in language and language thus becomes not merely
+a useful medium of expression but also an art medium. They regard their
+own content, gathered by themselves in a perfectly familiar setting as
+fit for use as art material. That is, just as the children draw and show
+power to compose with crayons and paints, they use language to compose
+what they term stories or occasionally, verse. Often these "stories" are
+a mere rehearsal of experiences, but in so far as they are vivid and
+have some sort of fitting ending they pass as a childish art expression
+just as their compositions in drawing do.
+
+So far as content is concerned the school gives the children varied
+opportunities to know and express what they find in their environment.
+Mrs. Mitchell finds this content in the school. It is being used, it is
+even being expressed in language. What she particularly does is to show
+the possibility of using this same content as art in language. She does
+this both by writing stories herself and by helping the children to
+write. The children are not by any means read to, so much as they are
+encouraged to tell their own stories. These are taken down verbatim by
+the teachers of the younger groups. Through skilful handling of several
+of the older groups what the children call "group stories" are produced
+as well as individual ones.
+
+We hope this book will bring to parents and teachers what it has to us,
+a new method of approach to literature for little children, and to
+children the joy our children have in the stories themselves.
+
+                                                     CAROLINE PRATT
+
+ The City and Country School
+ July, 1921
+
+
+
+
+HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK
+
+
+
+
+HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+These stories are experiments,--experiments both in content and in
+form. They were written because of a deep dissatisfaction felt by a
+group of people working experimentally in a laboratory school, with
+the available literature for children. I am publishing them not
+because I feel they have come through to any particularly noteworthy
+achievement, but because they indicate a method of work which I
+believe to be sound where children are concerned. They must always
+be regarded as experiments, but experiments which have been strictly
+limited to lines suggested to me by the children themselves. Both the
+stuff of the stories and the mould in which they are cast are based on
+suggestions gained directly from children. I have tried to put aside
+my notions of what was "childlike." I have tried to ignore what I,
+as an adult, like. I have tried to study children's interests not
+historically but through their present observations and inquiries, and
+their sense of form through their spontaneous expressions in language,
+and to model my own work strictly on these findings. I have forced
+myself throughout to be deliberate, conscious, for fear I should slip
+back to adult habits of thought and expression. I can give here only
+samples of the many stories and questions I have gathered from the
+children which form the basis of my own stories. Suffice it that my
+own stories attempt to follow honestly the leads which here and now
+the children themselves indicate in content and in form, no matter how
+difficult or strange the going for adult feet.
+
+First, as to the stuff of which the story is made,--the content. I have
+assumed that anything to which a child gives his spontaneous attention,
+anything which he questions as he moves around the world, holds
+appropriate material about which to talk to him either in speech or in
+writing. I have assumed that the answers to these his spontaneous
+inquiries should be given always in terms of a relationship which is
+natural and intelligible at his age and which will help him to order the
+familiar facts of his own experiences. Thus the answers will themselves
+lead him on to new inquiries. For they will give him not so much new
+facts as a new method of attack. I have further assumed that any of this
+material which by taking on a pattern form can thereby enhance or deepen
+its intrinsic quality is susceptible of becoming literature. Material
+which does not lend itself to some sort of intentional design or form,
+may be good for informational purposes but not for stories as such.
+
+The task, then, is to examine first the things which get the
+spontaneous attention of a two-year-old, a three-year-old and so up to a
+seven-year-old; and then to determine what relationships are natural and
+intelligible at these ages. Obviously to determine the mere subject of
+attention is not enough. Children of all ages attend to engines. But the
+two-year-old attends to certain things and the seven-year-old to quite
+different ones. The relationships through which the two-year-old
+interprets his observations may make of the engine a gigantic extension
+of his own energy and movement; whereas the relationships through which
+the seven-year-old interprets his observations may make of the engine a
+scientific example of the expansion of steam or of the desire of men to
+get rapidly from one place to another. What relationship he is relying
+on we can get only by watching the child's own activities. The second
+part of the task is to discover what _is_ pattern to the untrained but
+unspoiled ears, eyes, muscles and minds of the little folk who are
+to consume the stories. Each part of the task has its peculiar
+difficulties. But fortunately in each, children do point the way if
+we have the courage to forget our own adult way and follow theirs.
+
+
+CONTENT
+
+In looking for content for these stories I followed the general lines of
+the school for which they were written. The school gives the children
+the opportunity to explore first their own environment and gradually
+widens this environment for them along lines of their own inquiries.
+Consequently I did not seek for material outside the ordinary
+surroundings of the children. On the contrary, I assumed that in stories
+as in other educational procedure, the place to begin is the point at
+which the child has arrived,--to begin and lead out from. With small
+children this point is still within the "here" and the "now," and so
+stories must begin with the familiar and the immediate. But also stories
+must lead children out from the familiar and immediate, for that is the
+method both of education and of art. Here and now stories mean to me
+stories which include the children's first-hand experiences as a
+starting point, not stories which are literally limited to these
+experiences. Therefore to get my basis for the stories I went to the
+environment in which a child of each age naturally finds himself and
+there I watched him. I tried to see what in his home, in his school, in
+the streets, he seized upon and how he made this his own. I tried to
+determine what were the relationships he used to order his experiences.
+Fortunately for the purposes of writing stories I did not have to get
+behind the baffling eyes and the inscrutable sounds of a small baby. Yet
+I learned much for understanding the twos by watching even through the
+first months. What "the great, big, blooming, buzzing confusion" (as
+James describes it) means to an infant, I fancy we grown-ups will really
+never know. But I suppose we may be sure that existence is to him
+largely a stream of sense impressions. Also I suppose we are reasonably
+safe in saying that whatever the impression that reaches him he tends to
+translate it into action. At what age a child accomplishes what can be
+called a "thought" or what these first thoughts are, is surely beyond
+our present powers to describe. But that his early thoughts have a
+discernible muscular expression, I fancy we may say. It may well be
+that thought is merely associative memory as Loeb maintains. It may well
+be that behaviorists are right and that thought is just "the rhythmic
+mimetic rehearsal of the first hand experience in motor terms." If the
+act of thinking is itself motor, its expression is somewhat attenuated
+in adults. Be that as it may, a small child's expressions are still in
+unmistakable motor terms. It is obviously through the large muscles that
+a baby makes his responses. And even a three-year-old can scarcely think
+"engine" without showing the pull of his muscles and the puff-puffing of
+exertion. Nor can he observe an object without making some movement
+towards it. He takes in through his senses; and he interprets through
+his muscles.
+
+For our present purposes this characteristic has an important bearing.
+The world pictured for the child must be a world of sounds and smells
+and tastes and sights and feeling and contacts. Above all his early
+stories must be of activities and they must be told in motor terms.
+Often we are tempted to give him reasons in response to his incessant
+"why?" but when he asks "why?" he really is not searching for reasons
+at all. A large part of the time he is not even asking a question. He
+merely enjoys this reciperative form of speech and is indignant if
+your answer is not what he expects. One of my children enjoyed this
+antiphonal method of following his own thoughts to such an extent that
+for a time he told his stories in the form of questions telling me each
+time what to answer! His questions had a social but no scientific
+bearing. And even when a three-year-old asks a real question he wants to
+be answered in terms of action or of sense impressions and not in terms
+of reasons why. How could it be otherwise since he still thinks with his
+senses and his muscles and not with that generalizing mechanism which
+conceives of cause and effect? The next time a three-year-old asks you
+"why you put on shoes?" see if he likes to be told "Mother wears shoes
+when she goes out because it is cold and the sidewalks are hard," or if
+he prefers, "Mother's going to go outdoors and take a big bus to go and
+buy something:" or "You listen and in a minute you'll hear mother's
+shoes going pat, pat, pat downstairs and then you'll hear the front door
+close bang! and mother won't be here any more!" "Why?" really means,
+"please talk to me!" and naturally he likes to be talked to in terms he
+can understand which are essentially sensory and motor.
+
+Now what activities are appropriate for the first stories? I think the
+answer is clear. His, the child's, own! The first activities which a
+child knows are of course those of his own body movements whether
+spontaneous or imposed upon him by another. Everything is in terms of
+himself. Again I think none of us would like to hazard a guess as to
+when the child comes through to a sharp distinction between himself
+and other things or other persons. But we are sure, I think, that this
+distinction is a matter of growth which extends over many years and that
+at two, three, and even four, it is imperfectly apprehended. We all know
+how long a child is in acquiring a correct use of the pronouns "me" and
+"you." And we know that long after he has this language distinction, he
+still calls everything he likes "mine." "This is my cow, this is my
+tree!" The only way to persuade him that it is _not_ his is to call it
+some one else's. Possessed it must be. He knows the world only in
+personal terms. That is, his early sense of relationship is that of
+himself to his concrete environment. This later evolves into a sense
+of relationship between other people and their concrete environment.
+
+At first, then, a child can not transcend himself or his experiences.
+Nor should he be asked to. A two-year-old's stories must be completely
+his stories with his own familiar little person moving in his own
+familiar background. They should vivify and deepen the sense of the
+one relationship he does feel keenly,--that of himself to something
+well-known. Now a two-year-old's range of experiences is not large. At
+least the experiences in which he takes a real part are not many. So his
+stories must be of his daily routine,--his eating, his dressing, his
+activities with his toys and his home. These are the things to which he
+attends: they make up his world. And they must be his very own eating
+and dressing and home, and not eating and dressing and homes in general.
+Stories which are not intimately his own, I believe either pass by or
+strain a two-year-old; and I doubt whether many three-year-olds can
+participate with pleasure and without strain in any experience which has
+not been lived through in person. He may of course get pleasure from the
+sound of the story apart from its meaning much earlier. Just now we are
+thinking solely of the content. I well remember the struggles of my
+three-year-old boy to get outside himself and view a baby chicken's
+career objectively. He checked up each step in my story by this
+orienting remark, "That the baby chicken in the shell, not me! The baby
+chicken go scritch-scratch, not me!" Was not this an evident effort to
+comprehend an extra-personal relationship?
+
+Again just as at first a small child can not get outside himself, so he
+can not get outside the immediate. At first he can not by himself recall
+even a simple chronological sequence. He is still in the narrowest, most
+limiting sense, too entangled in the "here" and the "now." The plot
+sense emerges slowly. Indeed there is slight plot value in most
+children's stories up to eight years. Plot is present in embryonic form
+in the omnipresent personal drama: "Where's baby? Peek-a-boo! There she
+is!" It can be faintly detected in the pleasure a child has in an actual
+walk. But the pleasure he derives from the sense of completeness, the
+sense that a walk or a story has a beginning and a middle and an end,
+the real plot pleasure, is negligible compared with the pleasure he gets
+in the action itself. Small children's experiences are and should be
+pretty much continuous flows of more or less equally important episodes.
+Their stories should follow their experiences. They should have no
+climaxes, no sense of completion. The episodes should be put together
+more like a string of beads than like an organic whole. Almost any
+section of a child's experience related in simple chronological
+sequence makes a satisfactory story.
+
+This can be pressed even further. There is another kind of relationship
+by which little children interpret their environment. It is the early
+manifestation of the associational process which in our adult life so
+largely crowds out the sensory and motor appreciation of the world. It
+runs way back to the baby's pleasure in recognizing things, certainly
+long before the period of articulate questions. We all retain vestiges
+of this childlike pleasure in our joyful greeting of a foreign word that
+is understood or in any new application of an old thought or design. As
+a child acquires a few words he adds the pleasure of naming,--an
+extension of the pleasure of recognition. This again develops into the
+joy of enumerating objects which are grouped together in some close
+association, usually physical juxtaposition. For instance a two-or
+three-year-old likes to have every article he ate for breakfast
+rehearsed or to have every member of the family named at each episode
+in a story which concerns the group! Earlier he likes to have his five
+little toes checked off as pigs or merely numbered. This is closely tied
+up with the child's pattern sense which we shall discuss at length under
+"Form." Now the pleasure of enumeration, like that of a refrain, is in
+part at least a pleasure in muscle pattern. My two-year-old daughter
+composed a song which well illustrates the fascination of enumeration.
+The refrain "Tick-tock" was borrowed from a song which had been sung to
+her.
+
+    "Tick-tock
+       Marni's nose,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's eyes,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's mouth,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's teeth,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's chin,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's romper,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's stockings,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's shoes," etc., etc.
+
+This she sang day after day, enumerating such groups as her clothes, the
+objects on the mantel and her toys. Walt Whitman has given us glorified
+enumerations of the most astounding vitality. If some one would only
+pile up equally vigorous ones for children! But it is not easy for an
+adult to gather mere sense or motor associations without a plot thread
+to string them on. The children's response to the two I have attempted
+in this collection, "Old Dan" and "My Kitty," make me eager to see it
+tried more commonly.
+
+All this means that the small child's attention and energy are absorbed
+in developing a technique of observation and control of his immediate
+surroundings. The functioning of his senses and his muscles engrosses
+him. Ideally his stories should happen currently along with the
+experience they relate or the object they reproduce, merely deepening
+the experience by giving it some pleasurable expression. At first the
+stories will have to be of this running and partly spontaneous type.
+But soon a child will like to have the story to recall an experience
+recently enjoyed. The living over of a walk, a ride, the sight of a
+horse or a cow, will give him a renewed sense of participation in
+a pleasurable activity. This is his first venture in vicarious
+experiences. And he must be helped to it through strong sense and
+muscular recalls. I have felt that these fairly literal recalls of
+every day details _did_ deepen his sense of relationships since by
+himself he cannot recapture these familiar details even in a simple
+chronological sequence.
+
+But if stories for a two or a three-year-old need to be of himself
+they must be written especially for him. Those written for another
+two-year-old may not fit. Consequently the first three stories in this
+collection are given as types rather than as independent narratives.
+"Marni Takes a Ride" is so elementary in its substance and its form as
+to be hardly recognizable as a "story" at all. And yet the appeal is the
+same as in the more developed narratives. It falls between the embryonic
+story stage of "Peek-a-boo!" and Marni's second story. It was first told
+during the actual ride. Repeated later it seemed to give the child a
+sense of adventure,--an inclusion of and still an extension of herself
+beyond the "here" and "now" which is the essence of a story. Both of
+Marni's stories are given as types for a mother to write for her
+two-year-old; the "Room with the Window in It" (written for the Play
+School group) is given as a type for a teacher to write for her
+three-year-old group.
+
+I cannot leave the subject of the "familiar" for children without
+looking forward a few years. This process of investigating and trying
+to control his immediate surroundings, this appreciation of the world
+through his senses and his muscles, does not end when the child has
+gained some sense of his own self as distinguished from the world,--of
+the "me" and the "not me,"--or achieved some ability to expand
+temporarily the "here" and the "now" into the "there" and the "then."
+The process is a precious one and should not be interrupted and confused
+by the interjection of remote or impersonal material. He still thinks
+and feels primarily through his own immediate experiences. If this
+is interfered with he is left without his natural material for
+experimentation for he cannot yet experiment easily in the world of the
+intangible. Moreover to the child the familiar _is_ the interesting. And
+it remains so I believe through that transition period,--somewhere about
+seven years,--when the child becomes poignantly aware of the world
+outside his own immediate experience,--of an order, physical or social,
+which he does not determine, and so gradually develops a sense of
+standards of what is to be expected in the world of nature or of his
+fellows along with a sense of workmanship. It is only the blind eye of
+the adult that finds the familiar uninteresting. The attempt to amuse
+children by presenting them with the strange, the bizarre, the unreal,
+is the unhappy result of this adult blindness. Children do not find the
+unusual piquant until they are firmly acquainted with the usual; they do
+not find the preposterous humorous until they have intimate knowledge of
+ordinary behavior; they do not get the point of alien environments until
+they are securely oriented in their own. Too often we mistake excitement
+for genuine interest and give the children stimulus instead of food. The
+fairy story, the circus, novelty hunting, delight the sophisticated
+adult; they excite and confuse the child. Red Riding-Hood and circus
+Indians excite the little child; Cinderella confuses him. Not one
+clarifies any relationship which will further his efforts to order
+the world. Nonsense when recognized and enjoyed as such is more than
+legitimate; it is a part of every one's heritage. But nonsense which is
+confused with reality is vicious,--the more so because its insinuations
+are subtle. So far as their content is concerned, it is chiefly as
+a protest against this confusing presentation of unreality, this
+substitution of excitement for legitimate interest, that these stories
+have been written. It is not that a child outgrows the familiar. It is
+rather that as he matures, he sees new relationships in the old. If our
+stories would follow his lead, they should not seek for unfamiliar and
+strange stuff in intrigue him; they should seek to deepen and enrich
+the relationships by which he is dimly groping to comprehend and to
+order his familiar world.
+
+But to return to the younger children. Children of four are not
+nearly so completely ego-centric as those of three. There has seemed
+to me to be a distinct transition at this age to a more objective way of
+thinking. A four-year-old does not to the same extent have to be a part
+of every situation he conceives of. Ordinarily, too, he moves out from
+his own narrowly personal environment into a slightly wider range of
+experiences. Now, what in this wider environment gets his spontaneous
+attention? What does he take from the street life, for instance, to make
+his own? Surely it is moving things. He is still primarily motor in his
+interest and expression and remains so certainly up to six years.
+Engines, boats, wagons with horses, all animals, his own moving
+self,--these are the things he notices and these are the things he
+interprets in his play activities. Transportation and animals and
+himself. Do not these pretty well cover the field of his interests? If
+conceived of as motor and personal do they not hold all the material a
+four-or five-year-old needs for stories? If we bring in inanimate
+unmoving things, we must do with them what he does. We must endow them
+with life and motion. We need not be afraid of personification. This is
+the age when anthropomorphism flourishes. The five-year-old is still
+motor; his conception of cause is still personal. He thinks through his
+muscles; he personifies in his thought and his play.
+
+Nevertheless there is very real danger in anthropomorphism,--in thus
+leaving the world of reality. There is danger of confusing the child. We
+must be sure our personifications are built on relationships which our
+child can understand and which have an objective validity. We must be
+sure that a wolf remains a wolf and an engine an engine, though endowed
+with human speech.
+
+Now, what are the typical relationships which a four-or five-year-old
+uses to bind together his world into intelligible experiences? We have
+already noted the personal relationship which persists in modified form.
+But does not the grouping of things because of physical juxtaposition
+now give way to a conception of "Use"? Does he not think of the world
+largely in terms of active functioning? Has not the typical question of
+this age become "What's it for?" Even his early definitions are in terms
+of use which has a strong motor implication. "A table is to eat off"; "a
+spoon is to eat in"; "a river means where you get drinks out of water,
+and catch fish, and throw stones." (Waddle: Introduction to Child
+Psychology, p. 170.) It was only consistent with his general conception
+of relationships in the world to have a little boy of my acquaintance
+examine a very small man sitting beside him in the subway and then turn
+to his father with the question, "What is that little man for?"
+
+Stories which are offered to small children must be assessed from this
+two-fold point of view. What relationships are they based on? And in
+what terms are they told? Fairy stories should not be exempted. We are
+inclined to accept them uncritically, feeling that they do not cramp a
+child as does reality. We cling to the idea that children need a fairy
+world to "cultivate their imaginations." In the folk tales we are
+intrigued by the past,--by the sense that these embodiments of human
+experience, having survived the ages, should be exempt from modern
+analysis. If, however, we do commit the sacrilege of looking at them
+alongside of our educational principles, I think we find a few precious
+ones that stand the test. For children under six, however, even these
+precious few contribute little in content, but much through their
+matchless form. On the other hand, we find that many of the human
+experiences which these old tales embody are quite unsuitable for
+four-and five-year-olds. Cruelty, trickery, economic inequality,--these
+are experiences which have shaped and shaken adults and alas! still
+continue to do so. But do we wish to build them into a four-year-old's
+thinking? Some of these experiences run counter to the trends of
+thinking we are trying to establish in other ways; some merely confuse
+them. We seem to identify imagination with gullibility or vague
+thinking. But surely true imagination is not based on confusion.
+Imagination is the basis of art. But confused art is a contradiction
+of terms.
+
+Now, the ordinary fairy tale which is the chief story diet of the
+four-and five-year-olds, I believe does confuse them; not because it
+does not stick to reality (for neither do the children) but because it
+does not deal with the things with which they have had first-hand
+experience and does not attempt to present or interpret the world
+according to the relationships which the child himself employs. Rather
+it gives the child material which he is incapable of handling. Much in
+these tales is symbolic and means to the adult something quite different
+from what it bears on its face. And much, I believe, is confused even
+to the grown-up. Now a confused adult does not make a child! Nor does
+it ever help a child to give him confusion. When my four-year-old
+personified a horse for one whole summer, he lived the actual life of a
+horse as far as he knew it. His bed was always "a stall," his food was
+always "hay," he always brushed his "mane" and "put on his harness" for
+breakfast. It was only when real horse information gave out that he
+supplied experiences from his own life. He was not limited by reality.
+He was exercising his imagination. This is quite different from the
+adult mixtures of the animal, the social, and the moral worlds. Does not
+Cinderella interject a social and economic situation which is both
+confusing and vicious? Does not Red Riding-Hood in its real ending
+plunge the child into an inappropriate relationship of death and
+brutality or in its "happy ending" violate all the laws that can be
+violated in regard to animal life? Does not "Jack and the Beanstalk"
+delay a child's rationalizing of the world and leave him longer than is
+desirable without the beginnings of scientific standards? The growth of
+the sense of reality is a growth of the sense of relations. From the
+time when the child begins to relate isolated experiences, when he
+groups together associations, when he begins to note the sequence,
+the order of things, from this time he is beginning to think
+scientifically. It is preëminently the function of education to further
+the growth of the sense of reality, to give the child the sense of
+relationship between facts, material or social: that is, to further
+scientific conceptions. Stories, if they are to be a part of an
+educational process, must also further the growth of the sense of
+reality, must help the child to interpret the relationships in the world
+around him and help him to develop a scientific process of thinking. It
+is not important that he know this or that particular fact; it _is_
+important that he be able to fit any particular fact into a rational
+scheme of thought. Accordingly, the relationships which a story
+clarifies are of much greater import than the facts it gives. All this,
+of course, concerns the content of stories--the intentional material it
+presents to the child and has nothing to do with the pleasure of the
+presentation,--the relish which comes from the form of the story. I
+do not wish this to be interpreted to mean that I think all fairy
+stories forever harmful. From the beginning innocuous tales like the
+"Gingerbread Man" should be given for the pattern as should the "Old
+Woman and Her Pig." Moreover, after a child is somewhat oriented in the
+physical and social world, say at six or seven,--I think he can stand a
+good deal of straight fairy lore. It will sweep him with it. He will
+relish the flight the more for having had his feet on the ground. But
+for brutal tales like Red Riding-Hood or for sentimental ones like
+Cinderella I find no place in any child's world. Obviously, fairy
+stories cannot be lumped and rejected en masse. I am merely pleading not
+to have them accepted en masse on the ground that they "have survived
+the ages" and "cultivate the imagination." For a child's imagination,
+since it is his native endowment, will surely flourish if he is given
+freedom for expression, without calling upon the stimulus of adult
+fancies. It is only the jaded adult mind, afraid to trust to the
+children's own fresh springs of imagination, that feels for children
+the need of the stimulus of magic.
+
+The whole question of myths and sagas together with the function of
+personification must be taken up with the older children. For the
+present we are still concerned with four-and five-year-olds. Two sets
+of stories told by four-and five-year-old children in the school seem
+to me to show what emphasizing unrealities may do at this age. The
+first child in each set is thinking disjunctively; the second has his
+facts organized into definite relationships. Can one think that the
+second child enjoyed his ordered world less than the first enjoyed
+his confusion?
+
+
+TWO STORIES BY FOUR-YEAR-OLDS
+
+Once there was a table and he was taking a walk and he fell into a pond
+of water and an alligator bit him and then he came up out of the pond of
+water and he stepped into a trap that some hunters had set for him, and
+turned a somersault on his nose.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+There was a new engine and it didn't have any headlight--its light
+wasn't open in its headlight so its engineer went and put some fire in
+the wires and made a light. And then it saw a lot of other engines on
+the track in front of it. So when it wanted to puff smoke and go fast it
+told its engineer and he put some coal in the coal car. And then the
+other engines told their engineers to put coal in their coal cars and
+then they all could go.
+
+(The child then played a song by a "'lectric" engine on the piano and
+tried to write the notes.)
+
+
+TWO STORIES BY FIVE-YEAR-OLDS
+
+     Once upon a time there was a clown and the clown jumped on the bed
+     and the bed jumped on the cup. Then the clown took a pencil and
+     drawed on his face. And the clown said, "Oh, I guess I'll sit in a
+     rocking chair." So the rocking chair said, "Ha! ha!" and it tumbled
+     away. Then a little pig came along and he said, "Could you throw me
+     up and throw an apple down?" So the clown threw him so far that he
+     was dead. He was on the track.
+
+                    *       *       *
+
+     There was a big factory where all the men made engines. And one man
+     made a smoke stack. And one man made a tender. And one man made a
+     cab. And one man made a bell. And one man made a wheel. And then
+     another man came and put them all together and made a great big
+     engine. And this man said, "We haven't any tracks!" And then a man
+     came and made the tracks. And then another man said, "We haven't
+     any station!" So many men came and built a big station. And they
+     said, "Let's have the station in Washington Square." So they pulled
+     down the Arch and they pulled up all the sidewalks. And they built
+     a big station. And they left all the houses; for where would we
+     live else?
+
+     (In a sequel he says: So they knocked down the Arch and chopped up
+     all the pieces. And they chopped all around the trees but they
+     didn't chop them down because they looked so pretty with our
+     station!)
+
+I am far from meaning that five-year-olds should be confined to their
+literal experiences. They have made considerable progress in separating
+themselves from their environment though at times they seem still to
+think of the things around them more or less as extensions of
+themselves. Their inquiries still emanate from their own personal
+experiences; but they do not end there. A child of this age has a
+genuine curiosity about where things come from and where they go to.
+"What's it for?" indeed, implies a dim conception beyond the "here" and
+the "now," a conception which his stories should help him to clarify. If
+we try to escape the pitfall of "fairy stories,"--abandoning a child in
+unrealities,--we must not fall into the opposite pitfall and continue
+the easy habit of merely recounting a series of events, neither
+significant in themselves nor, as in the earlier years, significant
+because they are personal experiences. "Arabella and Araminta" and their
+like give a five-year-old no real food. They are saved, if saved they
+are, not by their content, but by a daring and skilful use of repetition
+and of sound quality. No, our stories must add something to the
+children's knowledge and must take them beyond the "here" and the
+"now." But this "something," as I have already said, is not so much new
+information as it is a new relationship among already familiar facts.
+
+In each of the stories for four-and five-year-olds I have attempted to
+clarify known facts by showing them in a relationship a little beyond
+the children's own experience. All the stories came from definite
+inquiries raised by some child. They attempt to answer these inquiries
+and to raise others. "How the Engine Learned the Knowing Song," "The Fog
+Boat Story," "Hammer and Saw and Plane," "How the Singing Water Gets to
+the Tub," "Things That Loved the Lake," "The Children's New Dresses,"
+"How Animals Move,"--all are based on definite relationships, largely
+physical, between simple physical facts.
+
+Interest in these relationships,--inquiries which hold the germ of
+physical science, continue and increase with each year. In addition, a
+little later, children seem to begin questioning things social and to be
+ready for the simpler social relationships which underlie and determine
+the physical world of their acquaintance. "What's it for?" still
+dominates, but a six-year-old is on the way to becoming a conscious
+member of society. He now likes his answers to be in human terms. He
+takes readily to such conceptions as congestion as the cause for subways
+and elevated trains; the desire for speed as the cause of change in
+transportation; the dependence of man on other living things,--all of
+which I have made the bases of stories. To the children the material in
+"The Subway Car," "Speed," "Silly Will," is familiar; the relationships
+in which it appears are new.
+
+Somewhere about seven years, there seems to be another transition
+period. Psychologists, whether in or out of schools, generally agree in
+this. Children of this age are acquiring a sense of social values,--a
+consciousness of _others_ as sharply distinguished from themselves.
+They are also acquiring a sense of workmanship, of technique,--of
+_things_ as sharply distinguished from themselves. They seek information
+in and for itself,--not merely in its immediate application to
+themselves. Their inquiries take on the character of "how?" This means,
+does it not, that the children have oriented themselves in their narrow
+personal world and that they are reaching out for experience in larger
+fields? It means that the "not-me" which was so shadowy in the earlier
+years has gained in social and in physical significance. And this again
+means that opportunity for exploration in ever-widening circles should
+be given. Stories should follow this general trend and open up the
+relationships in larger and larger environments until at last a child is
+capable of seeing relationships for himself and of regarding the whole
+world in its infinite physical and social complexity, as his own
+environment.
+
+Probably the first extra-personal excursions should be into alien
+scenes or experiences which lead back or contribute directly to their
+old familiar world. Stories of unknown raw material which turn into
+well-known products are of this type,--cattle raising in Texas, dairy
+farms in New England, lumbering in Minnesota, sheep raising in
+California. It is a happy coincidence that raw materials are often
+produced under semi-primitive conditions, so that a vicarious
+participation in their production gives to children something of that
+thrilling contact with the elemental that does the life of primitive
+men, and this without sending them into the remote and, for modern
+children, "unnatural" world of unmodified nature. The danger here is
+that the story will be sacrificed to the information. Indeed it can
+hardly be otherwise, if the aim is to give an adequate picture of some
+process of production. This, of course, is a legitimate aim,--but for
+the encyclopedia, not for the story. What I have in mind is a dramatic
+situation which has this process as a background, so that the child
+becomes interested in the process because of the part it plays in the
+drama just as he would if the process were a background in his own life.
+I am thinking of the opportunities which these comparatively primitive
+situations give for adventure rather than for the detailed elucidation
+of a process of production.
+
+It is the peculiar function of a story to raise inquiries, not to give
+instruction. A story must stimulate not merely inform. This is the
+trouble with our "informational literature" for children, of which
+very little is worthy of the name. Indeed, I am not sure it is not a
+contradiction of terms. It is frankly didactic. It aims to make clear
+certain facts, not to stimulate thought. It assumes that if a child
+swallows a fact it must nourish him. To give the child material with
+which to experiment,--this lies outside its present range. Reaction from
+the unloveliness of this didactic writing has produced a distressing
+result. The misunderstood and misapplied educational principle that
+children's work should interest them has developed a new species of
+story,--a sort of pseudo-literary thing in which the medicinal facts
+are concealed by various sugar-coating devices. Children will take this
+sort of story,--what will their eager little minds not take? And like
+encyclopedias and other books of reference this type has its place in a
+child's world. But it should never be confused with literature.
+
+Literature must give a sense of adventure. This sense of adventure, of
+excursion into the unknown, must be furnished to children of every age.
+As I have said before, I think "Peek-a-boo, there's the baby!" is the
+elementary expression of this love of adventure. The baby disappears
+into the unknown vastness behind the handkerchief and to her, her
+reappearance is a thrilling experience. Children's stories,--as indeed
+all stories,--have been largely founded on this. The "Prudy" and "Dotty
+Dimple" books though keyed so low in the scale seem adventurous because
+of the meagre background of their young readers. But children of the
+age we are considering,--who have left the narrowly personal and
+predominantly play period demand something higher in the scale of
+adventure. To them are offered the great variety of tales of adventure
+and danger of which the boy scout is the latest example. Every child in
+reading these becomes a hero. And every child (and grown-up) enjoys
+being a hero. Higher still comes "Kidnapped" and so up to Stanley Weyman
+and "The Three Musketeers" which differ in their art, not in their
+appeal.
+
+Now is it not possible to give children these adventurous excursions
+which they crave and should have, without so much killing of animals or
+men, and so many blood-thirsty excitements, and so much fake heroism?
+What relationships do such tales interpret? What truths do they give a
+child upon which to base his thinking? The relation of life to life is a
+delicate and difficult thing to interpret. But surely we can do better
+at an interpretation than tales of hunting, of impossible heroisms, and
+of war. Or at least, we can protest against having these almost the sole
+interpretations of adventure which are offered to children. The world
+of industry holds possibilities for adventure as thrilling as the world
+of high-colored romance. We must look with fresh eyes to see it. When
+once we see it, we shall be able to give the children a new type of the
+"story of adventure." Of all the experiments which the stories in this
+collection represent, this attempt to find and picture the romance and
+adventure in our world here and now, I consider the most important and
+difficult. In such stories as "Boris" and "Eben's Cows" and "The Sky
+Scraper," I have made experimental attempts to give children a sense of
+adventure by presenting social relations in this new way.
+
+The cultured world has yet another answer to the question, "How shall
+we give our children adventure?" It points to the wealth of classical
+myths, of Iliads, sagas, of fairy-stories which are practically
+folk-lore, semi-magic, semi-allegorical, semi-moral tales which express
+the ideals and experiences of a different and younger world than ours of
+today. And it replies, "Give them these." It feels in the sternness of
+saga stuff and in the humanity of folk-lore, a validity and a dignity
+and a simplicity which seem to make them suitable for children. These
+tales tell of beliefs of folk less experienced than we: we have outgrown
+them. They must be suited to the less experienced: give them to
+children. Thus runs the common argument. And so we find Hawthorne's
+"Tanglewood Tales," Æsop's "Fables," various Indian myths and Celtic
+legends, and even the "Niebelungen Lied" often given to quite young
+children. But do we find this reasoning valid when we examine these
+tales free from the glamour which adult sophistication casts around
+them? Remember we are thinking now of children in that delicate seven-to
+eight-year-old transition period. I have already told how I believe
+these children are but just beginning to have conceptions of
+laws,--social and physical. They are groping their way, regimenting
+their experiences, seeing dim generalizations and abstractions. But they
+are not firmly oriented. They are beginners in the world of physical or
+social science and can be easily side-tracked or confused. A child of
+twelve or even ten is quite a different creature, often with clear if
+not articulate conceptions of the make-up of the physical and human
+world. He has something to measure against, some standards to cling to.
+But we are talking about children still in the early plastic stages of
+standards who will take the relationships we offer them through stories
+and build them into the very fabric of their thinking.
+
+Now, how much of the classical literature follows the lead of the
+children's own inquiries? How much of it stimulates fruitful inquiries?
+What are the relationships which sagas, myths and folk-lore interpret?
+And what are the interpretations? This is a vast question and can be
+answered only briefly with the full consciousness that there is much
+lumping of dissimilar material with resulting injustices and
+superficiality. Also there is no attempt to use the words "myth," "saga"
+and "folk-lore" in technical senses.[A] I have merely taken the dominant
+characteristic of any piece of literature as determining its class.
+
+ [A] For a clear exposition of this field of literature for children
+     see "Literature in the Elementary School," by Porter Lander
+     MacClintock, University of Chicago Press, 1907.
+
+Myths, properly, are slow-wrought beliefs which embody a people's effort
+to understand their relations to the great unknown. They are essentially
+religious, symbolic, mystic, subtle, full of fears and propitiations,
+involved, often based on the forgotten,--altogether unlike in their
+approach to the ingenuous and confident child. They are full of the
+struggle of life. Hardly before the involved introspections and theories
+of adolescence can we expect the real beauty and poignancy of a genuine
+myth to be even dimly understood. And why offer the shell without the
+spirit? It is likely to remain a shell forever if we do. And indeed,
+such an empty thing to most of us is the great myth of Prometheus or of
+the Garden of Eden.
+
+But sagas! Are they not of exactly the heroic stuff for little children?
+In essence the relationships with which they deal are human,--social.
+The story of Siegfried, of Achilles, of Abraham,--these are great sagas.
+Each is a tremendous picture of a human experience, the first two
+under heroic, enlarged conditions, the last under a human culture
+picturesquely different from our own. But even as straight tales of
+adventure they do not carry for little children. The environment is too
+remote, the world to be conquered too unknown to carry a convincing
+sense of heroism to small children. The same is true of the heroic tales
+of romance,--of Arthur and all the legends which cluster around his
+name. Magic, the children will get from these tales but little else. But
+if the tales should succeed in taking a child with them in their strange
+exploits into a strange land, they would surely fail to take him into
+the turgid human drama they picture. And as surely we should wish them
+to fail. The sagas, like most genuine folk-lore deal with the great
+elemental human facts, life and death, love, sexual passion and its
+consequences, marriage, motherhood, fatherhood. We grasp at them for
+our children, I believe, just _because_ they deal with these fundamental
+things,--the very things we are afraid of unless they come to us
+concealed in strange clothing. But what kind of a foundation for
+interpreting these great elemental facts will the stories of Achilles
+and Briseus, of Jason and Medea, Pluto and Proserpina, of Guinevere and
+Launcelot make? What do we expect a child to get from these pictures of
+sexual passion on the part of the man,--even though a god,--and of
+social dependence of woman? Do Greek draperies make prostitution
+suitable for children? Does the glamour of chivalry explain illicit
+love? Most parents and schools who unhesitatingly hand over these social
+pictures to their children have never tried,--and neither care nor dare
+to try,--to face these elemental facts with their children. Can we
+really wish to avoid a frank statement of the _positive_ in sex
+relations, of the facts of parenthood, of the institution of marriage,
+of the mutual companionship between man and woman, and give the
+_negative_, the unfulfilled, the distorted? This is preposterous and no
+one would uphold it. It must be the beauty of the tale, and not the
+significance we are after. But _are_ these tales beautiful except as we
+endow them with the subtleties of a classical civilization, as we read
+into them piquant contrasts of a sensitive, expressive race still
+primitive in its social thinking and social habits,--that elusive
+thing which we mean by "Greek"? And can children get this without its
+background, particularly as they have yet no social background in their
+own world to hold it up against? And can children do any better with the
+perplexing ideals of the chivalrous knight swept by a human passion?
+
+And in the same way can a child really get the beauty of Siegfried? What
+can he make out of the incestuous love of Siegmund and Sieglinda? And of
+Siegfried's naïve passion on his first glimpse of a woman? What do we
+want him to make of it? Is that the way we wish to introduce him to sex?
+And as for the rest, the allegory of the ring itself, the sword, the
+dragon's blood, what do little children get from this except the
+excitement of magic? What _we_ get because of what we have to put into
+it, is a different matter and should never be confused with the straight
+question of what children get. Outgrown adult thinking in social matters
+is no more suitable to children than outgrown thinking on physical
+facts. We do not teach that the world is flat because grown-ups once
+believed it was. We are not afraid of a round earth so we tell the
+truth about it. But we come near to teaching "spontaneous generation"
+with our endless evasions. We are afraid of a reproducing world, and so
+we fall back on curious mixtures of sex fables,--on storks and fairy
+godmothers and leave the mysteries of sex to be interpreted by Achilles
+and Siegfried and Guinevere! To emasculate these tales is to insult
+them,--to strip them of their significance and individuality. Is it not
+wiser to wait until children will not be confused by all their straight
+vigor and beauty?
+
+There is other folk-lore less gripping in its human intensity. Through
+this may not children safely gain their needed adventures? And here we
+come again to the real "Märchen,"--the fairy tales. They take us into a
+lovely world of unreality where magic and luck hold sway and where the
+child is safe from human problems and from scientific laws alike. I have
+already said in talking of the younger children that I feel it unsafe
+to loose a child in this unsubstantial world before he is fairly well
+grounded in a sense of reality. Once he has his bearings there is a good
+deal he will enjoy without confusion. The common defense that the
+mystery of fairy tales answers to a legitimate need in children, I
+believe holds good for children of six or seven, or even five, who have
+had opportunities for rational experiences. We all know how children
+revel in a secret. They like to live in a world of surprises. To give
+the children this sense of mystery I do not believe it is at all
+necessary to turn to vicious tales of giants, of ogres, and Bluebeards,
+or to the no less vicious pictures of the beautiful princess and the
+wicked stepmother. Even after rejecting the brutal and sentimental we
+have a good deal left,--a good deal that is intrinsically amusing as in
+"The Musicians of Bremen" or "Prudent Hans" or charming as in "Briar
+Rose." Symbolic or primitive attempts to explain the physical world,--as
+in the Indian legend of "Tavwots" I have never found held great appeal
+for the modern six- or seven-year-old scientists. Also the burden
+of symbolic morality rests on a good many of the traditional tales which
+usually neither adds nor detracts for the child and satisfies an adult
+yearning. Allegories like Æsop's "Fables" and "The Lion of Androcles"
+have a certain right to a hearing because of their historic prestige,
+apart from any reform they may accomplish in the way of character
+building. And in our own day many animals have achieved what I believe
+is a permanent place in child literature. "The Elephant's Child," the
+wild creatures of the "Jungle Book," "Raggylug" and even the little
+mole in the "Wind in the Willows,"--these are animals to trust any child
+with. Yet even in these exquisitely drawn tales, I doubt if children
+enjoy what we adults wish them to enjoy either in content or in form.
+And I doubt if we should accept even some of Kipling's matchless tales
+if the faultless form did not intrigue us and make us oblivious of the
+content.
+
+It is just here that most of us fail to be discriminating. Most of
+the classical literature, most of the legends, or the folk tales that
+I have been discussing have a compelling charm through their form. But
+unfortunately that does not make their content suitable! Their place
+in the world's thinking and feeling and their transcription into their
+present forms by really great artists give them a permanent place in
+the world's literature. This I do not question. It is partly because I
+believe this so intensely that I wish them kept for fuller appreciation.
+It is as formative factors in a young child's thinking that I am afraid
+of them. Neither am I afraid of all of them. There are some old
+conceptions of life and death and human relations which the race has not
+outgrown, perhaps never will outgrow. The mystery and pathos of the Pied
+Piper, the humor of Prudent Hans, the cleverness of the boy David, the
+heroism of the little Dutch boy stopping the hole in the dyke, the love
+of the Queer Little Baker, and the greed and grief of Midas are eternal.
+In spite of these and many more, I maintain that for the most part,
+myths, sagas, folk-lore depend for their significance and beauty alike
+upon a grasp of present social values which a young child cannot have
+and that our first attention should be to give him those values in terms
+intelligible to him. After we have done that he is safe. It matters
+little what we give him so long as it is good: for he will have
+standards by which to judge our offerings for himself.
+
+Yet after all is said and done, we may be reduced to giving children
+some of the stories we think inappropriate, for lack of something
+better. But a recognition of the need may evoke a great writer for
+children. I maintain we have never had one of the first order. The best
+books that we have for children are throw-offs from artists primarily
+concerned with adults,--Kipling and Stevenson stand in this group,--or
+child versions of adult literature,--from Charles and Mary Lamb down.
+The world has yet to see a genuinely great creator whose real vision is
+for children. When children have _their_ Psalmist, _their_ Shakespeare,
+_their_ Keats, they will not be offered diluted adult literature.
+
+So after we have gathered what we can from the world's store for
+children of this seven-to-eight-year old period I think we shall find
+many unfilled gaps. Most attempts at humor, for instance, are on the
+level of the comic sheet of the Sunday supplement or the circus. There
+is little except a few of the "drolls" which give the child pure fun
+unmixed with excitement or confusion. Even "Alice in Wonderland" when
+first read to a six-year-old who was used to rational thinking and
+talking was pronounced "Too funny!" This same boy, however, went back
+to Alice again and again. He always relished such bits as:
+
+    "Speak roughly to your little boy,
+       And beat him when he sneezes,
+     He only does it to annoy
+       Because he knows it teases."
+
+No child's world is complete without humor. And children have a sense of
+the preposterous, the inappropriate all their own. Lewis Carroll and a
+few others have occasionally found it. Still, I think much remains to be
+done in the way of studying the things that children themselves find
+amusing. This is true for the younger ones as well. I give several
+younger children's stories which appeared both to the tellers and their
+audiences to be convulsing. The humor is strangely physical and
+amazingly simple. And it is all fresh.
+
+
+STORIES BY FOUR-YEAR-OLDS
+
+     I dreamed I was asleep in a tomato and just scrambled around until
+     I'd eaten it up.
+
+                    *       *       *
+
+     Once there was a cow and he was in a wagon and he jumped over the
+     wagon's edge.
+
+                    *       *       *
+
+     Sesame the Cat
+
+     She lived with a nice man, a candy man, and she was at the gate
+     watching the cattle go by and the men were digging under some
+     caramel bricks and he called Sesame the Cat and she came banging
+     and almost jumped on the man's head. She jumped like a merry
+     balloon. Oh, he got angry!
+
+               *       *       *
+
+
+STORY BY FIVE-YEAR-OLD
+
+     Once there was a fly. And he went out walking on a little boy's
+     face. He came to a kind of a soft hump. "What is this?" thought the
+     fly. "Oh, I guess it's the little boy's eye!" Then he came to a lot
+     of kind of wiggly things that went down with him. "What is this?"
+     thought the fly. "Oh, I guess it's the little boy's hair!" Then he
+     slipped and fell into a deep hole. It was the little boy's ear. And
+     he couldn't get out. He tried and he tried. But he staid there
+     until the little boy's ear got all sore!
+
+               *       *       *
+
+
+STORIES BY SIX-YEAR-OLDS
+
+     Once upon a time there was a fox and a skunk, and the fox was
+     walking down the path with a lot of prickly bushes on the side of
+     the path. Then he saw a skunk coming along. He said, "Will you let
+     me throw my little bag of perfume on you?" And then she (it was a
+     lady fox) she backed and backed and backed and backed and backed
+     and backed, and she backed so far she backed into the bushes, and
+     she got her skirt torn on the prickly bushes.
+
+                    *       *       *
+
+     Once upon a time there was a boy and the boy was awfully funny. And
+     one day the boy went to the store to buy some eggs and he got the
+     eggs and ran so fast with the eggs home,--he stumbled and broke the
+     eggs. So he took the eggs, and took the shell and fixed it like the
+     same egg. And he walked off slowly to his home. And his mother was
+     going to beat the eggs and she just opened the shell and no egg was
+     there, and she couldn't make no cake that night.
+
+There is still another kind of story which I believe children of this
+transition period and a little older seek and for the most part seek in
+vain. These children are beginning to generalize, to marshal their facts
+and experiences along lines which in their later developments we call
+"laws." They like these wide-spreading conceptions which order the
+world for them. But they cannot always take them as bald scientific
+statements. Moreover there are certain general truths which tie together
+isolated familiar facts which can be most simply pictured through some
+device such as personification,--for at this age personification is
+recognized and enjoyed as a device and not, as in earlier years, as a
+necessary expression of thought. This uniting bond, this underlying
+relation may be a physical law like the dependence of life on life; it
+may be a social law like the division of labor in modern industry. Any
+dramatic statement of these laws is a simplification as is a diagram or
+map. And like a diagram or map, it is in a way artificial since it gives
+weight to one element at the expense of the others. But again like the
+diagram or map, the thing it shows is a fact, a fact which is more
+readily grasped by this artificial device than by bald statement. Maps
+do not take the place of photographs, nevertheless they have their own
+peculiar place in making intelligible the make-up of the physical world.
+In the same way, personification does not take the place of science.
+Nevertheless it has its own peculiar place in making clear to the child
+some simplifying principle,--physical or social,--which unifies his
+multitudinous experiences. So long as personification elucidates a true,
+a scientific principle, so long as it is not pressed to tortuous lengths
+which actually give false impressions, so long as it is kept within the
+bounds of æsthetic decency, so long as it is recognized as a play
+device and does not confuse a child's thinking,--so long as it is
+justified. No more. It is a useful intellectual tool and a charming
+device for play. Kipling is preëminently the master here. It is a
+dangerous tool in lesser hands. Yet I have dared to use it and without
+scruple in "Speed," in "Once the Barn was Full of Hay" and in "Silly
+Will." Here again I feel sure that study of children's questions and
+stories would bring rich suggestions as to how to fill this large gap
+in their present literature.
+
+Gaps there are, and many and large ones. Still, taken all in all, the
+field for the seven- to eight-year-old transition period is not as
+completely barren as the field for the earlier years. For these children
+are evolving from the stage where they need "Here and Now" stories. They
+are beginning to take on adult modes of thought and to appreciate and
+understand the peculiar language which adults use no matter how young a
+child they address! So much for the content of children's stories. And
+at best the content is but half.
+
+
+FORM
+
+If content is but half, form is the other half of stories and not the
+easier half, either. Every story, to be worthy of the name, must have
+a pattern, a pattern which is both pleasing and comprehensible. This
+design, this composition, this pattern, whether it be of a story as
+a whole or of a sentence or a phrase, is as essential to a piece of
+writing as is the design or composition to a picture. It satisfies the
+emotional need of the child which is as essential in real education as
+is the intellectual. Without this design, language remains on the
+utilitarian level,--where, to be sure, we usually find it in modern
+days.
+
+Now what kind of pattern is adapted to a small child,--say a
+three-year-old? What kind does he like? More, what kind can he perceive?
+Herein the expression as fatally as in the content has the adult shaped
+the mould to his own liking. Or rather, the case is even worse. The
+adult more often than not has presented his stories and verse to
+children in forms which the children could not like because they
+literally could not hear them! The pattern, as such, did not exist for
+them. But what have we to guide us in creating suitable patterns for
+these little children who can help us neither by analysis nor by
+articulate remonstrance? We have two sources of help and both of
+them come straight from the children. The first are the children's own
+spontaneous art forms; the second are the story and verse patterns which
+make an almost universal appeal to little children. Even a superficial
+study of these two sources,--and where shall we find a thorough
+study?--suggests two fundamental principles. They sound obvious and
+perhaps they are. But how often is the obvious ignored in the treatment
+of children! The first is that the individual units whether ideas,
+sentences or phrases must be simple. The second is that these simple
+units must be put close together.
+
+As the quickest and most eloquent exemplification of both these
+principles I give four stories. The first was told by a little girl of
+twenty-two months, a singularly articulate little person,--as she looked
+at the blank wall where had hung a picture of a baby (she supposed her
+little brother), a cow and a donkey. The second was a story told by a
+little girl of two and a half after a summer on the seashore. The third
+was achieved by a boy of three,--a child, in general, unsensitive to
+music. The fourth was told in school by a four-year-old girl.
+
+
+STORY BY TWENTY-TWO-MONTHS-OLD CHILD
+
+    Where cow?
+    Where donk?
+    Where little Aa?
+
+    Cow gone away!
+    Donk gone away!
+    Little Aa gone away!
+
+    Like cow!
+    Like donk!
+    Like little Aa!
+
+    Come back cow!
+    Come back donk!
+    Come back little Aa!
+
+
+STORY BY TWO-AND-A-HALF-YEAR-OLD
+
+    I fell in water.
+    Man fell in water.
+    John fell in water.
+    For' fell in water.
+    Aunt Carrie fell in water.
+
+    I pull boat out.
+    Man pull boat out.
+    John pull boat out.
+    For' pull boat out.
+    Aunt Carrie pull boat out.
+
+    I go in that boat.
+    Man go in that boat.
+    John go in that boat.
+    For' go in that boat.
+    Aunt Carrie go in that boat.
+
+
+STORY BY THREE-YEAR-OLD
+
+    And father went down, down, down into the hole
+    And the bull-frog, he went up, up, up into the sky!
+    And then the bull-frog, he went down, down, down into the hole
+    And then father, he went up, up, up, way into the sky!
+    And then the bull-frog he went down, down, down into the hole
+    And up, up into the sky!
+    And then he went down into the hole
+    And up into the sky!
+    And he went down and up and down and up
+    And down and up and down and up
+    And down and up and down and up
+    And down and up
+    And down and up
+    And down and up
+    Down and up---- (to wordless song.)
+
+
+STORY BY A FOUR-YEAR-OLD
+
+    Baby Bye, Baby Bye
+    Here's a fly
+    You'd better be careful
+    Else he will sting you
+    And here's a spider too.
+    And if you hurt him he will sting you
+    And don't you hurt him
+    And his pattern on the wall.
+
+Certainly all have form,--spontaneous native art form. Indeed they
+strongly suggest that to the child, the pleasure lay in the form rather
+than in the content. The patterns of the first two are somewhat
+alike,--variations of a simple statement. In content the younger child
+keeps her attention on one point, so to speak, while the older child
+allows a slight movement like an embryonic narrative. The pattern of the
+three-year-old's is considerably more complex. The phrases shorten, the
+tempo quickens, until the whole swings off into wordless melody. The
+fourth probably started from some remembered lullaby but quickly became
+the child's own. I give two more examples of stories. In the first, does
+not this five-year-old girl give us her vivid impressions in marvelously
+simple sense and motor terms? And does not the six-year-old boy in the
+second show that imagination can spring from real experiences?
+
+
+STORIES BY FIVE-YEAR-OLDS
+
+     I am going to tell you a story about when I went to Falmouth with
+     my mother. We had to go all night on the train and this is the way
+     it sounded, (moving her hand on the table and intoning in different
+     keys) thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, _NEW ARK!_
+     thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum,
+     FALMOUTH! And then we got off and we took a trolley car and the
+     trolley car went clipperty, clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip. And
+     another trolley car came in the other direction (again with hands)
+     and one came along saying clipperty, clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip
+     and the other came along saying clipperty, clipperty, clipperty,
+     zip, zip, zip, BANG! And they hit in the middle and they got stuck
+     and they tried to pull them apart and they stuck and they stuck and
+     they stuck and finally they got them apart and then we went again.
+     And when we got off we had to take a subway and the subway went
+     rockety-rockety-rockety-rock. You know a subway makes a terrible
+     noise! It made a _terrible_ noise it sounded like
+     rockety-rockety-rockety-rockety-rock.
+
+     And at last we got there and when we came up in the streets of
+     Falmouth it was so still that I didn't know what to do. You know
+     the streets of Falmouth are just so terribly quiet and then we had
+     to walk millions and millions of miles almost to get to our little
+     cottage. And when we got there I put on my bathing suit and I went
+     in bathing and I shivered just like this because it was a rainy
+     day, the day I went to Falmouth with my mother.
+
+
+The Talk of the Brook
+
+    O brook, O brook, that sings so loud,
+    O brook, O brook, that goes all day,
+    O brook, O brook, that goes all night
+    And forever.
+    Splashes and waves, girls and boys are playing with
+    You and in you.
+    Some with shoes off and some with shoes on,
+    And some are crying because they fell in you.
+    O brook, O brook, have you an end ever?
+    Or do you go forever?
+
+Technically in all these stories the child exemplifies the two rules. He
+attends to but one thing at a time. And his steps from one point to the
+next are short and clear.
+
+When we look at the forms which have been presented to children with
+these their spontaneous patterns fresh in mind, we can see, I think, why
+Mother Goose has been taken as a child's own and Eugene Field and even
+Stevenson rejected as unintelligible. I do not believe there is anything
+in the content of Mother Goose to win the child. I believe it is the
+form that makes the appeal. Vachel Lindsay, whose daring play with words
+has made him an object of suspicion to the reluctant of mind, has given
+us one poem in pattern singularly like the children's own and in content
+full of interest and charm. Again I give examples as the quickest of
+arguments. And I give them in verse where the form is more obvious and
+can be shown in briefer space than in stories.
+
+
+      Jack and Jill
+      Went up the hill
+    To fetch a pail of water.
+      Jack fell down
+      And broke his crown
+    And Jill came tumbling after.
+
+
+TIME TO RISE
+
+    A birdie with a yellow bill
+    Hopped upon the window sill,
+    Cocked his shining eye and said:
+    "Ain't you shamed, you sleepy head?"
+
+                          --_Stevenson._
+
+
+THE LITTLE TURTLE
+
+(A recitation for Martha Wakefield, three years old)
+
+    There was a little turtle.
+    He lived in a box.
+    He swam in a puddle.
+    He climbed on the rocks.
+
+    He snapped at a musquito.
+    He snapped at a flea.
+    He snapped at a minnow.
+    And he snapped at me.
+
+    He caught the musquito.
+    He caught the flea.
+    He caught the minnow.
+    But he didn't catch me.
+
+               --_Vachel Lindsay._
+
+
+From THE DINKEY-BIRD
+
+    So when the children shout and scamper
+      And make merry all the day,
+    When there's naught to put a damper
+      To the ardor of their play;
+    When I hear their laughter ringing,
+      Then I'm sure as sure can be
+    That the Dinkey-bird is singing
+      In the amfalula tree.
+
+--_Eugene Field._
+
+Of the two "Jack and Jill" and "Birdie with the Yellow Bill," surely
+Stevenson's is the more charming to the adult ear. But when I have read
+it to three-year-olds, I have felt that they were lost. They could not
+sustain the long grammatical suspense, could not carry over "A birdie"
+from the first line to the conclusion and so actually did not know who
+was saying "Ain't you shamed, you sleepy-head!" Mother Goose repeats her
+subject. The span to carry is two phrases in Mother Goose as against
+four in Stevenson. The Vachel Lindsay I have found is as easily
+remembered and as much enjoyed as Mother Goose, though it is a pity
+it is about an unfamiliar animal. As for the Dinkey-bird even a
+seven-year-old can hardly _hear_ the rhyme even if intellectually he
+could follow the adult vocabulary and the complicated sentence with its
+long postponed subject.
+
+It is the same with stories. The classic tales which have held
+small children,--"The Gingerbread Man," "The Three Little Pigs,"
+"Goldylocks,"--have patterns so obvious and so simple that they cannot
+be missed. In "The Gingerbread Man" the pattern is one of increasing
+additions. It belongs to the aptly called "cumulative" tales. The
+refrains act like sign-posts to help the child to mark the progress.
+This is simply a skilful way of making the continuity close, of showing
+the ladder rungs for the child's feet. I venture to say that any good
+story-teller consciously or unconsciously puts up sign-posts to help the
+children. If he is skilful, he makes a pattern of them so that they are
+not merely intellectually helpful but charming as well. So Kipling in
+his "Just So Stories" uses his sign-posts,--which are sometimes words,
+sometimes phrases, sometimes situations,--in such a way that they ring
+musically and give a pleasant sense of pattern even to children too
+young to find them intellectually helpful.
+
+In other words, the little child is not equipped psychologically to hear
+complicated units. I wish some one could determine how the average
+four-year-old hears the harmony of a chord on the piano. Is it much
+except confusion? In the same way, he is not equipped to leap a span
+between units. I wish some one would determine the four-year-old's
+memory span for rhymes, for instance. The involutions, the
+suggestiveness so attractive to adult ears, he cannot hear. Even an
+adult ear, untutored, can scarcely hear the intermingling rhythms and
+overlapping rhymes which blend like overtones of a chord in such verse
+as Patmore's Ode "The Toys." I feel sure the small child cannot hear
+complexities; he cannot leap gaps. And so he cannot understand when even
+simple ideas are given in complex and discontinuous form. This explains
+his notorious love of repetition. Repetition is the simplest of
+patterns, simple enough to be enjoyed as pattern. I have found that
+almost any simple phrase of music or words repeated slowly and with a
+kind of ceremonious attention, enthralls a year-old child. If the unit
+is simple enough to be remembered he will inevitably enjoy recognizing
+it as it recurs and recurs. This is the embryonic pattern sense.
+
+This pattern enjoyment too is motor in its basis. His early repetitions
+of sounds are probably largely pleasure in muscle patterns. We all know
+that a child uses first his large muscles,--arm, leg and back,--and that
+he early enjoys any regular recurrent use of these muscles. So at the
+time when the vocal muscles tend to become his means of expression, he
+enjoys repeating the same sounds over and over. And soon he gets
+enjoyment from listening to repetitions or rhythmic language,--a
+vicarious motor enjoyment. Surely it is important that stories should
+furnish him this exercise and pleasure. Three- and four-year-olds
+will enjoy a positively astounding amount of repetition. In the Arabella
+and Araminta stories a large proportion of the sentences are given in
+duplicate by the simple device of having twins who do and say the same
+things and by telling the remarks and actions of each. The selection
+quoted is repeated entire four times, the variation being only in the
+flower picked:
+
+     And Arabella picked a poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, and
+     Arabella picked a poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella
+     picked a poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella picked a
+     poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella picked a poppy,
+     and Araminta picked a poppy, until they each had a great big bunch
+     (I should say a very large bunch), and then they ran back to the
+     house.
+
+     Arabella got a glass and put her poppies in it, and Araminta got a
+     glass and put her poppies in it.
+
+     And Arabella clapped her hands and danced around the table. And
+     Araminta clapped her hands and danced around the table.
+
+Adult ears repudiate anything as obvious as this; they still, however,
+enjoy a ballad refrain.
+
+Just as small children cannot hear complications, so they cannot grasp
+details if the movement is swift. We must give time for a child's slow
+reactions. We usually fail to do this in ordinary social situations and
+are often surprised to hear our three-year-old say "good-bye" long after
+the front door is closed and our guest well on his way down the street.
+In stories we must take a leisurely pace. We must also read very slowly
+allowing ample time for a child to give the full motor expression to his
+thought for the art of abbreviation he has not yet learned.
+
+It is not enough to recognize that since a child attends to but one
+thing at a time the units must be simple. Here in the form as in the
+content, must the motor quality of a child's thinking be held constantly
+in mind. In trying to find the general subject matter appropriate for
+little children I said that they think through their muscles. This motor
+expression of small children has its direct application in the concrete
+method of telling of any happening. The story child who is experiencing,
+should go through the essential muscular performances which the real
+listening child would go through if he were actually experiencing
+himself. For he thinks through these muscular expressions. As an
+example, when a group of four-year-olds heard a story about a little
+boy who saw the elevated train approach and pass above him, they thought
+the child might have been run over. The words "up" and "above" and
+"overhead" had been used but the children failed to get the idea of
+"upness." Unquestionably they would have understood if I had made the
+little boy _throw back his head and look up_. Small children act with
+big gestures and with big muscles. And they think through the same
+mechanisms.
+
+These two principles, simplicity and continuity, apply concretely to
+sentence and phrase structure as well. The effort to obtain continuity
+for the child explains the colloquial "The little boy who lived in this
+house, _he_ did so and so----" You help your child back to the subject,
+"the little boy" by the grammatically redundant "he" after his mind has
+gone off on "this house." This same need for continuity also explains
+why a child's own stories are characteristically one continuous sentence
+strung together with "ands" and "thens" and "buts." He sees and hears
+and consequently thinks in a simple, rhythmic, continuous flow. If we
+would have him see and hear and think with us, we must give him his
+stories and verse in simple units closely and obviously linked together.
+
+But after all is said and done, why should we give children stories at
+all? Is it to instruct and so should we pay attention to the content? Is
+it to delight and so should we pay attention to the form? Both things,
+information and relish, have their place in justifying stories for
+children. But both to my mind are of minor importance compared to a
+third and quite different thing,--and this is to get children to create
+stories of their own, to play with words. "To get" is an unhappy phrase
+for it suggests that children must be coaxed to the task. This I do not
+believe though I cannot prove it. I do believe that children play with
+words naturally and spontaneously just as they play with any material
+that comes to their creative hands. And further I believe,--though this
+too I cannot prove,--that we adults kill this play with words just as we
+kill their creative play with most things. Most of us have forgotten how
+to play with anything, most of all with words. We are utilitarian, we
+are executive, we are didactic, we are earth-tied, we are hopelessly
+adult! Actually children use their ears and noses and fingers much more
+than do we adults. Our stories rely mainly upon visual recalls. We
+forget to listen even to birds whose message is pure melody. And how
+many of us _hear_ the city sounds which surround us, the characteristic
+whirr of revolving wheels, the vibrating rhythm of horses' feet, the
+crunch of footsteps in the snow? Noises we hear, the warning shriek of
+the fire engine or the honk! honk! of the automobile. But the subtler,
+finer reverberations we are not sensitive to. Yet little children love
+to listen and develop another method of sensing and appreciating their
+world by this pleasurable use of their hearing. It surely is an unused
+opportunity for story-tellers. I have tried to use it in "Pedro's Feet"
+which is an attempt to give them an ordinary story by means of sounds.
+And even less than to city sounds do we listen for the cadences in
+language. We listen only for the _meaning_ and forget the sensuous
+delight of sound.
+
+But happily children are not so determined to wring a meaning out of
+every sight and every sound. Children play. Play is a child's own
+technique. Through it he seizes the strange unknown world around him and
+fashions it into his very own. He recreates through play. And through
+creating, he learns and he enjoys.
+
+There is no better play material in the world than words. They surround
+us, go with us through our work-a-day tasks, their sound is always in
+our ears, their rhythms on our tongue. Why do we leave it to special
+occasions and to special people to use these common things as precious
+play material? Because we are grown-ups and have closed our ears and our
+eyes that we may not be distracted from our plodding ways! But when we
+turn to the children, to hearing and seeing children, to whom all the
+world is as play material, who think and feel through play, can we not
+then drop our adult utilitarian speech and listen and watch for the
+patterns of words and ideas? Can we not care for the _way_ we say things
+to them and not merely _what_ we say? Can we not speak in rhythm, in
+pleasing sounds, even in song for the mere sensuous delight it gives us
+and them, even though it adds nothing to the content of our remark? If
+we can, I feel sure children will not lose their native use of words:
+more, I think those of six and seven and eight who have lost it in
+part,--and their stories show they have,--will win back to their
+spontaneous joy in the play of words. This is the ultimate test of
+stories and verse,--whether they help children to retain their native
+gift of play with language and with thought.
+
+In the City and Country School where my experiments in language have
+been carried on, we have not gone far enough to offer convincing proof
+along these lines. But I submit two stories told by a six-year-old class
+which are at least suggestive. The first is the best story told to me by
+any member of the class before any effort had been made to get the
+children to listen to the sound of their words or to think of their
+ideas as all pointing in one direction and giving a single impression.
+The second was told by the class as a whole while looking at Willebeek
+Le Mair's illustration of "Twinkle, twinkle, little star." They said the
+picture made them feel sleepy and that they would say only things that
+made them sleepy and use only words that made them sleepy. Between the
+two stories I had met with them seven times. I had read them sounding
+and rhythmic verse. They had become interested in the sound of language
+apart from its meaning. They had become interested in the sound of the
+rain and the fire. They were thinking through their ears. Am I mistaken
+in believing this shows in their language and in their thought?
+
+
+STORY BY A SIX-YEAR-OLD
+
+     Once upon a time there was a little boy named Peter and a little
+     boy named Boris. And Peter took him out for a walk and took him all
+     around school. Then I took him out to my house and saw all my play
+     things. And then I took him to Central Park and showed him sea
+     lions and the giraffe and the elephant and I showed how they eat
+     by their trunks. And he thought it was queer. And he said he was
+     afraid of animals and so I took him home. I told him to tell his
+     mother about it and his mother said, "You want to go for another
+     walk?" and he said, "Yes, but not where the wild animals are." I
+     said, "Do you want to go to Central Park?" and he said, "Yes." You
+     see he got fooled! He didn't know about the wild animals.
+
+
+JOINT STORY BY SIX-YEAR-OLD CLASS
+
+     I like it when the boy and the girl look at the sky. They look at
+     the trees and they are sleepy. It is dark outside. It is night and
+     the sky is dark blue. And it is kind of whitish and the trees are
+     next to the blue sky. The bright evening star is out. The star is
+     so far up in the sky that you can hardly see it. The children are
+     looking at the sky before they go to bed and they are praying to
+     God. They have their nightgowns on. The bed is all nice so they
+     couldn't have just got up. The clothes are hanging on the bed. They
+     sleep in their own bed together. When they go to bed they have
+     their door closed.
+
+"The Leaf Story" and "The Wind Story" I have incorporated with my
+stories, though they are almost entirely the work of children. In both
+cases the organization is beyond the children. But the content and the
+phraseology bear their unmistakable imprint. The same is true of "The
+Sea Gull."
+
+Because of the pattern, the play aspect of language, I believe in
+written stories even for very little ones. If we loved our language
+better and played with its sound in our ordinary speech, perhaps stories
+for two- and three-year-olds would not be needed. But as it is, we
+need to present them with something more intentional, more thought out
+than is possible with most of us in a story told. If the patterns of
+our ideas or of our speech are to have charm, if they are to fit the
+occasion with nicety, if they are to flow easily and are to be
+continuous enough to be comprehended by little children, they will need
+careful attention,--attention that cannot be given under the emergency
+of telling a story, not, at least, by the uninspired of us. Inevitably,
+with our utilitarian tendencies, we shall be drawn off to an undue
+regard of the content to the neglect of the expression. And yet, for
+very little children, there is unquestionably something lost by the
+formality and fixity of a written story. A story told has more
+spontaneity, allows more leeway to include the chance happenings or
+remarks of the children; it can be more intimately personal, more
+adapted to the particular occasion and to the particular child. Perhaps
+some time we shall achieve a fortunate compromise, a stepping stone
+between the story told and the story read. Perhaps we shall work out
+happy or characteristic phrases about familiar things,--little personal
+things about the clothes and habits of each child, general familiar
+things like autos and wagons and horses on the street, coal going down
+the hole in the sidewalk, the squabbling of sparrows in the dirt, the
+drift of snow on the roofs,--perhaps we shall learn to use such
+thought-out phrases or refrains like blocks for building many stories.
+If we could work out some such technique as this, we could keep the
+intimacy, the flexibility, the waywardness of the spoken story and still
+give the children the charm of careful thinking and careful phrasing.
+Many such phrases have been fashioned by people sensitive to the quality
+of sound. Every nursery has had its rooster crow:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
+
+But few have given its children that delightful epitome of the songs of
+spring birds which has piped with irrepressible freshness now for nearly
+four centuries:
+
+    "Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!"
+
+I have never known the child who did not respond to Kipling's engine
+song:
+
+    "With a michnai-ghignai-shtingal! Yah! Yah! Yah!"
+
+Every child creates these wonderful sound interpretations of the world.
+We smile a smile of indulgence when we hear them. And then we forget
+them! Cannot we seize some of them however imperfectly and learn to
+build them into the structure of our stories? It was more or less this
+kind of thing that I had in mind in writing Marni's stories and "The
+Room with the Window Looking Out Upon the Garden" which as I have said
+elsewhere are types to be told rather than narratives to be read. And I
+feel sure if we could once make a beginning that the children themselves
+would soon take the matter into their own hands and create their own
+building blocks.
+
+For children are primarily creators. They do not willingly nor for long
+maintain the passive rôle. This should be reckoned with in stories and
+not merely as a concession to restless children but as a real aid to
+the story. An active rôle should be provided for the children somewhere
+within every story until the children are old enough to have a genuinely
+impersonal interest in things and events and until they do not need a
+motor expression of their thoughts. For as I have already said, up
+to that age,--and it is for psychologists to say when that age
+is,--children think in terms of themselves expressed through their own
+activities. This active rôle should be used not merely as a safety valve
+of expression to keep the child a patient listener, but as a tool by
+which he may become aware of the form of thought and language. It is
+interesting that the children to whom these stories have been read, have
+seized upon the rhyme refrains as their own and after a few readings
+have joined in saying them as though this were their natural portion.
+It is with this hope that I have tried to make the refrains not mere
+interludes in the story, as they usually are, but the real skeleton, the
+intrinsic thought pattern, the fundamental design. In "How the Singing
+Water Gets to the Tub" and "How Spot Found a Home," for instance, the
+refrains taken by themselves out of the context, tell the whole story.
+It is too soon to say, but I am strong in the hope that through relish
+for this kind of active participation in written stories, a small child
+may become captivated by the play side of the stories as opposed to the
+content and so turn to language as play material in which to fashion
+patterns of his own.
+
+For the sake of analysis, I have treated content and form separately.
+But I am keenly aware that the divorce of the two is what has made our
+stories for children so unsatisfactory. We have good ideas told without
+charm of design; and we have meaningless patterns which tickle the ear
+for the moment but fade because they spring from no real thought.
+Literature is only achieved when the thought pattern and the language
+pattern exactly fit. A refrain for the mere sake of recurrent jingle,
+that has no genuine no essential recurrence in the thought, is a trick.
+If the pattern does not help the thought and the thought suggest the
+pattern, there is something wrong. It is an artifice, not art. This
+matching of content and form is nothing new. It is and always has been
+the basis of good literature. The task that is new is to find thought
+sequences, thought relations which are truly childlike and the language
+design which is really appropriate to them,--to make both content and
+form the child's.
+
+As I said at the beginning, so must I say at the end. These stories are
+experiments, experiments both in content and form. To have any value
+they must be treated as such. The theses underlying them have been
+stated for brevity's sake only in didactic form. In reality, they lie in
+my mind as open questions urgently in need of answers. But I do not hope
+much from the answers of adults,--from the deaf and blind writers to the
+hearing and seeing children. The answers must come from the children
+themselves. We must listen to children's speech, to their casual
+everyday expressions. We must gather children's stories. Mothers and
+teachers everywhere should be making these precious records. We must
+study them not merely as showing what a child is thinking, but the _way_
+he is thinking and the way he is enjoying. It is the hope that these
+stories may be tried out with children, the hope of reaching others who
+may be watching and listening and working along these lines, the hope
+that we may gather records of children's stories which will become a
+basis for a real literature, the hope that somewhere among grown-ups we
+may find an ear still sensitive to hear and an eye still fresh to
+see,--it is this hope that has given me the courage to expose these
+pitifully inadequate adult efforts to speak with little children in
+their own language. Some one must dare, if only to give courage to the
+better equipped. And if we dare enough, I am sure the children will come
+to our rescue. If we let them, they will lead us. Whatever these stories
+hold of merit or of suggestiveness is due to the inspiration and
+tolerance of the courageous group of workers in the City and Country
+School and in the Bureau of Educational Experiments and in particular to
+Caroline Pratt without whom these stories would never have been dreamed
+or written; and above all to the children themselves, for whom the
+stories were written and to whom they have been read, both in the
+laboratory school and in my own home. To those then, who wish to follow
+the lead of little children, to those who have the curiosity to know
+into what new paths of literature children's interest and children's
+spontaneous expression of those interests will lead, and to the children
+themselves, I send these stories.
+
+                                         LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL.
+
+ New York City
+ July, 1921.
+
+
+
+
+                                               MARNI TAKES A RIDE
+                                                       IN A WAGON
+
+
+The refrains in this story were first made up during the actual ride.
+Later they served to recall the experience with vividness. This story is
+given only as a type which any one may use when helping a two-year-old
+to live over an experience.
+
+
+
+
+MARNI TAKES A RIDE IN A WAGON
+
+
+One day Marni went for a ride. Little Aa, he climbed into Sprague's
+wagon and Marni, she climbed in behind him. Then Mother took the handle
+and she began to pull the wagon with little Aa and Marni in it. And
+Mother she went:
+
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+     _And_ Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+                Jog!
+
+And the wheels, they went, (with motion of hands):
+
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+     _And_ Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+                  Round!
+
+And then Mother was tired. So she stopped. And Marni said, "Whoa,
+horsie!"
+
+Then Little Aa said, "Ugh, ugh!" for he wanted to go.
+
+But Marni said, "Get up, horsie!" for she wanted to go too. So Mother
+took hold of the handle and went:
+
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+     _And_ Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+                Jog!
+
+And the wheels they went:
+
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+     _And_ Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+                  Round!
+
+And then Mother was tired. So she stopped, and Marni said, "Whoa,
+horsie!"
+
+Then Little Aa said, "Ugh, ugh!" for he wanted to go. But Marni said
+"Get up, horsie!" for she wanted to go too. So Mother took hold of the
+handle and went,
+
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+     _And_ Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+                Jog!
+
+And the wheels they went:
+
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+     _And_ Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+                  Round!
+
+And then Mother was very, _very_ tired. So she stopped. And Marni said,
+"Whoa, horsie!"
+
+Then Little Aa said, "Ugh, ugh!" for he wanted to go again. But Marni
+said "Get up, horsie!" for she wanted to go too. But Mother she was
+very, _very_, VERY tired. She had jogged, jogged, jogged so long and
+made the wheels go round, round, round, round, so much! So she said,
+"The ride is all over!" Then Little Aa climbed down out of the wagon and
+Marni climbed down out of the wagon. And Marni said, "Goodbye, wagon!"
+and ran away!
+
+
+
+
+                                               MARNI GETS DRESSED
+                                                   IN THE MORNING
+
+
+This story, obviously, is for a particular little girl. It is told in
+the terms of her own experience, of her own environment, and of her own
+observations. It is nothing more or less than the living over in
+rhythmic form of the daily routine of her morning dressing. Her story
+remarks are either literal quotations or adaptations of her actual every
+day responses. The little verse refrains are the type of thing almost
+anyone can improvise. I have found that any simple statement about a
+familiar object or act told (or sung) with a kind of ceremonious
+attention and with an obvious and simple rhythm, enthralls a
+two-year-old. The little girl for whom this story was written began
+embryonic stories before her second birthday. The water-soap-sponge
+episode is an adaptation of one of her first narrative forms. This story
+is meant merely as a suggestion of the way almost anyone can make
+language an every day plaything to the small child she is caring for.
+
+
+
+
+MARNI GETS DRESSED IN THE MORNING
+
+
+Once there was a little girl and her name was Marni Moo. Marni used to
+sleep in a little bed in mother's room. In the morning Marni would wake
+up and she would say "Hello, Mother." And then in a minute she would
+say, "I want to get up."
+
+And mother would say:
+
+    "Hoohoo, Marni Moo.
+     I'm coming, I'm coming,
+     I'm coming for you."
+
+Then mother would get up and she'd come over and she'd unfasten the
+blanket and she'd take little Marni Moo in her arms and she'd walk into
+Marni's bath-room and she'd take off Marni's nightgown and Marni's
+shirt. And then she'd get a little basin, and she'd put some water in
+it, and she'd get some soap and she'd get a sponge and she'd wash little
+Marni Moo. She'd wash Marni's face and then she'd wash Marni's hands,
+and Marni would put one hand in the basin and she'd splash the water
+like this:--    Then she'd put another hand in the basin and
+she'd splash the water like this:--    Then mother would wipe
+both hands and she'd throw the water down the sink and she'd put away
+the soap and the sponge. And Marni would watch mother and then she'd
+say:
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+    "Where water?
+     Where soap?
+     Where sponge?
+
+     Water gone away!
+     Soap gone away!
+     Sponge gone away!"
+
+And after that what do you suppose Marni would say?
+
+"Shirt, shirt." And mother would put Marni's shirt over her head and
+say:
+
+    "Peek-a-boo, Marni Moo,
+     Marni's head is coming through."
+
+and then mother would button up Marni's shirt.
+
+And then Marni would say "Waist, waist." Then while mother put on
+Marni's waist she would say:
+
+    "Here's one hand
+     And here's another.
+     Marni's a sister
+     And Robin's a brother."
+
+And then Marni would say, "Drawers, drawers." And while mother put on
+Marni's drawers she would say:
+
+    "Here's one foot
+     And here's another.
+     Marni's a sister
+     And Peter's a brother."
+
+And then Marni would say, "Stockings, stockings." And mother would put
+on one stocking on her left foot, and then she'd put on another stocking
+on her right foot. And then she'd fasten the garters on one stocking,
+and then she'd fasten the garters on the other stocking. And all the
+time mother would keep saying:
+
+    "Here's one leg
+     And here's another.
+     Marni's a sister
+     And Jack-o's a brother."
+
+Then Marni would say, "Shoe, shoe." And mother would put one shoe on her
+left foot and then she'd put on the other shoe on her right foot. And
+then she'd say again:
+
+    "Here's one foot
+     And here's another.
+     Marni's a sister
+     And Robin's a brother."
+
+And then Marni would say, "Hook, hook." And mother would get the
+button-hook and then she'd button up the left shoe and then she'd button
+up the right shoe. And all the time she was buttoning up first one shoe
+and then the other shoe Marni would say:
+
+    "Look, look,
+     Hook, hook."
+
+And when the shoes were all buttoned up, mother would hit first one
+little sole and then the other little sole, and say:
+
+    "Now we're through
+     Tit, tat, too.
+     Here a nail, there a nail,
+     Now we're through."
+
+Then Marni would run and get her romper and bring it to mother calling,
+"Romper, romper." And mother would put on her romper, singing:
+
+    "Romper, romper
+     Who's got a romper?
+     Little Marni Moo
+     She's got two.
+     One is a yellow one
+     And one is blue.
+     Romper, romper
+     Who's got a romper?"
+
+And then Marni would say, "Button, button." And mother would button up
+her romper all down the back. First one button and then another button
+and then another button and then another button, and then another button
+and then another button until they were buttoned all down the back.
+
+And then Marni would say, "Sweater." And mother would put on her little
+blue sweater saying:
+
+    "Sweater, sweater
+     Who's got a sweater?
+     Little Marni Moo
+     She's got two.
+     One is a yellow one
+     And one is blue.
+     Sweater, sweater,
+     Who's got a sweater?"
+
+And then Marni would say, "Hair." And mother would get the brush and
+comb and brush Marni's hair. And all the time she was brushing it she
+would say:
+
+            "Brush it so
+             And brush it slow.
+             Brush it here
+             And brush it there.
+             Brush it so
+             And brush it slow.
+             And brush it here
+             And brush it there
+    And brush it all over your dear little head."
+
+And then Marni would say, "All ready." And mother would put her down on
+the floor.
+
+Then Marni would say:
+
+    "Where my little pail?
+     My little pail gone away.
+     I want my little pail
+     Come, little pail."
+
+And mother would give her her little pail. And Marni would put one nut
+in her pail, and then she'd put another nut in her pail, and then she'd
+put another nut in her pail. And then she'd put a marble in her pail,
+and then she'd put another marble in her pail, and then she'd put
+another marble in her pail. And then she'd put her quack-quack in her
+pail, and then she'd put her fish in her pail, and then she'd put her
+frog in her pail. Then she would shake her pail with all of the nuts and
+the marbles and the quack-quack and the frog and the fish, and they
+would all go bingety-bang, crickety-crack, bingety-bang, crickety-crack.
+
+And Marni would say, "Bingety-bang, crickety-crack. Where Jack-o?" And
+Marni would run to find Jack-o, and she would say, "Jack-o, hear
+bingety-bang, crickety-crack." And she would rattle her little pail with
+all the nuts and the marbles and the quack-quack and the fish and the
+frog. Then she'd say, "Where Peter?" And Marni would run to find Peter,
+and she would say, "Peter, hear bingety-bang, crickety-crack." And she
+would rattle her little pail with all the nuts and the marbles and the
+quack-quack and the fish and the frog.
+
+Then mother would call, "Breakfast, breakfast. Anyone ready for
+breakfast?"
+
+And Jack-o would call back, "I am, I am, I am ready for breakfast."
+
+And Peter would run as fast as he could calling, "I am, I am, I am ready
+for breakfast."
+
+And last of all would come little Marni Moo calling, "Breakfast,
+breakfast."
+
+Then the two boys would chase Marni to the breakfast table saying:
+
+    "Marni Mitchell,
+     Marni Moo,
+     Run like a mousie
+     Or I'll catch you."
+
+And Marni would scimper scamper like a mousie until she reached the
+breakfast table.
+
+Then they would all have breakfast together.
+
+
+
+
+                                                THE ROOM WITH THE
+                                               WINDOW LOOKING OUT
+                                                    ON THE GARDEN
+
+
+In this story written for a three-year-old group, I have tried to
+present the familiar setting of the classroom from a new point of view
+and to give the presentation a very obvious pattern. I want the children
+to take an _active_ part in the story. But before they try to do this I
+want them to have some conception of the whole pattern of the story so
+that their contributions may be in proper design, both in substance and
+in length. That is the reason I give two samples before throwing the
+story open to the children. If each child has a part which falls into
+a recognized scheme, through performing that part he gets a certain
+practice in pattern making in language,--however primitive--and also a
+certain practice in the technique of co-operation which means listening
+to the others as well as performing himself. I have not tried to add
+anything to their stock of information,--merely to give them the
+pleasure of drawing on a common fund together.
+
+
+
+
+THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN
+
+
+Once there was a little girl. She was just three years old. One morning
+she and her mother put on their hats and coats right after breakfast.
+They walked and walked and walked from their house until they came to
+MacDougal Alley. And then they walked straight down the alley into the
+Play School. Now the little girl had never been to the Play School
+before and she didn't know where anything was and she didn't know any
+of the children and she didn't even know her teacher! So she asked her
+mother, "Which room is going to be mine?" And her mother answered, "The
+one with the window looking out on the garden."
+
+And sure enough, when the little girl looked around there was the sun
+shining right in through a window which looked out on a lovely garden!
+She knelt right down on the window sill to look out.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Then she heard some one say, "Little New Girl, why don't you take off
+your things?" She turned around and there was Virginia talking to her.
+"Because I don't know where to put them," said Little New Girl. "How
+funny!" laughed Virginia, "because see, here are all the hooks right in
+plain sight," and she pointed under the stairs. So the little girl took
+off her hat and her mittens. Her mother had to unbutton the hard top
+button but she did all the rest. Then she hung up everything on a hook.
+
+"Goodbye," said her mother. "Goodbye," said Little New Girl. "Don't
+forget to come for me because I don't know where anything is and I don't
+know the children and I don't even know my teacher." And her mother
+answered, "No, I won't." And then she was gone.
+
+"Now, Little New Girl, what do you want to do?" said her teacher. But
+the little girl only shook her head and said, "I don't know anything to
+do." One little boy said, "Let me show Little New Girl something." And
+what did he show her? He took her over to the shelves and he showed her
+the blocks. "You can build a house or anything with them," said the
+little boy.
+
+Then another little girl said, "Let me show Little New Girl something."
+And what did this other little girl show her? She showed her the dolls.
+"You can put them into a house," said this other little girl.
+
+"Who else can show Little New Girl something to do?" called her teacher.
+"Will you, Robert?" So what did Robert show her? (Give child ample time
+to think. If he does not respond go on.) Robert took her over to the
+shelves and showed her the paper and crayons. "You can draw ever so many
+pictures," said Robert.
+
+Then Virginia said, "Let me show Little New Girl something." So what
+did Virginia show her?--Virginia showed her the horses and wagons. "You
+can harness them up," said Virginia.
+
+Then Craig said, "Let _me_ show Little New Girl something." So what did
+Craig show her?--Craig showed her the beads. "You can string them in
+strings," said Craig.
+
+Then Peter said, "Let _me_ show Little New Girl something." So what did
+Peter show her?--Peter showed her the clay. "You can make anything you
+want out of it," said Peter.
+
+Then Tom said, "Let _me_ show Little New Girl something." So what did
+Tom show her? Tom showed her the saw and hammer and nails. "You can saw
+or hammer nails," said Tom.
+
+Then Barbara said, "Let me show Little New Girl something." So what did
+Barbara show her? Barbara showed her the paper and scissors. "You can
+cut out anything you want," said Barbara.
+
+"Now Little New Girl, what do you want to do?" said her teacher. And
+this time the little girl jumped right up and down and said, "I'm glad!
+I want to do everything." "But which thing first?" asked her teacher.
+"Let me watch," the Little New Girl said.
+
+So Little New Girl stood quite still. She saw Robert go and get some
+paper and crayons and sit down at his little table to draw. She saw
+Virginia get some horses and harness and sit down at her little table to
+harness them. She saw Craig get some beads and sit down at his little
+table to string them. She saw Peter get the clay and sit down at his
+little table to model. She saw Tom go to the bench and begin to saw a
+piece of wood. She saw Barbara get some paper and scissors and paste and
+sit down at her little table to cut out and to paste.
+
+Then she said, "I want to draw first." So she took some paper and some
+colored crayons and she sat down at a little table near the window
+looking out on the garden. There she drew and she drew and she drew. And
+she didn't feel like a Little New Girl at all for now she knew where
+everything was and she knew all the children and she knew her teacher.
+
+
+
+
+THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN
+
+
+    I know a yellow room
+    With great big sliding doors
+    And a window on the side
+    Looking out upon a garden.
+    There's a balcony above
+    With a bench for carpenters
+    With planes and saws and hammers,
+    Bang! bang! with nails and hammers.
+    There are hooks beneath the stairs
+    To hang up hats and coats,
+    And nearby there's a sink
+    With everybody's cup.
+    There's a rope and there's a slide
+    Zzzip! but there's a slide.
+    There are shelves and shelves and shelves
+    With colored silk and beads,
+    With paper and with crayons,
+    And a great big crock with clay.
+    And the're blocks and blocks and blocks
+    And blocks and blocks and blocks
+    And the're horses there and wagons
+    And cows and dogs and sheep,
+    And men and women, boys and girls
+    With clothes upon them too.
+    And then the're cars to make a train
+    With engine and caboose.[B]
+    And the're lots of little tables
+    In this yellow, yellow room
+    For boys and girls to sit at
+    And play with all those things.
+    And there's a great big floor
+    In this yellow, yellow room
+    For boys and girls to sit on
+    And play with all those things.
+    And there is lots of sunshine
+    In this yellow, yellow room
+    For boys and girls to sit in
+    And play with all those things.
+
+ [B] _At this point the teacher might ask, "What else?" Not the first
+     time, however. The children must get the outline as a whole before
+     they contribute. Otherwise they will be entirely absorbed by the
+     content._
+
+
+
+
+                                            THE MANY-HORSE STABLE
+
+
+All the material for this story was supplied by a three-year-old. The
+pattern was added. An older child would not be content with so sketchy
+an account. But it seems to compass a three-year-old's most significant
+associations with a stable. The title is one in actual use by a
+four-year-old class.
+
+
+
+
+THE MANY-HORSE STABLE
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Once there was a stable. The stable was in a big city. Downstairs in the
+stable there were many g-r-e-a-t b-i-g wagons and one little-bit-of-a
+wagon. And on the walls there were many g-r-e-a-t b-i-g harnesses and
+one little-bit-of-a harness. And there were many g-r-e-a-t b-i-g
+blankets and one little-bit-of-a blanket. And there were some g-r-e-a-t
+b-i-g whips and one little-bit-of-a whip. And there were some g-r-e-a-t
+b-i-g nose bags and one little-bit-of-a nose bag. Upstairs in the
+stalls there were some g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses and one little-bit-of-a
+pony.
+
+In the morning the men would come and harness up the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g
+horses with the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g harnesses to the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g wagons.
+They would put in the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g blankets and the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g
+whips and the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g nose bags. Then they would get up on the
+seats and gather up the reins and off down the street would go the
+g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses. Clumpety-lumpety bump! thump! Clumpety-lumpety
+bump! thump!
+
+Then a little-bit-of-a man would harness up the little-bit-of-a pony
+with the little-bit-of-a harness to the little-bit-of-a wagon. He would
+put in the little-bit-of-a blanket and the little-bit-of-a whip and the
+little-bit-of-a nose bag. Then he would get up on the seat and gather up
+the reins and off down the street would go the little-bit-of-a pony!
+Lippety-lippety! lip! lip! lip! Lippety-lippety! lip! lip! lip!
+
+
+
+
+                                                         MY KITTY
+
+
+Here there is no plot. Instead I have attempted to enumerate the
+associations which cluster around a kitten, and present them in a
+patterned form.
+
+
+
+
+MY KITTY
+
+
+    Meow, meow!
+      Kitty's eyes, two eyes, yellow eyes, shiny bright eyes.
+    Meow, meow!
+      Kitty's pointed ears, pink on the inside, fur on the outside.
+    Meow, meow!
+      Kitty's mouth, little white teeth and whiskers long.
+    Meow, meow!
+      Kitty's fur, soft to stroke like this, like this.
+
+    Prrrr, prrrr,
+      Little fur ball cuddled close to the warm, warm fire.
+    Prrrr, prrrr,
+      Little padded feet pattering soft to get her milk.
+    Prrrr, prrrr,
+      Little pink tongue, lapping up the milk from her own little dish.
+    Prrrr, prrrr,
+      Warm little, round little, happy little kitten snuggled in my arms.
+
+    Pssst, pssst!
+      Stiff little kitten, spitting at a dog.
+    Pssst, pssst!
+      Hair standing up on her humped-up back.
+    Pssst, pssst!
+      Sharp white teeth, sharp, sharp, claws.
+    Pssst, pssst!
+      Ready to jump and to bite and to scratch.
+
+    Kitty, kitty, kitty,
+      You funny little cat,
+    I never know whether you'll purr or spit
+      You funny little cat!
+
+
+
+
+                                         THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS
+
+
+An objective story tied in with the personal.
+
+
+
+
+THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS
+
+
+Once there was an egg. Inside the egg there was a little chicken
+growing, for the mother hen had sat on it for three weeks. When the
+chicken was big enough he wanted to come out and so he went pick, peck,
+pick, peck, until he made a little hole in the shell. Then he stuck his
+bill through the hole and wiggled it until the shell cracked and he
+could get his head through. Then he wiggled it a little more and the
+shell broke and he could get his foot out. And then the shell broke
+right in two.
+
+As soon as the little chicken was out he went scritch, scratch, with his
+little foot. Then he ran to a little saucer of water. He took a little
+water in his bill; then he held his head up in the air while the water
+ran down his throat. The mother hen went:
+
+    "Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck,"
+
+and the little chicken ran to her calling:
+
+    "Cheep, cheep, cheep."
+
+Then he heard a funny little noise. He looked around and what do you
+think he saw? Another egg was cracking because another little chicken
+was going pick, peck inside. Soon out of the shell came a little baby
+brother. And then he heard another funny little noise, and another shell
+broke and out of the shell came a little baby sister. And then he heard
+another little noise and another shell broke and out of the shell came
+still another little sister. This went on until there were a lot of
+yellow baby chickens. Then all the little chickens went scritch,
+scratch, with their little feet looking for worms, and all the little
+chickens took a drink of water and held up their heads to let the water
+run down their throats. And all the little chickens ran to the mother
+hen calling:
+
+    "Cheep, cheep, cheep."
+
+Now all the little chickens began to grow. The little sisters all got
+little bits of combs on the tops of their heads and under their bills.
+Their little yellow feathers turned into all kinds of colors. But the
+little brother chicken, he got a great big red comb on the top of his
+head and under his bill, and he got long spurs on his ankles. On his
+neck the feathers grew long and yellow and behind on his tail they grew
+very long and all shiny green.
+
+He was walking around one morning while it was still dark when suddenly
+he felt a funny feeling in his throat. He wanted to open his mouth. So
+he did, and out of his mouth this is what came:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo."
+
+He thought it sounded perfectly wonderful; so he opened his mouth again
+and out came the same sound:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo."
+
+Now when his sister hens heard this wonderful rooster-noise they all
+came running out of the chicken house. This made the rooster more
+pleased than ever. So he threw his head way back and he opened his beak
+wide and he crowed:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     I'm twice as smart as you,
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     See what I can do."
+
+When his sister hens heard him say this each one began to cluck and say:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I'm going to lay an egg, an egg."
+
+Then the rooster answered:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     I don't believe it's true.
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     I don't believe it's true."
+
+So the little black and white hen, she ran into the barn and up on the
+side of the wall she saw a little box. She jumped into the little box
+and there she laid an egg. Then she said:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Robert.
+     Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Robert."
+
+Then the little yellow hen she jumped right into the manger and she
+wiggled around in the straw until she made a little nest where she laid
+an egg. Then she said:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Martha.
+     Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Martha."
+
+Then the little black hen she saw another little box nailed on to the
+wall so she jumped up on it and she laid an egg and then she said:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Tom, for Tom,
+     Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Tom."
+
+And then the little white hen she could not find any place at all. She
+ran around and around. Finally she sat right down in the soft dust which
+by this time the sun had made all warm, until she made a little round
+hollow and there she laid an egg. Then she said:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Peter.
+     Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Peter."
+
+When the rooster saw all these eggs he opened his mouth again and
+bragged:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     What they say is true.
+     See what they can do,
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo."
+
+And the little hens answered:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     We can lay an egg, an egg,
+     Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     We can lay an egg."
+
+And if ever you are out in the country early in the morning you will
+hear the wonderful rooster-noise. And then you will hear the hens
+telling how many eggs they have laid for you.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE HEN AND THE ROOSTER
+
+
+    The little hen goes "cut cut cut."
+    The rooster he goes "cock a doodle doo!
+    You want me and I want you,
+    But I'm up here and you're down there."
+    The little hen goes "cut cut cut,"
+    The rooster he steps with a funny little strut,
+    He cocks his eye, gives a funny little sound,
+    He looks at the hen, he looks all around,
+    He flaps his wings, he beats the air,
+    He stretches his neck, then flies to the ground.
+    "Cock a doodle, cock a doodle, cock a doodle doo!
+    Now you have me and I have you!"
+
+
+
+
+                                                MY HORSE, OLD DAN
+
+
+This verse utilizes a child's love of enumeration and of movement. The
+School has found it the most successful of my verse for small
+children.
+
+
+
+
+MY HORSE, OLD DAN
+
+
+    Old Dan has two ears
+    Old Dan has two eyes
+    Old Dan has one mouth
+      With many, many, many, many teeth.
+
+    Old Dan has four feet
+    Old Dan has four hoofs
+    Old Dan has one tail
+      With many, many, many, many hairs.
+
+    Old Dan can    w a l k,    w a l k,
+    Old Dan can    trot,    trot,    trot,
+    Old Dan can run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run,
+      Many, many, many, many miles.
+
+                   *       *       *
+
+    Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog
+      The wheels go round and round and round.
+    Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog
+      Oh, hear what a rattlety, tattlety sound!
+    Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog
+      The wheels they pound and pound and pound.
+    Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog
+      While the wagon it rattles along the ground!
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+    Auto, auto.
+    May I have a ride?
+    Yes, sir, yes, sir,
+    Step right inside.
+    Pour in the water,
+    Turn on the gasolene,
+    And chug, chug, away we go
+    Through the country green.
+
+
+
+
+                                            HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME
+
+
+This story was worked out with the help of a five-year-old boy who
+supplied most of the content. It at once suggested dramatization to
+various groups of children to whom it was read. The refrains are
+definite corner posts in the story and are recognized as such by the
+children.
+
+
+
+
+HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME
+
+
+Once there was a cat. She was a black and white and yellow cat and the
+boys on the street called her Spot. For she was a poor cat with no home
+but the street. When she wanted to sleep, she had to hunt for a dark
+empty cellar. When she wanted to eat, she had to hunt for a garbage can.
+So poor Spot was very thin and very unhappy. And much of the time she
+prowled and yowled and howled.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Now one day Spot was prowling along the fence in the alley. She wanted
+to find a home. She was saying to herself:
+
+    "Meow, meow!
+     I've no place to eat,
+     I've no place to sleep,
+     I've only the street!
+     Meow, meow, meow!"
+
+Then suddenly she smelled something. Sniff! went her pink little nose.
+Spot knew it was smoke she smelled. The smoke came out of the chimney of
+a house. "Where there is smoke there is fire," thought Spot, "and where
+there is fire, it is warm to lie." So she jumped down from the fence and
+on her little padded feet ran softly to the door. There she saw an empty
+milk bottle. "Where there are milk bottles, there is milk," thought
+Spot, "and where there is milk, it is good to drink." So she slipped in
+through the door.
+
+Inside was a warm, warm kitchen. Spot trotted softly to the front of the
+stove and there she curled up. She was very happy, so she closed her
+eyes and began to sing:
+
+    "Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Curling up warm
+     To a ball of fur,
+     I close my eyes
+     And purr and purr.
+     Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Purrrr, purrrr."
+
+Bang! went the kitchen door. Spot opened one sleepy eye. In front of her
+stood a cross, cross woman. The cross, cross woman scowled. She picked
+up poor Spot and threw her out of the door, screaming:
+
+    "Scat, scat!
+     You old street cat!
+     Scat, scat!
+     And never come back!"
+
+With a bound Spot jumped back to the fence.
+
+    "Meow, meow!
+     I've no place to eat,
+     I've no place to sleep,
+     I've only the street.
+     Meow, meow, meow!"
+
+So she trotted along the fence. In a little while sniff! went her little
+pink nose again. She smelled more smoke. She stopped by a house with two
+chimneys. The smoke came out of both chimneys! "Where there are two
+fires there must be room for me," thought Spot. She jumped off the fence
+and pattered to the door. By the door there were two empty milk bottles.
+"Where there is so much milk there will be some for me," thought Spot.
+But the door was shut tight. Spot ran to the window. It was open! In
+skipped Spot. There was another warm, warm kitchen and there was another
+stove. Spot trotted softly to the stove and curled up happy and warm.
+She closed her eyes and softly sang:
+
+    "Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Curling up warm
+     To a ball of fur,
+     I close my eyes
+     And purr and purr.
+     Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Purrrr, purrrr."
+
+"Ssssspt!" hissed something close by. Spot leapt to her feet. "Ssssspt!"
+she answered back. For there in front of her stood an enormous black
+cat. His back was humped, his hair stood on end, his eyes gleamed and
+his teeth showed white.
+
+    "Ssssspt! leave my rug!
+     Ssssspt! leave my fire!
+     Ssssspt! leave my milk!
+     Ssssspt! leave my home!"
+
+Spot gave one great jump out of the window and another great jump to the
+top of the fence. For Spot was little and thin and the great black cat
+was strong and big. And he didn't want Spot in his home.
+
+Poor Spot trotted along the fence, thinking:
+
+    "Meow, meow,
+     I've no place to eat,
+     I've no place to sleep,
+     I've only the street,
+     Meow, meow, meow."
+
+In a little while she smelled smoke again. Sniff! went her little pink
+nose. This time she stopped by a house with three chimneys. The smoke
+came out of all the chimneys! "Where there are three fires there _must_
+be room for me," thought Spot. So she jumped off the fence and pattered
+to the door. By the door were three empty milk bottles! "Where there is
+so much milk there must be children," thought Spot and then she began to
+feel happy. But the door was shut tight. She trotted to the window. The
+window was shut tight too! Then she saw some stairs. Up the stairs she
+trotted. There she found another door and in she slipped. She heard a
+very pleasant sound.
+
+             "I crickle, I crackle,
+              I flicker, I flare,
+    I jump from nothing right into the air."
+
+There on the hearth burned an open fire with a warm, warm rug in front
+of it. On the rug was a little table and on the table were two little
+mugs of milk. Spot curled up on the rug under the table and began to
+sing:
+
+    "Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Curling up warm
+     To a ball of fur,
+     I close my eyes,
+     And purr and purr.
+     Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Purrrr, purrrr."
+
+Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat! Spot heard some little feet
+coming. A little boy in a nightgown ran into the room. "Look," he
+called, "at the pretty spotted cat under our table!" Then pat, pat, pat,
+pat, pat! And a little girl in a nightgown ran into the room. "See," she
+called, "the pussy has come to take supper with us!" Then the little
+boy, quick as a wink, put a saucer on the floor and poured some of his
+milk into it and the little girl, quick as a wink, poured some of hers
+in too.
+
+In and out, in and out, in and out, went Spot's pink tongue lapping up
+the milk. Then she sat up and washed her face very carefully. Then she
+curled up and closed her eyes and began to sing. That was her way of
+saying "Thank you, little boy and little girl! I'm so glad I've found a
+home!"
+
+    "Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Purrrr, purrrr, purrrr."
+
+
+
+
+                                                THE DINNER HORSES
+                                                  THE GROCERY MAN
+
+
+The material for these stories came from questions and observations on
+the part of three- and four-year-olds arising largely from their
+trips on the city streets. The children should be allowed to name the
+various kinds of food.
+
+
+
+
+THE DINNER HORSES
+
+
+In a certain house on a certain street there lives a certain little girl
+and her name is Ruth (one of children's names). She sleeps in a little
+bed in a room with a big window opening on to the street. She sleeps all
+night in the little bed with her eyes closed tight. In the morning she
+opens her eyes and it's just beginning to get light. Then she stretches
+and stretches her legs. Then she stops still and listens. For she hears
+him coming, coming, coming down the street. Clopperty, clopperty,
+clopperty, clop! comes the milk horse down the street! He stops in front
+of Ruth's house. Ruth hears him. Then she hears the driver jump out and
+pat, pat, pat, she hears his feet coming to the door. Clank, clink,
+clank, go the milk bottles in his hands. Clank! she hears him put them
+down. Then fast she hears his feet, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat.
+"Go on, Dan!" she hears him call, and clopperty, clopperty, clopperty,
+clop! off goes the milk horse down the street.
+
+Then after a while she hears something else. It's quite light now. Ruth
+thinks it must be time to get up. She stretches and stretches her legs.
+Then she stretches and stretches her arms. Then she stops still and
+listens.
+
+For she hears him coming, coming, coming down the street. Clippety, lip,
+lip, lip, clippety, lip, lip, lip! comes the bread horse down the
+street. He stops in front of Ruth's house. Ruth hears him. Then she
+hears the driver jump out and pat, pat, pat, she hears his feet coming
+to the door. Rattle, crackle, goes the paper as he puts down the loaves
+of bread all wrapped up to keep them clean. Then fast she hears his
+feet, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. "Go on, Bill!" she hears him
+call and clippety, lip, lip, lip, clippety, lip, lip, lip! off goes the
+bread horse down the street.
+
+After breakfast when Ruth is all ready to go to school she hears a big
+auto coming down the street. Kachug-a-chug-a-chug comes the grocery auto
+down the street. It stops at Ruth's house. Ruth runs and looks out of
+the window. She sees the driver jump out and take from the back of the
+auto a basket all full of things. She can see spinach and potatoes and a
+package of sugar and----and----and----.
+
+Then pat, pat, pat, the driver runs to the door. Prrrrrr! she hears the
+bell ring and Ruth knows that the driver is giving Bessie all the things
+at the kitchen door. Then pat, pat, pat back comes the driver, jumps
+into the auto and kachug-a-chug-a-chug! off goes the grocery auto down
+the street!
+
+On the way to school Ruth passes another wagon. Rattling and clattering,
+she hears the butcher's wagon come down the street. "Is there anything
+in that wagon for us?" asks Ruth. And her mother answers, "Yes, a little
+chicken." Then rattling and clattering off to Ruth's house goes the
+butcher's wagon down the street.
+
+Now while Ruth is away at school Bessie washes the spinach and chops it
+up fine and puts it on the stove to boil. She puts the little chicken in
+a pan and puts it in the oven to roast. Then she puts some big potatoes
+in the oven to bake. Then she slices some bread and cuts off a piece of
+butter and pours out some glasses of milk.
+
+When Ruth comes home from school she smells something good. "Dinner's
+all ready," calls Bessie. Ruth answers, "Come father, come mother. I'm
+hungry."
+
+So Ruth and her father and mother sit down at the table and they drink
+the milk and they eat the bread and the spinach and the potatoes and the
+chicken which the milk horse and the bread horse and the grocery auto
+and the butcher's wagon brought in the morning.
+
+
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+THE GROCERY MAN
+
+
+Prrrip! prrrip! prrrip! the telephone rings in the grocery store.
+"Hello," says the grocery man. "Who are you?"
+
+"I'm Ruth's mother. Good morning, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Good morning, Ruth's Mother. What can I send you today?"
+
+"Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some potatoes and some graham crackers
+and a package of sugar and some carrots."
+
+"Is that all, Ruth's Mother?"
+
+"Yes, that's all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Goodbye, Ruth's Mother."
+
+So the grocery man hangs up the telephone and takes a basket and in the
+basket he puts some potatoes, some graham crackers, a package of sugar
+and some carrots.
+
+Then prrrip! prrrip! prrrip! the telephone rings again.
+
+"Hello!" says the Grocery Man. "Who is this?"
+
+"This is John's Mother. Good morning, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Good morning, John's Mother. What can I send you today?"
+
+"Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some spinach and some apples and some
+butter and some eggs."
+
+"Is that all, John's Mother?"
+
+"Yes, that's all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Goodbye, John's Mother."
+
+So the Grocery Man hangs up the telephone and takes another basket and
+in the basket he puts some spinach and some apples and some butter and
+some eggs.
+
+Then prrrip! prrrip, prrrip! the telephone rings another time.
+
+"Hello!" says the Grocery Man. "Who are you?"
+
+"I'm Robert's Mother. Good morning, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Good morning, Robert's Mother. What can I send you today?"
+
+"Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some prunes and some macaroni and some
+salt and some oatmeal."
+
+"Is that all, Robert's Mother?"
+
+"Yes, that's all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Goodbye, Robert's Mother."
+
+So the Grocery Man hangs up the telephone and takes another basket and
+in the basket he puts some prunes and some macaroni and some salt and
+some oatmeal. Then he carries Ruth's basket out and puts it in a wagon
+on the street. Then he carries John's basket out and puts it in the
+wagon. At last he carries Robert's basket out and puts that in the wagon
+with the others. Then the driver jumps to the seat and gathers up the
+reins and says "Go on, Old Dan," and clopperty, clopperty clop! off goes
+Old Dan down the street.
+
+Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop till he gets to Ruth's house and
+there he stops. The driver jumps out and takes the basket and pat, pat,
+pat, go his feet running to the door. Prrrr! he rings the bell and gives
+Ruth's mother the potatoes, the graham crackers, the sugar and the
+carrots. Then pat, pat, pat, he is back in the wagon. "Go on, Old Dan,"
+and clopperty, clopperty, clop! off goes Old Dan down the street.
+
+Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop till he gets to John's house and
+there he stops. The driver jumps out and takes another basket and pat,
+pat, pat go his feet running to the door. Prrrr! he rings the bell and
+gives John's mother the spinach, the apples, the butter and the eggs.
+Then pat, pat, pat, he is back in the wagon. "Go on, Old Dan," and
+clopperty, clopperty, clop! off goes Old Dan down the street.
+
+Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop till he gets to Robert's house
+and there he stops. The driver jumps out, takes another basket and pat,
+pat, pat, he is at the door. Prrrr! he rings the bell and gives Robert's
+mother the prunes, the macaroni, the salt and the oatmeal. Then pat,
+pat, pat, he is back in the wagon. "Go on, Old Dan," and clopperty,
+clopperty, clop! off goes old Dan down the street.
+
+So Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop from house to house until he
+has left a basket with everybody who telephoned to the grocery man in
+the morning.
+
+
+
+
+                                                      THE JOURNEY
+
+
+This story, which is an adaptation of a five-year-old's story quoted in
+the introduction, embodies the details given to me by another
+three-year-old child. The sound of the train should be intoned, as it
+was in the original telling.
+
+
+
+
+THE JOURNEY
+
+
+Once Ruth's father was going to take a journey. He got out his suitcase.
+And in his suitcase he put his slippers, his pajamas, his tooth brush,
+some tooth paste, some clean underclothes, some clean shirts, some
+collars, some socks and some handkerchiefs. Then he kissed Ruth goodbye
+as she lay asleep in her bed and he kissed her mother goodbye and with
+his suitcase in his hand went up to the Pennsylvania Station.
+
+At the train he met the negro porter. "What berth, sir?" said the
+porter. "Lower 10", said Ruth's father. So the porter took the suitcase
+and put it down at Number 10 which was all made up into two beds, one
+above the other, with green curtains hanging in front. Then Ruth's
+father undressed. And in a few minutes he was asleep behind the green
+curtains.
+
+Soon the train started and Ruth's father never woke up. "Thum," said the
+train (on many different keys) all through the night. "Thum, thum, thum;
+thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum.
+_Philadelphia!_ Thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum,
+thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum. _Baltimore!_ Thum, thum, thum,
+thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum,
+thum. _Washington!_"
+
+Then Ruth's father got up and dressed himself, for it was morning. The
+negro porter carried his suitcase to the platform. "Goodbye, sir," he
+said. "Goodbye, Porter," said Ruth's father. And then he went off to a
+hotel.
+
+The next day it was time for him to go home. So Ruth's father packed his
+suitcase again. In his suitcase he put his slippers, his pajamas, his
+tooth brush, some tooth paste, his dirty underclothes, his dirty shirts,
+his collars, his socks and his handkerchiefs. Then he went to the
+Pennsylvania Station in Washington.
+
+At the train he met another negro porter. "What berth, sir?" said the
+porter. "Upper 6," said Ruth's father. So the porter took the suitcase
+and put it in the top bed of Number 6. Ruth's father climbed up into the
+upper berth. Then he undressed and in a few minutes he was asleep behind
+the green curtains.
+
+Soon the train started. "Thum," said the train, though Ruth's father
+never heard it he was so sound asleep. "Thum, thum, thum, thum; thum,
+thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum.
+_Baltimore!_ Thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum,
+thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum. _Philadelphia!_ Thum, thum, thum,
+thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum,
+thum. _New York!_"
+
+Then Ruth's father got up and dressed himself for it was morning. The
+negro porter carried his suitcase to the platform. "Goodbye, sir," he
+said. "Goodbye, Porter," said Ruth's father.
+
+Then Ruth's father jumped into a taxi and in a few minutes he was at
+home. Ruth came running down the stairs. "Here's father," she cried.
+"Here's father in time for breakfast!" "My," said Ruth's father, giving
+her a hug, "It's good to be home!"
+
+
+
+
+                                                     PEDRO'S FEET
+
+
+Here there is a definite attempt to let the sounds tell their own
+story.
+
+
+
+
+PEDRO'S FEET
+
+
+Little Pedro was a dog. He lived in New York City. He was owned by a
+little boy who loved him. For Pedro had big brown eyes and curly brown
+hair and when he wanted anything he would go:
+
+"Hu-u-u, hu-u-u, hu-u-u!" And any one would have loved Pedro.
+
+One day Pedro was lying on his front steps in the warm, warm sun. He put
+his nose on his little fore paws and went to sleep.
+
+"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!" went a little fly in his ear.
+
+"Yap, yap!" went Pedro's jaws as he snapped at the fly. But he missed
+the fly.
+
+"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!" went the little fly.
+
+"Yap, yap!" went Pedro's jaws. But he missed the fly again.
+
+"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!"
+
+"Yap, yap, yap!"
+
+"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!"
+
+"Yap, yap, yap, yap!"
+
+Up jumped Pedro. "I can't sleep with that fly in my ear! I'll take a
+walk!" Down the steps he went. Skippety, skippety, skippety, skippety.
+He reached the sidewalk. On the sidewalk went his feet. You could hear
+them as they beat. Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter down the
+street.
+
+When he came to the end of the block, he started across the street.
+Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat----
+
+"Honk, honk! Look out, look out! Honk, honk!"
+
+Jump-thump! went Pedro's feet. Jump-jump jump-jump, jump-jump,
+thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, jump-jump, jump-jump, jump-jump,
+pitter patter, pitter patter,--he'd reached the other side! And the auto
+hadn't hurt him!
+
+Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could hear them as they beat
+pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter down the street.
+
+When he came to the end of this block, he started across the next
+street.
+
+Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat----
+
+"Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty! Get out of my way, get out
+of my way! Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty!"
+
+Jump-thump! went Pedro's feet. Jump-jump jump-jump, jump-jump,
+thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, jump-jump, jump-jump, jump-jump,
+pitter patter, pitter patter,--he'd reached the other side! And the
+horse hadn't hurt him either!
+
+Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could hear them as they
+beat,--pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter down the street.
+
+When he came to the end of this block, he started across the next
+street.
+
+Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat---- Pedro stopped with
+one little front foot up in the air. In the middle of the street stood a
+man. He had on high rubber boots and he held a big hose.
+
+Shrzshrzshrzshrzshrz--came the water out of the hose. It hit the street.
+Splsh splsh splsh splsh splsh! It ran in a little stream into the hole
+in the gutter,--gubble, gubble, gubble, gubble, gubble! This was
+something new to Pedro. He didn't understand.
+
+Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter. He thought he'd better find
+out about it.
+
+"Hie, you little dog! Look out!" shouted the man.
+
+Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter.
+
+"Hie, you little dog. I say look out!"
+
+Pitter patter, pitter pat--ssssssssss bang! the water hit him!
+
+"Ki-eye! yow! yow!" Kathump, kathump, kathump, kathump; kathump,
+kathump, kathump, kathump! Fast, fast went Pedro's feet, running,
+tearing down the street.
+
+"Ki-eye! I'm going home!" Kathump, kathump, kathump, kathump! Down the
+sidewalk, 'cross the street, 'nother sidewalk, 'nother street, kathump,
+kathump, kathump, kathump! Pedro was at home. Skippety, skippety up the
+stairs. Pedro was at his own front door.
+
+He stopped. Brrrrrrrrrrrrr--he shook himself. He scattered the water all
+around.
+
+"Bow, wow, I'm glad I'm home! Bow, wow, I'm glad I'm home!"
+
+Then he lay down in the warm, warm sun. And he put his nose on his
+little fore paws. And he closed his eyes and he went to sleep.
+
+"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!"
+
+But Pedro was too sound asleep to hear the fly.
+
+"Whe-whuhuhu, whe-whuhuhu, whe-whuhuhu." That's the way he was
+breathing. For he was oh, so sound asleep! And there he is sleeping
+now.
+
+
+
+
+                                           HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED
+                                                 THE KNOWING SONG
+
+
+This story stresses the relationship of use in response to what seems to
+be a five-year-old method of thinking.
+
+The school has found it best to let the younger children take the parts
+individually but to omit the parts in unison. The joy of the mere noise
+makes it difficult to bring them back for the close of the story. All
+the children have repeated the refrains after a few readings with
+evident enjoyment.
+
+
+
+
+HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED THE KNOWING SONG
+
+
+Once there was a new engine. He had a great big boiler; he had a smoke
+stack; he had a bell; he had a whistle; he had a sand-dome; he had a
+headlight; he had four big driving wheels; he had a cab. But he was very
+sad, was this engine, for he didn't know how to use any of his parts.
+All around him on the tracks were other engines, puffing or whistling or
+ringing their bells and squirting steam. One big engine moved his wheels
+slowly, softly muttering to himself, "I'm going, I'm going, I'm going."
+Now the new engine knew this was the end of the Knowing Song of Engines.
+He wanted desperately to sing it. So he called out:
+
+    "I want to go
+     But I don't know how;
+     I want to know,
+     Please teach me now.
+     Please somebody teach me how."
+
+Now there were two men who had come just on purpose to teach him how.
+And who do you suppose they were? The engineer and the fireman! When
+the engineer heard the new engine call out, he asked, "What do you want,
+new engine?"
+
+And the engine answered:
+
+    "I want the sound
+     Of my wheels going round.
+     I want to stream
+     A jet of steam.
+     I want to puff
+     Smoke and stuff.
+     I want to ring
+     Ding, ding-a-ding.
+     I want to blow
+     My whistle so.
+     I want my light
+     To shine out bright.
+     I want to go ringing and singing the song,
+     The humming song of the engine coming,
+     The clear, near song of the engine here,
+     The knowing song of the engine going."
+
+Now the engineer and the fireman were pleased when they heard what the
+new engine wanted. But the engineer said:
+
+    "All in good time, my engine,
+     Steady, steady,
+     'Til you're ready.
+     Learn to know
+     Before you go."
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Then he said to the fireman, "First we must give our engine some water."
+So they put the end of a hose hanging from a big high-up tank right into
+a little tank under the engine's tender. The water filled up this little
+tank and then ran into the big boiler and filled that all up too. And
+while they were doing this the water kept saying:
+
+    "I am water from a stream
+     When I'm hot I turn to steam."
+
+When the engine felt his boiler full of water he asked eagerly:
+
+    "Now I have water,
+     Now do I know
+     How I should go?"
+
+But the fireman said:
+
+    "All in good time, my engine,
+     Steady, steady,
+     'Til you're ready,
+     Learn to know
+     Before you go."
+
+Then he said to the engineer, "Now we must give our engine some coal."
+So they filled the tender with coal, and then under the boiler the
+fireman built a fire. Then the fireman began blowing and the coals began
+glowing. And as he built the fire, the fire said:
+
+    "I am fire,
+     The coal I eat
+     To make the heat
+     To turn the stream
+     Into the steam."
+
+When the engine felt the sleeping fire wake up and begin to live inside
+him and turn the water into steam he said eagerly:
+
+    "Now I have water,
+     Now I have coal,
+     Now do I know
+     How I should go?"
+
+But the engineer said:
+
+    "All in good time, my engine,
+     Steady, steady,
+     'Til you're ready.
+     Learn to know
+     Before you go."
+
+Then he said to the fireman, "We must oil our engine well." So they took
+oil cans with funny long noses and they oiled all the machinery, the
+piston-rods, the levers, the wheels, everything that moved or went
+round. And all the time the oil kept saying:
+
+    "No creak,
+     No squeak."
+
+When the engine felt the oil smoothing all his machinery, he said
+eagerly:
+
+    "Now I have water,
+     Now I have coal,
+     Now I am oiled,
+     Now do I know
+     How I should go?"
+
+But the fireman said:
+
+    "All in good time, my engine,
+     Steady, steady,
+     'Til you're ready.
+     Learn to know
+     Before you go."
+
+Then he said to the engineer, "We must give our engine some sand." So
+they took some sand and they filled the sand domes on top of the boiler
+so that he could send sand down through his two little pipes and
+sprinkle it in front of his wheels when the rails were slippery. And all
+the time the sand kept saying:
+
+    "When ice drips,
+     And wheel slips,
+     I am sand
+     Close at hand."
+
+When the new engine felt his sand-dome filled with sand he said eagerly:
+
+    "Now I have water,
+     Now I have coal,
+     Now I am oiled,
+     Now I have sand,
+     Now do I know
+     How I should go?"
+
+But the engineer said:
+
+    "All in good time, my engine,
+     Steady, steady,
+     'Til you're ready.
+     Learn to know
+     Before you go."
+
+Then he said to the fireman, "We must light our engine's headlight." So
+the fireman took a cloth and he wiped the mirror behind the light and
+polished the brass around it. Then he filled the lamp with oil. Then the
+engineer struck a match and lighted the lamp and closed the little door
+in front of it. And all the time the light kept saying:
+
+    "I'm the headlight shining bright
+     Like a sunbeam through the night."
+
+Now when the engine saw the great golden path of brightness streaming
+out ahead of him, he said eagerly:
+
+    "Now I have water,
+     Now I have coal,
+     Now I am oiled,
+     Now I have sand,
+     Now I make light,
+     Now do I know
+     How I should go?"
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+And the engineer said, "We will see if you are ready, my new engine." So
+he climbed into the cab and the fireman got in behind him. Then he said,
+"Engine, can you blow your whistle so?" And he pulled a handle which let
+the steam into the whistle and the engine whistled (who wants to be the
+whistle?) "Toot, toot, toot." Then he said, "Can you puff smoke and
+stuff?" And the engine puffed black smoke (who wants to be the
+smoke?), saying, "Puff, puff, puff, puff, puff." Then he said, "Engine,
+can you squirt a stream of steam?" And he opened a valve (who wants to
+be the steam?) and the engine went, "Szszszszsz." Then he said, "Engine,
+can you sprinkle sand?" And he pulled a little handle (who wants to be
+the sand?) and the sand trickled drip, drip, drip, down on the tracks in
+front of the engine's wheels. Then he said, "Engine, does your light
+shine out bright?" And he looked (who wants to be the headlight?) and
+there was a great golden flood of light on the track in front of him.
+Then he said, "Engine, can you make the sound of your wheels going
+round?" And he pulled another lever and the great wheels began to move
+(who wants to be the wheels?) Then the engineer said:
+
+    "Now is the time,
+     Now is the time.
+     Steady, steady,
+     Now you are ready.
+
+Blow whistle, ring bell, puff smoke, hiss steam, sprinkle sand, shine
+light, turn wheels!
+
+    'Tis time to be ringing and singing the song,
+    The humming song of the engine coming,
+    The clear, near song of the engine here,
+    The knowing song of the engine going."
+
+Then whistle blew, bell rang, smoke puffed, steam hissed, sand
+sprinkled, light shone and wheels turned like this: (Eventually the
+children can do this together, each performing his chosen part.)
+
+    "Toot-toot, ding-a-ding, puff-puff,
+     Szszszszsz, drip-drip, chug-chug."
+
+(After a moment stop the children)
+
+That's the way the new engine sounded when he started on his first ride
+and didn't know how to do things very well. But that's not the way he
+sounded when he had learned to go really smooth and fast. Then it was
+that he learned _really_ to sing "The Knowing Song of the Engine." He
+sang it better than any one else for he became the fastest, the
+steadiest, the most knowing of all express engines. And this is the song
+he sang. You could hear it humming on the rails long before he came and
+hear it humming on the rails long after he had passed. Now listen to the
+song.
+
+(Begin very softly rising to a climax with "I'm here" and gradually
+dying to a faint whisper)
+
+    "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming,
+     I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming,
+     I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming,
+     I'm Coming, I'm Coming, I'm Coming, I'm Coming.
+     I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M HERE,
+     I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M HERE.
+     I'm Going, I'm Going, I'm Going, I'm Going,
+     I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going,
+     I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going,
+     I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going."
+
+
+
+
+                                               THE FOG BOAT STORY
+
+
+The refrains must be intoned if not sung to get the proper effect. Most
+of the informational parts of the original story have been cut out. The
+story grew out of questions asked before breakfast on foggy days, and
+was originally told to the sound of the distant fog horns.
+
+
+
+
+THE FOG BOAT STORY
+
+
+Early, early one morning, all the fog boats were talking. This is the
+way they were going:
+
+"Toot, toot, toot, too-oot, to-oo-oot!" (on many different keys.)
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Way down at the wharf a big steamer was being pulled out into the river.
+The furnaces were all going for the stokers were down in the hole
+shoveling coal, down in the hole shoveling coal, shoveling coal, and a
+lot of black smoke was coming out of the smoke stack. And the engines
+were working, chug, chug, chug. And all the baggage and freight had been
+put down in the hold. And all the food had been put on the ice. And all
+the passengers were on board and the gang-plank had been pulled up. And
+this is what the big steamer was saying:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Toot toot I'm mov-ing; toot toot I'm mov-ing."]
+
+And do you know what was making the steamer move? What was pulling her
+out into the river? It was a little tug boat and the tug boat had hold
+of one end of a big rope and the other end of the rope was tied fast to
+the steamer. And the little tug boat was puffing and chucking and
+working away as hard as he could and calling out:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Too too too too toot I'm aw-ful smart; too too too too toot I pull
+ big things."]
+
+And do you know why the tug boat and the steamer were talking like this?
+It is because they were afraid they might bump into some other ship in
+the fog for they can't see in the fog. You know how white and thick the
+fog can be.
+
+So the old steamer and the little tug boat both kept tooting until they
+were way out in the middle of the river.
+
+"Toot, toot, I'm moving." "Tootootootootoot, I'm awful smart."
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Now when they were way out in the middle of the river, the little tug
+boat dropped the rope from the big steamer and turned around. As it
+puffed away it called out:
+
+    "Too-too-too-tootoot, I'm going home
+     Too-too-too-tootoot, I'm awful smart."
+
+Then the big steamer moved slowly down the river towards the great ocean
+calling through the fog:
+
+    "Toot, toot, I'm moving."
+
+Up on the captain's bridge stood the pilot. He is the man who tells just
+where to make the steamer go in the harbor. He knows where everything
+is. He knows where the rocks are on the right and he didn't let the
+steamer bump them. He knows where the sand reef is on the left and he
+didn't let the steamer get on to that. He knows just where the deep
+water is and he kept the steamer in it all the time.
+
+Now down on the right so close that it almost bumped, there went a flat
+boat. This boat was saying:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Toot toot My load is heavy, load is heavy, load is heavy, toot,"]
+
+And that was a coal barge. And then down on the left so close that it
+almost bumped on the other side they heard another boat saying:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Too toot, back & forth, Too toot, back & forth"]
+
+And that was a ferry boat! Then off on the right they heard a great big
+deep voice. This is what it said:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Toot toot, 'tis I"]
+
+And that was a war boat! And every time the old steamer answered:
+
+    "Toot, toot, I'm moving."
+
+Once off on the left the passengers could hear this:
+
+    "Ding----g! dong----g!
+     Hear my song----g!
+     Ding----g! dong----g!"
+
+And what bell do you think that was way out there? A bell buoy rocking
+on the water! Every time the wave went up it said, "ding" and every time
+the wave went down it said, "dong."
+
+By this time the old steamer was out of the harbor way out in the open
+sea. The pilot came down from the captain's deck; he climbed down the
+rope ladder to the little pilot boat that was tied close to the big
+steamer. Then the little pilot boat pushed away into the fog calling:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Too too toot too toot I'm go-ing go-ing home"]
+
+And again the big steamer answered:
+
+    "Toot, toot, I'm moving."
+
+Then way off on the left so far away it could barely hear it, it heard:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Don't hit me, toot toot, don't hit me, toot toot"]
+
+And that was a sail boat! Then way off on the right so far away it could
+barely hear it, it heard
+
+    "Toot, toot, I'm moving"
+
+and that was another steamer.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+And again the big steamer answered:
+
+    "Toot, toot, I'm moving."
+
+And so the old steamer went out into the fog calling, calling so that no
+boat would hit it. And all the other boats that passed it, they went
+calling, calling too.
+
+
+
+
+                                         HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE
+
+
+This story is a slight extension of the children's own experience. It is
+purposely limited to the tools they themselves handle familiarly.
+
+
+
+
+HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE
+
+
+Once there was a carpenter. He had built himself a fine new house. And
+now it was all done. The walls, the floors and the roof were done. The
+stairs were done. The windows and doors were done. And the carpenter had
+moved into his new house.
+
+In his house he had a stove and he had electric lights. He had beds and
+chairs and bureaus and bookcases. He had everything except a table to
+eat off of. He still had to stand up when he ate his meals!
+
+So the carpenter thought he would make him a table. But he had no lumber
+left. So off he went to the lumber mill. At the lumber mill he saw lots
+and lots of lumber piled in the yard. The carpenter told the man at the
+lumber mill just how much lumber he wanted and just how long he wanted
+it and how broad he wanted it and how thick he wanted it.
+
+So the man at the lumber mill put all this lumber,--just what the
+carpenter had ordered,--on a wagon and sent it out to the carpenter's
+house.
+
+And then the carpenter began. He said to himself, "First I must make my
+boards just the right length." So he measured a board just as long as he
+wanted the top to be; then he put the board on a sawhorse and he took
+his saw and began to saw:
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+            "Zzzu," went the saw,
+            "Zzzu, zzzu, zzzu."
+             The sawdust flew
+             The saw ripped through
+    Down dropped the board sawed right in two.
+
+And then the carpenter took another board and he measured this just the
+same length. Then he put this board on the sawhorse and he took the saw
+and began to saw:
+
+            "Zzzu," went the saw,
+            "Zzzu, zzzu, zzzu."
+             The sawdust flew
+             The saw ripped through
+    Down dropped the board sawed right in two.
+
+And then the carpenter took still another board and "Zzzu," went the saw
+until this board too was sawed right in two. Then he had enough for the
+top of the table. Then he took the pieces that were going to make the
+legs and he sawed four of them just the right length. Then he sawed the
+boards that were going to be the braces until they too were just the
+right length. And underneath his sawhorse there was a little pile of
+sawdust.
+
+Then after this the carpenter says to himself, "I must make my boards
+smooth." So he puts a board in the vise and he begins to plane the
+board.
+
+    The plane he guides
+    The plane it glides
+    It smooths, it slides
+    All over the sides.
+
+And when this board is all smooth, the carpenter takes it out of the
+vise and puts in another board. Then he takes his plane.
+
+    The plane he guides
+    The plane it glides
+    It smooths, it slides
+    All over the sides.
+
+And then the carpenter takes still another board and he guides and
+slides the plane until this board too is all smooth. And he does this
+until all the boards that are going to make the top and the legs and the
+braces are all smooth. And underneath his bench there is a pile of
+shavings.
+
+And then the carpenter he says to himself, "I must nail my boards
+together." So he puts the boards that are going to make the top together
+and he takes a nail and then he swings his hammer:
+
+    The hammer it gives a swinging pound.
+    The nail it gives a ringing sound.
+        Bing! bang! bing! bing!
+    And the boards are tight together!
+
+And then the carpenter takes another piece of the top and puts it beside
+the other two and he takes another nail and then he swings his hammer
+again.
+
+    The hammer it gives a swinging pound.
+    The nail it gives a ringing sound.
+        Bing! bang! bing! bing!
+    And the boards are tight together!
+
+And then the carpenter takes one piece that is going to be a leg and he
+holds it so it stands right out from the top, and he takes another nail
+and he nails the leg to the top. Bing! bang! bing! bing! He does this
+with the other three legs of his table. And then he has four strong legs
+and the top of his table all nailed together.
+
+Then the carpenter he says to himself, "I'll put some boards across and
+make it stronger." So he takes some boards sawed just the right length,
+and he nails them across underneath the top, bing! bang! bing! bing! And
+then he has a table!
+
+So the carpenter lifts his table out into the middle of his room and he
+puts a chair beside it. When he sits down he is smiling all over. For
+the table is just the right size and just the right height and it is
+strong and good to look at. The carpenter is so glad to have a table to
+eat off of that he says to himself:
+
+      "Now isn't it grand?
+      I won't have to stand
+    While eating my dinner again!
+      For now I am able
+      To sit at the table
+    I made with saw, hammer and plane!"
+
+
+
+
+                                                     THE ELEPHANT
+
+
+This was written with the help of eight-year-old children who were
+trying to make everything sound "heavy" and "slow."
+
+
+
+
+THE ELEPHANT
+
+
+The little boy had never before been to the Zoo. He walked up close to
+the high iron fence. On the other side he saw a huge wrinkled grey lump
+slowly sway to one side and then slowly sway back to the other. And as
+it swayed from side to side its great long wrinkled trunk swung slowly
+too. The little boy followed the trunk with his eye up to the huge head
+of the great wrinkled grey lump. There were enormous torn worn flapping
+ears. And there, too, embedded like jewels in a leather wall sparkled
+two little eyes. These eyes were fastened on the little boy. They seemed
+to shine in the dull wrinkled skin. Slowly the huge mass began to move.
+Slowly one heavy padded foot came up and then went down with a soft
+thud. Then came another soft thud and another and another. Suddenly the
+monstrous trunk waved, curled, lifted, stretched and stretched, until
+its soft pink end was thrust through the high iron fence and the little
+boy could look up into the fleshy yawning red mouth. The little boy drew
+back from the high iron fence. The end of the trunk wiggled and
+wriggled around feeling its way up and down a rod of the fence; the
+great body swayed from one heavy foot to the other; and all the time the
+bright little eyes were fastened on the boy.
+
+The little boy looked and looked and looked again. He could hardly
+believe his eyes. "Whew!" he said at last, "so that's an elephant!"
+
+
+
+
+                                             HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE
+
+
+The classifications and most of the expressions were suggested by a
+child.
+
+
+
+
+HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE
+
+
+    The lion, he has paws with claws,
+      The horse, he walks on hooves,
+    The worm, he lies right on the ground
+      And wriggles when he moves!
+
+    The seal, he moves with swimming feet,
+      The moth, has wings like a sail,
+    The fly he clings; the bird he wings,
+      The monkey swings by his tail!
+
+        But boys and girls
+        With feet and hands
+        Can walk and run
+        And swim and stand!
+
+
+
+
+                                                     THE SEA-GULL
+
+
+All the material and most of the expressions are taken from a story by a
+six-year-old. It was put into rhythm because the children wished "the
+words to go like the waves."
+
+
+
+
+THE SEA-GULL
+
+
+    Feel the waves go rocking, rocking,
+      Feel them roll and roll and roll.
+    On the top there sits a sea-gull
+      And he's rocking with the waves.
+    Now 'tis evening and he's weary
+      So he's resting on the waves.
+
+    When he woke in early morning
+      Like a flash he spied a fish.
+    Quick he flew and quickly diving
+      Snapped the fish and ate him straight.
+    Then he screamed for he was happy.
+      Then he spied another fish
+    Quick he flew and quickly diving
+      Snapped the fish and ate him straight.
+    So he played while shone the sunshine,
+      Catching fish and screaming hoarse
+    Till he was quite out of hunger,
+      And would rest him on the waves.
+    Once he flapped and flapped his great wings,
+      Soaring like an aeroplane.
+    Down below him lay the ocean
+      Like a wrinkled crinkly thing,
+    And giant steamers looked like toy ones
+      Slowly moving on the waves.
+
+    Now the moonshine's making silver
+      All the tossing, rocking waves.
+    And the sea-gull looks like silver
+      And his great wings look like silver
+      Pressing close his silver side,
+    And his sharp beak looks like silver
+      Tucked beneath his silver wings.
+    For beneath the silver moonlight
+      See, the sea-gull's gone to sleep.
+    Rocking, rocking on the water,
+    Sleeping, sleeping on the waves,
+    Rocking--sleeping--sleeping--rocking,
+    Fast asleep upon the waves.
+
+
+
+
+                                        THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP
+
+
+It has seemed appropriate to let the children realize the incessant
+quality of farm work before that of the factory.
+
+
+
+
+THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP
+
+
+    The farmer woke up in the morning
+      And sleepy as sleepy was he,
+    He turned in his bed and he grouchily said:
+      "Today I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!
+       Today I will sleep! Let me be!"
+
+    Now Puss in the corner she heard
+      She heard what the farmer had said,
+    She ran to the barn and she mewed in alarm;
+      "The farmer will sleep in his bed, in his bed!
+       Today he will sleep in his bed!"
+
+    Then Horse in the stable looked up,
+      He whinneyed and shook his old head;
+    "Shall I stand here all day without any hay?
+      Whey-ey-ey! Farmer, come feed me!" he said, so he said,
+      "Whey-ey-ey! Farmer, come feed me!" he said.
+
+    But the farmer he tight closed his eyes
+      For sleepy as sleepy was he,
+    He turned in his bed and he angrily said:
+      "Horse, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!
+       Horse, I will sleep! Let me be!"
+
+    Down under the barn in the dirt
+      Pig heard what the Pussy cat mewed.
+    "Can he give me the scraps when he's taking his naps?
+      Wee-ee, Farmer, come give me my food, oh, my food!
+      Wee-ee, Farmer, come give me my food!"
+
+    But the farmer he tight closed his ears
+      For sleepy as sleepy was he,
+    He turned in his bed and he sulkily said:
+      "Pig, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!
+       Pig, I will sleep! Let me be!"
+
+    Now Rooster with Chickens and Hen
+      Had been crowing since early that morn,
+    And he crowed when he heard this terrible word:
+      "Cock-a-doo! Farmer, give us our corn, us our corn!
+       Cock-a-doo! Farmer, give us our corn."
+
+    But the farmer he pulled up the covers
+      For sleepy as sleepy was he,
+    He turned in his bed and crossly he said:
+      "Cock, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!
+       Cock, I will sleep! Let me be!"
+
+    Cow heard in the pasture and lowed;
+      "My cud no longer I chew,
+    I stand by the gate and I wait and I wait,
+      Oh, Farmer, come milk me! Moo-oo, moo-oo!
+      Oh, Farmer, come milk me, moo-oo!"
+
+    But the farmer got under the covers,
+      For sleepy as sleepy was he,
+    He turned in his bed and fiercely he said,
+      "Cow, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!
+       Cow, I will sleep! Let me be!"
+
+    Then Horse he broke from the stable,
+      And Pig he broke from the pen,
+    And Cow jumped the fence though she hadn't much sense,
+      And Cock called Chickens and Hen, and Hen,
+      He called to Chickens and Hen.
+
+    Then up to the farm house door
+      All followed the Pussy who knew.
+    Horse whinneyed, Cock crowed, Pig grunted, Cow lowed;
+      "Get up, Farmer! Whey, cock-a-doo, wee-wee-wee, mooo!
+       Whey, cock-a-doo, wee-wee-wee, moooo!"
+
+    The farmer down under the covers,
+      He heard and he groaned and he sighed.
+    He wearily rose and he put on his clothes;
+      "They need me, I'm coming, I'm coming," he cried,
+      "They need me, I'm coming," he cried.
+
+    "I'll feed Horse, Chickens and Pig,
+      I'll milk old Cow," said he,
+    "And when this is done, my work's just begun,
+      Today I must work, so I see, so I see!
+      Today I must work, so I see!"
+
+    So he fed Horse, Chickens and Pig
+      And afterwards milked old Cow.
+    For Farmer must work, he never can shirk!
+      Today he is working, right now, right now!
+      Today he is working right now!
+
+
+
+
+                                    WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS!
+
+
+All the essential points in this story were taken from the story of a
+four-year-old's about a horse. He enjoyed the nonsense in telling it.
+Some of the four-year-old groups have appreciated the humor; some
+five-year-olds have not. Instead they have seemed confused.
+
+
+
+
+WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS!
+
+
+Once there was a wonderful cow,--only she never was! She always had been
+wonderful, ever since she was a baby calf. Her mother noticed it at
+once. She was born out in the pasture one sunny morning in June. As soon
+as she was born, she got up on her long, thin legs. She wobbled quite a
+little for she wasn't very strong. Then she went over to her mother and
+put her nose down to her mother's bag and took a drink of milk. This is
+what all the old cow's babies had always done so the old cow thought
+nothing of that. But when this wonderful last baby calf had drunk its
+breakfast, what do you suppose it did? It stood on its head! Now the old
+cow had never seen anything like this. It was most surprising! It
+frightened her. She called to it:
+
+    "Oh, my baby, baby calf,
+     Your mother kindly begs,
+     Please, _please_ get off your head
+     And stand upon your legs!"
+
+But the baby calf only mooed. And it smiled when it mooed which the old
+cow thought queer too. None of her other babies had smiled. Then the
+calf said:
+
+      "I'm a wonderful calf,
+       And it makes me laugh
+    Such wonderful things can I do!
+       I stand on my head
+       Whenever I'm fed,
+    And smile whenever I moo,
+         I do,
+    I smile whenever I moo!"
+
+"Dear me!" thought the old mother cow. "I never saw or heard anything
+like this!"
+
+But this was only the beginning. The baby calf kept on doing
+strange and wonderful things till at last everyone called her
+Wonderful-calf-that-never-was! And many people used to come to see her
+stand on her head whenever she was fed. She did other queer things too!
+Once she pulled off the ear of another calf! And all she said was: "Poor
+little calf! You mustn't go in the pasture where there are other
+calves!" But the little calf who had lost its ear said, "Yes, I must!"
+But after that Wonderful-calf-that-never-was was kept in the barn for a
+long time.
+
+At last it was June again and she was a year old. Her horns had begun
+to grow. The old cow, her mother, had another baby. This new baby calf
+was just like other calves and not wonderful at all. The old cow was
+glad for Wonderful-cow-that-never-was worried her very much. For
+everything about her was queer. One day the calf who had lost
+the ear,--she was a young cow now,--took hold of the tail of
+Wonderful-young-cow-that-never-was and pulled it. And what do
+you suppose happened? The tail broke right off! All the cows
+were frightened. Whoever heard of a broken tail? But
+Wonderful-young-cow-that-never-was only mooed and when she mooed
+she always smiled. Then she said:
+
+      "I'm a wonderful cow
+       And I don't know how
+    Such wonderful things I do!
+       If I break my tail,
+       I never fail
+    To glue with a grasshopper's goo,
+         I do,
+    I glue with a grasshopper's goo!"
+
+And so she did. She got a grasshopper to give her some sticky stuff
+and she smeared it on the two ends of her broken tail and stuck them
+together. "And now it's as good as new," she said, "and now it's as good
+as new!"
+
+Her horns grew and grew. She was very proud of them and was always
+trying to hook some one or gore another cow with them. But one day she
+went to the edge of the lake when it was very still. It wasn't wavy at
+all. And as she leaned over to drink, she saw herself in the water. My
+mercy! but she was shocked!
+
+"My horns are straight!" she screamed, "and I want them curly!" She ran
+to the old mother cow and had what her mother called the "Krink-kranks."
+She jumped up and down and bellowed: "My horns are straight and I want
+them curly!"
+
+The old mother cow was giving her new baby some milk. It made her cross
+to hear Wonderful-cow-that-never-was having krink-kranks over her horns.
+"Horns grow the way they grow!" she remarked crossly. "So what are you
+going to do about it?"
+
+"Something!" answered the young cow. "I'm not
+Wonderful-cow-that-never-was for nothing!" And she stopped having
+krink-kranks and went off. She stayed away all day and when she did come
+back, her horns were curled up tight! And she was chewing and smiling
+and chewing and smiling.
+
+"What have you done now?" gasped the old mother cow. "I never saw horns
+curled so crumply!"
+
+The young cow smiled and said:
+
+      "I'm a wonderful cow
+       And I don't know how
+    Such wonderful things I do!
+       I curl my horn
+       On the cob of a corn
+    And smile whenever I chew,
+         I do,
+    I smile whenever I chew!"
+
+"And here is the corn cob I curled them on," she said, opening her
+mouth. And sure enough, there was the corn cob!
+
+Now Wonderful-cow-that-never-was got queerer and queerer until the
+farmer thought her a little _too_ queer. She was very proud of her
+crumpled horns and tried to hook everyone on them. Once she tore the
+farmer's coat trying to hook him. And once she _did_ toss him up. She
+watched him in the air and all she said was "He's up now, but he'll come
+down some time." And bang! So he did!
+
+Finally one terrible day, they tied her tight and cut off her horns. She
+was never the same afterwards. She couldn't hook any more. "I don't
+care about being queer any more," she said to her mother. And she
+wasn't. She stopped standing on her head. She never pulled off another
+ear. She never broke her tail again and of course she never curled her
+horns again. Because she hadn't any! "After all," she said, "it's
+wonderful enough just to be a cow and have four stomachs and chew cud
+and give milk and have a baby each Spring!" And that's what she's doing
+now!
+
+      She's a wonderful cow,
+      And anyhow
+    She does a wonderful thing!
+      She wallows in mud,
+      She chews her cud,
+    And has a baby in Spring!
+
+
+
+
+                                       THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE
+
+This story was worked out with a five-year-old boy. It is the result of
+his own summer experiences on a lake.
+
+
+
+
+THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE
+
+
+Once there was a little lake. And many things loved the little lake for
+its water was clear and smooth and blue when it was sunshiny, and dark
+and wavy and cross-looking when it was rainy. Now one of the things that
+loved the little lake was a little fish. He was a slippery shiny little
+fish all covered with slippery shiny scales. He lived in the shadow of
+a big rock near a deep, dark, cool pool. And when his wide-open shiny
+eye saw a little fly fall on the top of the water, he would flip his
+slippery, shiny tail and wave his slippery, shiny fins and dart out and
+up and--snap! he'd have the fly inside him! Then like a shiny streak
+he'd quietly slip back to the cool, deep, dark pool.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Another thing that loved the little lake was a spotted green frog. He
+too lived near the big rock. He would squat like a lump on the top in
+the sun, blinking his bright little eyes. Then splash! jump he would go,
+plump into the water. He'd keep his funny head with the little blinking,
+bright eyes above water while he'd kick his long, spotted, green legs
+and he'd swim across to another rock. At first he used to frighten the
+slippery shiny little fish when he came tumbling into the quiet water.
+But the spotted green frog never did anything to hurt the little fish so
+the slippery shiny little fish didn't mind him after all. But at night
+what do you think the spotted green frog did? He squatted on the rock
+with his front feet toeing in, like this, and he looked up at the
+far-away white moon in the far-away dark sky, and then he swelled and he
+swelled and he swelled his throat, and then he opened his wide, wide
+mouth and out came a noise. Oh, such a noise! "K-K-K-Krink!!
+K-K-K-Krank!!" All night the spotted frog swelled his throat and croaked
+at the moon.
+
+Now another thing that loved the little lake was a beautiful wild duck.
+The wild duck had beautiful green and brown feathers and on his head he
+had a little green top-knot. Every year he flew north from the warm
+south where he had been spending the winter. High up in the air he flew,
+leading many other beautiful wild ducks. He flew with his head stretched
+out and his feet tucked up close to his body and his strong wings
+flapping, flapping, flapping like great fans. And as he flew way up in
+the air his keen eye would see the little lake glistening down below.
+"Quonk-quonk!" he would call. And the other wild ducks would answer,
+"Quonk-quonk-quonk!" And then they would swoop, right down to the little
+lake and they'd light right on the water. There they would sit, rocking
+on the little waves or swimming about with their red webbed feet. Oh,
+the wild ducks loved the little lake very much!
+
+But not the slippery shiny fish, not the spotted green frog, not the
+beautiful wild duck loves the lake as much as some one else does. I
+don't believe any one else loves the little lake as much as does the
+little summer boy! Sometimes the little summer boy goes rowing on top
+of the lake. He leans way forward and stretches his oars way back,
+then he puts them into the water and pulls as hard as ever he
+can--splash--splash--splash--splash----! And the boat glides and slides
+right over the water! Sometimes,--and this he loves better still,--he
+stands on the rock in his red bathing suit. Then plump! he jumps right
+into the water! Sometimes he goes feetwards and sometimes he goes
+headwards and sometimes he turns a somersault in the air before he
+touches the water. And then away he goes moving his arms and kicking his
+legs almost like the spotted green frog. But the little fish when he
+hears this great thing come splashing into the quiet water, he flips his
+slippery shiny tail and waves his slippery shiny fins and darts way out
+into the deep water where the little boy with the red bathing suit can't
+follow him. For to the little fish this little summer boy seems very
+queer, and very, _very_ noisy, and very, _very_, VERY enormous! And the
+spotted green frog too gets out of the way when the little boy comes
+racketing into the water. He hops, hops under the rocks into a safe
+little cave and from there he watches and blinks his bright little eyes.
+But he never croaks then! The little summer boy knows the green frog is
+there and sometimes he peeks at him and thinks "I wish I could make my
+back legs go like yours!" For he's often seen the spotted green frog
+swim from rock to rock.
+
+But the beautiful wild duck, he never saw the little summer boy. For
+long before the boy came to the little lake, the duck had left the lake
+far behind. Early one morning in Spring he flapped his strong wings and
+tucked his wet webbed feet up close to his body and stretched out his
+long neck and calling "Quonk-quonk!" he flapped away to the north.
+And all the other beautiful wild ducks followed calling,
+"Quonk-quonk-quonk!" So the little summer boy never knew the wild duck!
+
+It is too bad that the fish and the frog are scared away when the summer
+boy goes in bathing. But it is only for a little while anyway. For the
+little summer boy's mother doesn't let him play in the lake all day as
+does the mother of the slippery shiny fish and the mother of the spotted
+green frog. She has called him now, and he calls back, "One more time!"
+for no one loves the little lake as much as the little boy in the red
+bathing suit. He has climbed up on the rock. The water is running down
+him, for he is as wet as a baby seal. Now he puts out his hands, like
+this, and he calls out, "This time I'm going to take a headwards dive!"
+
+    In the lake they play,
+      The spotted green frog
+    And the slippery shiny fish.
+      They frisk and they whisk,
+      And they dip and they flip.
+      And the water it glimmers,
+      It ripples and twinkles
+    When the frog and the fishes play.
+
+    In the lake they play,
+      The beautiful duck
+    And the rackety summer boy.
+      When the wild duck swims
+      The water it skims.
+      But the boy with a shout
+      He plumps in, he jumps out.
+    And the little lake shakes with his play.
+
+
+
+
+                                            HOW THE SINGING WATER
+                                                   GOT TO THE TUB
+
+
+In this story I have tried to make the refrains carry the essential
+points in the content. I have tried, however, to subordinate the
+information to the pattern. This story came in response to direct
+questions during baths.
+
+
+
+
+HOW THE SINGING WATER GOT TO THE TUB
+
+
+Once there was a little singing stream of water. It sang whatever it
+did. And it did many things from the time it bubbled up in the far-away
+hills to the time it splashed into the dirty little boy's tub. It began
+as a little spring of water. Then the water was as cool as cool could be
+for it came up from the deep cool earth all hidden away from the sun. It
+came up into a little hollow scooped out of the earth and in the hollow
+were little pebbles. Right up through the pebbles, bubbling and gurgling
+it came. And what do you suppose the water did when the little hollow
+was all full? It did just what water always does, it tried to find a way
+to run down hill! One side of the little hollow was lower than the
+others and here the water spilled over and trickled down. And this is
+the song the water sang then:
+
+    "I bubble up so cool
+     Into the pebbly pool.
+     Over the edge I spill
+     And gallop down the hill!"
+
+So the water became a little stream and began its long journey to the
+little boy's tub. And always it wanted to run down--always down, and as
+it ran, it tinkled this song:
+
+    "I sing, I run,
+     In the shade, in the sun,
+     It's always fun
+     To sing and to run."
+
+Sometimes it pushed under twigs and leaves; sometimes it made a big
+noise tumbling over the roots of trees; sometimes it flowed all quiet
+and slow through long grasses in a meadow. Once it came to the edge of a
+pretty big rock and over it went, splashing and crashing and dashing and
+making a fine, fine spray.
+
+It sang to the little birds that took their baths in the spray. And the
+little birds ruffled their feathers to get dry and sang back to the
+little brook. "Ching-a-ree!" they sang. It sang to the bunny rabbit who
+got his whiskers all wet when he took a drink. It sang to the mother
+deer who always came to the same place and licked up some water with her
+tongue. To all of these and many more little wild wood things the little
+brook rippled its song:
+
+    "I sing, I run,
+     In the shade, in the sun,
+     It's always fun
+     To sing and to run."
+
+But to the fish in the big dark pool under the rocks it sang so softly,
+so quietly, that only the fishes heard.
+
+Now all the time that the little brook kept running down hill, it kept
+getting bigger. For every once in a while it would be joined by another
+little brook coming from another hillside spring. And, of course, the
+two of them were twice as large as each had been alone. This kept
+happening until the stream was a small river,--so big and deep that the
+horses couldn't ford it any more. Then people built bridges over it,
+and this made the small river feel proud. Little boats sailed in it
+too,--canoes and sail boats and row boats. Sometimes they held a lot
+of little boys without any clothes on who jumped into the water and
+splashed and laughed and splashed and laughed.
+
+At last the river was strong enough to carry great gliding boats, with
+deep deep voices. "Toot," said the boats, "tootoot-tooooooooot!"
+
+And now the song of the river was low and slow as it answered the song
+of the boats:
+
+    "I grow and I flow
+     As I carry the boats,
+     As I carry the boats of men."
+
+After the little river had been running down hill for ever so long, it
+came to a place where the banks went up very high and steep on each side
+of it. Here something strange happened. The little river was stopped by
+an enormous wall. The wall was made of stone and cement and it stretched
+right across the river from one bank to the other. The little river
+couldn't get through the wall, so it just filled up behind it. It filled
+and filled until it found that it had spread out into a real little
+lake. Only the people who walked around it called it a reservoir!
+
+Now in the wall was just one opening down near the bottom. And what
+do you suppose that led to? A pipe! But the pipe was so big that an
+elephant could have walked down it swinging his trunk! Only, of course,
+there wasn't any elephant there.
+
+Now the little river didn't like to have his race down hill stopped. So
+he began muttering to himself:
+
+    "What shall I do, oh, what shall I do?
+     Here's a big dam and I can't get through!
+     Behind the dam I fill and fill
+     But I want to go running and running down hill!
+     If the pipe at the bottom will let me through
+     I'll run through the pipe! That's what I'll do!"
+
+So he rushed into the pipe as fast as he could for there he found he
+could run down hill again! He ran and he ran for miles and miles. Above
+him he knew there were green fields and trees and cows and horses. These
+were the things he had sung to before he rushed into the pipe. Then
+after a long time he knew he was under something different. He could
+feel thousands of feet scurrying this way and that; he could feel
+thousands of horses pulling carriages and wagons and trucks; he could
+feel cars, subways, engines;--he could feel so many things crossing him
+that he wondered they didn't all bump each other. Then he knew he was
+under the Big City. And this is the song he shouted then:
+
+    "Way under the street, street, street,
+     I feel the feet, feet, feet.
+     I feel their beat, beat, beat,
+     Above on the street, street, street."
+
+And then again something queer happened. Every once in a while a pipe
+would go off from the big pipe. Now one of these pipes turned into a
+certain street and then a still smaller pipe turned off into a certain
+house and a still smaller pipe went right up between the walls of the
+house. And in this house there lived the dirty little boy.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+The water flowed into the street pipe and then it flowed into the house
+pipe and then,--what do you think?--it went right up that pipe between
+the walls of the house! For you see even the top of that dirty little
+boy's house isn't nearly as high as the reservoir on the hill where the
+water started and the water can run up just as high as it has run down.
+
+In the bath-room was the dirty little boy. His face was dirty, his hands
+were dirty, his feet were dirty and his knees--oh! his knees were very,
+very dirty. This very dirty little boy went over to the faucet and
+slowly turned it. Out came the water splashing, and crashing and
+dashing.
+
+"My! but I need a bath tonight," said the dirty little boy as he heard
+the water splashing in the tub. The water was still the singing water
+that had sung all the way from the far-away hills. It had sung a
+bubbling song when it gurgled up as a spring; it had sung a tinkling
+song as it rippled down hill as a brook; it had crooned a flowing song
+when it bore the talking boats; it had muttered and throbbed and sung to
+itself as it ran through the big, big pipe. Now as it splashed into the
+dirty little boy's tub it laughed and sang this last song:
+
+    "I run from the hill,--down, down, down,
+     Under the streets of the town, town, town,
+     Then in the pipe, up, up, up,
+     I tumble right into your tub, tub, tub."
+
+And the dirty little boy laughed and jumped into the Singing Water!
+
+
+
+
+                                       THE CHILDREN'S NEW DRESSES
+
+
+An old pattern with new content. The steps in the process were
+originally dug out by a child of six through his own questions.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHILDREN'S NEW DRESSES
+
+
+Once there was a small town. In the small town were many houses and in
+the houses were many people. In one of these houses there lived a mother
+with a great many children. One night after the children were all in bed
+and the mother was sitting by the fire, a brick fell down the chimney.
+Then another came bumping and rattling down. Now outside there was a
+great wind blowing. It whistled down the chimney and up flamed the fire.
+The sparks flew into the hole where the bricks had fallen out. The first
+thing the mother knew the house was all on fire. Still the great wind
+roared. The house next door caught fire, then the next, then the next,
+then the next, until half the little town was burning. The mother with
+the many children and many other frightened people ran to the part of
+the town behind the great wind. And there they stayed until the wind
+died down and they could put the fire out.
+
+Now many of these people's clothes had burned with their houses. The
+many children who had gone to bed before the fire began had nothing to
+wear except their nightclothes. The mother went to the store. That too
+was burned! But she found the storekeeper and said:--"Storekeeper, sell
+me some dresses for my children for their dresses have been burned and
+they have nothing to wear."
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+"But, mother of the many children," the storekeeper replied, "first I
+must get me the dresses. For that I must send to the many-fingered
+factory in the middle of the city."
+
+So he sent to the many-fingered factory in the middle of the great city
+and he said:--"Clothier, send me some dresses that I may sell to the
+mother; for her children's dresses have burned up and they have nothing
+to wear."
+
+But the clothier in the many-fingered factory replied:--"First I must
+get me the cloth. For that I must send to the weaving mill. The weaving
+mill is in the hills where there is water to turn its wheels."
+
+So the clothier sent to the weaving mill in the hills where there is
+water to turn its wheels and said:--"Weaver, send me the cloth that the
+many fingers at the factory may make dresses to send to the storekeeper
+in the small town to sell to the mother; for her children's dresses have
+burned up and they have nothing to wear."
+
+But the weaver in the weaving mill in the hills sent back word:--"First
+I must get me the cotton. For that I must send to the cotton fields. The
+cotton fields are in the south where the land is hot and low."
+
+So the weaver in the weaving mill in the hills sent to the cotton
+plantation, and he said:--"Planter, send me the cotton from the hot
+low lands that I may make cloth in the mill in the hills to send to the
+clothier in the many-fingered factory in the middle of the great city to
+be made into dresses to send to the storekeeper in the small town to
+sell to the mother; for her children's dresses have burned up and they
+have nothing to wear."
+
+But the planter sent back word:--"First I must get the negroes to pick
+the cotton. For cotton must be picked in the hot sun and negroes are the
+only ones who can stand the sun."
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+So the planter went to the negroes and he said:--"Pick me the cotton
+from the hot low lands that I may send it to the weaver in his mill in
+the hills that he may weave the cloth to send to the clothier in the
+many-fingered factory in the middle of the great city to make dresses to
+send to the storekeeper in the small town to sell to the mother; for
+her children's dresses have burned up and they have nothing to wear."
+
+But the negroes answered:--"First de sun, he hab got to shine and shine
+and shine! 'Cause de sun, he am de only one dat can make dem little seed
+bolls bust wide open!"
+
+So the negroes sang to the sun:--"Big sun, so shiny hot! Is you gwine to
+shine on dem cotton bolls so we can pick de cotton for de massah so he
+can send it to de weaver in de weaving mills in de hills to weave into
+cloth so he can send it to de clothier in de many-fingered factory in de
+middle of de big city to make dresses to send to de storekeeper in de
+small town so he can sell it to de mammy; for de chillun's dresses hab
+gone and burned up and dey ain't got nothin' to wear!"
+
+Now the sun heard the song of the negroes of the south. And he began to
+shine. And he kept on shining on the hot low lands. And when the cotton
+bolls on the hot low lands felt the sun shine and shine and shine, they
+burst wide open. Then the negroes picked the cotton, the planter shipped
+it, the weaver wove it, the clothier made it into dresses, and the
+storekeeper sold them to the mother.
+
+So at last the many children took off their nightclothes and put on
+their new dresses. And so they were all happy again!
+
+
+
+
+                                            OLD DAN GETS THE COAL
+
+
+The occupations of the city horse are always absorbing to the school
+children. They have many tales about various "Old Dans" and their
+various trades. The docks are familiar to almost all the children,--even
+to the four-year-olds. This verse is meant to be read fast or slow
+according to whether or no the wagon is empty.
+
+
+
+
+OLD DAN GETS THE COAL
+
+
+    Old Dan, he lives in a stable, he does,
+    He sleeps in a stable stall.
+    Old Dan, he eats in the stable, he does,
+    He eats the hay from the manger, he does,
+        He pulls the hay
+        And he chews the hay
+    When he eats in his stable stall.
+
+    Old Dan, he leaves the stable, he does,
+    He pulls the wagon behind.
+    Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does,
+    He trots with the wagon all empty, he does;
+        The wagon, it clatters,
+        The mud, it all spatters
+    Old Dan with the wagon behind.
+
+    Old Dan, he trots to the dock, he does,
+    He trots to the coal barge dock.
+    Old Dan, he stands by the barge, he does,
+    He stands and the big crane creaks, it does.
+        Up! into the chute,
+        Bang! out of the chute
+    Comes the coal at the coal barge dock!
+
+    Old Dan, he pulls the load, he does,
+    He pulls the heavy load.
+    Old Dan he pulls the coal, he does,
+    He slowly pulls the heavy coal.
+        The wagon thumps,
+        It bumps, it clumps
+    When old Dan pulls the load.
+
+    Old Dan, he stands by the house, he does,
+    And the coal rattles out behind.
+    Old Dan stands still by the house, he does,
+    He stands and the slippery coal, so it does
+        Goes rattlety klang!
+        Zippy kabang!
+    As it slides from the wagon behind!
+
+    Old Dan, he then leaves the house, so he does,
+    A-pulling the wagon behind.
+    Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does,
+    He trots with the wagon all empty, he does.
+        The wagon it clatters,
+        The mud it all spatters
+    Old Dan with the wagon behind.
+
+    Old Dan, comes home to his stable, he does,
+    Home to his stable stall.
+    He finds the hay in the stable, he does,
+    He eats the hay from the manger, he does,
+        He pulls the hay,
+        He chews the hay,
+    Then he sleeps in his stable stall.
+
+
+
+
+                                                   THE SUBWAY CAR
+
+
+The relationship which this story aims to clarify is the social
+significance of the subway car--its construction and the need it answers
+to. Children have enjoyed the verse better, I think, than any other in
+the book.
+
+
+
+
+THE SUBWAY CAR
+
+
+    The surface car is a poky car,
+    It stops 'most every minute.
+    At every corner someone gets out
+    And someone else gets in it.
+    It stops for a lady, an auto, a hoss,
+    For any old thing that wants to cross,
+    This poky old, stupid old, silly old, timid old,
+          lumbering surface car.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+    Up on high against the sky
+    The elevated train goes by.
+    Above it soars, above it roars
+    On level with the second floors
+    Of dirty houses, dirty stores
+    Who have to see, who have to hear
+    This noisy ugly monster near.
+    And as it passes hear it yell,
+    "I'm the deafening, deadening, thunderous, hideous,
+          competent, elegant el."
+
+    Under the ground like a mole in a hole,
+    I tear through the white tiled tunnel,
+    With my wire brush on the rail I rush
+    From station to lighted station.
+    Levers pull, the doors fly ope',
+    People press against the rope.
+    And some are stout and some are thin
+    And some get out and some get in.
+    Again I go. Beginning slow
+    I race, I chase at a terrible pace,
+    I flash and I dash with never a crash,
+    I hurry, I scurry with never a flurry.
+    I tear along, flare along, singing my lightning song,
+    "I'm the rushing, speeding, racing, fleeting, rapid subway car."
+
+
+
+
+THE SUBWAY CAR
+
+
+Whew-ee-ee-ee-ew-ew went the siren whistle. And all the men and all the
+women hurried toward the factory. For that meant it was time to begin
+work. Each man and each woman went to his particular machine. The steam
+was up; the belts were moving; the wheels were whirring; the piston rods
+were shooting back and forth. And one man made a piece of wheel, and one
+man made a part of a brake, and one man made a belt, and one man made
+a leather strap, and one man made a door, and one man made some
+straw-covered seats, and one man made a window-frame, and one man made
+a little wire brush. And then some other men took all these things and
+began putting them together. And when the car was finished some other
+men came and painted it, and on the side they painted the number 793.
+
+The car stood on the siding wondering what he was for and what he was to
+do. Suddenly he heard another car come bumping and screeching down the
+track. Before the new car could think what was happening,--bang!--the
+battered old car went smash into him. This seemed to be just what the
+man standing along side expected. For the car felt him swing on to the
+steps, and shout "Go ahead." At the same minute the car felt a piece of
+iron slip from his own rear and hook into the front of the other car.
+
+And "go ahead" he did, though No. 793 thought he would be wrenched to
+pieces.
+
+"Whatever is happening to me?" he nervously asked the car that was
+pushing him. "I feel my wheels going round and round underneath me and I
+can't stop them. Can't you just hear me creak? I'm afraid I will split
+in two."
+
+The dilapidated old thing behind simply screamed with delight as he
+jounced over a switch.
+
+"See here, now," he said in a rasping voice, "what do you think wheels
+are for anyway if they are not to go round? And if you can't hang
+together in a quiet little jaunt like this, you had better turn into a
+baby carriage and be done with it. Say, what do you think you were made
+for anyway, Freshie?"
+
+With this he gave a vicious pull. Freshie thought it would probably
+loosen every carefully fastened bolt in his whole structure.
+
+"And what's more," continued the amused and irritated old car, "if you
+think all you've got to do is to be pulled around like a fine lady in a
+limousine, you are pretty well fooled. Wait till you feel the juice go
+through you--just wait--that's all I say."
+
+"What is juice?" groaned No. 793.
+
+But he could get no answer except "Just wait, you will find out soon
+enough."
+
+In another minute he had found out. He felt his door pulled open and a
+heavy tread come clump, clump, clump down the whole length of him to the
+little closet room at the end. There he felt levers pulled and switches
+turned. Suddenly the little wire brush underneath him dropped until it
+touched the third rail. Z-z-zr-zr-zr-zz-zz--What in the name of all
+blazes was happening to him? He tingled in every bolt. He quivered with
+fear. "This must be the juice!" Another lever was turned. He leaped
+forward on the track, jerking and thumping and creaking.
+
+Then he settled down and it wasn't so bad. The first scare was over. He
+did not go to pieces. On the contrary he felt so excited and strong that
+he almost told the old thing behind him to take off his brush and let
+himself be pulled. But he was afraid of the cross old car. So he
+ventured timidly: "Isn't this great? I should like to go flying along in
+the sun like this all day."
+
+"In the sun?" snarled his old companion. "Come now, Freshie, can't you
+catch on to what you are? You just look your fill at the old sun now for
+you won't see him again for some time."
+
+"Why not?" whimpered No. 793.
+
+But he needed no answer. Ahead of him he could see the track sliding
+down into a deep hole. The earth closed over him in a queer rounded
+arch, all lined with shiny white tiles. At the same moment the lights
+all up and down his own ceiling flashed on. He noticed then that he had
+a red lantern on his front. He could tell it by the red, glinting
+reflections it threw on the tiles as he tore along. Ahead he could see
+a great cluster of lights which seemed to be rushing towards him. Of
+course he was really rushing towards them, but he was so excited he got
+all mixed in his ideas.
+
+"Where are we? And what on earth is that rushing towards us? And why do
+we come down here under the ground?" he screamed to the old car behind.
+
+"There's no room for us on top," jerked the old car. "There are a heap
+of people in this old city of New York, Freshie, and you will find 'em
+on the surface or scooting in the elevated and here jogging along
+underneath the earth."
+
+"People!" screamed No. 793, "I don't see any. What do we do with them in
+this hole anyway?"
+
+Even as he spoke he felt the man in the little closet room in his front
+turn something. His wire brush lifted and all his strength seemed to
+ooze away. Then something clutched his wheels. He screeched,--yes, he
+really screeched, and then he stood still, close to the station
+platform. The station looked big to No. 793 and very brilliantly
+lighted. It was jammed with people who stood pressed against ropes in
+long rows.
+
+A man on his own platform pulled down a handle and then another. He felt
+his end doors and then his center doors fly open. Then tramp, tramp,
+tramp, tramp--a hundred feet came pounding on his floor. He could feel
+them and somehow he liked the feel. He could even feel two small feet
+that walked much faster than the others, and in another moment he felt
+two little knees on one of his straw-covered seats. Then the handles
+were pulled again. His doors banged closed; z-zr-zr-rr--the brush
+underneath touched the rail and the electricity shot through him. He
+felt a hundred feet shift quickly and heavily. He felt his leather
+straps clutched by a hundred hands. And amid the noise he heard a little
+voice say, "Father, isn't this a brand new subway car?" And then he knew
+what he was!
+
+
+
+
+                                     BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS
+                                   MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS
+
+
+This first story is an attempt to let a child discover the significance
+of his everyday environment,--of subways and elevated railways. Here
+there is no content new to the city child. But the relationship to
+congestion he has not always seen for himself. In the second story the
+lay-out of New York on a crowded island is discovered. Again the content
+is old but its significance may be new. Both these stories verge on the
+informational.
+
+
+
+
+BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS
+
+
+    Many little boys and girls
+      With fathers and with mothers,
+    Many little boys and girls
+      With sisters and with brothers,
+    Many little boys and girls
+      They come from far away.
+    They sail and sail to big New York,
+      And there they land and stay!
+    And you would never, never guess
+      When they grow big and tall,
+    That they had come from far away
+      When they were wee and small!
+
+One of the little boys who sailed and sailed until he came to big New
+York was named Boris. He came as the others did, with his father and his
+mother and his sisters and his brothers. He came from a wide green
+country called Russia. In that country he had never seen a city, never
+seen wharves with ocean steamers and ferry boats and tug boats and
+barges,--never seen a street so crowded you could hardly get through,
+had never seen great high buildings reaching up, up, up to the clouds,
+he thought. And he had never heard a city, never heard the noise of
+elevated trains and surface cars and automobiles and the many, many
+hurrying feet. He often thought of the wide green country he had left
+behind, and he used to talk about it to his mother in a funny language
+you wouldn't understand. For Boris and his family still spoke Russian.
+But Boris was nine years old and he loved new things as well as old. So
+he grew to love this crowded noisy new home of his as well as the still
+wide country he had left.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Now Boris had been in New York quite a while. But he hadn't been out on
+the streets much. One day he said to his mother in the funny language,
+"I think I'll take a walk!"
+
+"All right," she answered, "be careful you don't get run over by one of
+those queer wagons that run without horses!"
+
+"Yes I will," laughed Boris for he was a careful and a smart little boy
+and knew well how to take care of himself for all he was so little.
+
+So Boris went out on the street. He walked to the corner and waited to
+go across.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+He waited another minute.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+He stood there a long while watching this stream of autos and horses and
+trucks go by and he thought:
+
+    "Dear me! dear me!
+     What shall I do?
+     The're so many things,
+     I'll never get through!"
+
+Just then all the autos and the horses and the trucks stopped. They
+stood still right in front of him. And Boris saw that the big man
+standing in the middle of the street had put up his hand to stop them.
+So he scampered across. Boris didn't know that the big man was the
+traffic policeman!
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Now Boris scampered down the block to the next street. There he waited
+to go across.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+He stood there a long time watching the autos and horses and trucks go
+by. And he thought:
+
+    "Dear me! dear me!
+     What shall I do?
+     The're so many things,
+     I'll never get through!"
+
+Boris looked at the big policeman who stood in the middle of _this_
+street. After a while the big policeman raised his hand and all the
+autos and horses and trucks stopped and Boris scampered across and ran
+down the block to the next street crossing. And there the same thing
+happened again.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+"I'll not get much of a walk this way," he thought. "I have to wait and
+wait at each corner. And the're so many things I'll never get through."
+Just then he saw a street car. "I might take a car," he thought. But
+then he saw on the street a long line of cars waiting, waiting to get
+through. "It wouldn't do much good," he thought. "They're just like me."
+
+    "Dear me! dear me!
+     What can they do?
+     The're so many things,
+     They'll never get through!"
+
+Then he noticed a big hole in the sidewalk. Down the hole went some
+steps and down the steps hurried lots and lots of people. "I wonder what
+this is?" thought Boris and down the steps he ran.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+At the bottom of the steps there was a big room all lined with white
+tile and all lighted with electric lights. On the side was the funniest
+little house with a little window in it and a man looking through the
+window. Boris watched carefully for he didn't understand. Everyone went
+up to the window and gave the man 5 cents and the man handed out a
+little piece of blue paper.
+
+"That's a ticket," thought Boris, for he was a very smart little boy.
+"These people must be going somewhere." So he reached down in his pocket
+and pulled out a nickel. For all he was so little, and so new to New
+York, he knew what a 5 cent piece was quite well. He had to stand on
+tiptoe to hand the man his nickel and to reach his little blue ticket.
+Then he watched again. Everyone dropped this ticket in a funny little
+box by a funny little gate and another man moved a handle up and down.
+So Boris did just the same. He stood on tiptoe and dropped his ticket in
+the box and walked through the little gate to a big platform. And what
+do you think he saw there? A great long tunnel stretching off in both
+directions,--a long tunnel all lined with white tiles! And on the bottom
+were rails! "I wonder what runs on that track?" thought Boris.
+
+Just then he heard a most terrible noise:
+
+    Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!
+    Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!
+
+and down the tunnel came a train of cars. "Yi-i-i-i--sh-sh-sh-sh!"
+screamed the cars and stopped right in front of Boris. And then what do
+you suppose happened? The doors in the car right in front of him flew
+open. Everyone stepped in. So did Boris.
+
+It was the front car. He walked to the front and sat down where he could
+look out on the tracks. He could also look into the funny little box
+room and see the man who pulled the levers and made the car go and stop.
+In a moment they started:
+
+    Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!
+    How fast! How fast!
+
+Then "Yi-i-i-i--sh-sh-sh-sh!" The man put on the brakes and they stopped
+at another station. In another moment they started again. Rackety,
+clackety, klang, klong! Then "Yi-i-i-i--sh-sh-sh-sh" another station!
+And so they went flying from lighted station to lighted station through
+the white-tiled tunnel.
+
+Boris was very happy. He sat quite still watching out of the window and
+saying with the car; rackety, clackety, klang, klong; rackety, clackety,
+klang, klong! "This is the way to go if you're in a hurry," he thought.
+He looked up and smiled to think of all the autos and horses and trucks
+above going oh! so slowly down the street!
+
+At last he thought he would get out. So the next time the man put the
+brakes on and the train yelled "Yi-i-i-i--sh-sh-sh-sh!" Boris walked
+through the open doors on to the platform, then through the little gate,
+up some long steps and found himself on the street again. But right near
+him what do you think he saw? A park all full of trees and grass! This
+made Boris happy for he hadn't seen so many trees and so much grass
+since he had left the wide country in his old home in Russia. A little
+breeze was blowing too! He clapped his hands and ran around and laughed
+and laughed and laughed and sang:
+
+    "I like the grass,
+     I like the trees,
+     I like the sky,
+     I like the breeze!
+     I touch the grass,
+     I touch the trees,
+     Let me play in the Park,
+     Oh, please! oh, please!"
+
+So he ran all round and played in the Park.
+
+Suddenly he thought it was time to go home. He looked for the hole in
+the sidewalk but he couldn't find it. And he didn't know how to ask for
+the subway for he didn't know its name and he couldn't talk English.
+"I'll have to walk!" he thought. He knew he must walk south for he had
+noticed which way the sun was when he went into the hole in the
+sidewalk. And now he noticed again where it was and so he could tell
+which way was south.
+
+So Boris went out on the street. He walked to the corner and waited to
+go across.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse,
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+He waited another minute.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+He stood there a long time watching the stream of autos and horses and
+trucks go by. And he thought; "I'll never get home if I have to go as
+slowly as this.
+
+    "Dear me! dear me!
+     What shall I do?
+     The're so many things
+     I'll never get through!"
+
+And for all he was so smart he was a very little boy and he began to cry
+for his legs were tired and he was a little frightened, too.
+
+Just then what do you suppose he saw? Down the street way up in the air
+on a kind of trestle, he saw a train of cars tearing by. "That's just
+what I want! That train doesn't have to stop for autos and horses and
+things!" thought Boris and he ran down the street. When he got to the
+high trestle, there was a long flight of stairs. Up the steps went
+Boris. At the top he found another funny little room with a window in it
+and a man looking out. This time he knew just what to do. He stood on
+tiptoe and gave the man 5 cents and the man handed him a little red
+piece of paper. Boris took it, walked through a little gate, stood on
+tiptoe and dropped the ticket into another funny little box and another
+man moved the handle up and down and his ticket dropped down. And what
+do you suppose he saw from the platform? Tracks again! Tracks stretching
+out in both directions. He didn't have to wait on the platform long
+before he heard the train coming. It seemed to say:
+
+"I'm the elevated train, I'm the elevated train, I'm the elevated,
+elevated, elevated train!" It stopped right in front of Boris and Boris
+got into the front car again. Here was another man in another little box
+room moving more levers and making this train stop and go. And Boris
+could look right out in front and see the stations before he reached
+them. He could see bridges before they tore under them; he could look
+down and see the horses and the autos and the trucks. He smiled as he
+saw how slowly they had to go while he was racing along above them.
+
+So Boris was quite happy and sat very still and watched out of the
+window. Suddenly he heard the conductor call "Fourteenth Street!" Now
+that was one of the few English words that Boris knew for he lived on
+14th Street. Now he was pleased for he knew he was near home. So he got
+off the car, ran down the long, long steps and found himself on the
+street. Down 14th Street he ran until he came to his house.
+
+"Well," called his mother. "You've been gone a long time! What did you
+see on the streets?"
+
+Boris smiled. "I haven't been _on_ the streets much mother."
+
+His mother was surprised. "Where have you been if you haven't been on
+the streets?" she asked.
+
+Boris laughed and laughed. "There were so many things on the streets, so
+many autos and horses and trucks," he said, "that I couldn't go fast. So
+I found a wonderful train _under_ the streets and I went out on that.
+And I found a wonderful train _over_ the streets and I came home on
+that!"
+
+"Well, well," said his mother. "Trains under and trains over! Think of
+that!" And Boris did think of them much. And when he was in bed that
+night, he seemed to hear this little song about them:
+
+      "Now out on the streets
+       There everything meets
+    And they're all in a hurry to go.
+       But what can they do
+       For they can't get through
+    And all are so terribly slow?
+
+      "But under the street
+       Where nothing can meet
+    The subway goes rackety, klack!
+       It can dash and can race,
+       It can flash and can chase,
+    For there's nothing ahead on the track.
+
+      "And over the street
+       Where nothing can meet
+    Is a wonderful train indeed!
+       High up the stair
+       Way up in the air
+    It goes at remarkable speed."
+
+
+
+
+BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK
+
+
+PART 1
+
+One morning when Boris was eating his breakfast, he suddenly thought of
+the wide green country around his old home in Russia. I don't know what
+made him think of it. He just did! "Mother," he said, "I want to see
+some grass."
+
+His mother smiled. "Want to go to the Park, Boris?" she asked.
+
+"No, more grass than that even. I want to see it everywhere," and Boris
+waved his arms around. "I think I'll go and find lots and lots of it!"
+
+"I'd like to see lots and lots of grass too, Boris," smiled his mother.
+But her eyes were full of tears too! "But I don't know where you can go
+in New York and see grass everywhere!"
+
+"Then I'll go out of New York!" cried Boris. "If I walk far enough I'll
+surely find grass, won't I?"
+
+"You can try," answered his mother. Boris was now much bigger than when
+he came to New York and could talk quite a little English too. So his
+mother let him walk over the city alone. Boris clapped his hands! For
+though he was much bigger, he was still a little boy, you know!
+
+"Which way had I better go?" thought Boris when he was out on the
+street. "I think I'll go west first." So he walked west. Though the
+streets were crowded he had learned to go faster than when he took his
+first walk and discovered the subway and elevated. West, west, west he
+went. Street after street,--houses set close together all the way. Then
+at last he saw something that made him run. The city came to an end! And
+there was a big river, oh! such an enormous river! The edge of the river
+was all docks,--docks as far as he could look. Across on the other side
+he could see another city with big chimneys and lots and lots of smoke.
+There were lots of boats in the river too. "Some day I'll come and watch
+them," thought Boris excitedly, "but now I want to find my grass." So he
+turned around. "I'll have to go east, I guess," he thought.
+
+So east he went. East he went until he came to his house. But he did not
+stop. He went right by it. "How many houses there are" he thought. "How
+many people there must be!" And still he walked east. And still the
+houses were set close together street after street. After a while he saw
+something that made him run again. The city came to an end! And there
+was another big river! This edge too was all docks,--docks as far as he
+could look. Across on the other side he could see another city with big
+chimneys and lots of smoke. "Well," thought Boris, "isn't it the
+funniest thing that when I walk west I come to a river and when I walk
+east I come to a river too!"
+
+Now this puzzled him so that he thought he must ask somebody about it.
+Close to him was a big dock and at the dock was a flat barge. A lot of
+men were unloading coal from her. He walked up to one. "Please," he
+said, "what river is this?"
+
+The man stopped his work for a minute. "It's the East River of course.
+Where do you come from, boy?"
+
+"From Russia," said Boris, "so you see I didn't know. And please, is the
+other river the West River then?"
+
+"What other river, boy? What are you talking about?"
+
+This made Boris feel very uncomfortable, but he knew there was another
+river in the west for hadn't he just walked there? So he said bravely,
+"If you keep walking west you _do_ come to another river. I know you do!
+For I've done it. And it's a bigger river than this, too!"
+
+The man laughed out loud. "Right you are, boy!" he said. "You're a great
+walker, you are. Did you walk all the way from Russia?" Now Boris
+thought the man couldn't know very much to ask him such a question. But,
+then, he didn't know much either. He was asking questions too! So he
+answered, "Oh! no! I came on an enormous boat. But please you haven't
+told me the name of the other river?"
+
+The man laughed louder than ever. "It's a funny thing, boy, that we call
+it the North River. But you are right: it _is_ west! It's really the
+Hudson River, boy, that's what it is. And a mighty big river it is too.
+Want to know anything more?" And the man turned back to his work.
+
+"Well," thought Boris. "I can't get to my grass today if I strike rivers
+everywhere I go." And he turned and walked home slowly, because he was
+sorry. And he was very, very tired too. For you see he had walked all
+the way across the city twice and that is a pretty long walk even for a
+boy the size of Boris.
+
+    Boris, he went out to walk
+      To find the country wide.
+    And he walked west and west he walked
+      But found the Hudson wide!
+    And so he turned himself about
+      And walked the other way
+    And he walked east and east he walked
+      And there East River lay!
+
+
+PART 2
+
+The next morning at breakfast, Boris suddenly thought again of the wide
+green country around his old home in Russia. I don't know why he thought
+of it again. He just did! And then he thought of the Hudson River he had
+found by walking west and of the East River he had found by walking
+east. "I might try walking north this time," he thought. And so he said
+to his mother, "I think I'll go on another hunt for grass,--grass that's
+everywhere!" and again he waved his arms.
+
+"All right," answered his mother. "But I'm afraid you'll have to walk a
+long way to find grass everywhere!"
+
+Out on the street he began to walk north. Then he remembered what a long
+long ride north in the subway he had had the other day. "I'd better
+take something if I want to get to the country wide," he thought.
+
+So Boris went down to the subway and took the train. He rode for ever
+and ever so long. He kept wondering if there were still houses above him
+or if it was all grass,--lots and lots of grass. "I guess I'll go up and
+see," he thought. So up he went at the next station. But there were
+still houses everywhere. They weren't so high nor quite so close
+together; but still there was no grass. So he kept on walking north.
+Then he saw something that made him run. He could hardly believe his
+eyes. There was _another river_! "Oh! dear! oh! dear!" thought Boris.
+"I'll never in the world find the country wide if I strike a river
+whatever way I go. I think I'll take the subway and go way, way south.
+Surely I can get through that way. West a river, east a river, north a
+river. Yes, I'll go south!"
+
+So again Boris went down to the subway and took a train going south. He
+stayed on it so long that he thought he must surely be way out in the
+country wide under grass, grass, everywhere. "I guess I'll go up and
+see," he thought.
+
+So up he went at the next station. But when he came up he found himself
+on a street. There were high buildings all around him. He began to walk
+south. The farther he walked, the higher the buildings he found. At last
+he came to a place where the buildings reached up, up, up,--up to the
+clouds, he thought. He threw back his head to look at them,--so high
+above him that it made him almost dizzy to look at their tops. He wasn't
+sure they weren't going to fall either! Then he looked down again. And
+what did he see at the end of the street? Trees, yes, green trees!
+"Perhaps I am coming to the wide green country," he thought. And he
+hurried on.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+But when he got to the trees he saw that the city came to an end again.
+And what a wonderful end it was too! All around him was water,--water so
+full of boats that it made Boris gasp. When he looked to the west he
+could see a great river with another city on the other side. "That's the
+Hudson," thought Boris for he remembered what the coal man had told him.
+When he looked to the east he could see another great river. "That's the
+East River," he thought for he remembered that name too.
+
+But what river was that out in front of him? Then suddenly Boris
+remembered. That was New York Harbor! This was where he had landed when
+he had come in the giant steamer from Russia! Out there was Ellis Island
+where he had stayed with his father and his mother and his sisters and
+his brothers until they had been looked at! He thought he could see
+Ellis Island from where he stood. But there were so many islands he
+couldn't be sure. But he _could_ see the Statue of Liberty, that
+enormous woman holding a torch in her hand. He was sure of that. And he
+could see the boats everywhere all over the harbor. Boris stood there
+some time just staring and listening and staring.
+
+    When Boris he went out again
+      To find the country wide
+    And he went north and north he went
+      To Harlem River's side.
+
+    Again he turned himself about
+      And went the other way
+    And he went south and south he went
+      And there the harbor lay!
+
+
+PART 3
+
+Suddenly Boris remembered what he had come for. He was looking for the
+wide green country, for a place where grass grew everywhere. "This is
+the funniest thing in the world," he thought scratching his head.
+"Wherever I walk in New York I come to water. So many people and water
+on every side of them! How do they ever get out?" As soon as he thought
+of this, he began to look around. Across the East River he could see a
+giant bridge leaping from New York over to another city and on the
+bridge were trains and cars shooting back and forth and autos and horses
+and people. "So that is the way they get out!" he thought.
+
+Then he looked to the west, to the Hudson River. "No bridges there!" he
+said. "It's too wide." Then he suddenly remembered the ferry boat that
+had brought him from Ellis Island. "Ferry boats, of course," he thought.
+And sure enough there were ferry boats and ferry boats going back and
+forth from New York to the other side and to the little islands out in
+the harbor too!
+
+Now Boris walked along thinking hard about all this water all around New
+York. Just then he noticed a lot of people coming up out of a hole in
+the sidewalk. "The Subway," he thought, for you remember he had been on
+the subway. But the name over the steps didn't spell "subway." He looked
+at it for a long time. At last he could read it. "Hudson Tubes" it said.
+Hudson Tubes? What could that mean? Boris wanted to know. So he walked
+right up to a woman coming out of the hole.
+
+"What are the Hudson Tubes and where do they take you?" he asked.
+
+The woman laughed. "They take you to New Jersey, of course," she said.
+
+"Is that over there?" Boris asked, pointing across the Hudson. "And do
+they really go under the Hudson River?"
+
+"Yes, to be sure they do. Where do you want to go?" she answered and
+then Boris remembered what he had been hunting for. "I want to go to a
+wide green country where there is grass everywhere. But every way I walk
+in New York I come to water. I know because I've walked east and I've
+walked west and I've walked north and I've walked south," he said,
+feeling a little like crying for he was very tired and he _was_ only a
+little boy too. The woman smiled and she looked nice when she smiled.
+"You see, boy," she said, "New York is an island, so of course, you come
+to water every way you walk. And it's so full of people that there isn't
+any wide green country left,--except the Parks of course."
+
+"Yes, I know the Parks," said Boris, "but that isn't quite what I mean!"
+
+The woman smiled again. "There _is_ a wide green country when you get
+out of the island," she said. "You'll find it some day I'm sure," and
+then the woman hurried away. Boris was very, very tired. So he took the
+subway home. When he came in his mother called out, "Did you find the
+wide green country, Boris?"
+
+"No," said Boris, "I couldn't, you see. Because what do you think New
+York is?"
+
+"What do I think New York is, Boris? Why, it's the biggest city in the
+world!"
+
+"That's not what I mean. What do you think it _is_? What is it built on
+I mean?"
+
+"What is it built on? On good sound rock I suppose!"
+
+Boris laughed and laughed. "No, no," he said. "I mean it's an island.
+Every way you walk, if you walk long enough, you come to water. Now
+isn't that the funniest thing?" And Boris's mother thought it was funny
+too.
+
+"So many people and all to live on an island!" she kept saying to
+herself. "I should think it would make them a lot of work!"
+
+And Boris who remembered the bridges and the ferry boats and the "tubes"
+thought so too!
+
+    Boris, he went out to walk
+      To find the country wide
+    And he walked west and west he walked
+      But he found the Hudson wide!
+    And so he turned himself about
+      And walked the other way
+    And he walked east and east he walked
+      And there East River lay!
+
+    But Boris he went out again
+      To find the country wide
+    And he went north and north he went
+      To Harlem River's side.
+    Again he turned himself about
+      And went the other way
+    And he went south and south he went
+      And there the harbor lay!
+
+    Then Boris scratched his head and thought:
+      "Whatever way I go
+    There's always water at the end
+      Whatever way I go!
+    New York must be an island
+      An island it must be
+    So many people all shut in
+      By rivers and by sea!
+
+    They've bridges and they've ferry boats
+      Across the top to go;
+    They've subways and they've Hudson tubes
+      To burrow down below
+    To get things in, to get things out
+      How busy they must be!
+    In that enormous big New York
+      On rivers and on sea!"
+
+
+
+
+                                                            SPEED
+
+
+This story is a definite attempt to make the child aware of a new
+relationship in his familiar environment.
+
+The verse is for the older children. The story has lent itself well to
+dramatization.
+
+
+
+
+SPEED
+
+
+Once there was a big beautiful white ox. His back was broad, his horns
+were long and his eyes were large and gentle. He went slowly sauntering
+down the road one sunshiny summer day. As he walked along he swung from
+side to side carefully putting down his small feet. And this is what he
+thought:
+
+"I am pleased with myself--so large, so broad, so strong am I. Is there
+anyone else who can pull so heavy a load? Is there anyone else who can
+plow so straight a furrow? What would the world do without me?"
+
+Just then he heard something tearing along the road behind him.
+"Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty." In a moment up dashed a
+big, black horse.
+
+"Greetings," lowed the ox, slowly turning his large gentle eyes on the
+excited horse. "Why such haste, my brother?" The horse tossed his mane.
+"I'm in a hurry," he snorted, "because I'm made to go fast. Why, I can
+go ten miles while you crawl one! The world has no more use for a great
+white snail like you. But if you want speed, I'm just what you need.
+Watch how fast I go!" and clopperty, clopperty he was off down the road.
+As the ox watched the horse disappear he thought of what he had heard.
+
+"He called me a great white snail! He said he could go ten miles while I
+crawled one! Surely this swift horse is more wonderful than I!"
+
+Now as the horse went frisking along this is what he thought. "I am
+pleased with myself. I am sleek, I am swift--swifter than the ox. What
+would the world do without me?"
+
+Just then he heard a strange humming overhead. He glanced up. The sound
+came from a wire taut and vibrating. Then he heard fast turning wheels
+coming "Kathump, kathump." And what do you think that poor frightened
+horse saw coming along the road? A self-moving car with a trolley
+overhead touching the singing wire! His eyes stuck out of his head and
+his mane stood on end he was so scared. What made it go, he wondered.
+
+"Hello, clodhopper," shrieked the electric car. "I didn't know there
+were any of you four-footed curiosities left. Surely the world has no
+more use for you. Where you go in half a day, I go in an hour; where you
+carry one man, I carry ten. If you want speed I'm just what you need.
+Just watch me!" He was gone leaving only the humming wire overhead. The
+poor horse thought of what he had heard.
+
+"He called me a clodhopper! He said he could go in an hour where I take
+half a day! Surely this swift car is more wonderful than I!"
+
+Now the trolley went swinging on his way thinking, "I am pleased with
+myself. My power is the same as the lightning that rips the sky. I am
+swift,--swifter than the ox--swifter than the horse. What would the
+world do without me?"
+
+Just then he heard a terrifying noise. It sounded like a mightly monster
+coughing his life away. "Chug, a chug a chug a chug, chug." Then to his
+horror he saw coming across the green field a gigantic iron creature
+with black smoke and fiery sparks streaming from a nose on top of his
+head.
+
+"Well, slowpoke," screamed the engine as he came near the car. "Out o'
+breath? No wonder. You're not made to go fast like me, for I move by the
+great power of steam. Look at my monstrous boilers; see my hot fire.
+Where you go in half a day, I go in an hour; where you carry one man I
+carry twenty. If you want speed I'm just what you need! Goodbye. Take
+your time, slow coach." And chug, chug, he was off leaving only a trail
+of dirty smoke behind him. The poor trolley car thought of what he had
+heard.
+
+"He called me a slowpoke! He said he could go in an hour where I take a
+half day! Surely this ugly engine is greater than I!"
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Now the engine raced down to the freight depot which was near the great
+shipping docks. As he waited to be loaded he thought:
+
+"I am pleased with myself. I am swift--swifter than the ox, swifter than
+the horse, swifter than the electric car. What would the world do
+without me? I serve everyone, I go everywhere----"
+
+Just here he was interrupted by the deep booming voice of a freight
+steamer lying alongside the wharf. "Tooooot" is what the voice said,
+"you ridiculous landlubber! You go everywhere? What about the water? Can
+you go to France and back again? It's only I who can haul the world's
+goods across the ocean! And even where you _can_ go, you never get
+trusted if they can possibly trust me, now do you? Did you ever think
+why men use river steamers instead of you? Did you ever think why men
+cut the great Panama Canal so that sea could flow into sea? Well, it's
+simply because they're smart and prefer me to you when they can get me.
+You eat too much coal with your speed,--that's what the trouble is with
+you--you ridiculous landlubber!"
+
+This long speech made the old steamer quite hoarse so he cleared his
+throat with a long "Toooot" and sank into silence.
+
+"Of course, what he says is true," thought the engine. "At the same time
+it is equally true that _on land_ I _do_ serve everyone, I go
+everywhere----"
+
+Just here he was interrupted again by a most unexpected noise. It
+sounded half like a steel giggle, half like a brass hiccough. It
+made the engine uneasy. He was sure someone was laughing at him.
+Majestically he turned his headlight till it lighted up a funny little
+automobile who was laughing and laughing and shaking frantically like
+this and going "zzzzz."
+
+"You silly little road beetle," shouted the great engine, "what on
+earth's the matter with you?"
+
+The automobile gave one violent shake, turned off his spark and said in
+an orderly voice, "It struck my funny bone to hear you say you went
+everywhere _on land_, that's all. Don't you realize you're an old fuss
+budget with your steam and your boiler and your fire and what not?
+You're tied to your rails and if everything about your old tracks isn't
+kept just so you tumble over into a ditch or do some fool thing. Now I'm
+the one that can endure real hardships. Sparks and gasoline! you just
+sit right there, you baby, you railclinger, and watch me take that hill!
+Honk, honk!" And he was off up the hill.
+
+The engine slowly turned back his headlight till the light shone full on
+his shiny rails. He thought of what he had heard. "He called me a
+railclinger--yes, that I am. How can that preposterous little beetle run
+without tracks? I'm afraid he's more wonderful than I."
+
+Now the automobile went jouncing and bouncing up the rough road puffing
+merrily and thinking, "I'm mightily pleased with myself. Look at the way
+I climb this hill. There's nothing really so wonderful as I----"
+
+Just then he heard a sound that made his engine boil with fright.
+Dzdzdzdzdzr--it seemed to come right out of the sky. He got all his
+courage together and turned his searchlights up. The sight instantly
+killed his engine. Above him soared a giant aeroplane. It floated, it
+wheeled, it rose, it dropped. It looked serene, strong and swift. Down,
+down came the great thing. Through the terrific droning the automobile
+could just make out these words:
+
+"Dzdzdzdz. You think you're wonderful, you poor little creeping worm
+tied to the earth! I pity all you slow, slow things that I look down on
+as I fly through the sky. Ox made way for horse, horse made way for
+engine, car and auto but all,--all make way for me. For if you want
+speed, I'm just what you need. Dzdzdzdzdz."
+
+And the great aeroplane wheeled and rose like a giant bird. The
+automobile watched him, too humbled to speak. Up, up, up, went the
+aeroplane--up, up, up 'til it was out of sight.
+
+
+
+
+SPEED
+
+
+    The hounds they speed with hanging tongues;
+    The deer they speed with bursting lungs;
+        Foxes hurry,
+        Field mice scurry.
+        Eagles fly
+        Swift, through the sky,
+    And man, his face all wrinkled with worry,
+    Goes speeding by tho' he couldn't tell why!
+        But a little wild hare
+        He pauses to stare
+        At the daisies and baby and me
+        Just sitting,--not trying to go anywhere,
+        Just sitting and playing with never a care
+        In the shade of a great elm tree.
+        And the daisies they laugh
+        As they hear the world pass,
+        What is speed to the growing flowers?
+        And my baby laughs
+        As he sits in the grass,
+        We all laugh through the sunshiny hours,--
+        Through the long, dear sunshiny hours!
+        For flowers and babies
+        And I still know
+        'Tis fun to be happy,
+        'Tis fun to go slow,
+        'Tis fun to take time to live and to grow.
+
+
+
+
+                                               FIVE LITTLE BABIES
+
+
+This story was originally written because the children thought a negro
+was dirty. The songs are authentic. They have been enjoyed by children
+as young as four years old.
+
+
+
+
+FIVE LITTLE BABIES
+
+
+This is going to be a story about some little babies,--five different
+little babies who were born in five different parts of this big round
+world and didn't look alike or think alike at all.
+
+One little baby was all yellow. He just came that way. His eyes were
+black and slanted up in his little face. His hair was black and
+straight. He wore gay little silk coats and gay little silk trousers
+with flowers and figures sewed all over them. When he looked up he saw
+his father's face was yellow and so was his mother's. And his father's
+hair was black and so was his mother's. And when he was a little older
+he saw they both wore gay silk coats and gay silk trousers with flowers
+and figures sewed all over them. But the baby didn't think any of this
+was queer,--not even when he grew up. For every one he knew had yellow
+skin and wore silk coats and trousers. So of course he thought all the
+world was that way.
+
+But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew
+his mother loved her little yellow baby with slanting black eyes. And
+he loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying:
+
+    "Chu Sir Tsun Ching Min. Tsoun Sun
+     Gi Gi. Koo Yin Fee Min Kwei
+     Hua Shiang Lee Pan Run Yin.
+     Fon Chin Yoa Sir. Loo Yi To
+     Choa Yeo Liang Sung. Tsun Tze
+     Doo Soo Soo Wei Gun. Tsin Tsin."
+
+For all this happened in China and he was a little Chinese Baby.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+Another little baby was all brown. He just came that way. His eyes were
+black and his hair was black. He wore pretty colored silk shawls and
+little silk dresses. And when he looked up he saw his father's face was
+brown and that he wore a big turban on his head. And he saw that around
+his mother's brown face was long soft hair. He saw that she wore pretty
+colored silk shawls and long silk trousers and bare feet. But the baby
+didn't think any of this was queer,--even when he grew up. He thought
+every one had brown skin and that everybody dressed like himself and his
+father and his mother.
+
+But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he
+knew his mother loved her little brown baby with black eyes. And he
+loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying:
+
+    "Arecoco Jarecoco, Jungle parkie bare,
+     Marabata cunecomunga dumrecarto sare,
+     Hillee milee puneah jara de naddeah,
+     Arecoco Jarecoco Jungle parkie bare."
+
+For all this happened in India and he was a little Indian baby.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+Now another little baby was all black. He just came that way. His eyes
+were black and his hair was black and curled in tight kinky curls all
+over his little head. And this little baby didn't wear anything at all
+except a loin cloth. When he looked up he saw the black faces and kinky
+black hair of his father and his mother. And when he was a little older
+he saw that they didn't wear any clothes either except a loin cloth and
+a feather skirt and some shells. Neither did this baby think any of this
+was queer,--not even when he grew older. He thought all the world looked
+and dressed like that.
+
+But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he knew
+his mother loved her little black baby with kinky black hair. And he
+loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying,
+
+    "O túla, mntwána, O túla,
+     Unyóko akamúko,
+     Uséle ezintabéni,
+     Uhlú shwa izigwégwe,
+                   Iwá.
+
+     O túla, mntwána, O túla,
+     Unyóko w-zezobúya,
+     Akupatéle ínto enhlé,
+                   Iwá."
+
+For all this happened in Africa and he was a little negro baby.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+Still another little baby,--he was the fourth,--was all red. He just
+came that way. His eyes were black and his hair was straight and black.
+He was bound up tight and slipped into a basket and carried around on
+his mother's back. He didn't think this was queer, even when he grew up.
+He thought all little babies were carried that way. And he thought all
+fathers and mothers had red skin and black hair and wore leather coats
+and trousers trimmed with feathers. For his did.
+
+But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew
+his mother loved her little red baby that she carried on her back, and
+he loved to have her take him out of his basket bed and rock him in her
+arms and sing to him, saying:
+
+     "Cheda-e
+    Nakahu-kalu
+      Be-be!
+    Nakahu-kalu
+      Be-be!
+      E-Be-be!"
+
+For all this happened in America long, long ago, and he was a little
+Indian baby.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+The last little baby, and he makes five, was all white. He just came
+so too. His eyes were blue and his hair was gold and he looked like a
+little baby you know. And he wore dear little white dresses and little
+knitted shoes. When he looked up he saw his father's white skin and his
+mother's blue eyes. When the baby was big enough he saw what kind of
+clothes his father and his mother wore,--but the story doesn't tell what
+they were like. And when the baby was big enough he saw they all lived
+in a big dirty noisy city, but the story doesn't tell what kind of a
+house they lived in. And the story doesn't tell whether he thought any
+of these things queer when he was little or when he grew up; probably
+because you know all these things yourselves. But the story does tell
+that long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he
+knew his mother loved her little white baby with blue eyes and golden
+hair. And it tells that he loved to have her rock him in her arms and
+sing to him this song:
+
+    "Listen, wee baby,
+     I'd sing you a song;
+     The arms of the mothers
+     Are tender and strong,
+     The arms of the mothers
+     Where babies belong!
+     Brown mothers and yellow
+     And black and red too,
+     They love their babies
+     As I, dear, love you,--
+     My little white blossom
+     With wide eyes of blue!
+     And your wee golden head,
+     I do love it, I do!
+     And your feet and your hands
+     I love you there too!
+     And my love makes me sing to you
+     Sing to you songs,
+     Lying hushed in my arms
+     Where a baby belongs!"
+
+For all this is happening in your own country every day and he is a
+little American baby. Perhaps you know his father,--perhaps you know the
+baby,--perhaps, oh, perhaps, you have heard his mother sing!
+
+
+
+
+                                    ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY
+
+
+This story made a special appeal to the school children because the
+school building was originally a stable in MacDougal Alley. They had
+even witnessed this evolution from stable to garage. The children have
+seemed to enjoy the rhythmic language without any sense of
+strangeness.
+
+
+
+
+ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY
+
+
+   Once the barn was full of hay,
+   Now 'tis there no more.
+   I wonder why the hay has left the barn?
+
+   The old horse stood in the stall all day.
+   He wanted to be on the streets.
+   He was strong, was this old horse.
+   He was wise, was this old horse.
+   And he was brave as well.
+   And he was proud, oh, very proud to be strong and wise and brave!
+   He wanted to be on the streets,
+   And he wondered what was wrong
+   That now for ten long days
+   No one had to come harness him up.
+   Old Tom, the aged driver, seemed to have gone away,
+   And only the stable boy had given him water and oats,
+   And poked him hay from the loft above.
+   And as the old horse thought of this
+   He reached up high with his quivering nose,
+   And pushing his lips far back on his teeth,
+   Pulled down a mouthful of hay.
+   But as he stood chewing the hay
+   Again he wondered and wondered again
+   Why nobody needed him,
+   Why nobody wished to drive.
+
+   For almost every day
+   Old Tom would harness him up
+   To a dear little, neat little, sweet little carriage
+   And down the alley they'd go and around to the front of the house.
+   And there he'd stand and wait, this dear, this steady old horse,
+   Flicking the flies with his tail,
+   Till the door of the house would open wide
+   And out would come his mistress dear with the baby in her arms,
+   And running along beside
+   Would come her little boy, the little boy he loved so well,
+   Who gave him sugar from his hand and patted his nose and neck.
+   And into the carriage they all would get,
+   His mistress and baby and little boy.
+   And Tom would tighten the reins a bit
+   And off down the street they'd go,
+   Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clop.
+   When he was out on the streets,--
+   This dear old, steady old horse,--
+   He knew just what to do, when to go and when to stand still.
+   And when with clang! clang! clang!
+   Fire engines shrieked down the street
+   He'd stand as still as a rock
+   So his mistress and her baby were never frightened a bit!
+   And the little boy laughed and watched and laughed!
+   And when the great policeman, so big in the middle of the street,
+   Held up his hand,
+   The old horse stopped
+   But watched him close
+   For the first wave of the hand that would tell him to go ahead.
+   Always the first to stop,
+   Always the first to go,
+   The old horse loved the streets.
+
+   Now he wanted the streets.
+   And while he stood and chewed his hay and wondered what was wrong,
+   Suddenly there came a rumble
+   Of noises all a-jumble,
+   A quaking and a shaking
+   A terrifying tremble
+   Making the old horse quiver and stand still!
+   It came from the alley,
+   His own peaceful alley
+   Where he knew every horse, every coach, every wagon!
+   Bump, thump, like a lump of lead jolting,
+   Bang, whang, like a steam engine bolting,
+   Down it came crashing
+   Down it came smashing,
+   Till it stopped with a snort at his own stable door!
+   The old horse pulled at his halter
+   And strained to look round at the door.
+   Out of the tail of his eye he could see
+   The doors, the doors to his very own barn,
+   Swing wide under the crane where they hoisted the hay.
+   And there in the alley, oh what did he see
+   This old horse with his terrified eye?
+   A monster all shiny and black
+   With great headlights stuck way out in front,
+   With brass things that grated and groaned
+   As the driver pulled this thing and that.
+   And there on the back of this monster
+   Sat old Tom
+   Who had driven him now for fifteen long years.
+   And out of the mouth of the monster, as there opened a neat little door,
+   Stepped his mistress dear
+   With her eager little boy and the baby in her arms.
+   And the poor horse trembled to see those that he loved so well
+   So near this terrible monster.
+   "'Twill eat them all!" he thought.
+   And for the first time in all his brave and prudent life
+   The old horse was frightened.
+   He raised his head,
+   He spread his nostrils,
+   He neighed with all his strength.
+   His mistress dear
+   Would surely hear,
+   Would hear and understand!
+   He wanted to save her, save the boy and save the little baby
+   From this terrible ugly beast
+   Snorting there so near!
+   And his mistress dear, she heard.
+   But did she understand?
+   She came and laid her hand upon his quivering side.
+   "Poor dear old horse," she said,
+   "Your day is gone and you must go!"
+   What could she mean?
+   What could she mean?
+   What could she mean?
+   "You have been strong; but not so strong as is our new machine!
+   You have been brave; but see this thing, this thing can know no fear!
+   You have been wise; but this machine is like a part of Tom.
+   He pulls a lever, turns a wheel and this machine obeys!
+   Poor dear old horse
+   Your day is gone
+   And now you too must go!"
+   So that was what she meant!
+   So that was what she meant!
+   So that was what she meant!
+
+                   *       *       *
+
+   The old horse heard but how could he understand?
+   How could he know that she had said
+   They wanted him no longer?
+   How could he know that this big monster, this new automobile
+   Was going to do his work for them
+   And do it better than he!
+   He knew that something was wrong.
+   He was puzzled and sad and frightened.
+   With head drooped low and feet that dragged
+   He let old Tom untie his rope
+   And lead him from the stall.
+   For one short moment as he passed the shiny automobile
+   He straightened his head and widened his nostrils
+   And snorted and snorted again.
+   But there within the monster, lying safe upon a seat,
+   He saw the little baby
+   Laughing and all alone.
+   And the old horse was puzzled, was puzzled and frightened too.
+   Then old Tom pulled him gently through the wide swinging doors
+   And led him down the alley.
+   Past the stables with other horses,
+   Past the grooms and stable boys,
+   Down the alley he knew so well
+   Went the old horse for the last time.
+   For he never came back again.
+   They had no need of him; they liked their auto better!
+   Down the alley he slowly went
+   And as he turned into the street below
+   One last long look he gave to the stable at the end,
+   One last long look at his mistress dear with the baby in her arms,
+   One last long look at the little boy waving and
+       calling: "Goodbye, goodbye".
+   One last long look, and then he was gone!
+
+   Once the barn was full of hay:
+   Now 'tis there no more.
+   I wonder why the hay has left the barn?
+
+
+
+
+                                                         THE WIND
+
+
+This story is composed entirely of observations on the wind dictated by
+a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class. Every phrase (except the one
+word "toss") is theirs. The ordering only is mine.
+
+
+
+
+THE WIND
+
+
+    In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing,
+    But in a winter storm it growls and roars.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Sometimes the wind goes oo-oo-oo-oo-oo! It sounds like water running. It
+makes a singing sound. It blows through the grass. It blows against the
+tree and the tree bows over and bends way down. It whistles in the
+leaves and makes a rustling sound. The tree shakes, the branches and
+leaves all rustle. The wind knocks the leaves off the trees and tosses
+them up in the air. Then it blows them straight in to the window and
+drags them around on the floor. It makes the leaves whirl and twirl.
+
+And sometimes the wind is frisky. It whisks around the corners. It comes
+blowing down the street. It blows the papers round and round on the
+ground. It tears them and rares them, then up, it takes them sailing. It
+sweeps around the house, blowing and puffing. It blows the wash up. It
+blows the chickens off the trees. It makes the nuts come rattling down.
+It turns the windmill and makes the fire burn. It blows out the matches,
+it blows out the candles, it blows out the gas lights. It hits the
+people on the street. Some it keeps back from walking and some it
+pushes forward. It unbuttons the coat of a little girl, it unbuttons her
+leggings too and the little girl feels all chilly in the frisky wind. It
+blows up her skirt. It pulls off her hat and blows through her hair till
+she feels all chilly on her head too. Puff! it goes, puff! puff! Then
+off go other hats spinning down the street. It gets under umbrellas and
+turns them inside out. The frisky wind blows harder and harder. The
+houses shake. The windows rattle. And the people on the street are
+whirling and twirling like the leaves.
+
+Sometimes there is a storm. The wind roars over the ocean and makes the
+waves bigger than the ships. The waves go up and down, and up and down,
+and the ship goes rocking and rocking, this way and that way, this way
+and that way, to the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, back
+and forth and back and forth. A boat gets tossed on the sea. The sails
+are all torn to pieces by the storm. The masts get broken off and fall
+down on the ship. The ship just rocks and rocks. Then pretty soon it
+bumps into a rock and is wrecked and sinks. And all the men get drowned.
+
+The wind growls and roars over the mountain. There is thunder and
+lightning. The thunder says, "Boompety, boom, boom, boom!" The lightning
+is all shiny. The rain comes pouring down. The wind whistles in the
+trees. It blows a tree over. It crashes down. The lightning goes crack!
+and splits the tree in two. And then the tree catches on fire and the
+leaves burn like paper.
+
+    In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing,
+    But in a winter storm it growls and roars.
+
+
+
+
+                                                   THE LEAF STORY
+
+
+All the content and many of the expressions were taken from stories on
+dried leaves dictated by a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class.
+
+
+
+
+THE LEAF STORY
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+    I want to fly up in the air!
+    If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet
+    And the wind blows
+    Perhaps I'll fly up in the air!
+    Listen!
+    Something stirs in the dried leaves,
+    The tree bends, the tree bows,
+    The wind sweeps through the brown leaves.
+    The brown leaves crackle and rattle and dance,
+    They rustle and murmur and pull at the bough,
+    They shiver, they quiver till they pull themselves loose
+    And are free.
+    Up, up they fly!
+    Little brown specks in the sky.
+    They twist and they spin,
+    They whirl and they twirl,
+    They teeter, they turn somersaults in the air.
+    Then for a moment the wind holds its breath.
+    Down, down, down float the leaves,
+    Still turning and twisting,
+    Still twirling and whirling,
+    The brown leaves float to the earth.
+    Puff! goes the wind,
+    Up they fly again
+    With a little soft rustling laugh.
+    Then down they float.
+    Down, down, down.
+    On the ground the leaves go as if walking or running.
+    They go and then they stop.
+    They scurry along,
+    Still twisting and turning,
+    Still twirling and whirling,
+    They hurry along,
+    With a soft little rustle
+    They tumble, they roll and they roll.
+
+    I want to fly up in the air!
+    If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet
+    And the wind blows,
+    Perhaps I'll fly up in the air.
+
+
+
+
+A LOCOMOTIVE
+
+
+    In the daytime, what am I?
+    In the hubbub, what am I?
+    A mass of iron and of steel,
+    Of boiler, piston, throttle, wheel,
+    A monster smoking up the sky,
+        A locomotive!
+          That am I!
+
+    In the darkness, what am I?
+    In the stillness, what am I?
+    Streak of light across the sky,
+    A clanging bell, a shriek, a cry,
+    A fiery demon rushing by,
+        A locomotive
+          That am I!
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+MOON MOON
+
+(_To the tune of "Du, du, liegst mir im herzen._")
+
+
+    Moon, moon,
+      Shiny and silver,
+    Moon, moon,
+      Silver and white;
+    Moon, moon,
+      Whisper to children
+      "Sleep through the silvery night."
+    There, there, there, there,
+      Sleep through the silvery night.
+
+    Sun, sun,
+      Shiny and golden,
+    Sun, sun,
+      Golden and gay;
+    Sun, sun,
+      Shout to the children
+      "Wake to the sunshiny day!"
+    There, there, there, there,
+      Wake to the sunshiny day.
+
+
+
+
+AUTOMOBILE SONG
+
+
+    A-rolling, bowling, fast or slow,
+    A-racing, chasing, off we go.
+    The jolly automobile
+    Whizzes along with flying wheel.
+    We go chug, chug-chug, chug-up!
+    Then we go s-l-i-d-i-n-g down.
+    We go scooting over the hills,
+    We go tooting back to town.
+
+
+
+
+                                                       SILLY WILL
+
+
+In this story I have used a device to tie together many isolated
+familiar facts. I have never found that six-year-old children did not
+readily discriminate the actual from the imaginary.
+
+
+
+
+SILLY WILL
+
+
+PART 1
+
+Once there was a little boy. Now he was a very silly little boy,
+so silly that he was called Silly Will. He had an idea that he was
+tremendously smart and that he could quite well get along by himself in
+this world. This foolish idea made him do and say all sorts of silly
+things which led to all sorts of terrible happenings as this story will
+show.
+
+One day he went out walking. He walked down the road until he met a
+little girl. The little girl was crying.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.
+
+"Oh!" sobbed the little girl, "our cow has died and I don't know what
+we shall do. I don't know how we can get along without her milk and
+everything. We depended on her so!"
+
+"Depended on a cow!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing!
+I've often seen that stupid old cow of yours. Clumsy, lumbering thing!
+Cows are no good! I wouldn't depend on any animal, not I! It wouldn't
+matter to me if all the cows in the world died!" And Silly Will strutted
+off down the road.
+
+The little girl looked after him with astonishment. "I just wish no cow
+would ever give that silly boy anything!" she thought.
+
+Before long he met an old woman. The old woman was crying too.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.
+
+"Oh!" cried the old woman wringing her hands. "Our sheep has fallen over
+a cliff and broken its legs and it's going to die. I don't know how we
+shall get along without her wool for spinning. We depended so much on
+her!"
+
+"Depended on a sheep!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing!
+I've often heard your stupid old sheep bleating. Sheep are no good. I
+wouldn't depend on any animal, not I! It wouldn't matter to me if all
+the sheep in the world died!" And Silly Will strutted off down the road
+feeling very smart.
+
+The old woman looked after him greatly surprised. "Silly little boy!"
+she thought. "He little knows! I just wish no sheep would give him
+anything!"
+
+Then before long Silly Will met a man. The man was sitting beside the
+road with his face in his hands.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.
+
+The man looked up. "Oh, our horse has died!" he sighed dolefully, "and I
+don't know how we can get along without him to plow for us now that it's
+seeding time. And there's not much use getting in the seeds anyway
+without a horse to carry the grain to market when it's ripe. We depended
+so on our horse!"
+
+"Depended on a horse!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing!
+First I meet a little girl who says she depended on a cow for food: then
+I meet an old woman who says she depended on a sheep for clothes. And
+here is a man who says he depends on a horse to work and to carry for
+him! As for me, I depend on no animal, not I! It wouldn't matter to me
+if there were no animals in the world. They needn't give me anything! I
+wish they wouldn't!"
+
+The man looked at him greatly amazed. "Silly little boy!" he said. "I
+hope your silly wish will come true. How little you understand! I just
+wish tonight all the animal kingdom would leave you and then perhaps you
+would understand a little!" But Silly Will walked home feeling very
+smart, for he _didn't_ understand. Silly people never _do_ understand!
+
+Now that night a strange thing happened to Silly Will. I can't explain
+how or why it happened. But in the middle of the night, all the animals
+_did_ leave Silly Will. Not only the cow and the sheep and the horse but
+all the animal kingdom! He was sound asleep in his flannel nightgown
+snuggled under warm wool blankets. Suddenly he felt a jerk. What was
+happening? He sat up in bed just in time to see his blankets whisk off
+him and disappear. He looked down. His night shirt was gone! He heard a
+faint sound almost like the bleating of the old woman's sheep.
+"Ba-ba-a-a I take back my wool!"
+
+Then he was aware that something queer had happened to his mattress. It
+was just an empty bag of ticking. He heard a faint sound almost like the
+neighing of the man's horse who had died. "Whey-ey-ey, I take back my
+hair!"
+
+He reached for his pillow. It too was an empty sack.
+
+"Hh-ss-s-hh" hissed a faint sound almost like a goose. "I take back my
+feathers!"
+
+"Whatever is happening?" screamed Silly Will. "Let me get a light." He
+found a match and struck it, but his candlestick was empty.
+"Ba-a-moo-oo" said some faint voices. "I take back my fat!"
+
+By this time Silly Will was thoroughly frightened and shivering with
+cold besides.
+
+"I'd better get dressed," he thought, and groped his way to the chair
+where he had left his clothes. He could find only his cotton underwaist
+and his cotton shirt. His wool undershirt and drawers, his trousers and
+stockings, and his silk necktie were gone. And so were his leather
+shoes. Just the lacings lay on the floor. "Mooooo" he seemed to hear a
+faint sound almost like the little girl's cow he had made fun of in the
+afternoon. "I take back my hide."
+
+He put on the few cotton clothes that were left, but there were no
+buttons to hold them together. "Moooooo," he heard a faint voice say. "I
+take back my bones."
+
+Terrified he ran to the closet to see what more he could find. "I'll
+surely freeze," he thought as he lighted another match. "I'll slip on my
+coat and get into bed." But his warm coat with the fur collar was gone,
+too. "Chee, chee, chee," he seemed to hear a faint sound almost like the
+squirrel he was fond of frightening. "I take back my skin!"
+
+But he did find some cotton stockings and some old overalls. These he
+put on relieved to find they had metal buttons. Then poor Silly Will
+crawled back to bed wearing his cotton clothes and waited for morning to
+come. He didn't sleep much for the wire spring cut into him. He was
+cold, too.
+
+As soon as it was light he hunted around for more clothes. He found some
+straw bed-room slippers. His rubbers too were there and he put them on
+over his slippers. Then he ran downstairs to get something to eat.
+
+"Anyway," he thought, "those old animals can't get me when it comes to
+eating. I never did care much about meat."
+
+The pantry door squeaked as he opened it. It sounded for all the world
+like a far away barnyard--hens, cows, and pigs. He looked around. No
+milk, no eggs, no bacon! "Bread and butter will do me," he thought.
+
+But the butter had gone too! He opened the bread box. The bread was
+still there! He almost wept from relief. By hunting around he found a
+good deal to eat. Cocoa made with water instead of milk was pretty good.
+Then there were crackers and apples. His oatmeal wasn't very good
+without milk or butter. But he ate it. He knew he would have plenty of
+vegetables and fruits and cereals.
+
+And the day was warm enough so that he didn't mind his cotton clothes.
+But his feet did hurt him. He wondered about wooden shoes and thought he
+would try to make some.
+
+He was a little worried too about his bed. He hunted around in the house
+until he found two cotton comforters. One he put under his sheet in
+place of his mattress and one on top in place of his blankets. So, on
+the whole, he thought, he could manage to get along.
+
+Poor little Silly Will! He had never before thought how much the animals
+did for him. Once in a while he would think of the little girl and the
+old woman and the man he had met that afternoon. But not for long. And
+he never remembered that some time winter would come. But long before
+that time came, Silly Will had got himself into still more trouble. For
+even now he didn't understand!
+
+
+PART 2
+
+From this time on nothing went well with Silly Will. When he had eaten
+the vegetables he had in the house he walked over to a gardener who
+lived nearby. He wanted to get potatoes and other supplies for the
+winter. To his horror he found everything drooping and wilted and
+withered. "What's the matter with the vegetables, gardener?" asked
+Silly Will.
+
+"A frost," sighed the gardener. "It's killed all the potatoes. I hope
+you weren't depending on them?"
+
+"Oh, of course not," said Silly Will, gulping hard. "I certainly
+wouldn't depend on a vegetable. That would be too ridiculous. If the
+frost should kill all the vegetables, it would make no difference to
+me!" Nevertheless in his heart he felt unhappy and a little frightened
+at the thought of the coming winter. But still he didn't understand.
+Silly people never do understand.
+
+He walked on down the road saying to himself, "I'll go order my winter
+wood anyway. I'm almost out of it at home." Just then he looked up. He
+expected to see the green forest stretching up the hillside. He stared.
+The hillside was black smoking stumps, fallen blackened trees, white
+ashes! Beside the dead trees stood the old forester wringing his hands.
+Silly Will didn't even speak to him. He could see what had happened
+without asking. He turned around. Slowly he walked home. He went right
+to bed. He still pretended that he wasn't unhappy or frightened. He kept
+saying to himself, "I don't really depend on the wood at all. Of course
+that would be silly! I've got coal. It wouldn't matter to me if all the
+plants left me." And with that thought he fell asleep. You see even now
+he didn't understand. Silly people never do understand.
+
+Now that night another strange thing happened to Silly Will. I can't
+explain how or why it happened. But in the middle of the night all the
+plants _did_ leave Silly Will,--not only the potatoes and the trees but
+the whole vegetable kingdom.
+
+He was asleep all curled up to keep warm in his cotton clothes. Suddenly
+he felt the comforter and sheet under him jerk away and he was left
+lying on the wire spring. At the same time the comforter and sheet over
+him disappeared. So did his nightshirt. Then bang! His wooden bed was
+gone. The house began to creak and rock. He jumped up and tore down
+stairs. He just got outside the front door when the whole house
+collapsed.
+
+The moon was shining. Silly Will could see quite plainly. There stood
+the brick chimneys rising out of a pile of plaster dumped on top of the
+concrete foundations. There was the slate roof and the broken window of
+glass. The air was full of a sound like the violent trembling of many
+leaves. It sounded for all the world as if it said, "I take back my
+wood!"
+
+"Whatever will I do?" groaned Silly Will as he shivered all naked in the
+moonlight. Then his eye lighted on the kitchen stove. There it stood
+with the stove pipe all safely connected with the chimney.
+
+"I'll build a coal fire," he thought. There stood the iron coal scuttle.
+But alas! It was empty! He heard a far-away murmur like a faint wind
+stirring in giant ferns. And they said, "I take back my buried leaves!"
+
+By this time Silly Will was shaking with cold. "I've heard that
+newspapers are warm," he thought. But the pile behind the stove was
+gone. Again came the murmur of trees--"I take back my pulp," and a queer
+soft sound which he couldn't quite make out. Was it "I take back my
+cotton?"
+
+Silly Will was thoroughly terrified now.
+
+"I'll go somewhere to think," he said to himself. So he crept down the
+cement steps to the cellar and crawled into a sheltered corner. But he
+couldn't think of anything pleasant. He could hear a confused noise all
+around him. Sometimes it sounded like growls, like animal cries, like
+animal calls. "The animal kingdom has left him," it seemed to say.
+
+Again it sounded like the wind rustling a thousand leaves. "The
+vegetable kingdom has left him," it seemed to say.
+
+"I've nothing to wear," sobbed Silly Will. "And I'm afraid I've nothing
+to eat." At the thought of food he jumped up and ran over to the cellar
+pantry. He found just three things. They did not make a tempting meal!
+They were a crock of salt, a tin of soda and a porcelain pitcher of
+water.
+
+"What shall I ever do? How shall I live? I'll never have another glass
+of milk or cup of cocoa. I'll never have anything to wear. I'll freeze
+and I'll starve. I might just as well die now!" And poor little Silly
+Will broke down and cried and cried and cried.
+
+"I can't live without other living things," he sobbed. "I can't eat only
+minerals and I can't keep warm in minerals. Everybody has to depend on
+animals and vegetables. And after all I'm only a little boy! I've got to
+have living things to keep alive myself!"
+
+Then a wonderful thing happened to Silly Will. I can't explain how or
+why it happened. Suddenly he felt all warm and comfortable. "Perhaps I'm
+freezing," he thought. "I've heard that people feel warm when they are
+almost frozen to death."
+
+Slowly he put out his hand. Surely that was a linen sheet! Surely that
+was a woolen blanket. Surely he had on his flannel nightgown. He sat
+straight up. Surely this was his own bed: this was his own room: this
+was his own house. He could scarcely believe his eyes. He gave a great
+shout.
+
+"Moo-oo-oo," answered a cow under a tree outside his window. And the
+leaves of the tree rustled at him too.
+
+"Hello, old cow! Hello, old tree!" cried Silly Will running to the
+window. "Isn't it good we're all alive?" And when you think of it that
+wasn't a silly remark at all!
+
+"Moo-oo-oo," lowed the old cow. "Swish-sh-sh-sh," rustled the tree. And
+suddenly Silly Will thought he understood! I wonder if he did!
+
+
+
+
+                                                      EBEN'S COWS
+
+
+This story attempts to make an industrial process a background for real
+adventure.
+
+
+
+
+EBEN'S COWS
+
+
+PART 1
+
+Eben was looking at the cows. And the cows were looking at Eben. What
+Eben saw was twenty-six pairs of large gentle eyes, twenty-six mouths
+chewing with a queer sidewise motion, twenty-six fine fat cattle, some
+red, some white, some black, some red and white, and some black and
+white, all in a bright green meadow. What the cows saw, held by his
+mother on the rail fence, was a fat baby with a shining face and waving
+arms. What Eben heard was the heavy squashy footsteps of the slow-moving
+cows as they lumbered toward the little figure on the fence. What the
+cows heard was a high, excited little voice saying a real word for the
+first time in its life, "Cow! cow! oh, cow! oh, cow!" And so with his
+first word began Eben's life-long friendship with the cows.
+
+Eben Brewster lived in a little white farm-house with green blinds. The
+cows lived in a great long red barn, which was connected with the little
+white farm-house by a wagon-shed and tool-house. High up on the great
+red barn was printed GREEN MOUNTAIN FARM. Long before Eben knew how to
+read he knew what those big letters said, and he knew that the lovely
+rolling hills that ringed the farm around, were called the Green
+Mountains. In front of both house and barn stretched the bright green
+meadows where day after day fed the twenty-six cows. In a neighboring
+meadow played the long-legged calves. For at Green Mountain Farm there
+were always many calves. In the summer they usually had fifteen or
+twenty calves a few months old. For every cow of course had her baby
+once a year. The little bull calves they sold; but the little cow
+calves they raised.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+When Eben was three years old he made friends with the calves his own
+way. He wiggled through the bars of the gate into their pasture. The
+calves stared at him; they sniffed at him. Then they came a little
+closer. They stared at him again. They sniffed at him again. Then they
+came closer still. Then one little black and white thing came right up
+to him and licked his face and hands. And three-year-old Eben liked the
+feel of the soft nose and the rough tongue and he liked the sweet cow
+smell.
+
+So it came about that Eben played regularly with the calves. It always
+amused his father Andrew to watch them together. "I never saw a child so
+crazy about cows!" he used to say. One day he put a pretty little new
+calf,--white with red spots,--into the pasture. Eben ran to the calf at
+once. "What shall we call the calf, Eben?" asked his father. "Think of
+some nice name for her." Eben put his arms around the calf's neck and
+smiled. "I call him 'ittle Sister," he said. For little baby sister was
+the only thing three-year-old Eben loved better than a calf. And the
+name stuck to the calves of Green Mountain Farm. From that time on they
+were always called Little Sisters!
+
+Real little sister or Nancy, as she was called, grew apace. To her Eben
+was always wonderful. At six years he seemed equal to about anything. It
+did not surprise her at all one day to hear her father say, "Eben, you
+get the cows tonight." But it did surprise Eben. He had helped his
+father drive them home for years. And now he was to do it alone! Down
+the dusty road he went, switch in hand, taking such big important
+strides that the footprints of his little bare feet were almost as far
+apart as a man's. The cows stood facing the bars. He took down the bars.
+The cows filed through one by one. Nancy and her father, waiting to help
+him turn the cows in at the barn, knew he was coming. They could see the
+cloud of dust and hear the many shuffling feet and the shrill boy's
+voice calling: "Hi, Spotty, don't you stop to eat! Go 'long there,
+Crumplehorn, don't you know the way home yet! Hurry up, Redface. Can't
+you keep in the road?" Eben felt older from that day.
+
+From the day he began driving home the cows alone Eben took a real share
+in the work at the farm. He put the cows' heads into the stanchions when
+each one lumbered into her stall. He fed them hay and ensilage through
+the long winter months when the meadows were white with snow. He put
+the cans to catch the cream and the skimmed milk when his father turned
+the separator. He took the separator apart and carried it up to his
+mother to be washed. Nancy helped and talked. Only she really talked
+more than she helped!
+
+Eben's talk ran much on cows. His poor mother read all she could in the
+encyclopedia, but even then she couldn't answer all his questions. Why
+does a cow have four stomachs? Why does her food come back to be chewed?
+Why does she chew sideways? Why does she have to be milked twice a day?
+Why doesn't she get out of the way when an auto comes down the road?
+When Eben asked his father these things the farmer would shake his head
+and answer, "I guess it's just because she's a cow."
+
+There came a very exciting day at Green Mountain Farm. For twenty years
+Andrew Brewster and his men had milked his cows morning and evening. His
+hands were hard from the practice. The children loved to watch him milk.
+With every pull of his strong hands he made a fine white stream of milk
+shoot into the pail, squirt, squirt, squirt. Eben had often tried, but
+pull as he would, he could only get out a few drops. And even as Andrew
+Brewster had milked his cows morning and evening until his hands were
+horny, so had his father done before him. Yes, and his father's father,
+too. For three generations of Brewsters had hardened their hands milking
+cows on Green Mountain Farm. Then there came this exciting day, and a
+new way of milking began at the big red barn.
+
+A milking machine was put in. It ran by a wonderful little puffing
+gasolene engine. It milked two cows at once. And it milked all
+twenty-six of them in twenty minutes. Andrew Brewster could manage the
+whole herd alone with what help Eben could give him. It was a great day
+for him. It was a great day for Eben and Nancy too.
+
+
+PART 2
+
+There came another day which was even more exciting for the two children
+than when the milking machine was put into the big red barn. This story
+is really about that day. Eben was then ten years old and Nancy seven.
+Their father and mother had gone for the day to a county fair. The two
+children were to be alone all day, which made up for not going to the
+fair. The children had long since eaten the cold dinner their mother
+had left for them. They had done all their chores too. Nancy had
+gathered the eggs and Eben had chopped the kindling and brought in the
+wood. They had fed the baby chickens and given them water. Then they had
+gone to the woods for an afternoon climb over the big rocks and a wade
+in the brook. Now they were waiting for their father and mother to come
+back. They had been waiting for a long time, for it was seven o'clock.
+The last thing their mother had called out as she drove off behind the
+two old farm horses was, "We'll be back by five o'clock, children."
+
+What could have happened? "Eben," said Nancy, "we'd better eat our own
+supper and get something ready for Father and Mother. I guess I'll try
+to scramble some eggs."
+
+"Go ahead," answered Eben. "But we're not the ones I'm worrying
+about--nor Father and Mother either. It's those poor cows."
+
+"Oh! the cows!" cried Nancy. "And the poor Little Sisters! They'll be
+so hungry." Both children ran to the door. "Just listen to them," said
+Eben. "They've been waiting in the barn for over an hour now. I
+certainly wish Father would come." From the big red barn came the lowing
+of the restless cattle. "I'm going to have another look at them," said
+Eben. "Come along, Nancy."
+
+The two children peered into the big dark barn. The unmistakable cow
+smell came to them strong in the dark. Stretching down the whole length
+was stall after stall, each holding an impatient cow. The children could
+see the restless hind feet moving and stamping; they could see the
+flicking of many tails; they could feel the cows pulling at the
+stanchions. On the other side were the stalls of the Little Sisters.
+They too were moving about wildly. Over above it all rose the deafening
+sound of the plaintive lowings. By the door stood the gasolene engine.
+It was attached to a pipe which ran the whole length of the great barn
+above the cows' stalls. Eben's eyes followed this pipe until it was lost
+in the dark.
+
+"Moo-oo-oo," lowed the cow nearest at hand, so loud that both children
+jumped. "Poor old Redface," said Nancy. "I wish we could help you."
+"We're going to," said Eben in an excited voice, "See here, Nancy. We're
+going to milk these cows!" "Why, Eben Brewster, we could never do it
+alone!" Nancy's eyes went to the gasolene engine as she spoke. "We've
+got to," said Eben. "That's all there is about it."
+
+So the children began with trembling hands. They lighted two lanterns.
+"I wish the cows would stop a minute," said Nancy. "I can't seem to
+think with such a racket going on." Eben turned on the spark of the
+engine. He had done it before, but it seemed different to do it when his
+father wasn't standing near. Then he took the crank. "I hope she doesn't
+kick tonight," he wished fervently. He planted his feet firmly and
+grasped the handle! Round he swung it, around and around. Only the
+bellowing of the cows answered. He began again. Round he swung the
+handle; around and around. "Chug, chug-a-chug, chug, chug, chug-a-chug,
+chug," answered the engine. Nancy jumped with delight. "You're as good
+as a man, Eben," she cried.
+
+"Come now, bring the lantern," commanded Eben. Nancy carried the lantern
+and Eben a rubber tube. This tube Eben fastened on to the first faucet
+on the long pipe between the first two cows. This rubber tube branched
+into two and at the end of each were four hollow rubber fingers. Eben
+stuck his fingers down one. He could feel the air pull, pull, pull.
+"She's working all right, Nancy," he whispered in a shaking voice. "Put
+the pail here." Nancy obeyed. Eben took one bunch of four hollow rubber
+fingers and slipped one finger up each udder of one cow. Then he took
+the other bunch and slipped one finger up each udder of the second cow.
+The cows, feeling relief was near, quieted at once. "I can see the
+milk," screamed Nancy, watching a tiny glass window in the rubber tube.
+And sure enough, through the tube and out into the pail came a pulsing
+stream of milk. Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt. In a few minutes the two
+cows were milked and the children moved on to the next pair. Nancy
+carried the pail and Eben the rubber tube which he fastened on to the
+next faucet. And in another few minutes two more cows were milked. So
+the children went the length of the great red barn, and gradually the
+restless lowings quieted as pail after pail was filled with warm white
+milk.
+
+"I wouldn't try the separator if it weren't for the poor Little
+Sisters," said Eben anxiously as they reached the end of the barn.
+"They've got to be fed," said Nancy. "But I can't lift those pails."
+Slowly Eben carried them one by one with many rests back to the
+separator by the gasoline engine. He took the strap off one wheel and
+put it around the wheel of the separator. "I can't lift a whole pail,"
+sighed Eben. Taking a little at a time he poured the milk into the tray
+at the top of the separator. In a few minutes the yellow cream came
+pouring out of one spout and the blue skimmed milk out of another. In
+another few minutes the calves were drinking the warm skimmed milk.
+"There, Little Sisters, poor, hungry Little Sisters," said Nancy, as
+she watched their eager pink tongues.
+
+Eben turned off the engine. "I'm sorry I couldn't do the final hand
+milking," he said. "I wonder if we'd better turn the cows out?" Before
+Nancy could answer both children heard a sound. They held their breath.
+Surely those were horses' feet! Cloppety clop clop clop cloppety clop
+clop clop. Up to the barn door dashed the old farm horses. From the dark
+outside the children heard their mother's voice, "Children, children,
+are you there? The harness broke and I thought we'd _never_ get home."
+Carrying a lantern apiece the children rushed out and into her arms.
+"Here, Eben," called his father. "You take the horses quick. I must get
+started milking right away. Those poor cows!" The children were too
+excited to talk plainly. They both jabbered at once. Then each took a
+hand of their father and led him into the great red barn. There by the
+light of the lanterns Andrew Brewster could see the pails of warm white
+milk and yellow cream. He stared at the quiet cows and at the Little
+Sisters. Then he stared at Eben and Nancy. "Yes," cried both children
+together. "We did it. We did it ourselves!"
+
+
+
+
+                                                  THE SKY SCRAPER
+
+
+The story tries to assemble into a related form many facts well-known
+to seven-year-olds and to present the whole as a modern industrial
+process.
+
+
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+THE SKY SCRAPER
+
+
+Once in an enormous city, men built an enormous building. Deep they
+built it, deep into the ground; high they built it, high into the air.
+Now that it is finished the men who walk about its feet forget how deep
+into the ground it reaches. But they can never forget how high into the
+blue it soars. Their necks ache when they throw back their heads to see
+to the top. For, of all the buildings in the world, this sky scraper is
+the highest.
+
+The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great city. From its top one
+can see the city, one can hear the city, one can smell the city--the
+city where men live and work. One can see the crowded streets full of
+tiny men and tiny automobiles, the riverside with its baby warehouses
+and its baby docks, the river with its toy bridges and toy giant
+steamers and tug boats and barges and ferries. The city noise,--the
+distant, rumbling, grumbling noise,--sounds like the purring of a
+far-away giant beast. And over it all lies the smell of gas and smoke.
+
+The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great city. But from its top
+in the blue, blue sky one can see all over the land. Landward the fields
+spread out like a map till they are lost in the mist and smoke. Seaward
+lies the vast, the tremendous stretch of the sea, the wrinkled, the
+crinkled, the far-away sea that stretches to touch the sky.
+
+Now this soaring sky scraper is the work of men--of many, many men. Its
+lofty lacy tower was first thought of by the architect. With closed eyes
+he saw it, and with his well-trained fingers quickly he drew its
+outline. Then at his office many men with T squares and with compasses,
+sitting at high long tables, with green-shaded lamps, worked far into
+the nights till all the plans were ready.
+
+Then the sky scraper began to grow. The first men brought mighty steam
+shovels. One hundred feet into the earth they burrowed. The gigantic
+mouths of the steam shovels gnawed at the rock and the clay. Huge hulks
+they clutched from this underworld, heaved up with enormous derricks and
+crashed out on the upper land. Deep they dug, deep into the ground till
+they found the firm bed-rock. With a network of steel they filled this
+terrific hole. Into the rasping, revolving mixers they poured tons of
+sand and cement and gravel which steadily flowed in a sluggish stream to
+strengthen the steel supports.
+
+At last,--and that was an exciting day,--the great beams began to rise.
+Again the derricks ground, as slowly, steadily, accurately, they swung
+each beam to its place. A thousand men swarmed over the steel bones,
+some throwing red-hot rivets, others catching them in pails, all to the
+song of the rivet driver.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+The riveter screamed and shrieked and shrilled. It pierced the air of
+the narrow streets. On the nearby buildings it vibrated, echoed. The
+sky scraper seemed alive and thrilled by the quivering, throbbing,
+shrieking shrill,--by the song of the riveter. Story by story the sky
+scraper grew, a monstrous outline against the sky. And ever and ever as
+it grew, hissed the rivet and screamed the drill.
+
+At length the sky scraper soared sixty dizzy stories high. Then swiftly
+came the stone masons and encased the giant steel frame. Swiftly in its
+center, men reared the plunging elevators. Swiftly worked the
+electrician, the plumber, the carpenter. All workmen were called and
+all workmen came. The world listened to the call of this sky scraper
+standing in the heart of the great city. From the mines of Minnesota to
+the swamps of Louisiana came goods to serve its need. Long, long ago, in
+olden days, the churches grew slowly bit by bit, as one man carved a
+door post here and another fitted a window there, each planning his own
+part. Not so with the sky scraper. It grew in haste. Its parts were made
+in factories scattered the country over. Each factory was ready with a
+part, and the railroad was ready swift to bring them to its feet. The
+sky scraper grew in haste. For it the many worked as one.
+
+Planned by those who command and reared by those who obey, in an
+enormous city men built this enormous building. Deep they built it, deep
+into the ground; high they built it, high into the air. And now they
+use this building built by them. The sky scraper houses an army of ten
+thousand men. All day they clamber up and down its core like insects in
+a giant tree. They buzz and buzz, and then go home.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+But there with the shadowy silent streets at its feet stands the lofty
+sky scraper. On its head there glows a monstrous light. The rays pierce
+through the fogs. And when the storm is screaming wild, the light
+struggles through to the frightened boats tossing on the mountain waves.
+The storm howls and beats on the sides of the lofty lacy tower with the
+shining light on top. The storms beat on its side, the tower leans in
+the wind, the tower of steel and of stone leans and leans a full two
+feet. Then when the blast is past, this tower of steel and of stone
+swings back to straightness again.
+
+And so in the enormous city men built this enormous building. Deep they
+built it, deep into the ground; high, they built it, high into the air.
+Now that it is finished, the men who walk about its feet forget how deep
+into the ground it reaches. But they can never forget how high into the
+blue it soars. Their necks ache when they throw back their heads to see
+to the top. For of all the buildings in the world this sky scraper is
+the highest.
+
+
+END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Here and Now Story Book, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK ***
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+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Here And Now Story Book, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell.
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+
+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's Here and Now Story Book, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Here and Now Story Book
+       Two- to seven-year-olds
+
+Author: Lucy Sprague Mitchell
+
+Illustrator: Hendrik Willem Van Loon
+
+Release Date: October 28, 2008 [EBook #27075]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Suzanne Shell, Anne Storer and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<p class="notes">Transcriber&#8217;s Note:<br />
+Midi and PDF files have been provided for the song snippets in
+this e-book. To hear, click on the [Listen] link. To view a
+song in sheet-music form, click on the [PDF] link.</p>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 408px;">
+<img src="images/icover.jpg" width="408" height="600" alt="cover" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2>HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+<div class="box2">
+
+<h1>HERE AND NOW<br />
+STORY BOOK</h1>
+
+<h3>TWO- TO SEVEN-YEAR-OLDS</h3>
+
+<p class="center">Experimental Stories Written for the Children<br />
+of the City and Country School<br />
+(formerly the Play School)<br />
+and the Nursery School of the<br />
+Bureau of Educational Experiments.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center" style="margin-bottom: -1em;"><em>by</em></p>
+<h2>LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL</h2>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center" style="margin-bottom: -1em;"><em>Illustrated by</em></p>
+<h3>Hendrik Willem Van Loon</h3>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;">
+<img src="images/ititle.png" width="150" height="141" alt="Logo Classics To Grow On" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><em>Published by E. P. Dutton &amp; Company, Inc., for</em><br />
+<span style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>PARENTS&#8217; INSTITUTE, Inc.</strong></span><br />
+Publishers of Parents&#8217; Magazine<br />
+and Approved Publications for Young People<br />
+52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York</p>
+
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center"><span class="smcap">copyright, 1921,</span><br />
+BY E. P. DUTTON &amp; COMPANY, INC.</p>
+
+<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center"><span class="smcap">copyright (renewal) 1948</span><br />
+BY LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL</p>
+
+<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center">&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center"><em>All Rights Reserved</em></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center"><em>Printed in the United States of America</em></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="ralign1">page</span></p>
+
+<p class="content1" style="margin-top: 3em;">
+<span class="smcap"><a href="#FOREWORD">Foreword</a></span>: <span class="smcap">By Caroline Pratt</span>  <span class="ralign">ix</span></p>
+
+<p class="content1">
+<span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_1">Introduction</a></span> <span class="ralign1">1</span></p>
+<p class="content2">
+  <em><a href="#Page_4">Content</a></em>: Its educational and psychological basis <span class="ralign">4</span></p>
+<p class="content2">
+  <em><a href="#Page_46">Form</a></em>: Its patterns in words, sentences and stories <span class="ralign">46</span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="content1">
+<span class="smcap">Stories</span>:</p>
+
+<p class="content2a">
+  <em>Two-Year-Olds</em>: Types to be adjusted to individual
+          children. Content, personal activities, told in
+          motor and sense terms. Form reduced to a succession
+          of few simple patterns.</p>
+
+<p class="content3">
+      <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_73">Marni Takes a Ride</a></span> <span class="ralign">73</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+      <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_79">Marni Gets Dressed in the Morning</a></span> <span class="ralign">81</span></p>
+
+<p class="content2a">
+  <em>Three-Year-Olds</em>: Content based on enumeration of
+          familiar sense and motor associations and
+          simple familiar chronological sequences. Some
+          attempt to give opportunity for own contribution
+          or for &ldquo;motor enjoyment.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p class="content3">
+      <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_89">The Room with the Window Looking Out on the Garden</a></span> <span class="ralign">89</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+      <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_99">The Many Horse Stable</a></span> <span class="ralign">99</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+      <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_103">My Kitty</a></span> <span class="ralign">105</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+      <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_107">The Rooster and the Hens</a></span> <span class="ralign">109</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+      <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_114">The Little Hen and the Rooster</a></span> <span class="ralign">114</span></p>
+
+<p class="content2a">
+  <em>Jingles</em>:</p>
+
+<p class="content3">
+      <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_115">My Horse, Old Dan</a></span> <span class="ralign">115</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+      <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_118">Horsie Goes Jog-a-Jog</a></span> <span class="ralign">118</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+      <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_119">Auto, Auto</a></span> <span class="ralign">119</span></p>
+
+<p class="content2a">
+  <em>Four- and Five-Year-Olds</em>: Content, simple relationships
+          between familiar moving objects, stressing
+          particularly the idea of use. Emphasis on
+          sound. Attempt to make verse patterns carry
+          the significant points in the narrative.</p>
+
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_121">How Spot Found a Home</a></span>  <span class="ralign">121</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_131">The Dinner Horses</a></span>  <span class="ralign">131</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_137">The Grocery Man</a></span> <span class="ralign">137</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_141">The Journey</a></span> <span class="ralign">141</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_147">Pedro&#8217;s Feet</a></span>  <span class="ralign">147</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_153">How the Engine Learned the Knowing Song</a></span> <span class="ralign">153</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_167">The Fog Boat Story</a></span> <span class="ralign">167</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_177">Hammer, Saw, and Plane</a></span> <span class="ralign">177</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_185">The Elephant</a></span> <span class="ralign">185</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_189">How the Animals Move</a></span> <span class="ralign">189</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_193">The Sea-Gull</a></span> <span class="ralign">192</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_197">The Farmer Tries to Sleep</a></span> <span class="ralign">197</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_203">Wonderful-Cow-That-Never-Was</a></span> <span class="ralign">203</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_211">Things that Loved the Lake</a></span> <span class="ralign">211</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_219">How the Singing Water Got to the Tub</a></span> <span class="ralign">219</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_229">The Children&#8217;s New Dresses</a></span> <span class="ralign">229</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_237">Old Dan Gets the Coal</a></span> <span class="ralign">237</span></p>
+
+<p class="content2a">
+  <em>Six- and Seven-Year-Olds</em>: Content, relationships
+          further removed from the personal and immediate
+          and extended to include social significance of
+          simple familiar facts. Longer-span pattern which
+          has become organic with beginning, middle and end.</p>
+
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_241">The Subway Car</a></span> <span class="ralign">241</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_251">Boris Takes a Walk and Finds Many Different Kinds of Trains</a></span> <span class="ralign">251</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_267">Boris Walks Every Way in New York</a></span> <span class="ralign">267</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_281">Speed</a></span> <span class="ralign">281</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_291">Five Little Babies</a></span> <span class="ralign">291</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_299">Once the Barn Was Full of Hay</a></span> <span class="ralign">299</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_309">The Wind</a></span> <span class="ralign">309</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_315">The Leaf Story</a></span> <span class="ralign">315</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_320">A Locomotive</a></span> <span class="ralign">320</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_322">Moon, Moon</a></span> <span class="ralign">322</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_323">Automobile Song</a></span> <span class="ralign">323</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_325">Silly Will</a></span> <span class="ralign">325</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_339">Eben&#8217;s Cows</a></span> <span class="ralign">340</span></p>
+<p class="content3">
+    <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_353">The Sky Scraper</a></span> <span class="ralign">353</span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="FOREWORD" id="FOREWORD"></a>FOREWORD</h2>
+
+
+<p>Our school has always assumed that children
+are interested in and will work with or give expression
+to those things which are familiar to them.
+This is not new: the kindergarten gives domestic
+life a prominent place with little children. But
+with the kindergarten the present and familiar is
+abandoned in most schools and emphasis is placed
+upon that which is unfamiliar and remote. It is
+impossible to conceive of children working their
+own way from the familiar to the unknown unless
+they develop a method in understanding the
+familiar which will apply to the unfamiliar as
+well. This method is the method of art and
+science&mdash;the method of experimentation and inquiry.
+We can almost say that children are born
+with it, so soon do they begin to show signs of
+applying it. As they have been in the past and
+as they are in the present to a very great extent,
+schools make no attempt to provide for this
+method; in fact they take pains to introduce another.
+They are disposed to set up a rigid program
+which answers inquiries before they are
+made and supplies needs before they have been
+felt.</p>
+
+<p>We try to keep the children upon present day
+and familiar things until they show by their attack
+on materials and especially upon information
+that they are ready to work out into the unknown
+and unfamiliar. In the matter of stories and
+verse which fit into such a program we have always
+felt an almost total void. Whether other
+schools feel this would depend upon their intentional
+program. Surely no school would advise
+giving classical literature without the setting
+which would make the stories and verse understandable.
+It is a question whether the fact of
+desirable literature has not in the past and does
+not still govern our whole school program more
+than many educators would be willing to admit.
+What seems to be more logical is to set up that
+which is psychologically sound so far as we know
+it and create if need be a new literature to help
+support the structure.</p>
+
+<p>In the presence of art, schools have always taken
+a modest attitude. For some reason or other they
+seem to think it out of their province. They regard
+children as potential scientists, professional
+men and women, captains of industry, but scarcely
+potential artists. To what school of design, what
+academy of music, what school of literary production,
+do our common schools lead? We are not
+fitting our children to compose, to create, but at
+our best to appreciate and reproduce.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Mitchell as story teller in this new sense
+of writing stories, rather than merely telling them,
+is having an influence in the school which has not
+been altogether unlooked for. The children look
+upon themselves as composers in language and
+language thus becomes not merely a useful
+medium of expression but also an art medium.
+They regard their own content, gathered by themselves
+in a perfectly familiar setting as fit for use
+as art material. That is, just as the children draw
+and show power to compose with crayons and
+paints, they use language to compose what they
+term stories or occasionally, verse. Often these
+&ldquo;stories&rdquo; are a mere rehearsal of experiences, but
+in so far as they are vivid and have some sort of
+fitting ending they pass as a childish art expression
+just as their compositions in drawing do.</p>
+
+<p>So far as content is concerned the school gives
+the children varied opportunities to know and express
+what they find in their environment. Mrs.
+Mitchell finds this content in the school. It is
+being used, it is even being expressed in language.
+What she particularly does is to show the possibility
+of using this same content as art in language.
+She does this both by writing stories herself and
+by helping the children to write. The children
+are not by any means read to, so much as they are
+encouraged to tell their own stories. These are
+taken down verbatim by the teachers of the
+younger groups. Through skilful handling of several
+of the older groups what the children call
+&ldquo;group stories&rdquo; are produced as well as individual
+ones.</p>
+
+<p>We hope this book will bring to parents and
+teachers what it has to us, a new method of approach
+to literature for little children, and to children
+the joy our children have in the stories
+themselves.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 30em;"><span class="smcap">Caroline Pratt</span></p>
+
+<p>The City and Country School<br />
+July, 1921</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+<h2>HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p style="font-size: 2em;" class="center"><strong>HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK</strong></p>
+
+<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2>
+
+
+<p>These stories are experiments,&mdash;experiments
+both in content and in form. They were written
+because of a deep dissatisfaction felt by a group
+of people working experimentally in a laboratory
+school, with the available literature for children.
+I am publishing them not because I feel they have
+come through to any particularly noteworthy
+achievement, but because they indicate a method
+of work which I believe to be sound where children
+are concerned. They must always be regarded
+as experiments, but experiments which
+have been strictly limited to lines suggested to me
+by the children themselves. Both the stuff of the
+stories and the mould in which they are cast are
+based on suggestions gained directly from children.
+I have tried to put aside my notions of what
+was &ldquo;childlike.&rdquo; I have tried to ignore what I,
+as an adult, like. I have tried to study children&#8217;s
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>
+interests not historically but through their present
+observations and inquiries, and their sense of form
+through their spontaneous expressions in language,
+and to model my own work strictly on these findings.
+I have forced myself throughout to be deliberate,
+conscious, for fear I should slip back to
+adult habits of thought and expression. I can give
+here only samples of the many stories and questions
+I have gathered from the children which
+form the basis of my own stories. Suffice it that
+my own stories attempt to follow honestly the leads
+which here and now the children themselves indicate
+in content and in form, no matter how difficult
+or strange the going for adult feet.</p>
+
+<p>First, as to the stuff of which the story is made,&mdash;the
+content. I have assumed that anything to
+which a child gives his spontaneous attention, anything
+which he questions as he moves around the
+world, holds appropriate material about which to
+talk to him either in speech or in writing. I have
+assumed that the answers to these his spontaneous
+inquiries should be given always in terms of a
+relationship which is natural and intelligible at
+his age and which will help him to order the
+familiar facts of his own experiences. Thus the
+answers will themselves lead him on to new inquiries.
+For they will give him not so much new
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>
+facts as a new method of attack. I have further
+assumed that any of this material which by taking
+on a pattern form can thereby enhance or deepen
+its intrinsic quality is susceptible of becoming
+literature. Material which does not lend itself to
+some sort of intentional design or form, may be
+good for informational purposes but not for stories
+as such.</p>
+
+<p>The task, then, is to examine first the things
+which get the spontaneous attention of a two-year-old,
+a three-year-old and so up to a seven-year-old;
+and then to determine what relationships are
+natural and intelligible at these ages. Obviously
+to determine the mere subject of attention is not
+enough. Children of all ages attend to engines.
+But the two-year-old attends to certain things and
+the seven-year-old to quite different ones. The
+relationships through which the two-year-old interprets
+his observations may make of the engine
+a gigantic extension of his own energy and movement;
+whereas the relationships through which the
+seven-year-old interprets his observations may
+make of the engine a scientific example of the expansion
+of steam or of the desire of men to get
+rapidly from one place to another. What relationship
+he is relying on we can get only by watching
+the child&#8217;s own activities. The second part
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
+of the task is to discover what <em>is</em> pattern to the
+untrained but unspoiled ears, eyes, muscles and
+minds of the little folk who are to consume the
+stories. Each part of the task has its peculiar difficulties.
+But fortunately in each, children do point
+the way if we have the courage to forget our own
+adult way and follow theirs.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>CONTENT</strong></p>
+
+<p>In looking for content for these stories I followed
+the general lines of the school for which
+they were written. The school gives the children
+the opportunity to explore first their own environment
+and gradually widens this environment for
+them along lines of their own inquiries. Consequently
+I did not seek for material outside the ordinary
+surroundings of the children. On the
+contrary, I assumed that in stories as in other educational
+procedure, the place to begin is the point
+at which the child has arrived,&mdash;to begin and lead
+out from. With small children this point is still
+within the &ldquo;here&rdquo; and the &ldquo;now,&rdquo; and so stories
+must begin with the familiar and the immediate.
+But also stories must lead children out from the
+familiar and immediate, for that is the method
+both of education and of art. Here and now stories
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
+mean to me stories which include the children&#8217;s
+first-hand experiences as a starting point, not stories
+which are literally limited to these experiences.
+Therefore to get my basis for the stories I went
+to the environment in which a child of each age
+naturally finds himself and there I watched him.
+I tried to see what in his home, in his school, in
+the streets, he seized upon and how he made this
+his own. I tried to determine what were the relationships
+he used to order his experiences. Fortunately
+for the purposes of writing stories I did
+not have to get behind the baffling eyes and the
+inscrutable sounds of a small baby. Yet I learned
+much for understanding the twos by watching even
+through the first months. What &ldquo;the great, big,
+blooming, buzzing confusion&rdquo; (as James describes
+it) means to an infant, I fancy we grown-ups
+will really never know. But I suppose we may
+be sure that existence is to him largely a stream
+of sense impressions. Also I suppose we are
+reasonably safe in saying that whatever the impression
+that reaches him he tends to translate it
+into action. At what age a child accomplishes
+what can be called a &ldquo;thought&rdquo; or what these first
+thoughts are, is surely beyond our present powers
+to describe. But that his early thoughts have a
+discernible muscular expression, I fancy we may
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
+say. It may well be that thought is merely associative
+memory as Loeb maintains. It may well
+be that behaviorists are right and that thought is
+just &ldquo;the rhythmic mimetic rehearsal of the first
+hand experience in motor terms.&rdquo; If the act of
+thinking is itself motor, its expression is somewhat
+attenuated in adults. Be that as it may, a small
+child&#8217;s expressions are still in unmistakable motor
+terms. It is obviously through the large muscles
+that a baby makes his responses. And even a three-year-old
+can scarcely think &ldquo;engine&rdquo; without showing
+the pull of his muscles and the puff-puffing of
+exertion. Nor can he observe an object without
+making some movement towards it. He takes in
+through his senses; and he interprets through his
+muscles.</p>
+
+<p>For our present purposes this characteristic has
+an important bearing. The world pictured for the
+child must be a world of sounds and smells and
+tastes and sights and feeling and contacts. Above
+all his early stories must be of activities and they
+must be told in motor terms. Often we are tempted
+to give him reasons in response to his incessant
+&ldquo;why?&rdquo; but when he asks &ldquo;why?&rdquo; he really is
+not searching for reasons at all. A large part of
+the time he is not even asking a question. He
+merely enjoys this reciperative form of speech and
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>
+is indignant if your answer is not what he expects.
+One of my children enjoyed this antiphonal
+method of following his own thoughts to such an
+extent that for a time he told his stories in the
+form of questions telling me each time what to
+answer! His questions had a social but no scientific
+bearing. And even when a three-year-old asks
+a real question he wants to be answered in terms
+of action or of sense impressions and not in terms
+of reasons why. How could it be otherwise since
+he still thinks with his senses and his muscles and
+not with that generalizing mechanism which conceives
+of cause and effect? The next time a three-year-old
+asks you &ldquo;why you put on shoes?&rdquo; see if
+he likes to be told &ldquo;Mother wears shoes when she
+goes out because it is cold and the sidewalks are
+hard,&rdquo; or if he prefers, &ldquo;Mother&#8217;s going to go outdoors
+and take a big bus to go and buy something:&rdquo;
+or &ldquo;You listen and in a minute you&#8217;ll hear mother&#8217;s
+shoes going pat, pat, pat downstairs and then you&#8217;ll
+hear the front door close bang! and mother won&#8217;t
+be here any more!&rdquo; &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; really means, &ldquo;please
+talk to me!&rdquo; and naturally he likes to be talked to
+in terms he can understand which are essentially
+sensory and motor.</p>
+
+<p>Now what activities are appropriate for the first
+stories? I think the answer is clear. His, the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
+child&#8217;s, own! The first activities which a child
+knows are of course those of his own body movements
+whether spontaneous or imposed upon him
+by another. Everything is in terms of himself.
+Again I think none of us would like to hazard a
+guess as to when the child comes through to a sharp
+distinction between himself and other things or
+other persons. But we are sure, I think, that this
+distinction is a matter of growth which extends
+over many years and that at two, three, and even
+four, it is imperfectly apprehended. We all know
+how long a child is in acquiring a correct use of
+the pronouns &ldquo;me&rdquo; and &ldquo;you.&rdquo; And we know that
+long after he has this language distinction, he still
+calls everything he likes &ldquo;mine.&rdquo; &ldquo;This is my cow,
+this is my tree!&rdquo; The only way to persuade him
+that it is <em>not</em> his is to call it some one else&#8217;s. Possessed
+it must be. He knows the world only in
+personal terms. That is, his early sense of
+relationship is that of himself to his concrete
+environment. This later evolves into a sense of
+relationship between other people and their concrete
+environment.</p>
+
+<p>At first, then, a child can not transcend himself
+or his experiences. Nor should he be asked to.
+A two-year-old&#8217;s stories must be completely his
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
+stories with his own familiar little person moving
+in his own familiar background. They should
+vivify and deepen the sense of the one relationship
+he does feel keenly,&mdash;that of himself to something
+well-known. Now a two-year-old&#8217;s range of experiences
+is not large. At least the experiences in
+which he takes a real part are not many. So his
+stories must be of his daily routine,&mdash;his eating,
+his dressing, his activities with his toys and his
+home. These are the things to which he attends:
+they make up his world. And they must be his
+very own eating and dressing and home, and not
+eating and dressing and homes in general. Stories
+which are not intimately his own, I believe either
+pass by or strain a two-year-old; and I doubt
+whether many three-year-olds can participate with
+pleasure and without strain in any experience
+which has not been lived through in person. He
+may of course get pleasure from the sound of the
+story apart from its meaning much earlier. Just
+now we are thinking solely of the content. I well
+remember the struggles of my three-year-old boy
+to get outside himself and view a baby chicken&#8217;s
+career objectively. He checked up each step in
+my story by this orienting remark, &ldquo;That the baby
+chicken in the shell, not me! The baby chicken
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
+go scritch-scratch, not me!&rdquo; Was not this an
+evident effort to comprehend an extra-personal
+relationship?</p>
+
+<p>Again just as at first a small child can not get
+outside himself, so he can not get outside the immediate.
+At first he can not by himself recall even
+a simple chronological sequence. He is still in
+the narrowest, most limiting sense, too entangled
+in the &ldquo;here&rdquo; and the &ldquo;now.&rdquo; The plot sense
+emerges slowly. Indeed there is slight plot value
+in most children&#8217;s stories up to eight years. Plot
+is present in embryonic form in the omnipresent
+personal drama: &ldquo;Where&#8217;s baby? Peek-a-boo!
+There she is!&rdquo; It can be faintly detected in the
+pleasure a child has in an actual walk. But the
+pleasure he derives from the sense of completeness,
+the sense that a walk or a story has a beginning
+and a middle and an end, the real plot
+pleasure, is negligible compared with the pleasure
+he gets in the action itself. Small children&#8217;s experiences
+are and should be pretty much continuous
+flows of more or less equally important
+episodes. Their stories should follow their experiences.
+They should have no climaxes, no sense of
+completion. The episodes should be put together
+more like a string of beads than like an organic
+whole. Almost any section of a child&#8217;s experience
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
+related in simple chronological sequence makes a
+satisfactory story.</p>
+
+<p>This can be pressed even further. There is another
+kind of relationship by which little children
+interpret their environment. It is the early manifestation
+of the associational process which in our
+adult life so largely crowds out the sensory and
+motor appreciation of the world. It runs way back
+to the baby&#8217;s pleasure in recognizing things, certainly
+long before the period of articulate questions.
+We all retain vestiges of this childlike
+pleasure in our joyful greeting of a foreign word
+that is understood or in any new application of
+an old thought or design. As a child acquires a
+few words he adds the pleasure of naming,&mdash;an
+extension of the pleasure of recognition. This
+again develops into the joy of enumerating objects
+which are grouped together in some close association,
+usually physical juxtaposition. For instance a
+two-or three-year-old likes to have every article he
+ate for breakfast rehearsed or to have every member
+of the family named at each episode in a story
+which concerns the group! Earlier he likes to
+have his five little toes checked off as pigs or
+merely numbered. This is closely tied up with
+the child&#8217;s pattern sense which we shall discuss at
+length under &ldquo;Form.&rdquo; Now the pleasure of
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
+enumeration, like that of a refrain, is in part at
+least a pleasure in muscle pattern. My two-year-old
+daughter composed a song which well illustrates
+the fascination of enumeration. The refrain
+&ldquo;Tick-tock&rdquo; was borrowed from a song which had
+been sung to her.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+      &ldquo;Tick-tock<br />
+         <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni&#8217;s nose,</span><br />
+       Tick-tock<br />
+         <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni&#8217;s eyes,</span><br />
+       Tick-tock<br />
+         <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni&#8217;s mouth,</span><br />
+       Tick-tock<br />
+         <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni&#8217;s teeth,</span><br />
+       Tick-tock<br />
+         <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni&#8217;s chin,</span><br />
+       Tick-tock<br />
+         <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni&#8217;s romper,</span><br />
+       Tick-tock<br />
+         <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni&#8217;s stockings,</span><br />
+       Tick-tock<br />
+         <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni&#8217;s shoes,&rdquo; etc., etc.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>This she sang day after day, enumerating such
+groups as her clothes, the objects on the mantel and
+her toys. Walt Whitman has given us glorified
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
+enumerations of the most astounding vitality. If
+some one would only pile up equally vigorous ones
+for children! But it is not easy for an adult to
+gather mere sense or motor associations without a
+plot thread to string them on. The children&#8217;s response
+to the two I have attempted in this collection,
+&ldquo;Old Dan&rdquo; and &ldquo;My Kitty,&rdquo; make me eager
+to see it tried more commonly.</p>
+
+<p>All this means that the small child&#8217;s attention
+and energy are absorbed in developing a technique
+of observation and control of his immediate surroundings.
+The functioning of his senses and his
+muscles engrosses him. Ideally his stories should
+happen currently along with the experience they
+relate or the object they reproduce, merely deepening
+the experience by giving it some pleasurable
+expression. At first the stories will have to be of
+this running and partly spontaneous type. But
+soon a child will like to have the story to recall an
+experience recently enjoyed. The living over of
+a walk, a ride, the sight of a horse or a cow, will
+give him a renewed sense of participation in a
+pleasurable activity. This is his first venture in
+vicarious experiences. And he must be helped to
+it through strong sense and muscular recalls. I
+have felt that these fairly literal recalls of every
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
+day details <em>did</em> deepen his sense of relationships
+since by himself he cannot recapture these familiar
+details even in a simple chronological sequence.</p>
+
+<p>But if stories for a two or a three-year-old need
+to be of himself they must be written especially
+for him. Those written for another two-year-old
+may not fit. Consequently the first three stories in
+this collection are given as types rather than as
+independent narratives. &ldquo;Marni Takes a Ride&rdquo; is
+so elementary in its substance and its form as to be
+hardly recognizable as a &ldquo;story&rdquo; at all. And yet
+the appeal is the same as in the more developed
+narratives. It falls between the embryonic story
+stage of &ldquo;Peek-a-boo!&rdquo; and Marni&#8217;s second story.
+It was first told during the actual ride. Repeated
+later it seemed to give the child a sense of adventure,&mdash;an
+inclusion of and still an extension of
+herself beyond the &ldquo;here&rdquo; and &ldquo;now&rdquo; which is the
+essence of a story. Both of Marni&#8217;s stories are
+given as types for a mother to write for her two-year-old;
+the &ldquo;Room with the Window in It&rdquo;
+(written for the Play School group) is given as a
+type for a teacher to write for her three-year-old
+group.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot leave the subject of the &ldquo;familiar&rdquo; for
+children without looking forward a few years.
+This process of investigating and trying to control
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
+his immediate surroundings, this appreciation of
+the world through his senses and his muscles, does
+not end when the child has gained some sense of
+his own self as distinguished from the world,&mdash;of
+the &ldquo;me&rdquo; and the &ldquo;not me,&rdquo;&mdash;or achieved some
+ability to expand temporarily the &ldquo;here&rdquo; and the
+&ldquo;now&rdquo; into the &ldquo;there&rdquo; and the &ldquo;then.&rdquo; The process
+is a precious one and should not be interrupted and
+confused by the interjection of remote or impersonal
+material. He still thinks and feels primarily
+through his own immediate experiences. If this is
+interfered with he is left without his natural
+material for experimentation for he cannot yet
+experiment easily in the world of the intangible.
+Moreover to the child the familiar <em>is</em> the interesting.
+And it remains so I believe through that
+transition period,&mdash;somewhere about seven years,&mdash;when
+the child becomes poignantly aware of the
+world outside his own immediate experience,&mdash;of
+an order, physical or social, which he does not
+determine, and so gradually develops a sense of
+standards of what is to be expected in the world of
+nature or of his fellows along with a sense of workmanship.
+It is only the blind eye of the adult that
+finds the familiar uninteresting. The attempt to
+amuse children by presenting them with the
+strange, the bizarre, the unreal, is the unhappy
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
+result of this adult blindness. Children do not
+find the unusual piquant until they are firmly
+acquainted with the usual; they do not find the
+preposterous humorous until they have intimate
+knowledge of ordinary behavior; they do not get
+the point of alien environments until they are securely
+oriented in their own. Too often we
+mistake excitement for genuine interest and give
+the children stimulus instead of food. The fairy
+story, the circus, novelty hunting, delight the
+sophisticated adult; they excite and confuse the
+child. Red Riding-Hood and circus Indians excite
+the little child; Cinderella confuses him. Not
+one clarifies any relationship which will further
+his efforts to order the world. Nonsense when
+recognized and enjoyed as such is more than legitimate;
+it is a part of every one&#8217;s heritage. But nonsense
+which is confused with reality is vicious,&mdash;the
+more so because its insinuations are subtle.
+So far as their content is concerned, it is chiefly
+as a protest against this confusing presentation of
+unreality, this substitution of excitement for legitimate
+interest, that these stories have been written.
+It is not that a child outgrows the familiar. It is
+rather that as he matures, he sees new relationships
+in the old. If our stories would follow his lead,
+they should not seek for unfamiliar and strange
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
+stuff in intrigue him; they should seek to deepen
+and enrich the relationships by which he is dimly
+groping to comprehend and to order his familiar
+world.</p>
+
+<p>But to return to the younger children. Children
+of four are not nearly so completely ego-centric as
+those of three. There has seemed to me to be a
+distinct transition at this age to a more objective
+way of thinking. A four-year-old does not to the
+same extent have to be a part of every situation he
+conceives of. Ordinarily, too, he moves out from
+his own narrowly personal environment into a
+slightly wider range of experiences. Now, what
+in this wider environment gets his spontaneous attention?
+What does he take from the street life,
+for instance, to make his own? Surely it is moving
+things. He is still primarily motor in his interest
+and expression and remains so certainly up to six
+years. Engines, boats, wagons with horses, all animals,
+his own moving self,&mdash;these are the things
+he notices and these are the things he interprets
+in his play activities. Transportation and animals
+and himself. Do not these pretty well cover the
+field of his interests? If conceived of as motor
+and personal do they not hold all the material a
+four-or five-year-old needs for stories? If we bring
+in inanimate unmoving things, we must do with
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
+them what he does. We must endow them with
+life and motion. We need not be afraid of
+personification. This is the age when anthropomorphism
+flourishes. The five-year-old is still
+motor; his conception of cause is still personal. He
+thinks through his muscles; he personifies in his
+thought and his play.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless there is very real danger in anthropomorphism,&mdash;in
+thus leaving the world of reality.
+There is danger of confusing the child. We must
+be sure our personifications are built on relationships
+which our child can understand and which
+have an objective validity. We must be sure that
+a wolf remains a wolf and an engine an engine,
+though endowed with human speech.</p>
+
+<p>Now, what are the typical relationships which
+a four-or five-year-old uses to bind together his
+world into intelligible experiences? We have already
+noted the personal relationship which persists
+in modified form. But does not the grouping
+of things because of physical juxtaposition now
+give way to a conception of &ldquo;Use&rdquo;? Does he not
+think of the world largely in terms of active functioning?
+Has not the typical question of this age
+become &ldquo;What&#8217;s it for?&rdquo; Even his early definitions
+are in terms of use which has a strong motor
+implication. &ldquo;A table is to eat off&rdquo;; &ldquo;a spoon is to
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
+eat in&rdquo;; &ldquo;a river means where you get drinks out
+of water, and catch fish, and throw stones.&rdquo; (Waddle:
+Introduction to Child Psychology, p. 170.)
+It was only consistent with his general conception
+of relationships in the world to have a little boy
+of my acquaintance examine a very small man sitting
+beside him in the subway and then turn to
+his father with the question, &ldquo;What is that little
+man for?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Stories which are offered to small children must
+be assessed from this two-fold point of view. What
+relationships are they based on? And in what
+terms are they told? Fairy stories should not be
+exempted. We are inclined to accept them uncritically,
+feeling that they do not cramp a child
+as does reality. We cling to the idea that children
+need a fairy world to &ldquo;cultivate their imaginations.&rdquo;
+In the folk tales we are intrigued by the
+past,&mdash;by the sense that these embodiments of
+human experience, having survived the ages,
+should be exempt from modern analysis. If, however,
+we do commit the sacrilege of looking at them
+alongside of our educational principles, I think we
+find a few precious ones that stand the test. For
+children under six, however, even these precious
+few contribute little in content, but much through
+their matchless form. On the other hand, we find
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
+that many of the human experiences which these
+old tales embody are quite unsuitable for four-and
+five-year-olds. Cruelty, trickery, economic inequality,&mdash;these
+are experiences which have
+shaped and shaken adults and alas! still continue
+to do so. But do we wish to build them into a
+four-year-old&#8217;s thinking? Some of these experiences
+run counter to the trends of thinking we are
+trying to establish in other ways; some merely confuse
+them. We seem to identify imagination with
+gullibility or vague thinking. But surely true
+imagination is not based on confusion. Imagination
+is the basis of art. But confused art is a
+contradiction of terms.</p>
+
+<p>Now, the ordinary fairy tale which is the chief
+story diet of the four-and five-year-olds, I believe
+does confuse them; not because it does not stick to
+reality (for neither do the children) but because
+it does not deal with the things with which they
+have had first-hand experience and does not attempt
+to present or interpret the world according
+to the relationships which the child himself employs.
+Rather it gives the child material which he
+is incapable of handling. Much in these tales is
+symbolic and means to the adult something quite
+different from what it bears on its face. And
+much, I believe, is confused even to the grown-up.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
+Now a confused adult does not make a child! Nor
+does it ever help a child to give him confusion.
+When my four-year-old personified a horse for one
+whole summer, he lived the actual life of a horse
+as far as he knew it. His bed was always &ldquo;a stall,&rdquo;
+his food was always &ldquo;hay,&rdquo; he always brushed his
+&ldquo;mane&rdquo; and &ldquo;put on his harness&rdquo; for breakfast. It
+was only when real horse information gave out
+that he supplied experiences from his own life.
+He was not limited by reality. He was exercising
+his imagination. This is quite different from the
+adult mixtures of the animal, the social, and the
+moral worlds. Does not Cinderella interject a
+social and economic situation which is both confusing
+and vicious? Does not Red Riding-Hood
+in its real ending plunge the child into an inappropriate
+relationship of death and brutality or in
+its &ldquo;happy ending&rdquo; violate all the laws that can be
+violated in regard to animal life? Does not &ldquo;Jack
+and the Beanstalk&rdquo; delay a child&#8217;s rationalizing of
+the world and leave him longer than is desirable
+without the beginnings of scientific standards?
+The growth of the sense of reality is a growth of
+the sense of relations. From the time when the
+child begins to relate isolated experiences, when
+he groups together associations, when he begins to
+note the sequence, the order of things, from this
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
+time he is beginning to think scientifically. It is
+pre&euml;minently the function of education to further
+the growth of the sense of reality, to give the child
+the sense of relationship between facts, material or
+social: that is, to further scientific conceptions.
+Stories, if they are to be a part of an educational
+process, must also further the growth of the sense
+of reality, must help the child to interpret the relationships
+in the world around him and help him
+to develop a scientific process of thinking. It is
+not important that he know this or that particular
+fact; it <em>is</em> important that he be able to fit any particular
+fact into a rational scheme of thought. Accordingly,
+the relationships which a story clarifies
+are of much greater import than the facts it gives.
+All this, of course, concerns the content of stories&mdash;the
+intentional material it presents to the child
+and has nothing to do with the pleasure of the presentation,&mdash;the
+relish which comes from the form
+of the story. I do not wish this to be interpreted
+to mean that I think all fairy stories forever harmful.
+From the beginning innocuous tales like the
+&ldquo;Gingerbread Man&rdquo; should be given for the pattern
+as should the &ldquo;Old Woman and Her Pig.&rdquo;
+Moreover, after a child is somewhat oriented in
+the physical and social world, say at six or seven,&mdash;I
+think he can stand a good deal of straight fairy
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
+lore. It will sweep him with it. He will relish
+the flight the more for having had his feet on the
+ground. But for brutal tales like Red Riding-Hood
+or for sentimental ones like Cinderella I find
+no place in any child&#8217;s world. Obviously, fairy
+stories cannot be lumped and rejected en masse.
+I am merely pleading not to have them accepted en
+masse on the ground that they &ldquo;have survived the
+ages&rdquo; and &ldquo;cultivate the imagination.&rdquo; For a
+child&#8217;s imagination, since it is his native endowment,
+will surely flourish if he is given freedom
+for expression, without calling upon the stimulus
+of adult fancies. It is only the jaded adult mind,
+afraid to trust to the children&#8217;s own fresh springs
+of imagination, that feels for children the need of
+the stimulus of magic.</p>
+
+<p>The whole question of myths and sagas together
+with the function of personification must be taken
+up with the older children. For the present we
+are still concerned with four-and five-year-olds.
+Two sets of stories told by four-and five-year-old
+children in the school seem to me to show what
+emphasizing unrealities may do at this age. The
+first child in each set is thinking disjunctively;
+the second has his facts organized into definite relationships.
+Can one think that the second child
+enjoyed his ordered world less than the first enjoyed
+his confusion?</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
+<span class="smcap"><strong>Two Stories by Four-Year-Olds</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Once there was a table and he was taking a walk
+and he fell into a pond of water and an alligator bit
+him and then he came up out of the pond of water
+and he stepped into a trap that some hunters had set
+for him, and turned a somersault on his nose.</p>
+
+<p class="center">&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>There was a new engine and it didn&#8217;t have any
+headlight&mdash;its light wasn&#8217;t open in its headlight so
+its engineer went and put some fire in the wires and
+made a light. And then it saw a lot of other engines
+on the track in front of it. So when it wanted to puff
+smoke and go fast it told its engineer and he put some
+coal in the coal car. And then the other engines told
+their engineers to put coal in their coal cars and then
+they all could go.</p></div>
+
+<p>(The child then played a song by a &ldquo;&#8217;lectric&rdquo;
+engine on the piano and tried to write the notes.)</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Two Stories by Five-Year-Olds</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Once upon a time there was a clown and the clown
+jumped on the bed and the bed jumped on the cup.
+Then the clown took a pencil and drawed on his face.
+And the clown said, &ldquo;Oh, I guess I&#8217;ll sit in a rocking
+chair.&rdquo; So the rocking chair said, &ldquo;Ha! ha!&rdquo; and it
+tumbled away. Then a little pig came along and he
+said, &ldquo;Could you throw me up and throw an apple
+down?&rdquo; So the clown threw him so far that he was
+dead. He was on the track.</p>
+
+<p class="center">&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
+There was a big factory where all the men made
+engines. And one man made a smoke stack. And one
+man made a tender. And one man made a cab. And
+one man made a bell. And one man made a wheel.
+And then another man came and put them all together
+and made a great big engine. And this man said,
+&ldquo;We haven&#8217;t any tracks!&rdquo; And then a man came and
+made the tracks. And then another man said, &ldquo;We
+haven&#8217;t any station!&rdquo; So many men came and built a
+big station. And they said, &ldquo;Let&#8217;s have the station
+in Washington Square.&rdquo; So they pulled down the
+Arch and they pulled up all the sidewalks. And they
+built a big station. And they left all the houses; for
+where would we live else?</p>
+
+<p>(In a sequel he says: So they knocked down the
+Arch and chopped up all the pieces. And they chopped
+all around the trees but they didn&#8217;t chop them down
+because they looked so pretty with our station!)</p></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>I am far from meaning that five-year-olds
+should be confined to their literal experiences.
+They have made considerable progress in separating
+themselves from their environment though at
+times they seem still to think of the things around
+them more or less as extensions of themselves.
+Their inquiries still emanate from their own personal
+experiences; but they do not end there. A
+child of this age has a genuine curiosity about
+where things come from and where they go to.
+&ldquo;What&#8217;s it for?&rdquo; indeed, implies a dim conception
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
+beyond the &ldquo;here&rdquo; and the &ldquo;now,&rdquo; a conception
+which his stories should help him to clarify. If
+we try to escape the pitfall of &ldquo;fairy stories,&rdquo;&mdash;abandoning
+a child in unrealities,&mdash;we must not
+fall into the opposite pitfall and continue the easy
+habit of merely recounting a series of events,
+neither significant in themselves nor, as in the
+earlier years, significant because they are personal
+experiences. &ldquo;Arabella and Araminta&rdquo; and their
+like give a five-year-old no real food. They are
+saved, if saved they are, not by their content, but
+by a daring and skilful use of repetition and of
+sound quality. No, our stories must add something
+to the children&#8217;s knowledge and must take
+them beyond the &ldquo;here&rdquo; and the &ldquo;now.&rdquo; But this
+&ldquo;something,&rdquo; as I have already said, is not so much
+new information as it is a new relationship among
+already familiar facts.</p>
+
+<p>In each of the stories for four-and five-year-olds
+I have attempted to clarify known facts by showing
+them in a relationship a little beyond the children&#8217;s
+own experience. All the stories came from
+definite inquiries raised by some child. They attempt
+to answer these inquiries and to raise others.
+&ldquo;How the Engine Learned the Knowing Song,&rdquo;
+&ldquo;The Fog Boat Story,&rdquo; &ldquo;Hammer and Saw and
+Plane,&rdquo; &ldquo;How the Singing Water Gets to the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
+Tub,&rdquo; &ldquo;Things That Loved the Lake,&rdquo; &ldquo;The Children&#8217;s
+New Dresses,&rdquo; &ldquo;How Animals Move,&rdquo;&mdash;all
+are based on definite relationships, largely physical,
+between simple physical facts.</p>
+
+<p>Interest in these relationships,&mdash;inquiries which
+hold the germ of physical science, continue and
+increase with each year. In addition, a little later,
+children seem to begin questioning things social
+and to be ready for the simpler social relationships
+which underlie and determine the physical world
+of their acquaintance. &ldquo;What&#8217;s it for?&rdquo; still dominates,
+but a six-year-old is on the way to becoming
+a conscious member of society. He now likes
+his answers to be in human terms. He takes
+readily to such conceptions as congestion as the
+cause for subways and elevated trains; the desire
+for speed as the cause of change in transportation;
+the dependence of man on other living things,&mdash;all
+of which I have made the bases of stories. To
+the children the material in &ldquo;The Subway Car,&rdquo;
+&ldquo;Speed,&rdquo; &ldquo;Silly Will,&rdquo; is familiar; the relationships
+in which it appears are new.</p>
+
+<p>Somewhere about seven years, there seems to be
+another transition period. Psychologists, whether
+in or out of schools, generally agree in this. Children
+of this age are acquiring a sense of social
+values,&mdash;a consciousness of <em>others</em> as sharply distinguished
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
+from themselves. They are also acquiring
+a sense of workmanship, of technique,&mdash;of
+<em>things</em> as sharply distinguished from themselves.
+They seek information in and for itself,&mdash;not
+merely in its immediate application to themselves.
+Their inquiries take on the character of
+&ldquo;how?&rdquo; This means, does it not, that the children
+have oriented themselves in their narrow personal
+world and that they are reaching out for experience
+in larger fields? It means that the &ldquo;not-me&rdquo;
+which was so shadowy in the earlier years has
+gained in social and in physical significance. And
+this again means that opportunity for exploration
+in ever-widening circles should be given. Stories
+should follow this general trend and open up the
+relationships in larger and larger environments
+until at last a child is capable of seeing relationships
+for himself and of regarding the whole world
+in its infinite physical and social complexity, as his
+own environment.</p>
+
+<p>Probably the first extra-personal excursions
+should be into alien scenes or experiences which
+lead back or contribute directly to their old
+familiar world. Stories of unknown raw material
+which turn into well-known products are of this
+type,&mdash;cattle raising in Texas, dairy farms in New
+England, lumbering in Minnesota, sheep raising
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
+in California. It is a happy coincidence that raw
+materials are often produced under semi-primitive
+conditions, so that a vicarious participation in their
+production gives to children something of that
+thrilling contact with the elemental that does the
+life of primitive men, and this without sending
+them into the remote and, for modern children,
+&ldquo;unnatural&rdquo; world of unmodified nature. The
+danger here is that the story will be sacrificed to
+the information. Indeed it can hardly be otherwise,
+if the aim is to give an adequate picture of
+some process of production. This, of course, is a
+legitimate aim,&mdash;but for the encyclopedia, not for
+the story. What I have in mind is a dramatic situation
+which has this process as a background,
+so that the child becomes interested in the process
+because of the part it plays in the drama just as he
+would if the process were a background in his own
+life. I am thinking of the opportunities which
+these comparatively primitive situations give for
+adventure rather than for the detailed elucidation
+of a process of production.</p>
+
+<p>It is the peculiar function of a story to raise
+inquiries, not to give instruction. A story must
+stimulate not merely inform. This is the trouble
+with our &ldquo;informational literature&rdquo; for children,
+of which very little is worthy of the name. Indeed,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
+I am not sure it is not a contradiction of
+terms. It is frankly didactic. It aims to make
+clear certain facts, not to stimulate thought. It
+assumes that if a child swallows a fact it must
+nourish him. To give the child material with
+which to experiment,&mdash;this lies outside its present
+range. Reaction from the unloveliness of this
+didactic writing has produced a distressing result.
+The misunderstood and misapplied educational
+principle that children&#8217;s work should interest them
+has developed a new species of story,&mdash;a sort of
+pseudo-literary thing in which the medicinal facts
+are concealed by various sugar-coating devices.
+Children will take this sort of story,&mdash;what will
+their eager little minds not take? And like encyclopedias
+and other books of reference this type
+has its place in a child&#8217;s world. But it should
+never be confused with literature.</p>
+
+<p>Literature must give a sense of adventure. This
+sense of adventure, of excursion into the unknown,
+must be furnished to children of every age. As I
+have said before, I think &ldquo;Peek-a-boo, there&#8217;s the
+baby!&rdquo; is the elementary expression of this love
+of adventure. The baby disappears into the unknown
+vastness behind the handkerchief and to
+her, her reappearance is a thrilling experience.
+Children&#8217;s stories,&mdash;as indeed all stories,&mdash;have
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
+been largely founded on this. The &ldquo;Prudy&rdquo; and
+&ldquo;Dotty Dimple&rdquo; books though keyed so low in
+the scale seem adventurous because of the meagre
+background of their young readers. But children
+of the age we are considering,&mdash;who have left the
+narrowly personal and predominantly play period
+demand something higher in the scale of adventure.
+To them are offered the great variety of
+tales of adventure and danger of which the boy
+scout is the latest example. Every child in reading
+these becomes a hero. And every child (and
+grown-up) enjoys being a hero. Higher still
+comes &ldquo;Kidnapped&rdquo; and so up to Stanley Weyman
+and &ldquo;The Three Musketeers&rdquo; which differ in their
+art, not in their appeal.</p>
+
+<p>Now is it not possible to give children these adventurous
+excursions which they crave and should
+have, without so much killing of animals or men,
+and so many blood-thirsty excitements, and so much
+fake heroism? What relationships do such tales
+interpret? What truths do they give a child upon
+which to base his thinking? The relation of life
+to life is a delicate and difficult thing to interpret.
+But surely we can do better at an interpretation
+than tales of hunting, of impossible heroisms, and
+of war. Or at least, we can protest against having
+these almost the sole interpretations of adventure
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
+which are offered to children. The world of industry
+holds possibilities for adventure as thrilling
+as the world of high-colored romance. We must
+look with fresh eyes to see it. When once we see
+it, we shall be able to give the children a new type
+of the &ldquo;story of adventure.&rdquo; Of all the experiments
+which the stories in this collection represent,
+this attempt to find and picture the romance
+and adventure in our world here and now, I consider
+the most important and difficult. In such
+stories as &ldquo;Boris&rdquo; and &ldquo;Eben&#8217;s Cows&rdquo; and &ldquo;The
+Sky Scraper,&rdquo; I have made experimental attempts
+to give children a sense of adventure by presenting
+social relations in this new way.</p>
+
+<p>The cultured world has yet another answer to
+the question, &ldquo;How shall we give our children
+adventure?&rdquo; It points to the wealth of classical
+myths, of Iliads, sagas, of fairy-stories which are
+practically folk-lore, semi-magic, semi-allegorical,
+semi-moral tales which express the ideals and experiences
+of a different and younger world than
+ours of today. And it replies, &ldquo;Give them these.&rdquo;
+It feels in the sternness of saga stuff and in the
+humanity of folk-lore, a validity and a dignity and
+a simplicity which seem to make them suitable for
+children. These tales tell of beliefs of folk less
+experienced than we: we have outgrown them.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
+They must be suited to the less experienced: give
+them to children. Thus runs the common argument.
+And so we find Hawthorne&#8217;s &ldquo;Tanglewood
+Tales,&rdquo; &AElig;sop&#8217;s &ldquo;Fables,&rdquo; various Indian myths
+and Celtic legends, and even the &ldquo;Niebelungen
+Lied&rdquo; often given to quite young children. But
+do we find this reasoning valid when we examine
+these tales free from the glamour which adult
+sophistication casts around them? Remember we
+are thinking now of children in that delicate seven-to
+eight-year-old transition period. I have already
+told how I believe these children are but just beginning
+to have conceptions of laws,&mdash;social and
+physical. They are groping their way, regimenting
+their experiences, seeing dim generalizations
+and abstractions. But they are not firmly oriented.
+They are beginners in the world of physical or
+social science and can be easily side-tracked or
+confused. A child of twelve or even ten is quite
+a different creature, often with clear if not articulate
+conceptions of the make-up of the physical
+and human world. He has something to measure
+against, some standards to cling to. But we are
+talking about children still in the early plastic
+stages of standards who will take the relationships
+we offer them through stories and build them into
+the very fabric of their thinking.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
+Now, how much of the classical literature follows
+the lead of the children&#8217;s own inquiries?
+How much of it stimulates fruitful inquiries?
+What are the relationships which sagas, myths and
+folk-lore interpret? And what are the interpretations?
+This is a vast question and can be answered
+only briefly with the full consciousness that
+there is much lumping of dissimilar material with
+resulting injustices and superficiality. Also there
+is no attempt to use the words &ldquo;myth,&rdquo; &ldquo;saga&rdquo; and
+&ldquo;folk-lore&rdquo; in technical
+senses.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a>
+I have merely taken the dominant characteristic of any piece of
+literature as determining its class.</p>
+
+<p>Myths, properly, are slow-wrought beliefs
+which embody a people&#8217;s effort to understand their
+relations to the great unknown. They are essentially
+religious, symbolic, mystic, subtle, full of
+fears and propitiations, involved, often based on
+the forgotten,&mdash;altogether unlike in their approach
+to the ingenuous and confident child. They are
+full of the struggle of life. Hardly before the involved
+introspections and theories of adolescence
+can we expect the real beauty and poignancy of a
+genuine myth to be even dimly understood. And
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
+why offer the shell without the spirit? It is likely
+to remain a shell forever if we do. And indeed,
+such an empty thing to most of us is the great myth
+of Prometheus or of the Garden of Eden.</p>
+
+<p>But sagas! Are they not of exactly the heroic
+stuff for little children? In essence the relationships
+with which they deal are human,&mdash;social.
+The story of Siegfried, of Achilles, of Abraham,&mdash;these
+are great sagas. Each is a tremendous picture
+of a human experience, the first two under
+heroic, enlarged conditions, the last under a human
+culture picturesquely different from our own. But
+even as straight tales of adventure they do not carry
+for little children. The environment is too remote,
+the world to be conquered too unknown to carry
+a convincing sense of heroism to small children.
+The same is true of the heroic tales of romance,&mdash;of
+Arthur and all the legends which cluster around
+his name. Magic, the children will get from these
+tales but little else. But if the tales should succeed
+in taking a child with them in their strange exploits
+into a strange land, they would surely fail to
+take him into the turgid human drama they picture.
+And as surely we should wish them to fail.
+The sagas, like most genuine folk-lore deal with
+the great elemental human facts, life and death,
+love, sexual passion and its consequences, marriage,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
+motherhood, fatherhood. We grasp at them
+for our children, I believe, just <em>because</em> they deal
+with these fundamental things,&mdash;the very things
+we are afraid of unless they come to us concealed
+in strange clothing. But what kind of a foundation
+for interpreting these great elemental facts
+will the stories of Achilles and Briseus, of Jason
+and Medea, Pluto and Proserpina, of Guinevere
+and Launcelot make? What do we expect a child
+to get from these pictures of sexual passion on
+the part of the man,&mdash;even though a god,&mdash;and
+of social dependence of woman? Do Greek
+draperies make prostitution suitable for children?
+Does the glamour of chivalry explain illicit love?
+Most parents and schools who unhesitatingly hand
+over these social pictures to their children have
+never tried,&mdash;and neither care nor dare to try,&mdash;to
+face these elemental facts with their children.
+Can we really wish to avoid a frank statement of
+the <em>positive</em> in sex relations, of the facts of parenthood,
+of the institution of marriage, of the mutual
+companionship between man and woman, and give
+the <em>negative</em>, the unfulfilled, the distorted? This
+is preposterous and no one would uphold it. It
+must be the beauty of the tale, and not the significance
+we are after. But <em>are</em> these tales beautiful
+except as we endow them with the subtleties of a
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
+classical civilization, as we read into them piquant
+contrasts of a sensitive, expressive race still primitive
+in its social thinking and social habits,&mdash;that
+elusive thing which we mean by &ldquo;Greek&rdquo;? And
+can children get this without its background, particularly
+as they have yet no social background
+in their own world to hold it up against? And can
+children do any better with the perplexing ideals
+of the chivalrous knight swept by a human passion?</p>
+
+<p>And in the same way can a child really get the
+beauty of Siegfried? What can he make out of
+the incestuous love of Siegmund and Sieglinda?
+And of Siegfried&#8217;s na&iuml;ve passion on his first
+glimpse of a woman? What do we want him to
+make of it? Is that the way we wish to introduce
+him to sex? And as for the rest, the allegory of the
+ring itself, the sword, the dragon&#8217;s blood, what do
+little children get from this except the excitement
+of magic? What <em>we</em> get because of what we have
+to put into it, is a different matter and should never
+be confused with the straight question of what children
+get. Outgrown adult thinking in social matters
+is no more suitable to children than outgrown
+thinking on physical facts. We do not teach that
+the world is flat because grown-ups once believed
+it was. We are not afraid of a round earth so we
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
+tell the truth about it. But we come near to teaching
+&ldquo;spontaneous generation&rdquo; with our endless
+evasions. We are afraid of a reproducing world,
+and so we fall back on curious mixtures of sex
+fables,&mdash;on storks and fairy godmothers and leave
+the mysteries of sex to be interpreted by Achilles
+and Siegfried and Guinevere! To emasculate
+these tales is to insult them,&mdash;to strip them of
+their significance and individuality. Is it not
+wiser to wait until children will not be confused
+by all their straight vigor and beauty?</p>
+
+<p>There is other folk-lore less gripping in its
+human intensity. Through this may not children
+safely gain their needed adventures? And here
+we come again to the real &ldquo;M&auml;rchen,&rdquo;&mdash;the fairy
+tales. They take us into a lovely world of unreality
+where magic and luck hold sway and where
+the child is safe from human problems and from
+scientific laws alike. I have already said in talking
+of the younger children that I feel it unsafe
+to loose a child in this unsubstantial world before
+he is fairly well grounded in a sense of reality.
+Once he has his bearings there is a good deal he
+will enjoy without confusion. The common defense
+that the mystery of fairy tales answers to a
+legitimate need in children, I believe holds good
+for children of six or seven, or even five, who have
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
+had opportunities for rational experiences. We
+all know how children revel in a secret. They
+like to live in a world of surprises. To give the
+children this sense of mystery I do not believe it is
+at all necessary to turn to vicious tales of giants,
+of ogres, and Bluebeards, or to the no less vicious
+pictures of the beautiful princess and the wicked
+stepmother. Even after rejecting the brutal and
+sentimental we have a good deal left,&mdash;a good deal
+that is intrinsically amusing as in &ldquo;The Musicians
+of Bremen&rdquo; or &ldquo;Prudent Hans&rdquo; or charming as in
+&ldquo;Briar Rose.&rdquo; Symbolic or primitive attempts to
+explain the physical world,&mdash;as in the Indian
+legend of &ldquo;Tavwots&rdquo; I have never found held great
+appeal for the modern six-&nbsp;or seven-year-old scientists.
+Also the burden of symbolic morality rests
+on a good many of the traditional tales which
+usually neither adds nor detracts for the child and
+satisfies an adult yearning. Allegories like &AElig;sop&#8217;s
+&ldquo;Fables&rdquo; and &ldquo;The Lion of Androcles&rdquo; have a certain
+right to a hearing because of their historic
+prestige, apart from any reform they may accomplish
+in the way of character building. And in
+our own day many animals have achieved what I
+believe is a permanent place in child literature.
+&ldquo;The Elephant&#8217;s Child,&rdquo; the wild creatures of the
+&ldquo;Jungle Book,&rdquo; &ldquo;Raggylug&rdquo; and even the little
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
+mole in the &ldquo;Wind in the Willows,&rdquo;&mdash;these are
+animals to trust any child with. Yet even in these
+exquisitely drawn tales, I doubt if children enjoy
+what we adults wish them to enjoy either in content
+or in form. And I doubt if we should accept
+even some of Kipling&#8217;s matchless tales if the faultless
+form did not intrigue us and make us oblivious
+of the content.</p>
+
+<p>It is just here that most of us fail to be discriminating.
+Most of the classical literature, most of
+the legends, or the folk tales that I have been discussing
+have a compelling charm through their
+form. But unfortunately that does not make their
+content suitable! Their place in the world&#8217;s thinking
+and feeling and their transcription into their
+present forms by really great artists give them a
+permanent place in the world&#8217;s literature. This I
+do not question. It is partly because I believe this
+so intensely that I wish them kept for fuller appreciation.
+It is as formative factors in a young
+child&#8217;s thinking that I am afraid of them. Neither
+am I afraid of all of them. There are some old
+conceptions of life and death and human relations
+which the race has not outgrown, perhaps never
+will outgrow. The mystery and pathos of the Pied
+Piper, the humor of Prudent Hans, the cleverness
+of the boy David, the heroism of the little Dutch
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
+boy stopping the hole in the dyke, the love of the
+Queer Little Baker, and the greed and grief of
+Midas are eternal. In spite of these and many
+more, I maintain that for the most part, myths,
+sagas, folk-lore depend for their significance and
+beauty alike upon a grasp of present social values
+which a young child cannot have and that our first
+attention should be to give him those values in
+terms intelligible to him. After we have done that
+he is safe. It matters little what we give him so
+long as it is good: for he will have standards by
+which to judge our offerings for himself.</p>
+
+<p>Yet after all is said and done, we may be reduced
+to giving children some of the stories we think
+inappropriate, for lack of something better. But
+a recognition of the need may evoke a great writer
+for children. I maintain we have never had one of
+the first order. The best books that we have for
+children are throw-offs from artists primarily concerned
+with adults,&mdash;Kipling and Stevenson stand
+in this group,&mdash;or child versions of adult literature,&mdash;from
+Charles and Mary Lamb down. The
+world has yet to see a genuinely great creator
+whose real vision is for children. When children
+have <em>their</em> Psalmist, <em>their</em> Shakespeare, <em>their</em> Keats,
+they will not be offered diluted adult literature.</p>
+
+<p>So after we have gathered what we can from
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
+the world&#8217;s store for children of this seven-to-eight-year
+old period I think we shall find many unfilled
+gaps. Most attempts at humor, for instance, are
+on the level of the comic sheet of the Sunday supplement
+or the circus. There is little except a few
+of the &ldquo;drolls&rdquo; which give the child pure fun
+unmixed with excitement or confusion. Even
+&ldquo;Alice in Wonderland&rdquo; when first read to a six-year-old
+who was used to rational thinking and
+talking was pronounced &ldquo;Too funny!&rdquo; This same
+boy, however, went back to Alice again and again.
+He always relished such bits as:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Speak roughly to your little boy,</span><br />
+   <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And beat him when he sneezes,</span><br />
+ He only does it to annoy<br />
+   <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because he knows it teases.&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>No child&#8217;s world is complete without humor. And
+children have a sense of the preposterous, the inappropriate
+all their own. Lewis Carroll and a few
+others have occasionally found it. Still, I think
+much remains to be done in the way of studying
+the things that children themselves find amusing.
+This is true for the younger ones as well. I give
+several younger children&#8217;s stories which appeared
+both to the tellers and their audiences to be convulsing.
+The humor is strangely physical and
+amazingly simple. And it is all fresh.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>
+<span class="smcap"><strong>Stories by Four-Year-Olds</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>I dreamed I was asleep in a tomato and just scrambled
+around until I&#8217;d eaten it up.</p>
+
+<p class="center">&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Once there was a cow and he was in a wagon and
+he jumped over the wagon&#8217;s edge.</p>
+
+<p class="center">&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>Sesame the Cat</strong></p>
+
+<p>She lived with a nice man, a candy man, and she
+was at the gate watching the cattle go by and the men
+were digging under some caramel bricks and he called
+Sesame the Cat and she came banging and almost
+jumped on the man&#8217;s head. She jumped like a merry
+balloon. Oh, he got angry!</p></div>
+
+<p class="center">&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Story by Five-Year-Old</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Once there was a fly. And he went out walking
+on a little boy&#8217;s face. He came to a kind of a soft
+hump. &ldquo;What is this?&rdquo; thought the fly. &ldquo;Oh, I guess
+it&#8217;s the little boy&#8217;s eye!&rdquo; Then he came to a lot of
+kind of wiggly things that went down with him.
+&ldquo;What is this?&rdquo; thought the fly. &ldquo;Oh, I guess it&#8217;s
+the little boy&#8217;s hair!&rdquo; Then he slipped and fell into
+a deep hole. It was the little boy&#8217;s ear. And he
+couldn&#8217;t get out. He tried and he tried. But he staid
+there until the little boy&#8217;s ear got all sore!</p></div>
+
+<p class="center">&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Stories by Six-Year-Olds</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Once upon a time there was a fox and a skunk, and
+the fox was walking down the path with a lot of
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
+prickly bushes on the side of the path. Then he saw
+a skunk coming along. He said, &ldquo;Will you let me
+throw my little bag of perfume on you?&rdquo; And then
+she (it was a lady fox) she backed and backed and
+backed and backed and backed and backed, and she
+backed so far she backed into the bushes, and she got
+her skirt torn on the prickly bushes.</p>
+
+<p class="center">&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Once upon a time there was a boy and the boy was
+awfully funny. And one day the boy went to the
+store to buy some eggs and he got the eggs and ran
+so fast with the eggs home,&mdash;he stumbled and broke
+the eggs. So he took the eggs, and took the shell
+and fixed it like the same egg. And he walked off
+slowly to his home. And his mother was going to
+beat the eggs and she just opened the shell and no
+egg was there, and she couldn&#8217;t make no cake that
+night.</p></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>There is still another kind of story which I
+believe children of this transition period and a
+little older seek and for the most part seek in vain.
+These children are beginning to generalize, to
+marshal their facts and experiences along lines
+which in their later developments we call &ldquo;laws.&rdquo;
+They like these wide-spreading conceptions which
+order the world for them. But they cannot always
+take them as bald scientific statements. Moreover
+there are certain general truths which tie together
+isolated familiar facts which can be most simply
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
+pictured through some device such as personification,&mdash;for
+at this age personification is recognized
+and enjoyed as a device and not, as in earlier years,
+as a necessary expression of thought. This uniting
+bond, this underlying relation may be a physical
+law like the dependence of life on life; it may be
+a social law like the division of labor in modern
+industry. Any dramatic statement of these laws
+is a simplification as is a diagram or map. And
+like a diagram or map, it is in a way artificial since
+it gives weight to one element at the expense of the
+others. But again like the diagram or map, the
+thing it shows is a fact, a fact which is more readily
+grasped by this artificial device than by bald statement.
+Maps do not take the place of photographs,
+nevertheless they have their own peculiar place in
+making intelligible the make-up of the physical
+world. In the same way, personification does not
+take the place of science. Nevertheless it has its
+own peculiar place in making clear to the child
+some simplifying principle,&mdash;physical or social,&mdash;which
+unifies his multitudinous experiences. So
+long as personification elucidates a true, a scientific
+principle, so long as it is not pressed to tortuous
+lengths which actually give false impressions, so
+long as it is kept within the bounds of &aelig;sthetic
+decency, so long as it is recognized as a play device
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
+and does not confuse a child&#8217;s thinking,&mdash;so long as
+it is justified. No more. It is a useful intellectual
+tool and a charming device for play. Kipling is
+pre&euml;minently the master here. It is a dangerous
+tool in lesser hands. Yet I have dared to use it
+and without scruple in &ldquo;Speed,&rdquo; in &ldquo;Once the Barn
+was Full of Hay&rdquo; and in &ldquo;Silly Will.&rdquo; Here again
+I feel sure that study of children&#8217;s questions and
+stories would bring rich suggestions as to how to
+fill this large gap in their present literature.</p>
+
+<p>Gaps there are, and many and large ones. Still,
+taken all in all, the field for the seven-&nbsp;to eight-year-old
+transition period is not as completely
+barren as the field for the earlier years. For these
+children are evolving from the stage where they
+need &ldquo;Here and Now&rdquo; stories. They are beginning
+to take on adult modes of thought and to appreciate
+and understand the peculiar language
+which adults use no matter how young a child
+they address! So much for the content of children&#8217;s
+stories. And at best the content is but half.</p>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>FORM</strong></p>
+
+<p>If content is but half, form is the other half of
+stories and not the easier half, either. Every story,
+to be worthy of the name, must have a pattern, a
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
+pattern which is both pleasing and comprehensible.
+This design, this composition, this pattern,
+whether it be of a story as a whole or of a sentence
+or a phrase, is as essential to a piece of writing
+as is the design or composition to a picture. It
+satisfies the emotional need of the child which is
+as essential in real education as is the intellectual.
+Without this design, language remains on the
+utilitarian level,&mdash;where, to be sure, we usually
+find it in modern days.</p>
+
+<p>Now what kind of pattern is adapted to a small
+child,&mdash;say a three-year-old? What kind does he
+like? More, what kind can he perceive? Herein
+the expression as fatally as in the content has the
+adult shaped the mould to his own liking. Or
+rather, the case is even worse. The adult more
+often than not has presented his stories and verse
+to children in forms which the children could not
+like because they literally could not hear them!
+The pattern, as such, did not exist for them. But
+what have we to guide us in creating suitable patterns
+for these little children who can help us
+neither by analysis nor by articulate remonstrance?
+We have two sources of help and both of them
+come straight from the children. The first are the
+children&#8217;s own spontaneous art forms; the second
+are the story and verse patterns which make an
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
+almost universal appeal to little children. Even
+a superficial study of these two sources,&mdash;and
+where shall we find a thorough study?&mdash;suggests
+two fundamental principles. They sound obvious
+and perhaps they are. But how often is the obvious
+ignored in the treatment of children! The first
+is that the individual units whether ideas, sentences
+or phrases must be simple. The second is
+that these simple units must be put close together.</p>
+
+<p>As the quickest and most eloquent exemplification
+of both these principles I give four stories.
+The first was told by a little girl of twenty-two
+months, a singularly articulate little person,&mdash;as
+she looked at the blank wall where had hung a
+picture of a baby (she supposed her little brother),
+a cow and a donkey. The second was a story told
+by a little girl of two and a half after a summer
+on the seashore. The third was achieved by a boy
+of three,&mdash;a child, in general, unsensitive to music.
+The fourth was told in school by a four-year-old
+girl.</p>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Story by Twenty-Two-Months-Old Child</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 12em;">
+Where cow?<br />
+Where donk?<br />
+Where little Aa?</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 12em;">
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
+Cow gone away!<br />
+Donk gone away!<br />
+Little Aa gone away!</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 12em;">
+Like cow!<br />
+Like donk!<br />
+Like little Aa!</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 12em;">
+Come back cow!<br />
+Come back donk!<br />
+Come back little Aa!</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Story by Two-and-a-Half-Year-Old</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 12em;">
+I fell in water.<br />
+Man fell in water.<br />
+John fell in water.<br />
+For&#8217; fell in water.<br />
+Aunt Carrie fell in water.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 12em;">
+I pull boat out.<br />
+Man pull boat out.<br />
+John pull boat out.<br />
+For&#8217; pull boat out.<br />
+Aunt Carrie pull boat out.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 12em;">
+I go in that boat.<br />
+Man go in that boat.<br />
+John go in that boat.<br />
+For&#8217; go in that boat.<br />
+Aunt Carrie go in that boat.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
+<span class="smcap"><strong>Story by Three-Year-Old</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 6em;">
+And father went down, down, down into the hole<br />
+And the bull-frog, he went up, up, up into the sky!<br />
+And then the bull-frog, he went down, down, down into the hole<br />
+And then father, he went up, up, up, way into the sky!<br />
+And then the bull-frog he went down, down, down into the hole<br />
+And up, up into the sky!<br />
+And then he went down into the hole<br />
+And up into the sky!<br />
+And he went down and up and down and up<br />
+And down and up and down and up<br />
+And down and up and down and up<br />
+And down and up<br />
+And down and up<br />
+And down and up<br />
+Down and up&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;(to wordless song.)</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Story by a Four-Year-Old</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+Baby Bye, Baby Bye<br />
+Here&#8217;s a fly<br />
+You&#8217;d better be careful<br />
+Else he will sting you<br />
+And here&#8217;s a spider too.<br />
+And if you hurt him he will sting you<br />
+And don&#8217;t you hurt him<br />
+And his pattern on the wall.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Certainly all have form,&mdash;spontaneous native art
+form. Indeed they strongly suggest that to the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
+child, the pleasure lay in the form rather than in
+the content. The patterns of the first two are somewhat
+alike,&mdash;variations of a simple statement. In
+content the younger child keeps her attention on
+one point, so to speak, while the older child allows
+a slight movement like an embryonic narrative.
+The pattern of the three-year-old&#8217;s is considerably
+more complex. The phrases shorten, the tempo
+quickens, until the whole swings off into wordless
+melody. The fourth probably started from some
+remembered lullaby but quickly became the child&#8217;s
+own. I give two more examples of stories. In the
+first, does not this five-year-old girl give us her
+vivid impressions in marvelously simple sense and
+motor terms? And does not the six-year-old boy
+in the second show that imagination can spring
+from real experiences?</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Stories by Five-Year-Olds</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>I am going to tell you a story about when I went
+to Falmouth with my mother. We had to go all night
+on the train and this is the way it sounded, (moving
+her hand on the table and intoning in different keys)
+thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum,
+<em>NEW ARK!</em> thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum,
+thum, thum, thum, thum, FALMOUTH! And then
+we got off and we took a trolley car and the trolley
+car went clipperty, clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip. And
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
+another trolley car came in the other direction (again
+with hands) and one came along saying clipperty,
+clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip and the other came along
+saying clipperty, clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip, zip,
+BANG! And they hit in the middle and they got
+stuck and they tried to pull them apart and they stuck
+and they stuck and they stuck and finally they got
+them apart and then we went again. And when we
+got off we had to take a subway and the subway went
+rockety-rockety-rockety-rock. You know a subway
+makes a terrible noise! It made a <em>terrible</em> noise it
+sounded like rockety-rockety-rockety-rockety-rock.</p>
+
+<p>And at last we got there and when we came up in
+the streets of Falmouth it was so still that I didn&#8217;t
+know what to do. You know the streets of Falmouth
+are just so terribly quiet and then we had to walk
+millions and millions of miles almost to get to our
+little cottage. And when we got there I put on my
+bathing suit and I went in bathing and I shivered just
+like this because it was a rainy day, the day I went to
+Falmouth with my mother.</p></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>The Talk of the Brook</strong></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+O brook, O brook, that sings so loud,<br />
+O brook, O brook, that goes all day,<br />
+O brook, O brook, that goes all night<br />
+And forever.<br />
+Splashes and waves, girls and boys are playing with<br />
+You and in you.<br />
+Some with shoes off and some with shoes on,<br />
+And some are crying because they fell in you.<br />
+O brook, O brook, have you an end ever?<br />
+Or do you go forever?</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
+Technically in all these stories the child exemplifies
+the two rules. He attends to but one thing at
+a time. And his steps from one point to the next
+are short and clear.</p>
+
+<p>When we look at the forms which have been
+presented to children with these their spontaneous
+patterns fresh in mind, we can see, I think, why
+Mother Goose has been taken as a child&#8217;s own and
+Eugene Field and even Stevenson rejected as unintelligible.
+I do not believe there is anything in the
+content of Mother Goose to win the child. I
+believe it is the form that makes the appeal.
+Vachel Lindsay, whose daring play with words
+has made him an object of suspicion to the reluctant
+of mind, has given us one poem in pattern
+singularly like the children&#8217;s own and in content
+full of interest and charm. Again I give examples
+as the quickest of arguments. And I give them in
+verse where the form is more obvious and can be
+shown in briefer space than in stories.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 11em;">
+  Jack and Jill<br />
+  Went up the hill<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">To fetch a pail of water.</span><br />
+  Jack fell down<br />
+  And broke his crown<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And Jill came tumbling after.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
+<span class="smcap"><strong>Time to Rise</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+A birdie with a yellow bill<br />
+Hopped upon the window sill,<br />
+Cocked his shining eye and said:<br />
+&ldquo;Ain&#8217;t you shamed, you sleepy head?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 18em;">&mdash;<em>Stevenson.</em></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>The Little Turtle</strong></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">(A recitation for Martha Wakefield, three years old)</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 11em;">
+There was a little turtle.<br />
+He lived in a box.<br />
+He swam in a puddle.<br />
+He climbed on the rocks.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 11em;">
+He snapped at a musquito.<br />
+He snapped at a flea.<br />
+He snapped at a minnow.<br />
+And he snapped at me.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 11em;">
+He caught the musquito.<br />
+He caught the flea.<br />
+He caught the minnow.<br />
+But he didn&#8217;t catch me.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 18em;">&mdash;<em>Vachel Lindsay.</em></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center">From <span class="smcap"><strong>The Dinkey-Bird</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+So when the children shout and scamper<br />
+  And make merry all the day,<br />
+When there&#8217;s naught to put a damper<br />
+  To the ardor of their play;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
+When I hear their laughter ringing,<br />
+  Then I&#8217;m sure as sure can be<br />
+That the Dinkey-bird is singing<br />
+  In the amfalula tree.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 18em;">&mdash;<em>Eugene Field.</em></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Of the two &ldquo;Jack and Jill&rdquo; and &ldquo;Birdie with the
+Yellow Bill,&rdquo; surely Stevenson&#8217;s is the more
+charming to the adult ear. But when I have read
+it to three-year-olds, I have felt that they were
+lost. They could not sustain the long grammatical
+suspense, could not carry over &ldquo;A birdie&rdquo; from the
+first line to the conclusion and so actually did not
+know who was saying &ldquo;Ain&#8217;t you shamed, you
+sleepy-head!&rdquo; Mother Goose repeats her subject.
+The span to carry is two phrases in Mother Goose
+as against four in Stevenson. The Vachel Lindsay
+I have found is as easily remembered and as much
+enjoyed as Mother Goose, though it is a pity it is
+about an unfamiliar animal. As for the Dinkey-bird
+even a seven-year-old can hardly <em>hear</em> the
+rhyme even if intellectually he could follow the
+adult vocabulary and the complicated sentence
+with its long postponed subject.</p>
+
+<p>It is the same with stories. The classic tales
+which have held small children,&mdash;&ldquo;The Gingerbread
+Man,&rdquo; &ldquo;The Three Little Pigs,&rdquo; &ldquo;Goldylocks,&rdquo;&mdash;have
+patterns so obvious and so simple
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>
+that they cannot be missed. In &ldquo;The Gingerbread
+Man&rdquo; the pattern is one of increasing additions.
+It belongs to the aptly called &ldquo;cumulative&rdquo; tales.
+The refrains act like sign-posts to help the child
+to mark the progress. This is simply a skilful way
+of making the continuity close, of showing the ladder
+rungs for the child&#8217;s feet. I venture to say
+that any good story-teller consciously or unconsciously
+puts up sign-posts to help the children.
+If he is skilful, he makes a pattern of them so that
+they are not merely intellectually helpful but
+charming as well. So Kipling in his &ldquo;Just So
+Stories&rdquo; uses his sign-posts,&mdash;which are sometimes
+words, sometimes phrases, sometimes situations,&mdash;in
+such a way that they ring musically and give a
+pleasant sense of pattern even to children too young
+to find them intellectually helpful.</p>
+
+<p>In other words, the little child is not equipped
+psychologically to hear complicated units. I wish
+some one could determine how the average four-year-old
+hears the harmony of a chord on the
+piano. Is it much except confusion? In the same
+way, he is not equipped to leap a span between
+units. I wish some one would determine the four-year-old&#8217;s
+memory span for rhymes, for instance.
+The involutions, the suggestiveness so attractive to
+adult ears, he cannot hear. Even an adult ear,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
+untutored, can scarcely hear the intermingling
+rhythms and overlapping rhymes which blend like
+overtones of a chord in such verse as Patmore&#8217;s
+Ode &ldquo;The Toys.&rdquo; I feel sure the small child cannot
+hear complexities; he cannot leap gaps. And
+so he cannot understand when even simple ideas
+are given in complex and discontinuous form.
+This explains his notorious love of repetition.
+Repetition is the simplest of patterns, simple
+enough to be enjoyed as pattern. I have found
+that almost any simple phrase of music or words
+repeated slowly and with a kind of ceremonious
+attention, enthralls a year-old child. If the unit
+is simple enough to be remembered he will inevitably
+enjoy recognizing it as it recurs and recurs.
+This is the embryonic pattern sense.</p>
+
+<p>This pattern enjoyment too is motor in its basis.
+His early repetitions of sounds are probably
+largely pleasure in muscle patterns. We all know
+that a child uses first his large muscles,&mdash;arm, leg
+and back,&mdash;and that he early enjoys any regular
+recurrent use of these muscles. So at the time
+when the vocal muscles tend to become his means
+of expression, he enjoys repeating the same sounds
+over and over. And soon he gets enjoyment from
+listening to repetitions or rhythmic language,&mdash;a
+vicarious motor enjoyment. Surely it is important
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
+that stories should furnish him this exercise and
+pleasure. Three-&nbsp;and four-year-olds will enjoy a
+positively astounding amount of repetition. In the
+Arabella and Araminta stories a large proportion
+of the sentences are given in duplicate by the simple
+device of having twins who do and say the same
+things and by telling the remarks and actions of
+each. The selection quoted is repeated entire four
+times, the variation being only in the flower
+picked:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>And Arabella picked a poppy, and Araminta picked
+a poppy, and Arabella picked a poppy, and Araminta
+picked a poppy, and Arabella picked a poppy, and
+Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella picked a
+poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella
+picked a poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, until
+they each had a great big bunch (I should say a very
+large bunch), and then they ran back to the house.</p>
+
+<p>Arabella got a glass and put her poppies in it, and
+Araminta got a glass and put her poppies in it.</p>
+
+<p>And Arabella clapped her hands and danced around
+the table. And Araminta clapped her hands and
+danced around the table.</p></div>
+
+<p>Adult ears repudiate anything as obvious as this;
+they still, however, enjoy a ballad refrain.</p>
+
+<p>Just as small children cannot hear complications,
+so they cannot grasp details if the movement
+is swift. We must give time for a child&#8217;s slow
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>
+reactions. We usually fail to do this in ordinary
+social situations and are often surprised to hear
+our three-year-old say &ldquo;good-bye&rdquo; long after the
+front door is closed and our guest well on his way
+down the street. In stories we must take a leisurely
+pace. We must also read very slowly allowing
+ample time for a child to give the full motor
+expression to his thought for the art of abbreviation
+he has not yet learned.</p>
+
+<p>It is not enough to recognize that since a child
+attends to but one thing at a time the units must be
+simple. Here in the form as in the content, must
+the motor quality of a child&#8217;s thinking be held
+constantly in mind. In trying to find the general
+subject matter appropriate for little children I
+said that they think through their muscles. This
+motor expression of small children has its direct
+application in the concrete method of telling of
+any happening. The story child who is experiencing,
+should go through the essential muscular
+performances which the real listening child would
+go through if he were actually experiencing himself.
+For he thinks through these muscular expressions.
+As an example, when a group of four-year-olds
+heard a story about a little boy who saw the
+elevated train approach and pass above him, they
+thought the child might have been run over. The
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
+words &ldquo;up&rdquo; and &ldquo;above&rdquo; and &ldquo;overhead&rdquo; had been
+used but the children failed to get the idea of
+&ldquo;upness.&rdquo; Unquestionably they would have understood
+if I had made the little boy <em>throw back his
+head and look up</em>. Small children act with big
+gestures and with big muscles. And they think
+through the same mechanisms.</p>
+
+<p>These two principles, simplicity and continuity,
+apply concretely to sentence and phrase structure
+as well. The effort to obtain continuity for the
+child explains the colloquial &ldquo;The little boy who
+lived in this house, <em>he</em> did so and so&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; You
+help your child back to the subject, &ldquo;the little
+boy&rdquo; by the grammatically redundant &ldquo;he&rdquo; after
+his mind has gone off on &ldquo;this house.&rdquo; This same
+need for continuity also explains why a child&#8217;s
+own stories are characteristically one continuous
+sentence strung together with &ldquo;ands&rdquo; and &ldquo;thens&rdquo;
+and &ldquo;buts.&rdquo; He sees and hears and consequently
+thinks in a simple, rhythmic, continuous flow. If
+we would have him see and hear and think with us,
+we must give him his stories and verse in simple
+units closely and obviously linked together.</p>
+
+<p>But after all is said and done, why should we
+give children stories at all? Is it to instruct and
+so should we pay attention to the content? Is it
+to delight and so should we pay attention to the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>
+form? Both things, information and relish, have
+their place in justifying stories for children. But
+both to my mind are of minor importance compared
+to a third and quite different thing,&mdash;and
+this is to get children to create stories of their own,
+to play with words. &ldquo;To get&rdquo; is an unhappy
+phrase for it suggests that children must be coaxed
+to the task. This I do not believe though I cannot
+prove it. I do believe that children play with
+words naturally and spontaneously just as they play
+with any material that comes to their creative
+hands. And further I believe,&mdash;though this too I
+cannot prove,&mdash;that we adults kill this play with
+words just as we kill their creative play with most
+things. Most of us have forgotten how to play
+with anything, most of all with words. We are
+utilitarian, we are executive, we are didactic, we
+are earth-tied, we are hopelessly adult! Actually
+children use their ears and noses and fingers much
+more than do we adults. Our stories rely mainly
+upon visual recalls. We forget to listen even to
+birds whose message is pure melody. And how
+many of us <em>hear</em> the city sounds which surround
+us, the characteristic whirr of revolving wheels,
+the vibrating rhythm of horses&#8217; feet, the crunch of
+footsteps in the snow? Noises we hear, the warning
+shriek of the fire engine or the honk! honk! of
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
+the automobile. But the subtler, finer reverberations
+we are not sensitive to. Yet little children
+love to listen and develop another method of sensing
+and appreciating their world by this pleasurable
+use of their hearing. It surely is an unused
+opportunity for story-tellers. I have tried to use
+it in &ldquo;Pedro&#8217;s Feet&rdquo; which is an attempt to give
+them an ordinary story by means of sounds. And
+even less than to city sounds do we listen for the
+cadences in language. We listen only for the
+<em>meaning</em> and forget the sensuous delight of sound.</p>
+
+<p>But happily children are not so determined to
+wring a meaning out of every sight and every
+sound. Children play. Play is a child&#8217;s own technique.
+Through it he seizes the strange unknown
+world around him and fashions it into his very
+own. He recreates through play. And through
+creating, he learns and he enjoys.</p>
+
+<p>There is no better play material in the world
+than words. They surround us, go with us through
+our work-a-day tasks, their sound is always in our
+ears, their rhythms on our tongue. Why do we
+leave it to special occasions and to special people
+to use these common things as precious play material?
+Because we are grown-ups and have closed
+our ears and our eyes that we may not be distracted
+from our plodding ways! But when we turn to the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
+children, to hearing and seeing children, to whom
+all the world is as play material, who think and
+feel through play, can we not then drop our adult
+utilitarian speech and listen and watch for the patterns
+of words and ideas? Can we not care for
+the <em>way</em> we say things to them and not merely <em>what</em>
+we say? Can we not speak in rhythm, in pleasing
+sounds, even in song for the mere sensuous delight
+it gives us and them, even though it adds nothing
+to the content of our remark? If we can, I feel
+sure children will not lose their native use of
+words: more, I think those of six and seven and
+eight who have lost it in part,&mdash;and their stories
+show they have,&mdash;will win back to their spontaneous
+joy in the play of words. This is the ultimate
+test of stories and verse,&mdash;whether they help children
+to retain their native gift of play with language
+and with thought.</p>
+
+<p>In the City and Country School where my experiments
+in language have been carried on, we
+have not gone far enough to offer convincing proof
+along these lines. But I submit two stories told
+by a six-year-old class which are at least suggestive.
+The first is the best story told to me by any
+member of the class before any effort had been
+made to get the children to listen to the sound of
+their words or to think of their ideas as all pointing
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
+in one direction and giving a single impression.
+The second was told by the class as a whole
+while looking at Willebeek Le Mair&#8217;s illustration
+of &ldquo;Twinkle, twinkle, little star.&rdquo; They said the
+picture made them feel sleepy and that they would
+say only things that made them sleepy and use
+only words that made them sleepy. Between the
+two stories I had met with them seven times. I
+had read them sounding and rhythmic verse. They
+had become interested in the sound of language
+apart from its meaning. They had become interested
+in the sound of the rain and the fire. They
+were thinking through their ears. Am I mistaken
+in believing this shows in their language and in
+their thought?</p>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Story by a Six-Year-Old</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Once upon a time there was a little boy named
+Peter and a little boy named Boris. And Peter took
+him out for a walk and took him all around school.
+Then I took him out to my house and saw all my play
+things. And then I took him to Central Park and
+showed him sea lions and the giraffe and the elephant
+and I showed how they eat by their trunks. And he
+thought it was queer. And he said he was afraid of
+animals and so I took him home. I told him to tell
+his mother about it and his mother said, &ldquo;You want
+to go for another walk?&rdquo; and he said, &ldquo;Yes, but not
+where the wild animals are.&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;Do you want
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
+to go to Central Park?&rdquo; and he said, &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; You
+see he got fooled! He didn&#8217;t know about the wild
+animals.</p></div>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Joint Story by Six-Year-Old Class</strong></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>I like it when the boy and the girl look at the sky.
+They look at the trees and they are sleepy. It is dark
+outside. It is night and the sky is dark blue. And it
+is kind of whitish and the trees are next to the blue
+sky. The bright evening star is out. The star is so
+far up in the sky that you can hardly see it. The
+children are looking at the sky before they go to bed
+and they are praying to God. They have their
+nightgowns on. The bed is all nice so they couldn&#8217;t
+have just got up. The clothes are hanging on the bed.
+They sleep in their own bed together. When they go
+to bed they have their door closed.</p></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Leaf Story&rdquo; and &ldquo;The Wind Story&rdquo; I have
+incorporated with my stories, though they are almost
+entirely the work of children. In both cases
+the organization is beyond the children. But the
+content and the phraseology bear their unmistakable
+imprint. The same is true of &ldquo;The Sea Gull.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Because of the pattern, the play aspect of language,
+I believe in written stories even for very
+little ones. If we loved our language better and
+played with its sound in our ordinary speech, perhaps
+stories for two-&nbsp;and three-year-olds would not
+be needed. But as it is, we need to present them
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>
+with something more intentional, more thought out
+than is possible with most of us in a story told.
+If the patterns of our ideas or of our speech are
+to have charm, if they are to fit the occasion with
+nicety, if they are to flow easily and are to be continuous
+enough to be comprehended by little children,
+they will need careful attention,&mdash;attention
+that cannot be given under the emergency of telling
+a story, not, at least, by the uninspired of us.
+Inevitably, with our utilitarian tendencies, we
+shall be drawn off to an undue regard of the content
+to the neglect of the expression. And yet,
+for very little children, there is unquestionably
+something lost by the formality and fixity of a
+written story. A story told has more spontaneity,
+allows more leeway to include the chance happenings
+or remarks of the children; it can be more
+intimately personal, more adapted to the particular
+occasion and to the particular child. Perhaps
+some time we shall achieve a fortunate compromise,
+a stepping stone between the story told
+and the story read. Perhaps we shall work out
+happy or characteristic phrases about familiar
+things,&mdash;little personal things about the clothes and
+habits of each child, general familiar things like
+autos and wagons and horses on the street, coal
+going down the hole in the sidewalk, the squabbling
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
+of sparrows in the dirt, the drift of snow on
+the roofs,&mdash;perhaps we shall learn to use such
+thought-out phrases or refrains like blocks for
+building many stories. If we could work out some
+such technique as this, we could keep the intimacy,
+the flexibility, the waywardness of the spoken
+story and still give the children the charm of careful
+thinking and careful phrasing. Many such
+phrases have been fashioned by people sensitive
+to the quality of sound. Every nursery has had
+its rooster crow:</p>
+
+<p class="center">&ldquo;Cock-a-doodle-doo!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But few have given its children that delightful
+epitome of the songs of spring birds which has
+piped with irrepressible freshness now for nearly
+four centuries:</p>
+
+<p class="center">&ldquo;Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>I have never known the child who did not respond
+to Kipling&#8217;s engine song:</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+  &ldquo;With a michnai-ghignai-shtingal! Yah! Yah! Yah!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Every child creates these wonderful sound interpretations
+of the world. We smile a smile of indulgence
+when we hear them. And then we forget
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
+them! Cannot we seize some of them however
+imperfectly and learn to build them into the structure
+of our stories? It was more or less this kind
+of thing that I had in mind in writing Marni&#8217;s
+stories and &ldquo;The Room with the Window Looking
+Out Upon the Garden&rdquo; which as I have said
+elsewhere are types to be told rather than narratives
+to be read. And I feel sure if we could
+once make a beginning that the children themselves
+would soon take the matter into their own
+hands and create their own building blocks.</p>
+
+<p>For children are primarily creators. They do
+not willingly nor for long maintain the passive
+r&ocirc;le. This should be reckoned with in stories and
+not merely as a concession to restless children but
+as a real aid to the story. An active r&ocirc;le should be
+provided for the children somewhere within every
+story until the children are old enough to have
+a genuinely impersonal interest in things and
+events and until they do not need a motor expression
+of their thoughts. For as I have already said,
+up to that age,&mdash;and it is for psychologists to say
+when that age is,&mdash;children think in terms of themselves
+expressed through their own activities. This
+active r&ocirc;le should be used not merely as a safety
+valve of expression to keep the child a patient
+listener, but as a tool by which he may become
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
+aware of the form of thought and language. It
+is interesting that the children to whom these
+stories have been read, have seized upon the rhyme
+refrains as their own and after a few readings have
+joined in saying them as though this were their
+natural portion. It is with this hope that I have
+tried to make the refrains not mere interludes in
+the story, as they usually are, but the real skeleton,
+the intrinsic thought pattern, the fundamental design.
+In &ldquo;How the Singing Water Gets to the
+Tub&rdquo; and &ldquo;How Spot Found a Home,&rdquo; for instance,
+the refrains taken by themselves out of the
+context, tell the whole story. It is too soon to say,
+but I am strong in the hope that through relish for
+this kind of active participation in written stories,
+a small child may become captivated by the play
+side of the stories as opposed to the content and so
+turn to language as play material in which to
+fashion patterns of his own.</p>
+
+<p>For the sake of analysis, I have treated content
+and form separately. But I am keenly aware that
+the divorce of the two is what has made our stories
+for children so unsatisfactory. We have good
+ideas told without charm of design; and we have
+meaningless patterns which tickle the ear for the
+moment but fade because they spring from no real
+thought. Literature is only achieved when the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>
+thought pattern and the language pattern exactly
+fit. A refrain for the mere sake of recurrent
+jingle, that has no genuine no essential recurrence
+in the thought, is a trick. If the pattern does not
+help the thought and the thought suggest the pattern,
+there is something wrong. It is an artifice,
+not art. This matching of content and form is
+nothing new. It is and always has been the basis
+of good literature. The task that is new is to find
+thought sequences, thought relations which are
+truly childlike and the language design which is
+really appropriate to them,&mdash;to make both content
+and form the child&#8217;s.</p>
+
+<p>As I said at the beginning, so must I say at the
+end. These stories are experiments, experiments
+both in content and form. To have any value they
+must be treated as such. The theses underlying
+them have been stated for brevity&#8217;s sake only in
+didactic form. In reality, they lie in my mind
+as open questions urgently in need of answers. But
+I do not hope much from the answers of adults,&mdash;from
+the deaf and blind writers to the hearing and
+seeing children. The answers must come from
+the children themselves. We must listen to children&#8217;s
+speech, to their casual everyday expressions.
+We must gather children&#8217;s stories. Mothers and
+teachers everywhere should be making these
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
+precious records. We must study them not merely
+as showing what a child is thinking, but the <em>way</em>
+he is thinking and the way he is enjoying. It is
+the hope that these stories may be tried out with
+children, the hope of reaching others who may be
+watching and listening and working along these
+lines, the hope that we may gather records of children&#8217;s
+stories which will become a basis for a real
+literature, the hope that somewhere among grown-ups
+we may find an ear still sensitive to hear and
+an eye still fresh to see,&mdash;it is this hope that has
+given me the courage to expose these pitifully inadequate
+adult efforts to speak with little children
+in their own language. Some one must dare, if
+only to give courage to the better equipped. And
+if we dare enough, I am sure the children will
+come to our rescue. If we let them, they will lead
+us. Whatever these stories hold of merit or of
+suggestiveness is due to the inspiration and tolerance
+of the courageous group of workers in the
+City and Country School and in the Bureau of
+Educational Experiments and in particular to
+Caroline Pratt without whom these stories would
+never have been dreamed or written; and above
+all to the children themselves, for whom the stories
+were written and to whom they have been read,
+both in the laboratory school and in my own home.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
+To those then, who wish to follow the lead of little
+children, to those who have the curiosity to know
+into what new paths of literature children&#8217;s interest
+and children&#8217;s spontaneous expression of those
+interests will lead, and to the children themselves,
+I send these stories.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 55%;">
+<span class="smcap">Lucy Sprague Mitchell.</span></p>
+
+<p>New York City<br />
+July, 1921.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>MARNI TAKES A RIDE</strong></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>IN A WAGON</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+The refrains in this story were first made up during
+the actual ride. Later they served to recall the experience
+with vividness. This story is given only as a
+type which any one may use when helping a two-year-old
+to live over an experience.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MARNI TAKES A RIDE IN A WAGON</h2>
+
+
+<p>One day Marni went for a ride. Little Aa, he
+climbed into Sprague&#8217;s wagon and Marni, she
+climbed in behind him. Then Mother took the
+handle and she began to pull the wagon with little
+Aa and Marni in it. And Mother she went:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 12em;">
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Jog, jog, jog, jog,</span><br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+            <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Jog!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And the wheels, they went, (with motion of hands):</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9.5em;">
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Round, round, round, round,</span><br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+              <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Round!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then Mother was tired. So she stopped.
+And Marni said, &ldquo;Whoa, horsie!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
+Then Little Aa said, &ldquo;Ugh, ugh!&rdquo; for he wanted
+to go.</p>
+
+<p>But Marni said, &ldquo;Get up, horsie!&rdquo; for she
+wanted to go too. So Mother took hold of the
+handle and went:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 12em;">
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Jog, jog, jog, jog,</span><br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+            <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Jog!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And the wheels they went:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9.5em;">
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Round, round, round, round,</span><br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+              <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Round!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then Mother was tired. So she stopped,
+and Marni said, &ldquo;Whoa, horsie!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then Little Aa said, &ldquo;Ugh, ugh!&rdquo; for he wanted
+to go. But Marni said &ldquo;Get up, horsie!&rdquo; for she
+wanted to go too. So Mother took hold of the
+handle and went,</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 12em;">
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Jog, jog, jog, jog,</span><br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+    Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br />
+            <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Jog!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And the wheels they went:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9.5em;">
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Round, round, round, round,</span><br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+    Round, round, round, round,<br />
+              <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Round!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then Mother was very, <em>very</em> tired. So she
+stopped. And Marni said, &ldquo;Whoa, horsie!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then Little Aa said, &ldquo;Ugh, ugh!&rdquo; for he wanted
+to go again. But Marni said &ldquo;Get up, horsie!&rdquo;
+for she wanted to go too. But Mother she was
+very, <em>very</em>, <span class="smcap">very</span> tired. She had jogged, jogged,
+jogged so long and made the wheels go round,
+round, round, round, so much! So she said, &ldquo;The
+ride is all over!&rdquo; Then Little Aa climbed down
+out of the wagon and Marni climbed down out of
+the wagon. And Marni said, &ldquo;Goodbye, wagon!&rdquo;
+and ran away!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>MARNI GETS DRESSED</strong></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>IN THE MORNING</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This story, obviously, is for a particular little girl.
+It is told in the terms of her own experience, of her
+own environment, and of her own observations. It
+is nothing more or less than the living over in rhythmic
+form of the daily routine of her morning dressing.
+Her story remarks are either literal quotations or
+adaptations of her actual every day responses. The
+little verse refrains are the type of thing almost anyone
+can improvise. I have found that any simple statement
+about a familiar object or act told (or sung) with a
+kind of ceremonious attention and with an obvious and
+simple rhythm, enthralls a two-year-old. The little
+girl for whom this story was written began embryonic
+stories before her second birthday. The water-soap-sponge
+episode is an adaptation of one of her first
+narrative forms. This story is meant merely as a
+suggestion of the way almost anyone can make
+language an every day plaything to the small child she
+is caring for.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MARNI GETS DRESSED IN THE MORNING</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once there was a little girl and her name was
+Marni Moo. Marni used to sleep in a little bed in
+mother&#8217;s room. In the morning Marni would
+wake up and she would say &ldquo;Hello, Mother.&rdquo;
+And then in a minute she would say, &ldquo;I want to
+get up.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And mother would say:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Hoohoo, Marni Moo.</span><br />
+ I&#8217;m coming, I&#8217;m coming,<br />
+ I&#8217;m coming for you.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then mother would get up and she&#8217;d come over
+and she&#8217;d unfasten the blanket and she&#8217;d take little
+Marni Moo in her arms and she&#8217;d walk into
+Marni&#8217;s bath-room and she&#8217;d take off Marni&#8217;s
+nightgown and Marni&#8217;s shirt. And then she&#8217;d
+get a little basin, and she&#8217;d put some water in it,
+and she&#8217;d get some soap and she&#8217;d get a sponge and
+she&#8217;d wash little Marni Moo. She&#8217;d wash Marni&#8217;s
+face and then she&#8217;d wash Marni&#8217;s hands, and Marni
+would put one hand in the basin and she&#8217;d splash
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
+the water like this:&mdash;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then she&#8217;d put
+another hand in the basin and she&#8217;d splash the
+water like this:&mdash;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then mother would
+wipe both hands and she&#8217;d throw the water down
+the sink and she&#8217;d put away the soap and the
+sponge. And Marni would watch mother and
+then she&#8217;d say:</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i097.png" width="500" height="478" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Where water?</span><br />
+ Where soap?<br />
+ Where sponge?</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
+ Water gone away!<br />
+ Soap gone away!<br />
+ Sponge gone away!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And after that what do you suppose Marni would
+say?</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Shirt, shirt.&rdquo; And mother would put Marni&#8217;s
+shirt over her head and say:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Peek-a-boo, Marni Moo,</span><br />
+ Marni&#8217;s head is coming through.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>and then mother would button up Marni&#8217;s shirt.</p>
+
+<p>And then Marni would say &ldquo;Waist, waist.&rdquo;
+Then while mother put on Marni&#8217;s waist she would
+say:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">
+&ldquo;Here&#8217;s one hand</span><br />
+ And here&#8217;s another.<br />
+ Marni&#8217;s a sister<br />
+ And Robin&#8217;s a brother.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then Marni would say, &ldquo;Drawers, drawers.&rdquo;
+And while mother put on Marni&#8217;s drawers she
+would say:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Here&#8217;s one foot</span><br />
+ And here&#8217;s another.<br />
+ Marni&#8217;s a sister<br />
+ And Peter&#8217;s a brother.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then Marni would say, &ldquo;Stockings, stockings.&rdquo;
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
+And mother would put on one stocking on
+her left foot, and then she&#8217;d put on another stocking
+on her right foot. And then she&#8217;d fasten the
+garters on one stocking, and then she&#8217;d fasten the
+garters on the other stocking. And all the time
+mother would keep saying:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Here&#8217;s one leg</span><br />
+ And here&#8217;s another.<br />
+ Marni&#8217;s a sister<br />
+ And Jack-o&#8217;s a brother.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then Marni would say, &ldquo;Shoe, shoe.&rdquo; And
+mother would put one shoe on her left foot and
+then she&#8217;d put on the other shoe on her right foot.
+And then she&#8217;d say again:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Here&#8217;s one foot</span><br />
+ And here&#8217;s another.<br />
+ Marni&#8217;s a sister<br />
+ And Robin&#8217;s a brother.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then Marni would say, &ldquo;Hook, hook.&rdquo;
+And mother would get the button-hook and then
+she&#8217;d button up the left shoe and then she&#8217;d button
+up the right shoe. And all the time she was buttoning
+up first one shoe and then the other shoe
+Marni would say:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Look, look,</span><br />
+ Hook, hook.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
+And when the shoes were all buttoned up, mother
+would hit first one little sole and then the other
+little sole, and say:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Now we&#8217;re through</span><br />
+ Tit, tat, too.<br />
+ Here a nail, there a nail,<br />
+ Now we&#8217;re through.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then Marni would run and get her romper and
+bring it to mother calling, &ldquo;Romper, romper.&rdquo;
+And mother would put on her romper, singing:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Romper, romper</span><br />
+ Who&#8217;s got a romper?<br />
+ Little Marni Moo<br />
+ She&#8217;s got two.<br />
+ One is a yellow one<br />
+ And one is blue.<br />
+ Romper, romper<br />
+ Who&#8217;s got a romper?&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then Marni would say, &ldquo;Button, button.&rdquo;
+And mother would button up her romper all
+down the back. First one button and then another
+button and then another button and then another
+button, and then another button and then another
+button until they were buttoned all down the back.</p>
+
+<p>And then Marni would say, &ldquo;Sweater.&rdquo; And
+mother would put on her little blue sweater saying:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Sweater, sweater</span><br />
+ Who&#8217;s got a sweater?<br />
+ Little Marni Moo<br />
+ She&#8217;s got two.<br />
+ One is a yellow one<br />
+ And one is blue.<br />
+ Sweater, sweater,<br />
+ Who&#8217;s got a sweater?&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then Marni would say, &ldquo;Hair.&rdquo; And
+mother would get the brush and comb and brush
+Marni&#8217;s hair. And all the time she was brushing
+it she would say:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+        <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Brush it so</span><br />
+         And brush it slow.<br />
+         Brush it here<br />
+         And brush it there.<br />
+         Brush it so<br />
+         And brush it slow.<br />
+         And brush it here<br />
+         And brush it there<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -5em;">And brush it all over your dear little head.&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then Marni would say, &ldquo;All ready.&rdquo; And
+mother would put her down on the floor.</p>
+
+<p>Then Marni would say:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Where my little pail?</span><br />
+ My little pail gone away.<br />
+ I want my little pail<br />
+ Come, little pail.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
+And mother would give her her little pail. And
+Marni would put one nut in her pail, and then
+she&#8217;d put another nut in her pail, and then she&#8217;d
+put another nut in her pail. And then she&#8217;d put
+a marble in her pail, and then she&#8217;d put another
+marble in her pail, and then she&#8217;d put another
+marble in her pail. And then she&#8217;d put her quack-quack
+in her pail, and then she&#8217;d put her fish in
+her pail, and then she&#8217;d put her frog in her pail.
+Then she would shake her pail with all of the nuts
+and the marbles and the quack-quack and the frog
+and the fish, and they would all go bingety-bang,
+crickety-crack, bingety-bang, crickety-crack.</p>
+
+<p>And Marni would say, &ldquo;Bingety-bang, crickety-crack.
+Where Jack-o?&rdquo; And Marni would run
+to find Jack-o, and she would say, &ldquo;Jack-o, hear
+bingety-bang, crickety-crack.&rdquo; And she would
+rattle her little pail with all the nuts and the
+marbles and the quack-quack and the fish and
+the frog. Then she&#8217;d say, &ldquo;Where Peter?&rdquo; And
+Marni would run to find Peter, and she would say,
+&ldquo;Peter, hear bingety-bang, crickety-crack.&rdquo; And
+she would rattle her little pail with all the nuts and
+the marbles and the quack-quack and the fish and
+the frog.</p>
+
+<p>Then mother would call, &ldquo;Breakfast, breakfast.
+Anyone ready for breakfast?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>
+And Jack-o would call back, &ldquo;I am, I am, I am
+ready for breakfast.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Peter would run as fast as he could calling,
+&ldquo;I am, I am, I am ready for breakfast.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And last of all would come little Marni Moo
+calling, &ldquo;Breakfast, breakfast.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then the two boys would chase Marni to the
+breakfast table saying:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Marni Mitchell,</span><br />
+ Marni Moo,<br />
+ Run like a mousie<br />
+ Or I&#8217;ll catch you.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And Marni would scimper scamper like a
+mousie until she reached the breakfast table.</p>
+
+<p>Then they would all have breakfast together.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE ROOM WITH THE</strong></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>WINDOW LOOKING OUT</strong></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 2.7em;"><strong>ON THE GARDEN</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 7em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+In this story written for a three-year-old group, I
+have tried to present the familiar setting of the classroom
+from a new point of view and to give the presentation
+a very obvious pattern. I want the children
+to take an <em>active</em> part in the story. But before they
+try to do this I want them to have some conception of
+the whole pattern of the story so that their contributions
+may be in proper design, both in substance and in
+length. That is the reason I give two samples before
+throwing the story open to the children. If each
+child has a part which falls into a recognized scheme,
+through performing that part he gets a certain practice
+in pattern making in language,&mdash;however primitive&mdash;and
+also a certain practice in the technique of co-operation
+which means listening to the others as well
+as performing himself. I have not tried to add anything
+to their stock of information,&mdash;merely to give
+them the pleasure of drawing on a common fund
+together.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once there was a little girl. She was just three
+years old. One morning she and her mother put
+on their hats and coats right after breakfast. They
+walked and walked and walked from their house
+until they came to MacDougal Alley. And then
+they walked straight down the alley into the Play
+School. Now the little girl had never been to the
+Play School before and she didn&#8217;t know where
+anything was and she didn&#8217;t know any of the children
+and she didn&#8217;t even know her teacher! So
+she asked her mother, &ldquo;Which room is going to
+be mine?&rdquo; And her mother answered, &ldquo;The one
+with the window looking out on the garden.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And sure enough, when the little girl looked
+around there was the sun shining right in through
+a window which looked out on a lovely garden!
+She knelt right down on the window sill to look
+out.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 473px;">
+<img src="images/i107.png" width="473" height="500" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Then she heard some one say, &ldquo;Little New Girl,
+why don&#8217;t you take off your things?&rdquo; She turned
+around and there was Virginia talking to her.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
+&ldquo;Because I don&#8217;t know where to put them,&rdquo; said
+Little New Girl. &ldquo;How funny!&rdquo; laughed Virginia,
+&ldquo;because see, here are all the hooks right in plain
+sight,&rdquo; and she pointed under the stairs. So the
+little girl took off her hat and her mittens. Her
+mother had to unbutton the hard top button but
+she did all the rest. Then she hung up everything
+on a hook.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
+&ldquo;Goodbye,&rdquo; said her mother. &ldquo;Goodbye,&rdquo; said
+Little New Girl. &ldquo;Don&#8217;t forget to come for me
+because I don&#8217;t know where anything is and I
+don&#8217;t know the children and I don&#8217;t even know
+my teacher.&rdquo; And her mother answered, &ldquo;No, I
+won&#8217;t.&rdquo; And then she was gone.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now, Little New Girl, what do you want to
+do?&rdquo; said her teacher. But the little girl only
+shook her head and said, &ldquo;I don&#8217;t know anything
+to do.&rdquo; One little boy said, &ldquo;Let me show Little
+New Girl something.&rdquo; And what did he show
+her? He took her over to the shelves and he
+showed her the blocks. &ldquo;You can build a house
+or anything with them,&rdquo; said the little boy.</p>
+
+<p>Then another little girl said, &ldquo;Let me show Little
+New Girl something.&rdquo; And what did this
+other little girl show her? She showed her the
+dolls. &ldquo;You can put them into a house,&rdquo; said this
+other little girl.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who else can show Little New Girl something
+to do?&rdquo; called her teacher. &ldquo;Will you, Robert?&rdquo;
+So what did Robert show her? (Give child ample
+time to think. If he does not respond go on.)
+Robert took her over to the shelves and showed
+her the paper and crayons. &ldquo;You can draw ever
+so many pictures,&rdquo; said Robert.</p>
+
+<p>Then Virginia said, &ldquo;Let me show Little New
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
+Girl something.&rdquo; So what did Virginia show her?&mdash;Virginia
+showed her the horses and wagons.
+&ldquo;You can harness them up,&rdquo; said Virginia.</p>
+
+<p>Then Craig said, &ldquo;Let <em>me</em> show Little New Girl
+something.&rdquo; So what did Craig show her?&mdash;Craig
+showed her the beads. &ldquo;You can string them
+in strings,&rdquo; said Craig.</p>
+
+<p>Then Peter said, &ldquo;Let <em>me</em> show Little New Girl
+something.&rdquo; So what did Peter show her?&mdash;Peter
+showed her the clay. &ldquo;You can make anything
+you want out of it,&rdquo; said Peter.</p>
+
+<p>Then Tom said, &ldquo;Let <em>me</em> show Little New Girl
+something.&rdquo; So what did Tom show her? Tom
+showed her the saw and hammer and nails. &ldquo;You
+can saw or hammer nails,&rdquo; said Tom.</p>
+
+<p>Then Barbara said, &ldquo;Let me show Little New
+Girl something.&rdquo; So what did Barbara show her?
+Barbara showed her the paper and scissors. &ldquo;You
+can cut out anything you want,&rdquo; said Barbara.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now Little New Girl, what do you want to
+do?&rdquo; said her teacher. And this time the little
+girl jumped right up and down and said, &ldquo;I&#8217;m
+glad! I want to do everything.&rdquo; &ldquo;But which thing
+first?&rdquo; asked her teacher. &ldquo;Let me watch,&rdquo; the
+Little New Girl said.</p>
+
+<p>So Little New Girl stood quite still. She saw
+Robert go and get some paper and crayons and
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
+sit down at his little table to draw. She saw Virginia
+get some horses and harness and sit down at
+her little table to harness them. She saw Craig
+get some beads and sit down at his little table to
+string them. She saw Peter get the clay and sit
+down at his little table to model. She saw Tom
+go to the bench and begin to saw a piece of wood.
+She saw Barbara get some paper and scissors and
+paste and sit down at her little table to cut out
+and to paste.</p>
+
+<p>Then she said, &ldquo;I want to draw first.&rdquo; So she
+took some paper and some colored crayons and she
+sat down at a little table near the window looking
+out on the garden. There she drew and she drew
+and she drew. And she didn&#8217;t feel like a Little
+New Girl at all for now she knew where everything
+was and she knew all the children and she
+knew her teacher.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+  I know a yellow room<br />
+  With great big sliding doors<br />
+  And a window on the side<br />
+  Looking out upon a garden.<br />
+  There&#8217;s a balcony above<br />
+  With a bench for carpenters<br />
+  With planes and saws and hammers,<br />
+  Bang! bang! with nails and hammers.<br />
+  There are hooks beneath the stairs<br />
+  To hang up hats and coats,<br />
+  And nearby there&#8217;s a sink<br />
+  With everybody&#8217;s cup.<br />
+  There&#8217;s a rope and there&#8217;s a slide<br />
+  Zzzip! but there&#8217;s a slide.<br />
+  There are shelves and shelves and shelves<br />
+  With colored silk and beads,<br />
+  With paper and with crayons,<br />
+  And a great big crock with clay.<br />
+  And the&#8217;re blocks and blocks and blocks<br />
+  And blocks and blocks and blocks<br />
+  And the&#8217;re horses there and wagons<br />
+  And cows and dogs and sheep,<br />
+  And men and women, boys and girls<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
+  With clothes upon them too.<br />
+  And then the&#8217;re cars to make a train<br />
+  With engine and caboose.<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a><br />
+  And the&#8217;re lots of little tables<br />
+  In this yellow, yellow room<br />
+  For boys and girls to sit at<br />
+  And play with all those things.<br />
+  And there&#8217;s a great big floor<br />
+  In this yellow, yellow room<br />
+  For boys and girls to sit on<br />
+  And play with all those things.<br />
+  And there is lots of sunshine<br />
+  In this yellow, yellow room<br />
+  For boys and girls to sit in<br />
+  And play with all those things.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE MANY-HORSE STABLE</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+All the material for this story was supplied by a
+three-year-old. The pattern was added. An older
+child would not be content with so sketchy an account.
+But it seems to compass a three-year-old&#8217;s most significant
+associations with a stable. The title is one in
+actual use by a four-year-old class.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE MANY-HORSE STABLE</h2>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i116.png" width="500" height="343" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Once there was a stable. The stable was in a big
+city. Downstairs in the stable there were many
+g-r-e-a-t b-i-g wagons and one little-bit-of-a
+wagon. And on the walls there were many
+g-r-e-a-t b-i-g harnesses and one little-bit-of-a harness.
+And there were many g-r-e-a-t b-i-g blankets
+and one little-bit-of-a blanket. And there were
+some g-r-e-a-t b-i-g whips and one little-bit-of-a
+whip. And there were some g-r-e-a-t b-i-g nose
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
+bags and one little-bit-of-a nose bag. Upstairs in
+the stalls there were some g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses
+and one little-bit-of-a pony.</p>
+
+<p>In the morning the men would come and harness
+up the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses with the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g
+harnesses to the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g wagons. They
+would put in the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g blankets and the
+g-r-e-a-t b-i-g whips and the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g nose
+bags. Then they would get up on the seats and
+gather up the reins and off down the street would
+go the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses. Clumpety-lumpety
+bump! thump! Clumpety-lumpety bump! thump!</p>
+
+<p>Then a little-bit-of-a man would harness up the
+little-bit-of-a pony with the little-bit-of-a harness
+to the little-bit-of-a wagon. He would put in the
+little-bit-of-a blanket and the little-bit-of-a whip
+and the little-bit-of-a nose bag. Then he would get
+up on the seat and gather up the reins and off down
+the street would go the little-bit-of-a pony!
+Lippety-lippety! lip! lip! lip! Lippety-lippety!
+lip! lip! lip!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>MY KITTY</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+Here there is no plot. Instead I have attempted
+to enumerate the associations which cluster
+around a kitten, and present them in a patterned form.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MY KITTY</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 6em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Meow, meow!</span><br />
+  Kitty&#8217;s eyes, two eyes, yellow eyes, shiny bright eyes.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Meow, meow!</span><br />
+  Kitty&#8217;s pointed ears, pink on the inside, fur on the outside.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Meow, meow!</span><br />
+  Kitty&#8217;s mouth, little white teeth and whiskers long.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Meow, meow!</span><br />
+  Kitty&#8217;s fur, soft to stroke like this, like this.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 6em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Prrrr, prrrr,</span><br />
+  Little fur ball cuddled close to the warm, warm fire.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Prrrr, prrrr,</span><br />
+  Little padded feet pattering soft to get her milk.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Prrrr, prrrr,</span><br />
+  Little pink tongue, lapping up the milk from her own little dish.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Prrrr, prrrr,</span><br />
+  Warm little, round little, happy little kitten snuggled in my arms.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 6em;">
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Pssst, pssst!</span><br />
+  Stiff little kitten, spitting at a dog.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Pssst, pssst!</span><br />
+  Hair standing up on her humped-up back.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Pssst, pssst!</span><br />
+  Sharp white teeth, sharp, sharp, claws.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Pssst, pssst!</span><br />
+  Ready to jump and to bite and to scratch.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 6em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Kitty, kitty, kitty,</span><br />
+  You funny little cat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I never know whether you&#8217;ll purr or spit</span><br />
+  You funny little cat!</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+An objective story tied in with the personal.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once there was an egg. Inside the egg there
+was a little chicken growing, for the mother hen
+had sat on it for three weeks. When the chicken
+was big enough he wanted to come out and so he
+went pick, peck, pick, peck, until he made a little
+hole in the shell. Then he stuck his bill through
+the hole and wiggled it until the shell cracked and
+he could get his head through. Then he wiggled
+it a little more and the shell broke and he could
+get his foot out. And then the shell broke right
+in two.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the little chicken was out he went
+scritch, scratch, with his little foot. Then he ran
+to a little saucer of water. He took a little water
+in his bill; then he held his head up in the air
+while the water ran down his throat. The mother
+hen went:</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck,&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>and the little chicken ran to her calling:</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;Cheep, cheep, cheep.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
+Then he heard a funny little noise. He looked
+around and what do you think he saw? Another
+egg was cracking because another little chicken
+was going pick, peck inside. Soon out of the shell
+came a little baby brother. And then he heard
+another funny little noise, and another shell broke
+and out of the shell came a little baby sister. And
+then he heard another little noise and another shell
+broke and out of the shell came still another little
+sister. This went on until there were a lot of yellow
+baby chickens. Then all the little chickens
+went scritch, scratch, with their little feet looking
+for worms, and all the little chickens took a drink
+of water and held up their heads to let the water
+run down their throats. And all the little chickens
+ran to the mother hen calling:</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;Cheep, cheep, cheep.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Now all the little chickens began to grow. The
+little sisters all got little bits of combs on the tops
+of their heads and under their bills. Their little
+yellow feathers turned into all kinds of colors.
+But the little brother chicken, he got a great big
+red comb on the top of his head and under his
+bill, and he got long spurs on his ankles. On his
+neck the feathers grew long and yellow and behind
+on his tail they grew very long and all shiny green.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
+He was walking around one morning while it
+was still dark when suddenly he felt a funny feeling
+in his throat. He wanted to open his mouth.
+So he did, and out of his mouth this is what came:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Cock-a-doodle-doo,</span><br />
+ Cock-a-doodle-doo.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He thought it sounded perfectly wonderful; so
+he opened his mouth again and out came the same
+sound:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Cock-a-doodle-doo,</span><br />
+ Cock-a-doodle-doo.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Now when his sister hens heard this wonderful
+rooster-noise they all came running out of the
+chicken house. This made the rooster more
+pleased than ever. So he threw his head way back
+and he opened his beak wide and he crowed:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Cock-a-doodle-doo,</span><br />
+ Cock-a-doodle-doo,<br />
+ I&#8217;m twice as smart as you,<br />
+ Cock-a-doodle-doo,<br />
+ See what I can do.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>When his sister hens heard him say this each
+one began to cluck and say:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br />
+ I&#8217;m going to lay an egg, an egg.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
+Then the rooster answered:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Cock-a-doodle-doo,</span><br />
+ I don&#8217;t believe it&#8217;s true.<br />
+ Cock-a-doodle-doo,<br />
+ I don&#8217;t believe it&#8217;s true.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>So the little black and white hen, she ran into
+the barn and up on the side of the wall she saw a
+little box. She jumped into the little box and
+there she laid an egg. Then she said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br />
+ I laid an egg for Robert.<br />
+ Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,<br />
+ I laid an egg for Robert.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then the little yellow hen she jumped right into
+the manger and she wiggled around in the straw
+until she made a little nest where she laid an egg.
+Then she said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br />
+ I laid an egg for Martha.<br />
+ Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,<br />
+ I laid an egg for Martha.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then the little black hen she saw another little
+box nailed on to the wall so she jumped up on
+it and she laid an egg and then she said:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p>
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br />
+ I laid an egg for Tom, for Tom,<br />
+ Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,<br />
+ I laid an egg for Tom.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then the little white hen she could not find
+any place at all. She ran around and around.
+Finally she sat right down in the soft dust which
+by this time the sun had made all warm, until
+she made a little round hollow and there she laid
+an egg. Then she said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br />
+ I laid an egg for Peter.<br />
+ Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,<br />
+ I laid an egg for Peter.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>When the rooster saw all these eggs he opened
+his mouth again and bragged:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Cock-a-doodle-doo,</span><br />
+ What they say is true.<br />
+ See what they can do,<br />
+ Cock-a-doodle-doo.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And the little hens answered:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br />
+ We can lay an egg, an egg,<br />
+ Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,<br />
+ We can lay an egg.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
+And if ever you are out in the country early in
+the morning you will hear the wonderful rooster-noise.
+And then you will hear the hens telling
+how many eggs they have laid for you.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+<h2>THE LITTLE HEN AND THE ROOSTER</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 6em;">
+The little hen goes &ldquo;cut cut cut.&rdquo;<br />
+The rooster he goes &ldquo;cock a doodle doo!<br />
+You want me and I want you,<br />
+But I&#8217;m up here and you&#8217;re down there.&rdquo;<br />
+The little hen goes &ldquo;cut cut cut,&rdquo;<br />
+The rooster he steps with a funny little strut,<br />
+He cocks his eye, gives a funny little sound,<br />
+He looks at the hen, he looks all around,<br />
+He flaps his wings, he beats the air,<br />
+He stretches his neck, then flies to the ground.<br />
+&ldquo;Cock a doodle, cock a doodle, cock a doodle doo!<br />
+Now you have me and I have you!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>MY HORSE, OLD DAN</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This verse utilizes a child&#8217;s love of enumeration
+and of movement. The School has found it the most
+successful of my verse for small children.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MY HORSE, OLD DAN</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Old Dan has two ears<br />
+Old Dan has two eyes<br />
+Old Dan has one mouth<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With many, many, many, many teeth.</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Old Dan has four feet<br />
+Old Dan has four hoofs<br />
+Old Dan has one tail<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With many, many, many, many hairs.</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Old Dan can&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;w a l k,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;w a l k,<br />
+Old Dan can&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;trot,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;trot,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;trot,<br />
+Old Dan can run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Many, many, many, many miles.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
+Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wheels go round and round and round.</span><br />
+Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, hear what a rattlety, tattlety sound!</span><br />
+Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wheels they pound and pound and pound.</span><br />
+Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the wagon it rattles along the ground!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i134.png" width="500" height="390" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+Auto, auto.<br />
+May I have a ride?<br />
+Yes, sir, yes, sir,<br />
+Step right inside.<br />
+Pour in the water,<br />
+Turn on the gasolene,<br />
+And chug, chug, away we go<br />
+Through the country green.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style='width: 65%;' />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This story was worked out with the help of a five-year-old
+boy who supplied most of the content. It at
+once suggested dramatization to various groups of
+children to whom it was read. The refrains are
+definite corner posts in the story and are recognized
+as such by the children.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p>
+<h2>HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once there was a cat. She was a black and
+white and yellow cat and the boys on the street
+called her Spot. For she was a poor cat with no
+home but the street. When she wanted to sleep,
+she had to hunt for a dark empty cellar. When
+she wanted to eat, she had to hunt for a garbage
+can. So poor Spot was very thin and very unhappy.
+And much of the time she prowled and yowled and howled.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i138.png" width="500" height="395" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>
+Now one day Spot was prowling along the fence
+in the alley. She wanted to find a home. She
+was saying to herself:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Meow, meow!</span><br />
+ I&#8217;ve no place to eat,<br />
+ I&#8217;ve no place to sleep,<br />
+ I&#8217;ve only the street!<br />
+ Meow, meow, meow!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then suddenly she smelled something. Sniff!
+went her pink little nose. Spot knew it was smoke
+she smelled. The smoke came out of the chimney
+of a house. &ldquo;Where there is smoke there is fire,&rdquo;
+thought Spot, &ldquo;and where there is fire, it is warm
+to lie.&rdquo; So she jumped down from the fence and
+on her little padded feet ran softly to the door.
+There she saw an empty milk bottle. &ldquo;Where
+there are milk bottles, there is milk,&rdquo; thought Spot,
+&ldquo;and where there is milk, it is good to drink.&rdquo; So
+she slipped in through the door.</p>
+
+<p>Inside was a warm, warm kitchen. Spot trotted
+softly to the front of the stove and there she curled
+up. She was very happy, so she closed her eyes
+and began to sing:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Purrrr, purrrr,</span><br />
+ Curling up warm<br />
+ To a ball of fur,<br />
+ I close my eyes<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>
+ And purr and purr.<br />
+ Purrrr, purrrr,<br />
+ Purrrr, purrrr.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Bang! went the kitchen door. Spot opened one
+sleepy eye. In front of her stood a cross, cross
+woman. The cross, cross woman scowled. She
+picked up poor Spot and threw her out of the
+door, screaming:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Scat, scat!</span><br />
+ You old street cat!<br />
+ Scat, scat!<br />
+ And never come back!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>With a bound Spot jumped back to the fence.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Meow, meow!</span><br />
+ I&#8217;ve no place to eat,<br />
+ I&#8217;ve no place to sleep,<br />
+ I&#8217;ve only the street.<br />
+ Meow, meow, meow!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>So she trotted along the fence. In a little while
+sniff! went her little pink nose again. She smelled
+more smoke. She stopped by a house with two
+chimneys. The smoke came out of both chimneys!
+&ldquo;Where there are two fires there must be
+room for me,&rdquo; thought Spot. She jumped off the
+fence and pattered to the door. By the door there
+were two empty milk bottles. &ldquo;Where there is so
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
+much milk there will be some for me,&rdquo; thought
+Spot. But the door was shut tight. Spot ran to
+the window. It was open! In skipped Spot.
+There was another warm, warm kitchen and there
+was another stove. Spot trotted softly to the stove
+and curled up happy and warm. She closed her
+eyes and softly sang:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Purrrr, purrrr,</span><br />
+ Curling up warm<br />
+ To a ball of fur,<br />
+ I close my eyes<br />
+ And purr and purr.<br />
+ Purrrr, purrrr,<br />
+ Purrrr, purrrr.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ssssspt!&rdquo; hissed something close by. Spot leapt
+to her feet. &ldquo;Ssssspt!&rdquo; she answered back. For
+there in front of her stood an enormous black cat.
+His back was humped, his hair stood on end, his
+eyes gleamed and his teeth showed white.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Ssssspt! leave my rug!</span><br />
+ Ssssspt! leave my fire!<br />
+ Ssssspt! leave my milk!<br />
+ Ssssspt! leave my home!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Spot gave one great jump out of the window
+and another great jump to the top of the fence.
+For Spot was little and thin and the great black
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>
+cat was strong and big. And he didn&#8217;t want Spot
+in his home.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Spot trotted along the fence, thinking:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Meow, meow,</span><br />
+ I&#8217;ve no place to eat,<br />
+ I&#8217;ve no place to sleep,<br />
+ I&#8217;ve only the street,<br />
+ Meow, meow, meow.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>In a little while she smelled smoke again.
+Sniff! went her little pink nose. This time she
+stopped by a house with three chimneys. The
+smoke came out of all the chimneys! &ldquo;Where
+there are three fires there <em>must</em> be room for me,&rdquo;
+thought Spot. So she jumped off the fence and
+pattered to the door. By the door were three
+empty milk bottles! &ldquo;Where there is so much milk
+there must be children,&rdquo; thought Spot and then
+she began to feel happy. But the door was shut
+tight. She trotted to the window. The window
+was shut tight too! Then she saw some stairs.
+Up the stairs she trotted. There she found another
+door and in she slipped. She heard a very pleasant
+sound.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+          <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I crickle, I crackle,</span><br />
+           I flicker, I flare,<br />
+ <span style="margin-left: -4em;">I jump from nothing right into the air.&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
+There on the hearth burned an open fire with a
+warm, warm rug in front of it. On the rug was
+a little table and on the table were two little mugs
+of milk. Spot curled up on the rug under the
+table and began to sing:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Purrrr, purrrr,</span><br />
+ Curling up warm<br />
+ To a ball of fur,<br />
+ I close my eyes,<br />
+ And purr and purr.<br />
+ Purrrr, purrrr,<br />
+ Purrrr, purrrr.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat! Spot heard
+some little feet coming. A little boy in a nightgown
+ran into the room. &ldquo;Look,&rdquo; he called, &ldquo;at
+the pretty spotted cat under our table!&rdquo; Then
+pat, pat, pat, pat, pat! And a little girl in a nightgown
+ran into the room. &ldquo;See,&rdquo; she called, &ldquo;the
+pussy has come to take supper with us!&rdquo; Then
+the little boy, quick as a wink, put a saucer on the
+floor and poured some of his milk into it and the
+little girl, quick as a wink, poured some of hers
+in too.</p>
+
+<p>In and out, in and out, in and out, went Spot&#8217;s
+pink tongue lapping up the milk. Then she sat
+up and washed her face very carefully. Then she
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>
+curled up and closed her eyes and began to sing.
+That was her way of saying &ldquo;Thank you, little
+boy and little girl! I&#8217;m so glad I&#8217;ve found a
+home!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Purrrr, purrrr,</span><br />
+ Purrrr, purrrr,<br />
+ Purrrr, purrrr, purrrr.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE DINNER HORSES</strong></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>THE GROCERY MAN</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+The material for these stories came from questions
+and observations on the part of three-&nbsp;and four-year-olds
+arising largely from their trips on the city streets.
+The children should be allowed to name the various
+kinds of food.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE DINNER HORSES</h2>
+
+
+<p>In a certain house on a certain street there lives
+a certain little girl and her name is Ruth (one
+of children&#8217;s names). She sleeps in a little bed
+in a room with a big window opening on to the
+street. She sleeps all night in the little bed with
+her eyes closed tight. In the morning she opens
+her eyes and it&#8217;s just beginning to get light. Then
+she stretches and stretches her legs. Then she stops
+still and listens. For she hears him coming,
+coming, coming down the street. Clopperty, clopperty,
+clopperty, clop! comes the milk horse down
+the street! He stops in front of Ruth&#8217;s house.
+Ruth hears him. Then she hears the driver jump
+out and pat, pat, pat, she hears his feet coming to
+the door. Clank, clink, clank, go the milk bottles
+in his hands. Clank! she hears him put them
+down. Then fast she hears his feet, pat, pat, pat,
+pat, pat, pat, pat. &ldquo;Go on, Dan!&rdquo; she hears him
+call, and clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clop! off
+goes the milk horse down the street.</p>
+
+<p>Then after a while she hears something else.
+It&#8217;s quite light now. Ruth thinks it must be time
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
+to get up. She stretches and stretches her legs.
+Then she stretches and stretches her arms. Then
+she stops still and listens.</p>
+
+<p>For she hears him coming, coming, coming
+down the street. Clippety, lip, lip, lip, clippety,
+lip, lip, lip! comes the bread horse down the street.
+He stops in front of Ruth&#8217;s house. Ruth hears
+him. Then she hears the driver jump out and
+pat, pat, pat, she hears his feet coming to the door.
+Rattle, crackle, goes the paper as he puts down
+the loaves of bread all wrapped up to keep them
+clean. Then fast she hears his feet, pat, pat, pat,
+pat, pat, pat, pat. &ldquo;Go on, Bill!&rdquo; she hears him
+call and clippety, lip, lip, lip, clippety, lip, lip,
+lip! off goes the bread horse down the street.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast when Ruth is all ready to go to
+school she hears a big auto coming down the street.
+Kachug-a-chug-a-chug comes the grocery auto
+down the street. It stops at Ruth&#8217;s house. Ruth
+runs and looks out of the window. She sees the
+driver jump out and take from the back of the auto
+a basket all full of things. She can see spinach
+and potatoes and a package of sugar
+and&mdash;&mdash;and&mdash;&mdash;and&mdash;&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>Then pat, pat, pat, the driver runs to the door.
+Prrrrrr! she hears the bell ring and Ruth knows
+that the driver is giving Bessie all the things at
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
+the kitchen door. Then pat, pat, pat back comes
+the driver, jumps into the auto and kachug-a-chug-a-chug!
+off goes the grocery auto down the street!</p>
+
+<p>On the way to school Ruth passes another
+wagon. Rattling and clattering, she hears the
+butcher&#8217;s wagon come down the street. &ldquo;Is there
+anything in that wagon for us?&rdquo; asks Ruth. And
+her mother answers, &ldquo;Yes, a little chicken.&rdquo; Then
+rattling and clattering off to Ruth&#8217;s house goes the
+butcher&#8217;s wagon down the street.</p>
+
+<p>Now while Ruth is away at school Bessie washes
+the spinach and chops it up fine and puts it on the
+stove to boil. She puts the little chicken in a pan
+and puts it in the oven to roast. Then she puts
+some big potatoes in the oven to bake. Then she
+slices some bread and cuts off a piece of butter
+and pours out some glasses of milk.</p>
+
+<p>When Ruth comes home from school she smells
+something good. &ldquo;Dinner&#8217;s all ready,&rdquo; calls
+Bessie. Ruth answers, &ldquo;Come father, come
+mother. I&#8217;m hungry.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So Ruth and her father and mother sit down at
+the table and they drink the milk and they eat the
+bread and the spinach and the potatoes and the
+chicken which the milk horse and the bread horse
+and the grocery auto and the butcher&#8217;s wagon
+brought in the morning.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i151.png" width="500" height="365" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
+THE GROCERY MAN</h2>
+
+
+<p>Prrrip! prrrip! prrrip! the telephone rings in
+the grocery store. &ldquo;Hello,&rdquo; says the grocery man.
+&ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m Ruth&#8217;s mother. Good morning, Mr. Grocery
+Man.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good morning, Ruth&#8217;s Mother. What can I
+send you today?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some potatoes
+and some graham crackers and a package
+of sugar and some carrots.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Is that all, Ruth&#8217;s Mother?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, that&#8217;s all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Goodbye, Ruth&#8217;s Mother.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So the grocery man hangs up the telephone and
+takes a basket and in the basket he puts some potatoes,
+some graham crackers, a package of sugar
+and some carrots.</p>
+
+<p>Then prrrip! prrrip! prrrip! the telephone rings
+again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; says the Grocery Man. &ldquo;Who is this?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This is John&#8217;s Mother. Good morning, Mr.
+Grocery Man.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
+&ldquo;Good morning, John&#8217;s Mother. What can I
+send you today?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some
+spinach and some apples and some butter and some
+eggs.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Is that all, John&#8217;s Mother?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, that&#8217;s all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Goodbye, John&#8217;s Mother.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So the Grocery Man hangs up the telephone and
+takes another basket and in the basket he puts
+some spinach and some apples and some butter
+and some eggs.</p>
+
+<p>Then prrrip! prrrip, prrrip! the telephone rings
+another time.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; says the Grocery Man. &ldquo;Who are
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m Robert&#8217;s Mother. Good morning, Mr.
+Grocery Man.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good morning, Robert&#8217;s Mother. What can I
+send you today?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some
+prunes and some macaroni and some salt and
+some oatmeal.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Is that all, Robert&#8217;s Mother?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, that&#8217;s all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Goodbye, Robert&#8217;s Mother.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
+So the Grocery Man hangs up the telephone
+and takes another basket and in the basket he
+puts some prunes and some macaroni and some
+salt and some oatmeal. Then he carries Ruth&#8217;s
+basket out and puts it in a wagon on the street.
+Then he carries John&#8217;s basket out and puts it in
+the wagon. At last he carries Robert&#8217;s basket out
+and puts that in the wagon with the others. Then
+the driver jumps to the seat and gathers up the
+reins and says &ldquo;Go on, Old Dan,&rdquo; and clopperty,
+clopperty clop! off goes Old Dan down the street.</p>
+
+<p>Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop till he
+gets to Ruth&#8217;s house and there he stops. The driver
+jumps out and takes the basket and pat, pat, pat,
+go his feet running to the door. Prrrr! he rings
+the bell and gives Ruth&#8217;s mother the potatoes, the
+graham crackers, the sugar and the carrots. Then
+pat, pat, pat, he is back in the wagon. &ldquo;Go on,
+Old Dan,&rdquo; and clopperty, clopperty, clop! off goes
+Old Dan down the street.</p>
+
+<p>Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop till he
+gets to John&#8217;s house and there he stops. The driver
+jumps out and takes another basket and pat, pat,
+pat go his feet running to the door. Prrrr! he
+rings the bell and gives John&#8217;s mother the spinach,
+the apples, the butter and the eggs. Then pat, pat,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
+pat, he is back in the wagon. &ldquo;Go on, Old Dan,&rdquo;
+and clopperty, clopperty, clop! off goes Old Dan
+down the street.</p>
+
+<p>Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop till he
+gets to Robert&#8217;s house and there he stops. The
+driver jumps out, takes another basket and pat,
+pat, pat, he is at the door. Prrrr! he rings the
+bell and gives Robert&#8217;s mother the prunes, the
+macaroni, the salt and the oatmeal. Then pat,
+pat, pat, he is back in the wagon. &ldquo;Go on, Old
+Dan,&rdquo; and clopperty, clopperty, clop! off goes old
+Dan down the street.</p>
+
+<p>So Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop from
+house to house until he has left a basket with
+everybody who telephoned to the grocery man in
+the morning.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE JOURNEY</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This story, which is an adaptation of a five-year-old&#8217;s
+story quoted in the introduction, embodies the
+details given to me by another three-year-old child.
+The sound of the train should be intoned, as it was in
+the original telling.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE JOURNEY</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once Ruth&#8217;s father was going to take a journey.
+He got out his suitcase. And in his suitcase he put
+his slippers, his pajamas, his tooth brush, some
+tooth paste, some clean underclothes, some clean
+shirts, some collars, some socks and some handkerchiefs.
+Then he kissed Ruth goodbye as she
+lay asleep in her bed and he kissed her mother
+goodbye and with his suitcase in his hand went up
+to the Pennsylvania Station.</p>
+
+<p>At the train he met the negro porter. &ldquo;What
+berth, sir?&rdquo; said the porter. &ldquo;Lower 10&rdquo;, said
+Ruth&#8217;s father. So the porter took the suitcase and
+put it down at Number 10 which was all made up
+into two beds, one above the other, with green
+curtains hanging in front. Then Ruth&#8217;s father undressed.
+And in a few minutes he was asleep behind
+the green curtains.</p>
+
+<p>Soon the train started and Ruth&#8217;s father never
+woke up. &ldquo;Thum,&rdquo; said the train (on many different
+keys) all through the night. &ldquo;Thum, thum,
+thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum,
+thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum. <em>Philadelphia!</em>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>
+Thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum,
+thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum,
+thum, thum, thum. <em>Baltimore!</em> Thum, thum,
+thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum,
+thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum.
+<em>Washington!</em>&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then Ruth&#8217;s father got up and dressed himself,
+for it was morning. The negro porter carried his
+suitcase to the platform. &ldquo;Goodbye, sir,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Goodbye, Porter,&rdquo; said Ruth&#8217;s father. And then
+he went off to a hotel.</p>
+
+<p>The next day it was time for him to go home.
+So Ruth&#8217;s father packed his suitcase again. In his
+suitcase he put his slippers, his pajamas, his tooth
+brush, some tooth paste, his dirty underclothes, his
+dirty shirts, his collars, his socks and his handkerchiefs.
+Then he went to the Pennsylvania Station
+in Washington.</p>
+
+<p>At the train he met another negro porter.
+&ldquo;What berth, sir?&rdquo; said the porter. &ldquo;Upper 6,&rdquo;
+said Ruth&#8217;s father. So the porter took the suitcase
+and put it in the top bed of Number 6. Ruth&#8217;s
+father climbed up into the upper berth. Then
+he undressed and in a few minutes he was asleep
+behind the green curtains.</p>
+
+<p>Soon the train started. &ldquo;Thum,&rdquo; said the train,
+though Ruth&#8217;s father never heard it he was so
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
+sound asleep. &ldquo;Thum, thum, thum, thum; thum,
+thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum;
+thum, thum, thum, thum. <em>Baltimore!</em> Thum,
+thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum;
+thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum,
+thum. <em>Philadelphia!</em> Thum, thum, thum, thum;
+thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum,
+thum; thum, thum, thum, thum. <em>New York!</em>&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then Ruth&#8217;s father got up and dressed himself
+for it was morning. The negro porter carried his
+suitcase to the platform. &ldquo;Goodbye, sir,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Goodbye, Porter,&rdquo; said Ruth&#8217;s father.</p>
+
+<p>Then Ruth&#8217;s father jumped into a taxi and in a
+few minutes he was at home. Ruth came running
+down the stairs. &ldquo;Here&#8217;s father,&rdquo; she cried.
+&ldquo;Here&#8217;s father in time for breakfast!&rdquo; &ldquo;My,&rdquo;
+said Ruth&#8217;s father, giving her a hug, &ldquo;It&#8217;s good to
+be home!&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>PEDRO&#8217;S FEET</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+Here there is a definite attempt to let the sounds
+tell their own story.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PEDRO&#8217;S FEET</h2>
+
+
+<p>Little Pedro was a dog. He lived in New York
+City. He was owned by a little boy who loved
+him. For Pedro had big brown eyes and curly
+brown hair and when he wanted anything he
+would go:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hu-u-u, hu-u-u, hu-u-u!&rdquo; And any one would
+have loved Pedro.</p>
+
+<p>One day Pedro was lying on his front steps in
+the warm, warm sun. He put his nose on his little
+fore paws and went to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!&rdquo; went a little fly in his
+ear.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yap, yap!&rdquo; went Pedro&#8217;s jaws as he snapped at
+the fly. But he missed the fly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!&rdquo; went the little fly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yap, yap!&rdquo; went Pedro&#8217;s jaws. But he missed
+the fly again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yap, yap, yap!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yap, yap, yap, yap!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Up jumped Pedro. &ldquo;I can&#8217;t sleep with that fly
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>
+in my ear! I&#8217;ll take a walk!&rdquo; Down the steps
+he went. Skippety, skippety, skippety, skippety.
+He reached the sidewalk. On the sidewalk went
+his feet. You could hear them as they beat. Pitter
+patter, pitter patter, pitter patter down the
+street.</p>
+
+<p>When he came to the end of the block, he started
+across the street. Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter
+pat&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Honk, honk! Look out, look out! Honk,
+honk!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Jump-thump! went Pedro&#8217;s feet. Jump-jump
+jump-jump, jump-jump, thump-thump, thump-thump,
+thump-thump, jump-jump, jump-jump,
+jump-jump, pitter patter, pitter patter,&mdash;he&#8217;d
+reached the other side! And the auto hadn&#8217;t hurt
+him!</p>
+
+<p>Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could
+hear them as they beat pitter patter, pitter patter,
+pitter patter down the street.</p>
+
+<p>When he came to the end of this block, he
+started across the next street.</p>
+
+<p>Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty!
+Get out of my way, get out of my way! Clopperty,
+clopperty, clopperty, clopperty!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
+Jump-thump! went Pedro&#8217;s feet. Jump-jump
+jump-jump, jump-jump, thump-thump, thump-thump,
+thump-thump, jump-jump, jump-jump,
+jump-jump, pitter patter, pitter patter,&mdash;he&#8217;d
+reached the other side! And the horse hadn&#8217;t hurt
+him either!</p>
+
+<p>Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could
+hear them as they beat,&mdash;pitter patter, pitter patter,
+pitter patter down the street.</p>
+
+<p>When he came to the end of this block, he
+started across the next street.</p>
+
+<p>Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;Pedro
+stopped with one little front foot up in the air.
+In the middle of the street stood a man. He had
+on high rubber boots and he held a big hose.</p>
+
+<p>Shrzshrzshrzshrzshrz&mdash;came the water out of
+the hose. It hit the street. Splsh splsh splsh splsh
+splsh! It ran in a little stream into the hole in
+the gutter,&mdash;gubble, gubble, gubble, gubble, gubble!
+This was something new to Pedro. He didn&#8217;t
+understand.</p>
+
+<p>Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter. He
+thought he&#8217;d better find out about it.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hie, you little dog! Look out!&rdquo; shouted the
+man.</p>
+
+<p>Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
+&ldquo;Hie, you little dog. I say look out!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Pitter patter, pitter pat&mdash;ssssssssss bang! the
+water hit him!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ki-eye! yow! yow!&rdquo; Kathump, kathump,
+kathump, kathump; kathump, kathump, kathump,
+kathump! Fast, fast went Pedro&#8217;s feet, running,
+tearing down the street.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ki-eye! I&#8217;m going home!&rdquo; Kathump, kathump,
+kathump, kathump! Down the sidewalk,
+&#8217;cross the street, &#8217;nother sidewalk, &#8217;nother street,
+kathump, kathump, kathump, kathump! Pedro
+was at home. Skippety, skippety up the stairs.
+Pedro was at his own front door.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped. Brrrrrrrrrrrrr&mdash;he shook himself.
+He scattered the water all around.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bow, wow, I&#8217;m glad I&#8217;m home! Bow, wow,
+I&#8217;m glad I&#8217;m home!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then he lay down in the warm, warm sun. And
+he put his nose on his little fore paws. And he
+closed his eyes and he went to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Pedro was too sound asleep to hear the fly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Whe-whuhuhu, whe-whuhuhu, whe-whuhuhu.&rdquo;
+That&#8217;s the way he was breathing. For he
+was oh, so sound asleep! And there he is sleeping
+now.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED</strong></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>THE KNOWING SONG</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This story stresses the relationship of use in
+response to what seems to be a five-year-old method
+of thinking.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+The school has found it best to let the younger
+children take the parts individually but to omit the
+parts in unison. The joy of the mere noise makes it
+difficult to bring them back for the close of the story.
+All the children have repeated the refrains after a
+few readings with evident enjoyment.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p>
+<h2>HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED THE KNOWING SONG</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once there was a new engine. He had a great
+big boiler; he had a smoke stack; he had a bell;
+he had a whistle; he had a sand-dome; he had
+a headlight; he had four big driving wheels; he
+had a cab. But he was very sad, was this engine,
+for he didn&#8217;t know how to use any of his parts.
+All around him on the tracks were other engines,
+puffing or whistling or ringing their bells and
+squirting steam. One big engine moved his wheels
+slowly, softly muttering to himself, &ldquo;I&#8217;m going,
+I&#8217;m going, I&#8217;m going.&rdquo; Now the new engine knew
+this was the end of the Knowing Song of Engines.
+He wanted desperately to sing it. So he called
+out:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I want to go</span><br />
+ But I don&#8217;t know how;<br />
+ I want to know,<br />
+ Please teach me now.<br />
+ Please somebody teach me how.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Now there were two men who had come just
+on purpose to teach him how. And who do you
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
+suppose they were? The engineer and the fireman!
+When the engineer heard the new engine
+call out, he asked, &ldquo;What do you want, new
+engine?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And the engine answered:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I want the sound</span><br />
+ Of my wheels going round.<br />
+ I want to stream<br />
+ A jet of steam.<br />
+ I want to puff<br />
+ Smoke and stuff.<br />
+ I want to ring<br />
+ Ding, ding-a-ding.<br />
+ I want to blow<br />
+ My whistle so.<br />
+ I want my light<br />
+ To shine out bright.<br />
+ I want to go ringing and singing the song,<br />
+ The humming song of the engine coming,<br />
+ The clear, near song of the engine here,<br />
+ The knowing song of the engine going.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Now the engineer and the fireman were pleased
+when they heard what the new engine wanted.
+But the engineer said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;All in good time, my engine,</span><br />
+ Steady, steady,<br />
+ &#8217;Til you&#8217;re ready.<br />
+ Learn to know<br />
+ Before you go.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i172.png" width="500" height="368" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Then he said to the fireman, &ldquo;First we must give
+our engine some water.&rdquo; So they put the end of
+a hose hanging from a big high-up tank right into
+a little tank under the engine&#8217;s tender. The water
+filled up this little tank and then ran into the big
+boiler and filled that all up too. And while they
+were doing this the water kept saying:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I am water from a stream</span><br />
+ When I&#8217;m hot I turn to steam.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>When the engine felt his boiler full of water he
+asked eagerly:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p>
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Now I have water,</span><br />
+ Now do I know<br />
+ How I should go?&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>But the fireman said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;All in good time, my engine,</span><br />
+ Steady, steady,<br />
+ &#8217;Til you&#8217;re ready,<br />
+ Learn to know<br />
+ Before you go.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then he said to the engineer, &ldquo;Now we must give
+our engine some coal.&rdquo; So they filled the tender
+with coal, and then under the boiler the fireman
+built a fire. Then the fireman began blowing and
+the coals began glowing. And as he built the
+fire, the fire said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I am fire,</span><br />
+ The coal I eat<br />
+ To make the heat<br />
+ To turn the stream<br />
+ Into the steam.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>When the engine felt the sleeping fire wake up
+and begin to live inside him and turn the water
+into steam he said eagerly:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Now I have water,</span><br />
+ Now I have coal,<br />
+ Now do I know<br />
+ How I should go?&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
+But the engineer said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;All in good time, my engine,</span><br />
+ Steady, steady,<br />
+ &#8217;Til you&#8217;re ready.<br />
+ Learn to know<br />
+ Before you go.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then he said to the fireman, &ldquo;We must oil our
+engine well.&rdquo; So they took oil cans with funny
+long noses and they oiled all the machinery, the
+piston-rods, the levers, the wheels, everything that
+moved or went round. And all the time the oil
+kept saying:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;No creak,</span><br />
+ No squeak.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>When the engine felt the oil smoothing all his
+machinery, he said eagerly:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Now I have water,</span><br />
+ Now I have coal,<br />
+ Now I am oiled,<br />
+ Now do I know<br />
+ How I should go?&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>But the fireman said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;All in good time, my engine,</span><br />
+ Steady, steady,<br />
+ &#8217;Til you&#8217;re ready.<br />
+ Learn to know<br />
+ Before you go.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
+Then he said to the engineer, &ldquo;We must give our
+engine some sand.&rdquo; So they took some sand and
+they filled the sand domes on top of the boiler so
+that he could send sand down through his two
+little pipes and sprinkle it in front of his wheels
+when the rails were slippery. And all the time
+the sand kept saying:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;When ice drips,</span><br />
+ And wheel slips,<br />
+ I am sand<br />
+ Close at hand.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>When the new engine felt his sand-dome filled
+with sand he said eagerly:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Now I have water,</span><br />
+ Now I have coal,<br />
+ Now I am oiled,<br />
+ Now I have sand,<br />
+ Now do I know<br />
+ How I should go?&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>But the engineer said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;All in good time, my engine,</span><br />
+ Steady, steady,<br />
+ &#8217;Til you&#8217;re ready.<br />
+ Learn to know<br />
+ Before you go.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then he said to the fireman, &ldquo;We must light our
+engine&#8217;s headlight.&rdquo; So the fireman took a cloth
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>
+and he wiped the mirror behind the light and
+polished the brass around it. Then he filled the
+lamp with oil. Then the engineer struck a match
+and lighted the lamp and closed the little door
+in front of it. And all the time the light kept
+saying:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I&#8217;m the headlight shining bright</span><br />
+ Like a sunbeam through the night.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Now when the engine saw the great golden path
+of brightness streaming out ahead of him, he said
+eagerly:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Now I have water,</span><br />
+ Now I have coal,<br />
+ Now I am oiled,<br />
+ Now I have sand,<br />
+ Now I make light,<br />
+ Now do I know<br />
+ How I should go?&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i177.png" width="500" height="367" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>And the engineer said, &ldquo;We will see if you are
+ready, my new engine.&rdquo; So he climbed into the
+cab and the fireman got in behind him. Then he
+said, &ldquo;Engine, can you blow your whistle so?&rdquo;
+And he pulled a handle which let the steam into
+the whistle and the engine whistled (who wants
+to be the whistle?) &ldquo;Toot, toot, toot.&rdquo; Then he
+said, &ldquo;Can you puff smoke and stuff?&rdquo; And the
+engine puffed black smoke (who wants to be the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>
+smoke?), saying, &ldquo;Puff, puff, puff, puff, puff.&rdquo;
+Then he said, &ldquo;Engine, can you squirt a stream of
+steam?&rdquo; And he opened a valve (who wants to
+be the steam?) and the engine went, &ldquo;Szszszszsz.&rdquo;
+Then he said, &ldquo;Engine, can you sprinkle sand?&rdquo;
+And he pulled a little handle (who wants to be
+the sand?) and the sand trickled drip, drip, drip,
+down on the tracks in front of the engine&#8217;s wheels.
+Then he said, &ldquo;Engine, does your light shine out
+bright?&rdquo; And he looked (who wants to be the
+headlight?) and there was a great golden flood
+of light on the track in front of him. Then he
+said, &ldquo;Engine, can you make the sound of your
+wheels going round?&rdquo; And he pulled another
+lever and the great wheels began to move (who
+wants to be the wheels?) Then the engineer said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Now is the time,</span><br />
+ Now is the time.<br />
+ Steady, steady,<br />
+ Now you are ready.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Blow whistle, ring bell, puff smoke, hiss steam, sprinkle
+sand, shine light, turn wheels!</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 5.5em;">
+&#8217;Tis time to be ringing and singing the song,<br />
+The humming song of the engine coming,<br />
+The clear, near song of the engine here,<br />
+The knowing song of the engine going.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
+Then whistle blew, bell rang, smoke puffed, steam
+hissed, sand sprinkled, light shone and wheels
+turned like this: (Eventually the children can do
+this together, each performing his chosen part.)</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Toot-toot, ding-a-ding, puff-puff,</span><br />
+ Szszszszsz, drip-drip, chug-chug.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>(After a moment stop the children)</p>
+
+<p>That&#8217;s the way the new engine sounded when
+he started on his first ride and didn&#8217;t know how
+to do things very well. But that&#8217;s not the way he
+sounded when he had learned to go really smooth
+and fast. Then it was that he learned <em>really</em> to
+sing &ldquo;The Knowing Song of the Engine.&rdquo; He
+sang it better than any one else for he became the
+fastest, the steadiest, the most knowing of all express
+engines. And this is the song he sang. You
+could hear it humming on the rails long before he
+came and hear it humming on the rails long after
+he had passed. Now listen to the song.</p>
+
+<p>(Begin very softly rising to a climax with &ldquo;I&#8217;m
+here&rdquo; and gradually dying to a faint whisper)</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 4em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em; font-size: .9em;">&ldquo;I&#8217;m coming, I&#8217;m coming, I&#8217;m coming, I&#8217;m coming,</span><br />
+ <span style="font-size: 1em;">I&#8217;m coming, I&#8217;m coming, I&#8217;m coming, I&#8217;m coming,</span><br />
+ <span style="font-size: 1.1em;">I&#8217;m coming, I&#8217;m coming, I&#8217;m coming, I&#8217;m coming,</span><br />
+ <span style="font-size: 1.2em;">I&#8217;m Coming, I&#8217;m Coming, I&#8217;m Coming, I&#8217;m Coming.</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>
+ <span style="font-size: 1.3em;">I&#8217;M HERE, I&#8217;M HERE, I&#8217;M HERE, I&#8217;M HERE,</span><br />
+ <span style="font-size: 1.3em;">I&#8217;M HERE, I&#8217;M HERE, I&#8217;M HERE, I&#8217;M HERE.</span><br />
+ <span style="font-size: 1.2em;">I&#8217;m Going, I&#8217;m Going, I&#8217;m Going, I&#8217;m Going,</span><br />
+ <span style="font-size: 1.1em;">I&#8217;m going, I&#8217;m going, I&#8217;m going, I&#8217;m going,</span><br />
+ <span style="font-size: 1em;">I&#8217;m going, I&#8217;m going, I&#8217;m going, I&#8217;m going,</span><br />
+ <span style="font-size: .9em;">I&#8217;m going, I&#8217;m going, I&#8217;m going, I&#8217;m going.&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE FOG BOAT STORY</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+The refrains must be intoned if not sung to get
+the proper effect. Most of the informational parts
+of the original story have been cut out. The story
+grew out of questions asked before breakfast on foggy
+days, and was originally told to the sound of the distant
+fog horns.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE FOG BOAT STORY</h2>
+
+
+<p>Early, early one morning, all the fog boats were
+talking. This is the way they were going:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Toot, toot, toot, too-oot, to-oo-oot!&rdquo; (on many
+different keys.)</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i184.png" width="500" height="374" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Way down at the wharf a big steamer was being
+pulled out into the river. The furnaces were all
+going for the stokers were down in the hole shoveling
+coal, down in the hole shoveling coal,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
+shoveling coal, and a lot of black smoke was
+coming out of the smoke stack. And the engines
+were working, chug, chug, chug. And all the
+baggage and freight had been put down in the
+hold. And all the food had been put on the ice.
+And all the passengers were on board and the
+gang-plank had been pulled up. And this is what
+the big steamer was saying:</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i185a.jpg" width="500" height="100" alt="music score" title="" />
+</div>
+<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;">
+[<a href="music/185a.mid">Listen</a>]
+[<a href="music/185a.pdf">PDF</a>]</p>
+
+<p>And do you know what was making the steamer
+move? What was pulling her out into the river?
+It was a little tug boat and the tug boat had hold
+of one end of a big rope and the other end of
+the rope was tied fast to the steamer. And the
+little tug boat was puffing and chucking and working
+away as hard as he could and calling out:</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/i185b.jpg" width="600" height="98" alt="music score" title="" />
+</div>
+<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;">
+[<a href="music/185b.mid">Listen</a>]
+[<a href="music/185b.pdf">PDF</a>]</p>
+
+<p>And do you know why the tug boat and the
+steamer were talking like this? It is because they
+were afraid they might bump into some other ship
+in the fog for they can&#8217;t see in the fog. You know
+how white and thick the fog can be.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
+So the old steamer and the little tug boat both
+kept tooting until they were way out in the middle
+of the river.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Toot, toot, I&#8217;m moving.&rdquo; &ldquo;Tootootootootoot,
+I&#8217;m awful smart.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i186.png" width="500" height="317" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Now when they were way out in the middle of
+the river, the little tug boat dropped the rope from
+the big steamer and turned around. As it puffed
+away it called out:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Too-too-too-tootoot, I&#8217;m going home</span><br />
+ Too-too-too-tootoot, I&#8217;m awful smart.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then the big steamer moved slowly down the
+river towards the great ocean calling through the
+fog:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p>
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Toot, toot, I&#8217;m moving.&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Up on the captain&#8217;s bridge stood the pilot. He
+is the man who tells just where to make the
+steamer go in the harbor. He knows where everything
+is. He knows where the rocks are on the
+right and he didn&#8217;t let the steamer bump them.
+He knows where the sand reef is on the left and
+he didn&#8217;t let the steamer get on to that. He knows
+just where the deep water is and he kept the
+steamer in it all the time.</p>
+
+<p>Now down on the right so close that it almost
+bumped, there went a flat boat. This boat was
+saying:</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/i187a.jpg" width="600" height="104" alt="music score" title="" />
+</div>
+<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;">
+[<a href="music/187a.mid">Listen</a>]
+[<a href="music/187a.pdf">PDF</a>]</p>
+
+<p>And that was a coal barge. And then down on
+the left so close that it almost bumped on the other
+side they heard another boat saying:</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i187b.jpg" width="450" height="97" alt="music score" title="" />
+</div>
+<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;">
+[<a href="music/187b.mid">Listen</a>]
+[<a href="music/187b.pdf">PDF</a>]</p>
+
+
+<p>And that was a ferry boat! Then off on the right
+they heard a great big deep voice. This is what it
+said:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i188a.jpg" width="500" height="108" alt="music score" title="" />
+</div>
+<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;">
+[<a href="music/188a.mid">Listen</a>]
+[<a href="music/188a.pdf">PDF</a>]</p>
+
+<p>And that was a war boat! And every time the old
+steamer answered:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Toot, toot, I&#8217;m moving.&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Once off on the left the passengers could hear
+this:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Ding&mdash;&mdash;g! dong&mdash;&mdash;g!</span><br />
+ Hear my song&mdash;&mdash;g!<br />
+ Ding&mdash;&mdash;g! dong&mdash;&mdash;g!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And what bell do you think that was way out
+there? A bell buoy rocking on the water! Every
+time the wave went up it said, &ldquo;ding&rdquo; and every
+time the wave went down it said, &ldquo;dong.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>By this time the old steamer was out of the harbor
+way out in the open sea. The pilot came
+down from the captain&#8217;s deck; he climbed down
+the rope ladder to the little pilot boat that was
+tied close to the big steamer. Then the little pilot
+boat pushed away into the fog calling:</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i188b.jpg" width="500" height="109" alt="music score" title="" />
+</div>
+<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;">
+[<a href="music/188b.mid">Listen</a>]
+[<a href="music/188b.pdf">PDF</a>]</p>
+
+
+<p>And again the big steamer answered:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p>
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Toot, toot, I&#8217;m moving.&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then way off on the left so far away it could
+barely hear it, it heard:</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i189.jpg" width="500" height="102" alt="music score" title="" />
+</div>
+<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;">
+[<a href="music/189.mid">Listen</a>]
+[<a href="music/189.pdf">PDF</a>]</p>
+
+
+<p>And that was a sail boat! Then way off on the
+right so far away it could barely hear it, it heard</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Toot, toot, I&#8217;m moving&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>and that was another steamer.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i189.png" width="500" height="373" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>And again the big steamer answered:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p>
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Toot, toot, I&#8217;m moving.&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And so the old steamer went out into the fog
+calling, calling so that no boat would hit it. And
+all the other boats that passed it, they went calling,
+calling too.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This story is a slight extension of the children&#8217;s
+own experience. It is purposely limited to the tools
+they themselves handle familiarly.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p>
+<h2>HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once there was a carpenter. He had built himself
+a fine new house. And now it was all done.
+The walls, the floors and the roof were done. The
+stairs were done. The windows and doors were
+done. And the carpenter had moved into his new
+house.</p>
+
+<p>In his house he had a stove and he had electric
+lights. He had beds and chairs and bureaus and
+bookcases. He had everything except a table to
+eat off of. He still had to stand up when he ate
+his meals!</p>
+
+<p>So the carpenter thought he would make him
+a table. But he had no lumber left. So off he
+went to the lumber mill. At the lumber mill he
+saw lots and lots of lumber piled in the yard. The
+carpenter told the man at the lumber mill just
+how much lumber he wanted and just how long
+he wanted it and how broad he wanted it and how
+thick he wanted it.</p>
+
+<p>So the man at the lumber mill put all this lumber,&mdash;just
+what the carpenter had ordered,&mdash;on a
+wagon and sent it out to the carpenter&#8217;s house.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
+And then the carpenter began. He said to himself,
+&ldquo;First I must make my boards just the right
+length.&rdquo; So he measured a board just as long as
+he wanted the top to be; then he put the board
+on a sawhorse and he took his saw and began to
+saw:</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i195.png" width="500" height="369" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+       <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Zzzu,&rdquo; went the saw,</span><br />
+        <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Zzzu, zzzu, zzzu.&rdquo;</span><br />
+         The sawdust flew<br />
+         The saw ripped through<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -4em;">Down dropped the board sawed right in two.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then the carpenter took another board and
+he measured this just the same length. Then he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>
+put this board on the sawhorse and he took the
+saw and began to saw:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+        <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Zzzu,&rdquo; went the saw,</span><br />
+        <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Zzzu, zzzu, zzzu.&rdquo;</span><br />
+         The sawdust flew<br />
+         The saw ripped through<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -4em;">Down dropped the board sawed right in two.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then the carpenter took still another board
+and &ldquo;Zzzu,&rdquo; went the saw until this board too was
+sawed right in two. Then he had enough for the
+top of the table. Then he took the pieces that were
+going to make the legs and he sawed four of them
+just the right length. Then he sawed the boards
+that were going to be the braces until they too were
+just the right length. And underneath his sawhorse
+there was a little pile of sawdust.</p>
+
+<p>Then after this the carpenter says to himself, &ldquo;I
+must make my boards smooth.&rdquo; So he puts a board
+in the vise and he begins to plane the board.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 11em;">
+The plane he guides<br />
+The plane it glides<br />
+It smooths, it slides<br />
+All over the sides.</p></div>
+
+<p>And when this board is all smooth, the carpenter
+takes it out of the vise and puts in another board.
+Then he takes his plane.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p>
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 11em;">
+The plane he guides<br />
+The plane it glides<br />
+It smooths, it slides<br />
+All over the sides.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then the carpenter takes still another board
+and he guides and slides the plane until this board
+too is all smooth. And he does this until all the
+boards that are going to make the top and the
+legs and the braces are all smooth. And underneath
+his bench there is a pile of shavings.</p>
+
+<p>And then the carpenter he says to himself, &ldquo;I
+must nail my boards together.&rdquo; So he puts the
+boards that are going to make the top together
+and he takes a nail and then he swings his
+hammer:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+The hammer it gives a swinging pound.<br />
+The nail it gives a ringing sound.<br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bing! bang! bing! bing!</span><br />
+And the boards are tight together!</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then the carpenter takes another piece of
+the top and puts it beside the other two and he
+takes another nail and then he swings his hammer
+again.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+The hammer it gives a swinging pound.<br />
+The nail it gives a ringing sound.<br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bing! bang! bing! bing!</span><br />
+And the boards are tight together!</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
+And then the carpenter takes one piece that is
+going to be a leg and he holds it so it stands right
+out from the top, and he takes another nail and
+he nails the leg to the top. Bing! bang! bing!
+bing! He does this with the other three legs of
+his table. And then he has four strong legs and
+the top of his table all nailed together.</p>
+
+<p>Then the carpenter he says to himself, &ldquo;I&#8217;ll put
+some boards across and make it stronger.&rdquo; So he
+takes some boards sawed just the right length, and
+he nails them across underneath the top, bing!
+bang! bing! bing! And then he has a table!</p>
+
+<p>So the carpenter lifts his table out into the middle
+of his room and he puts a chair beside it.
+When he sits down he is smiling all over. For
+the table is just the right size and just the right
+height and it is strong and good to look at. The
+carpenter is so glad to have a table to eat off of
+that he says to himself:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+  &ldquo;Now isn&#8217;t it grand?<br />
+  I won&#8217;t have to stand<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">While eating my dinner again!</span><br />
+  For now I am able<br />
+  To sit at the table<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I made with saw, hammer and plane!&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE ELEPHANT</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This was written with the help of eight-year-old
+children who were trying to make everything sound
+&ldquo;heavy&rdquo; and &ldquo;slow.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE ELEPHANT</h2>
+
+
+<p>The little boy had never before been to the Zoo.
+He walked up close to the high iron fence. On
+the other side he saw a huge wrinkled grey lump
+slowly sway to one side and then slowly sway back
+to the other. And as it swayed from side to side
+its great long wrinkled trunk swung slowly too.
+The little boy followed the trunk with his eye up
+to the huge head of the great wrinkled grey lump.
+There were enormous torn worn flapping ears.
+And there, too, embedded like jewels in a leather
+wall sparkled two little eyes. These eyes were
+fastened on the little boy. They seemed to shine
+in the dull wrinkled skin. Slowly the huge mass
+began to move. Slowly one heavy padded foot
+came up and then went down with a soft thud.
+Then came another soft thud and another and another.
+Suddenly the monstrous trunk waved,
+curled, lifted, stretched and stretched, until its soft
+pink end was thrust through the high iron fence
+and the little boy could look up into the fleshy
+yawning red mouth. The little boy drew back
+from the high iron fence. The end of the trunk
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
+wiggled and wriggled around feeling its way up
+and down a rod of the fence; the great body
+swayed from one heavy foot to the other; and all
+the time the bright little eyes were fastened on
+the boy.</p>
+
+<p>The little boy looked and looked and looked
+again. He could hardly believe his eyes.
+&ldquo;Whew!&rdquo; he said at last, &ldquo;so that&#8217;s an elephant!&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+The classifications and most of the expressions were
+suggested by a child.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p>
+<h2>HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE</h2>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+The lion, he has paws with claws,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The horse, he walks on hooves,</span><br />
+The worm, he lies right on the ground<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wriggles when he moves!</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+The seal, he moves with swimming feet,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The moth, has wings like a sail,</span><br />
+The fly he clings; the bird he wings,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The monkey swings by his tail!</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 11em;">
+    But boys and girls<br />
+    With feet and hands<br />
+    Can walk and run<br />
+    And swim and stand!</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE SEA-GULL</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+All the material and most of the expressions are
+taken from a story by a six-year-old. It was put into
+rhythm because the children wished &ldquo;the words to
+go like the waves.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SEA-GULL</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+Feel the waves go rocking, rocking,<br />
+  Feel them roll and roll and roll.<br />
+On the top there sits a sea-gull<br />
+  And he&#8217;s rocking with the waves.<br />
+Now &#8217;tis evening and he&#8217;s weary<br />
+  So he&#8217;s resting on the waves.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+When he woke in early morning<br />
+  Like a flash he spied a fish.<br />
+Quick he flew and quickly diving<br />
+  Snapped the fish and ate him straight.<br />
+Then he screamed for he was happy.<br />
+  Then he spied another fish<br />
+Quick he flew and quickly diving<br />
+  Snapped the fish and ate him straight.<br />
+So he played while shone the sunshine,<br />
+  Catching fish and screaming hoarse<br />
+Till he was quite out of hunger,<br />
+  And would rest him on the waves.<br />
+Once he flapped and flapped his great wings,<br />
+  Soaring like an aeroplane.<br />
+Down below him lay the ocean<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>
+  Like a wrinkled crinkly thing,<br />
+And giant steamers looked like toy ones<br />
+  Slowly moving on the waves.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+Now the moonshine&#8217;s making silver<br />
+  All the tossing, rocking waves.<br />
+And the sea-gull looks like silver<br />
+  And his great wings look like silver<br />
+  Pressing close his silver side,<br />
+And his sharp beak looks like silver<br />
+  Tucked beneath his silver wings.<br />
+For beneath the silver moonlight<br />
+  See, the sea-gull&#8217;s gone to sleep.<br />
+Rocking, rocking on the water,<br />
+Sleeping, sleeping on the waves,<br />
+Rocking&mdash;sleeping&mdash;sleeping&mdash;rocking,<br />
+Fast asleep upon the waves.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+It has seemed appropriate to let the children realize
+the incessant quality of farm work before that of the
+factory.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">The farmer woke up in the morning</span><br />
+  And sleepy as sleepy was he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He turned in his bed and he grouchily said:</span><br />
+  &ldquo;Today I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!<br />
+   <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Today I will sleep! Let me be!&rdquo;</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Now Puss in the corner she heard</span><br />
+  She heard what the farmer had said,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">She ran to the barn and she mewed in alarm;</span><br />
+  &ldquo;The farmer will sleep in his bed, in his bed!<br />
+   <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Today he will sleep in his bed!&rdquo;</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Then Horse in the stable looked up,</span><br />
+  He whinneyed and shook his old head;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">&ldquo;Shall I stand here all day without any hay?</span><br />
+  Whey-ey-ey! Farmer, come feed me!&rdquo; he said, so he said,<br />
+  &ldquo;Whey-ey-ey! Farmer, come feed me!&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">But the farmer he tight closed his eyes</span><br />
+  For sleepy as sleepy was he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He turned in his bed and he angrily said:</span><br />
+  &ldquo;Horse, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!<br />
+   <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Horse, I will sleep! Let me be!&rdquo;</span></p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Down under the barn in the dirt</span><br />
+  Pig heard what the Pussy cat mewed.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">&ldquo;Can he give me the scraps when he&#8217;s taking his naps?</span><br />
+  Wee-ee, Farmer, come give me my food, oh, my food!<br />
+  Wee-ee, Farmer, come give me my food!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">But the farmer he tight closed his ears</span><br />
+  For sleepy as sleepy was he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He turned in his bed and he sulkily said:</span><br />
+  &ldquo;Pig, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!<br />
+   <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Pig, I will sleep! Let me be!&rdquo;</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Now Rooster with Chickens and Hen</span><br />
+  Had been crowing since early that morn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And he crowed when he heard this terrible word:</span><br />
+  &ldquo;Cock-a-doo! Farmer, give us our corn, us our corn!<br />
+   <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Cock-a-doo! Farmer, give us our corn.&rdquo;</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">But the farmer he pulled up the covers</span><br />
+  For sleepy as sleepy was he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He turned in his bed and crossly he said:</span><br />
+  &ldquo;Cock, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!<br />
+   <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Cock, I will sleep! Let me be!&rdquo;</span></p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Cow heard in the pasture and lowed;</span><br />
+  &ldquo;My cud no longer I chew,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I stand by the gate and I wait and I wait,</span><br />
+  Oh, Farmer, come milk me! Moo-oo, moo-oo!<br />
+  Oh, Farmer, come milk me, moo-oo!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">But the farmer got under the covers,</span><br />
+  For sleepy as sleepy was he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He turned in his bed and fiercely he said,</span><br />
+  &ldquo;Cow, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!<br />
+   <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Cow, I will sleep! Let me be!&rdquo;</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Then Horse he broke from the stable,</span><br />
+  And Pig he broke from the pen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And Cow jumped the fence though she hadn&#8217;t much sense,</span><br />
+  And Cock called Chickens and Hen, and Hen,<br />
+  He called to Chickens and Hen.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Then up to the farm house door</span><br />
+  All followed the Pussy who knew.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Horse whinneyed, Cock crowed, Pig grunted, Cow lowed;</span><br />
+  &ldquo;Get up, Farmer! Whey, cock-a-doo, wee-wee-wee, mooo!<br />
+   <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Whey, cock-a-doo, wee-wee-wee, moooo!&rdquo;</span></p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">The farmer down under the covers,</span><br />
+  He heard and he groaned and he sighed.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He wearily rose and he put on his clothes;</span><br />
+  &ldquo;They need me, I&#8217;m coming, I&#8217;m coming,&rdquo; he cried,<br />
+  &ldquo;They need me, I&#8217;m coming,&rdquo; he cried.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">&ldquo;I&#8217;ll feed Horse, Chickens and Pig,</span><br />
+  I&#8217;ll milk old Cow,&rdquo; said he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">&ldquo;And when this is done, my work&#8217;s just begun,</span><br />
+  Today I must work, so I see, so I see!<br />
+  Today I must work, so I see!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">So he fed Horse, Chickens and Pig</span><br />
+  And afterwards milked old Cow.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">For Farmer must work, he never can shirk!</span><br />
+  Today he is working, right now, right now!<br />
+  Today he is working right now!</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS!</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+All the essential points in this story were taken from
+the story of a four-year-old&#8217;s about a horse. He
+enjoyed the nonsense in telling it. Some of the four-year-old
+groups have appreciated the humor; some
+five-year-olds have not. Instead they have seemed
+confused.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS!</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once there was a wonderful cow,&mdash;only she
+never was! She always had been wonderful, ever
+since she was a baby calf. Her mother noticed it
+at once. She was born out in the pasture one
+sunny morning in June. As soon as she was born,
+she got up on her long, thin legs. She wobbled
+quite a little for she wasn&#8217;t very strong. Then she
+went over to her mother and put her nose down
+to her mother&#8217;s bag and took a drink of milk. This
+is what all the old cow&#8217;s babies had always done
+so the old cow thought nothing of that. But when
+this wonderful last baby calf had drunk its breakfast,
+what do you suppose it did? It stood on its
+head! Now the old cow had never seen anything
+like this. It was most surprising! It frightened
+her. She called to it:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Oh, my baby, baby calf,</span><br />
+ Your mother kindly begs,<br />
+ Please, <em>please</em> get off your head<br />
+ And stand upon your legs!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>
+But the baby calf only mooed. And it smiled
+when it mooed which the old cow thought queer
+too. None of her other babies had smiled. Then
+the calf said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+  <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I&#8217;m a wonderful calf,</span><br />
+   And it makes me laugh<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Such wonderful things can I do!</span><br />
+   I stand on my head<br />
+   Whenever I&#8217;m fed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And smile whenever I moo,</span><br />
+     <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I smile whenever I moo!&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Dear me!&rdquo; thought the old mother cow. &ldquo;I
+never saw or heard anything like this!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But this was only the beginning. The baby calf
+kept on doing strange and wonderful things till
+at last everyone called her Wonderful-calf-that-never-was!
+And many people used to come to see
+her stand on her head whenever she was fed. She
+did other queer things too! Once she pulled off
+the ear of another calf! And all she said was:
+&ldquo;Poor little calf! You mustn&#8217;t go in the pasture
+where there are other calves!&rdquo; But the little calf
+who had lost its ear said, &ldquo;Yes, I must!&rdquo; But
+after that Wonderful-calf-that-never-was was kept
+in the barn for a long time.</p>
+
+<p>At last it was June again and she was a year old.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
+Her horns had begun to grow. The old cow, her
+mother, had another baby. This new baby calf
+was just like other calves and not wonderful at
+all. The old cow was glad for Wonderful-cow-that-never-was
+worried her very much. For
+everything about her was queer. One day the calf
+who had lost the ear,&mdash;she was a young cow now,&mdash;took
+hold of the tail of Wonderful-young-cow-that-never-was
+and pulled it. And what do you
+suppose happened? The tail broke right off! All
+the cows were frightened. Whoever heard of a
+broken tail? But Wonderful-young-cow-that-never-was
+only mooed and when she mooed she
+always smiled. Then she said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+  <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I&#8217;m a wonderful cow</span><br />
+   And I don&#8217;t know how<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Such wonderful things I do!</span><br />
+   If I break my tail,<br />
+   I never fail<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">To glue with a grasshopper&#8217;s goo,</span><br />
+     <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I glue with a grasshopper&#8217;s goo!&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And so she did. She got a grasshopper to give
+her some sticky stuff and she smeared it on the
+two ends of her broken tail and stuck them together.
+&ldquo;And now it&#8217;s as good as new,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;and now it&#8217;s as good as new!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>
+Her horns grew and grew. She was very proud
+of them and was always trying to hook some one
+or gore another cow with them. But one day she
+went to the edge of the lake when it was very still.
+It wasn&#8217;t wavy at all. And as she leaned over
+to drink, she saw herself in the water. My mercy!
+but she was shocked!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My horns are straight!&rdquo; she screamed, &ldquo;and I
+want them curly!&rdquo; She ran to the old mother cow
+and had what her mother called the &ldquo;Krink-kranks.&rdquo;
+She jumped up and down and bellowed:
+&ldquo;My horns are straight and I want them curly!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The old mother cow was giving her new baby
+some milk. It made her cross to hear Wonderful-cow-that-never-was
+having krink-kranks over her
+horns. &ldquo;Horns grow the way they grow!&rdquo; she remarked
+crossly. &ldquo;So what are you going to do
+about it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Something!&rdquo; answered the young cow. &ldquo;I&#8217;m
+not Wonderful-cow-that-never-was for nothing!&rdquo;
+And she stopped having krink-kranks and went off.
+She stayed away all day and when she did come
+back, her horns were curled up tight! And she
+was chewing and smiling and chewing and
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What have you done now?&rdquo; gasped the old
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>
+mother cow. &ldquo;I never saw horns curled so
+crumply!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The young cow smiled and said:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+  <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I&#8217;m a wonderful cow</span><br />
+   And I don&#8217;t know how<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Such wonderful things I do!</span><br />
+   I curl my horn<br />
+   On the cob of a corn<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And smile whenever I chew,</span><br />
+     <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I smile whenever I chew!&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And here is the corn cob I curled them on,&rdquo; she
+said, opening her mouth. And sure enough, there
+was the corn cob!</p>
+
+<p>Now Wonderful-cow-that-never-was got queerer
+and queerer until the farmer thought her a
+little <em>too</em> queer. She was very proud of her
+crumpled horns and tried to hook everyone on
+them. Once she tore the farmer&#8217;s coat trying to
+hook him. And once she <em>did</em> toss him up. She
+watched him in the air and all she said was &ldquo;He&#8217;s
+up now, but he&#8217;ll come down some time.&rdquo; And
+bang! So he did!</p>
+
+<p>Finally one terrible day, they tied her tight and
+cut off her horns. She was never the same afterwards.
+She couldn&#8217;t hook any more. &ldquo;I don&#8217;t
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
+care about being queer any more,&rdquo; she said to her
+mother. And she wasn&#8217;t. She stopped standing
+on her head. She never pulled off another ear.
+She never broke her tail again and of course she
+never curled her horns again. Because she hadn&#8217;t
+any! &ldquo;After all,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;it&#8217;s wonderful enough
+just to be a cow and have four stomachs and chew
+cud and give milk and have a baby each Spring!&rdquo;
+And that&#8217;s what she&#8217;s doing now!</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+  She&#8217;s a wonderful cow,<br />
+  And anyhow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">She does a wonderful thing!</span><br />
+  She wallows in mud,<br />
+  She chews her cud,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And has a baby in Spring!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This story was worked out with a five-year-old boy.
+It is the result of his own summer experiences on a
+lake.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once there was a little lake. And many things
+loved the little lake for its water was clear and
+smooth and blue when it was sunshiny, and dark
+and wavy and cross-looking when it was rainy.
+Now one of the things that loved the little lake
+was a little fish. He was a slippery shiny little
+fish all covered with slippery shiny scales. He
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>
+lived in the shadow of a big rock near a deep,
+dark, cool pool. And when his wide-open shiny
+eye saw a little fly fall on the top of the water, he
+would flip his slippery, shiny tail and wave his
+slippery, shiny fins and dart out and up and&mdash;snap!
+he&#8217;d have the fly inside him! Then like a shiny
+streak he&#8217;d quietly slip back to the cool, deep,
+dark pool.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i228.png" width="500" height="397" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Another thing that loved the little lake was a
+spotted green frog. He too lived near the big
+rock. He would squat like a lump on the top in
+the sun, blinking his bright little eyes. Then
+splash! jump he would go, plump into the water.
+He&#8217;d keep his funny head with the little blinking,
+bright eyes above water while he&#8217;d kick his long,
+spotted, green legs and he&#8217;d swim across to another
+rock. At first he used to frighten the slippery
+shiny little fish when he came tumbling into
+the quiet water. But the spotted green frog never
+did anything to hurt the little fish so the slippery
+shiny little fish didn&#8217;t mind him after all. But at
+night what do you think the spotted green frog
+did? He squatted on the rock with his front feet
+toeing in, like this, and he looked up at the far-away
+white moon in the far-away dark sky, and
+then he swelled and he swelled and he swelled his
+throat, and then he opened his wide, wide mouth
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>
+and out came a noise. Oh, such a noise! &ldquo;K-K-K-Krink!!
+K-K-K-Krank!!&rdquo; All night the spotted
+frog swelled his throat and croaked at the moon.</p>
+
+<p>Now another thing that loved the little lake
+was a beautiful wild duck. The wild duck had
+beautiful green and brown feathers and on his
+head he had a little green top-knot. Every year
+he flew north from the warm south where he had
+been spending the winter. High up in the air he
+flew, leading many other beautiful wild ducks.
+He flew with his head stretched out and his feet
+tucked up close to his body and his strong wings
+flapping, flapping, flapping like great fans. And
+as he flew way up in the air his keen eye would see
+the little lake glistening down below. &ldquo;Quonk-quonk!&rdquo;
+he would call. And the other wild ducks
+would answer, &ldquo;Quonk-quonk-quonk!&rdquo; And then
+they would swoop, right down to the little lake
+and they&#8217;d light right on the water. There they
+would sit, rocking on the little waves or swimming
+about with their red webbed feet. Oh, the wild
+ducks loved the little lake very much!</p>
+
+<p>But not the slippery shiny fish, not the spotted
+green frog, not the beautiful wild duck loves
+the lake as much as some one else does. I
+don&#8217;t believe any one else loves the little lake as
+much as does the little summer boy! Sometimes
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>
+the little summer boy goes rowing on top of the
+lake. He leans way forward and stretches his
+oars way back, then he puts them into the water
+and pulls as hard as ever he can&mdash;splash&mdash;splash&mdash;splash&mdash;splash&mdash;&mdash;!
+And the boat glides and
+slides right over the water! Sometimes,&mdash;and this
+he loves better still,&mdash;he stands on the rock in his
+red bathing suit. Then plump! he jumps right
+into the water! Sometimes he goes feetwards and
+sometimes he goes headwards and sometimes he
+turns a somersault in the air before he touches the
+water. And then away he goes moving his arms
+and kicking his legs almost like the spotted green
+frog. But the little fish when he hears this great
+thing come splashing into the quiet water, he flips
+his slippery shiny tail and waves his slippery shiny
+fins and darts way out into the deep water where
+the little boy with the red bathing suit can&#8217;t follow
+him. For to the little fish this little summer
+boy seems very queer, and very, <em>very</em> noisy, and
+very, <em>very</em>, VERY enormous! And the spotted green
+frog too gets out of the way when the little boy
+comes racketing into the water. He hops, hops
+under the rocks into a safe little cave and from
+there he watches and blinks his bright little eyes.
+But he never croaks then! The little summer boy
+knows the green frog is there and sometimes he
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>
+peeks at him and thinks &ldquo;I wish I could make my
+back legs go like yours!&rdquo; For he&#8217;s often seen the
+spotted green frog swim from rock to rock.</p>
+
+<p>But the beautiful wild duck, he never saw the
+little summer boy. For long before the boy came
+to the little lake, the duck had left the lake far
+behind. Early one morning in Spring he flapped
+his strong wings and tucked his wet webbed feet
+up close to his body and stretched out his long neck
+and calling &ldquo;Quonk-quonk!&rdquo; he flapped away to
+the north. And all the other beautiful wild ducks
+followed calling, &ldquo;Quonk-quonk-quonk!&rdquo; So the
+little summer boy never knew the wild duck!</p>
+
+<p>It is too bad that the fish and the frog are scared
+away when the summer boy goes in bathing. But
+it is only for a little while anyway. For the little
+summer boy&#8217;s mother doesn&#8217;t let him play in the
+lake all day as does the mother of the slippery
+shiny fish and the mother of the spotted green
+frog. She has called him now, and he calls back,
+&ldquo;One more time!&rdquo; for no one loves the little lake
+as much as the little boy in the red bathing suit.
+He has climbed up on the rock. The water is running
+down him, for he is as wet as a baby seal.
+Now he puts out his hands, like this, and he calls
+out, &ldquo;This time I&#8217;m going to take a headwards
+dive!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">In the lake they play,</span><br />
+  The spotted green frog<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And the slippery shiny fish.</span><br />
+  They frisk and they whisk,<br />
+  And they dip and they flip.<br />
+  And the water it glimmers,<br />
+  It ripples and twinkles<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">When the frog and the fishes play.</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">In the lake they play,</span><br />
+  The beautiful duck<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And the rackety summer boy.</span><br />
+  When the wild duck swims<br />
+  The water it skims.<br />
+  But the boy with a shout<br />
+  He plumps in, he jumps out.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And the little lake shakes with his play.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>HOW THE SINGING WATER</strong></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>GOT TO THE TUB</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+In this story I have tried to make the refrains carry
+the essential points in the content. I have tried,
+however, to subordinate the information to the pattern.
+This story came in response to direct questions
+during baths.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p>
+<h2>HOW THE SINGING WATER GOT TO THE TUB</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once there was a little singing stream of water.
+It sang whatever it did. And it did many things
+from the time it bubbled up in the far-away hills
+to the time it splashed into the dirty little boy&#8217;s
+tub. It began as a little spring of water. Then
+the water was as cool as cool could be for it came
+up from the deep cool earth all hidden away from
+the sun. It came up into a little hollow scooped
+out of the earth and in the hollow were little
+pebbles. Right up through the pebbles, bubbling
+and gurgling it came. And what do you suppose
+the water did when the little hollow was all full?
+It did just what water always does, it tried to find
+a way to run down hill! One side of the little
+hollow was lower than the others and here the
+water spilled over and trickled down. And this
+is the song the water sang then:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I bubble up so cool</span><br />
+ Into the pebbly pool.<br />
+ Over the edge I spill<br />
+ And gallop down the hill!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>
+So the water became a little stream and began
+its long journey to the little boy&#8217;s tub. And always
+it wanted to run down&mdash;always down, and as
+it ran, it tinkled this song:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I sing, I run,</span><br />
+ In the shade, in the sun,<br />
+ It&#8217;s always fun<br />
+ To sing and to run.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Sometimes it pushed under twigs and leaves;
+sometimes it made a big noise tumbling over the
+roots of trees; sometimes it flowed all quiet and
+slow through long grasses in a meadow. Once
+it came to the edge of a pretty big rock and over it
+went, splashing and crashing and dashing and
+making a fine, fine spray.</p>
+
+<p>It sang to the little birds that took their baths
+in the spray. And the little birds ruffled their
+feathers to get dry and sang back to the little
+brook. &ldquo;Ching-a-ree!&rdquo; they sang. It sang to the
+bunny rabbit who got his whiskers all wet when
+he took a drink. It sang to the mother deer who
+always came to the same place and licked up
+some water with her tongue. To all of these and
+many more little wild wood things the little brook
+rippled its song:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p>
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I sing, I run,</span><br />
+ In the shade, in the sun,<br />
+ It&#8217;s always fun<br />
+ To sing and to run.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>But to the fish in the big dark pool under the
+rocks it sang so softly, so quietly, that only the
+fishes heard.</p>
+
+<p>Now all the time that the little brook kept running
+down hill, it kept getting bigger. For every
+once in a while it would be joined by another little
+brook coming from another hillside spring. And,
+of course, the two of them were twice as large as
+each had been alone. This kept happening until
+the stream was a small river,&mdash;so big and deep
+that the horses couldn&#8217;t ford it any more. Then
+people built bridges over it, and this made the
+small river feel proud. Little boats sailed in it
+too,&mdash;canoes and sail boats and row boats. Sometimes
+they held a lot of little boys without any
+clothes on who jumped into the water and splashed
+and laughed and splashed and laughed.</p>
+
+<p>At last the river was strong enough to carry
+great gliding boats, with deep deep voices.
+&ldquo;Toot,&rdquo; said the boats, &ldquo;tootoot-tooooooooot!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And now the song of the river was low and slow
+as it answered the song of the boats:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p>
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I grow and I flow</span><br />
+ As I carry the boats,<br />
+ As I carry the boats of men.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>After the little river had been running down
+hill for ever so long, it came to a place where the
+banks went up very high and steep on each side
+of it. Here something strange happened. The
+little river was stopped by an enormous wall. The
+wall was made of stone and cement and it stretched
+right across the river from one bank to the other.
+The little river couldn&#8217;t get through the wall, so
+it just filled up behind it. It filled and filled until
+it found that it had spread out into a real little
+lake. Only the people who walked around it
+called it a reservoir!</p>
+
+<p>Now in the wall was just one opening down
+near the bottom. And what do you suppose that
+led to? A pipe! But the pipe was so big that
+an elephant could have walked down it swinging
+his trunk! Only, of course, there wasn&#8217;t any elephant
+there.</p>
+
+<p>Now the little river didn&#8217;t like to have his race
+down hill stopped. So he began muttering to
+himself:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 5em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;What shall I do, oh, what shall I do?</span><br />
+ Here&#8217;s a big dam and I can&#8217;t get through!<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>
+ Behind the dam I fill and fill<br />
+ But I want to go running and running down hill!<br />
+ If the pipe at the bottom will let me through<br />
+ I&#8217;ll run through the pipe! That&#8217;s what I&#8217;ll do!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>So he rushed into the pipe as fast as he could
+for there he found he could run down hill again!
+He ran and he ran for miles and miles. Above
+him he knew there were green fields and trees and
+cows and horses. These were the things he had
+sung to before he rushed into the pipe. Then
+after a long time he knew he was under something
+different. He could feel thousands of feet scurrying
+this way and that; he could feel thousands of
+horses pulling carriages and wagons and trucks;
+he could feel cars, subways, engines;&mdash;he could
+feel so many things crossing him that he wondered
+they didn&#8217;t all bump each other. Then he knew
+he was under the Big City. And this is the song
+he shouted then:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 6em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Way under the street, street, street,</span><br />
+ I feel the feet, feet, feet.<br />
+ I feel their beat, beat, beat,<br />
+ Above on the street, street, street.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And then again something queer happened.
+Every once in a while a pipe would go off from
+the big pipe. Now one of these pipes turned into
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>
+a certain street and then a still smaller pipe turned
+off into a certain house and a still smaller pipe
+went right up between the walls of the house. And
+in this house there lived the dirty little boy.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i241.png" width="500" height="407" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>The water flowed into the street pipe and then
+it flowed into the house pipe and then,&mdash;what do
+you think?&mdash;it went right up that pipe between
+the walls of the house! For you see even the top
+of that dirty little boy&#8217;s house isn&#8217;t nearly as high
+as the reservoir on the hill where the water started
+and the water can run up just as high as it has run
+down.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>
+In the bath-room was the dirty little boy. His
+face was dirty, his hands were dirty, his feet were
+dirty and his knees&mdash;oh! his knees were very, very
+dirty. This very dirty little boy went over to the
+faucet and slowly turned it. Out came the water
+splashing, and crashing and dashing.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My! but I need a bath tonight,&rdquo; said the dirty
+little boy as he heard the water splashing in the
+tub. The water was still the singing water that
+had sung all the way from the far-away hills. It
+had sung a bubbling song when it gurgled up as
+a spring; it had sung a tinkling song as it rippled
+down hill as a brook; it had crooned a flowing
+song when it bore the talking boats; it had muttered
+and throbbed and sung to itself as it ran
+through the big, big pipe. Now as it splashed
+into the dirty little boy&#8217;s tub it laughed and sang
+this last song:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 6em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I run from the hill,&mdash;down, down, down,</span><br />
+ Under the streets of the town, town, town,<br />
+ Then in the pipe, up, up, up,<br />
+ I tumble right into your tub, tub, tub.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And the dirty little boy laughed and jumped into
+the Singing Water!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE CHILDREN&#8217;S NEW DRESSES</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+An old pattern with new content. The steps in the
+process were originally dug out by a child of six
+through his own questions.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE CHILDREN&#8217;S NEW DRESSES</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once there was a small town. In the small town
+were many houses and in the houses were many
+people. In one of these houses there lived a
+mother with a great many children. One night
+after the children were all in bed and the mother
+was sitting by the fire, a brick fell down the chimney.
+Then another came bumping and rattling
+down. Now outside there was a great wind
+blowing. It whistled down the chimney and up
+flamed the fire. The sparks flew into the hole
+where the bricks had fallen out. The first thing
+the mother knew the house was all on fire. Still
+the great wind roared. The house next door
+caught fire, then the next, then the next, then the
+next, until half the little town was burning. The
+mother with the many children and many other
+frightened people ran to the part of the town behind
+the great wind. And there they stayed until
+the wind died down and they could put the fire
+out.</p>
+
+<p>Now many of these people&#8217;s clothes had burned
+with their houses. The many children who had
+gone to bed before the fire began had nothing
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
+to wear except their nightclothes. The mother
+went to the store. That too was burned! But she
+found the storekeeper and said:&mdash;&ldquo;Storekeeper,
+sell me some dresses for my children for their
+dresses have been burned and they have nothing
+to wear.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i247.png" width="500" height="366" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But, mother of the many children,&rdquo; the storekeeper
+replied, &ldquo;first I must get me the dresses.
+For that I must send to the many-fingered factory
+in the middle of the city.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So he sent to the many-fingered factory in the
+middle of the great city and he said:&mdash;&ldquo;Clothier,
+send me some dresses that I may sell to the mother;
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>
+for her children&#8217;s dresses have burned up and they
+have nothing to wear.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But the clothier in the many-fingered factory
+replied:&mdash;&ldquo;First I must get me the cloth. For
+that I must send to the weaving mill. The weaving
+mill is in the hills where there is water to
+turn its wheels.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So the clothier sent to the weaving mill in the
+hills where there is water to turn its wheels and
+said:&mdash;&ldquo;Weaver, send me the cloth that the many
+fingers at the factory may make dresses to send
+to the storekeeper in the small town to sell to the
+mother; for her children&#8217;s dresses have burned
+up and they have nothing to wear.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But the weaver in the weaving mill in the hills
+sent back word:&mdash;&ldquo;First I must get me the cotton.
+For that I must send to the cotton fields. The cotton
+fields are in the south where the land is hot
+and low.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So the weaver in the weaving mill in the hills
+sent to the cotton plantation, and he said:&mdash;&ldquo;Planter,
+send me the cotton from the hot low
+lands that I may make cloth in the mill in the
+hills to send to the clothier in the many-fingered
+factory in the middle of the great city to be made
+into dresses to send to the storekeeper in the small
+town to sell to the mother; for her children&#8217;s
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
+dresses have burned up and they have nothing to
+wear.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But the planter sent back word:&mdash;&ldquo;First I must
+get the negroes to pick the cotton. For cotton
+must be picked in the hot sun and negroes are
+the only ones who can stand the sun.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i249.png" width="500" height="370" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>So the planter went to the negroes and he said:&mdash;&ldquo;Pick
+me the cotton from the hot low lands that
+I may send it to the weaver in his mill in the hills
+that he may weave the cloth to send to the clothier
+in the many-fingered factory in the middle of the
+great city to make dresses to send to the storekeeper
+in the small town to sell to the mother;
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
+for her children&#8217;s dresses have burned up and they
+have nothing to wear.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But the negroes answered:&mdash;&ldquo;First de sun, he
+hab got to shine and shine and shine! &#8217;Cause de
+sun, he am de only one dat can make dem little
+seed bolls bust wide open!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So the negroes sang to the sun:&mdash;&ldquo;Big sun, so
+shiny hot! Is you gwine to shine on dem cotton
+bolls so we can pick de cotton for de massah so
+he can send it to de weaver in de weaving mills
+in de hills to weave into cloth so he can send it
+to de clothier in de many-fingered factory in de
+middle of de big city to make dresses to send to
+de storekeeper in de small town so he can sell it
+to de mammy; for de chillun&#8217;s dresses hab gone
+and burned up and dey ain&#8217;t got nothin&#8217; to wear!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Now the sun heard the song of the negroes of the
+south. And he began to shine. And he kept on
+shining on the hot low lands. And when the cotton
+bolls on the hot low lands felt the sun shine and
+shine and shine, they burst wide open. Then the
+negroes picked the cotton, the planter shipped it,
+the weaver wove it, the clothier made it into dresses,
+and the storekeeper sold them to the mother.</p>
+
+<p>So at last the many children took off their nightclothes
+and put on their new dresses. And so
+they were all happy again!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>OLD DAN GETS THE COAL</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+The occupations of the city horse are always absorbing
+to the school children. They have many tales about
+various &ldquo;Old Dans&rdquo; and their various trades. The
+docks are familiar to almost all the children,&mdash;even
+to the four-year-olds. This verse is meant to be read
+fast or slow according to whether or no the wagon
+is empty.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p>
+<h2>OLD DAN GETS THE COAL</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Old Dan, he lives in a stable, he does,<br />
+He sleeps in a stable stall.<br />
+Old Dan, he eats in the stable, he does,<br />
+He eats the hay from the manger, he does,<br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">He pulls the hay</span><br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he chews the hay</span><br />
+When he eats in his stable stall.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Old Dan, he leaves the stable, he does,<br />
+He pulls the wagon behind.<br />
+Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does,<br />
+He trots with the wagon all empty, he does;<br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wagon, it clatters,</span><br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The mud, it all spatters</span><br />
+Old Dan with the wagon behind.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Old Dan, he trots to the dock, he does,<br />
+He trots to the coal barge dock.<br />
+Old Dan, he stands by the barge, he does,<br />
+He stands and the big crane creaks, it does.<br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Up! into the chute,</span><br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bang! out of the chute</span><br />
+Comes the coal at the coal barge dock!</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Old Dan, he pulls the load, he does,<br />
+He pulls the heavy load.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>
+Old Dan he pulls the coal, he does,<br />
+He slowly pulls the heavy coal.<br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wagon thumps,</span><br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">It bumps, it clumps</span><br />
+When old Dan pulls the load.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Old Dan, he stands by the house, he does,<br />
+And the coal rattles out behind.<br />
+Old Dan stands still by the house, he does,<br />
+He stands and the slippery coal, so it does<br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Goes rattlety klang!</span><br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Zippy kabang!</span><br />
+As it slides from the wagon behind!</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Old Dan, he then leaves the house, so he does,<br />
+A-pulling the wagon behind.<br />
+Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does,<br />
+He trots with the wagon all empty, he does.<br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wagon it clatters,</span><br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The mud it all spatters</span><br />
+Old Dan with the wagon behind.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Old Dan, comes home to his stable, he does,<br />
+Home to his stable stall.<br />
+He finds the hay in the stable, he does,<br />
+He eats the hay from the manger, he does,<br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">He pulls the hay,</span><br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">He chews the hay,</span><br />
+Then he sleeps in his stable stall.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE SUBWAY CAR</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+The relationship which this story aims to clarify is
+the social significance of the subway car&mdash;its construction
+and the need it answers to. Children have enjoyed
+the verse better, I think, than any other in the book.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SUBWAY CAR</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 2em;">
+The surface car is a poky car,<br />
+It stops &#8217;most every minute.<br />
+At every corner someone gets out<br />
+And someone else gets in it.<br />
+It stops for a lady, an auto, a hoss,<br />
+For any old thing that wants to cross,<br />
+This poky old, stupid old, silly old, timid old, lumbering surface car.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i258.png" width="500" height="457" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 2em;">
+Up on high against the sky<br />
+The elevated train goes by.<br />
+Above it soars, above it roars<br />
+On level with the second floors<br />
+Of dirty houses, dirty stores<br />
+Who have to see, who have to hear<br />
+This noisy ugly monster near.<br />
+And as it passes hear it yell,<br />
+&ldquo;I&#8217;m the deafening, deadening, thunderous, hideous,<br />
+         <span style="margin-left: 6em;">competent, elegant el.&rdquo;</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 2em;">
+Under the ground like a mole in a hole,<br />
+I tear through the white tiled tunnel,<br />
+With my wire brush on the rail I rush<br />
+From station to lighted station.<br />
+Levers pull, the doors fly ope&#8217;,<br />
+People press against the rope.<br />
+And some are stout and some are thin<br />
+And some get out and some get in.<br />
+Again I go. Beginning slow<br />
+I race, I chase at a terrible pace,<br />
+I flash and I dash with never a crash,<br />
+I hurry, I scurry with never a flurry.<br />
+I tear along, flare along, singing my lightning song,<br />
+&ldquo;I&#8217;m the rushing, speeding, racing, fleeting, rapid subway car.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SUBWAY CAR</h2>
+
+
+<p>Whew-ee-ee-ee-ew-ew went the siren whistle.
+And all the men and all the women hurried
+toward the factory. For that meant it was time
+to begin work. Each man and each woman went
+to his particular machine. The steam was up;
+the belts were moving; the wheels were whirring;
+the piston rods were shooting back and forth. And
+one man made a piece of wheel, and one man made
+a part of a brake, and one man made a belt, and
+one man made a leather strap, and one man made
+a door, and one man made some straw-covered
+seats, and one man made a window-frame, and
+one man made a little wire brush. And then some
+other men took all these things and began putting
+them together. And when the car was finished
+some other men came and painted it, and on the
+side they painted the number 793.</p>
+
+<p>The car stood on the siding wondering what he
+was for and what he was to do. Suddenly he heard
+another car come bumping and screeching down
+the track. Before the new car could think what
+was happening,&mdash;bang!&mdash;the battered old car went
+smash into him. This seemed to be just what the
+man standing along side expected. For the car
+felt him swing on to the steps, and shout &ldquo;Go
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
+ahead.&rdquo; At the same minute the car felt a piece
+of iron slip from his own rear and hook into the
+front of the other car.</p>
+
+<p>And &ldquo;go ahead&rdquo; he did, though No. 793 thought
+he would be wrenched to pieces.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Whatever is happening to me?&rdquo; he nervously
+asked the car that was pushing him. &ldquo;I feel my
+wheels going round and round underneath me and
+I can&#8217;t stop them. Can&#8217;t you just hear me creak?
+I&#8217;m afraid I will split in two.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The dilapidated old thing behind simply
+screamed with delight as he jounced over a switch.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;See here, now,&rdquo; he said in a rasping voice,
+&ldquo;what do you think wheels are for anyway if they
+are not to go round? And if you can&#8217;t hang together
+in a quiet little jaunt like this, you had
+better turn into a baby carriage and be done with
+it. Say, what do you think you were made for
+anyway, Freshie?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>With this he gave a vicious pull. Freshie
+thought it would probably loosen every carefully
+fastened bolt in his whole structure.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And what&#8217;s more,&rdquo; continued the amused and
+irritated old car, &ldquo;if you think all you&#8217;ve got to
+do is to be pulled around like a fine lady in a
+limousine, you are pretty well fooled. Wait till
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
+you feel the juice go through you&mdash;just wait&mdash;that&#8217;s
+all I say.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What is juice?&rdquo; groaned No. 793.</p>
+
+<p>But he could get no answer except &ldquo;Just wait,
+you will find out soon enough.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In another minute he had found out. He felt
+his door pulled open and a heavy tread come
+clump, clump, clump down the whole length of
+him to the little closet room at the end. There
+he felt levers pulled and switches turned. Suddenly
+the little wire brush underneath him
+dropped until it touched the third rail. Z-z-zr-zr-zr-zz-zz&mdash;What
+in the name of all blazes was
+happening to him? He tingled in every bolt. He
+quivered with fear. &ldquo;This must be the juice!&rdquo;
+Another lever was turned. He leaped forward
+on the track, jerking and thumping and creaking.</p>
+
+<p>Then he settled down and it wasn&#8217;t so bad. The
+first scare was over. He did not go to pieces. On
+the contrary he felt so excited and strong that he
+almost told the old thing behind him to take off
+his brush and let himself be pulled. But he was
+afraid of the cross old car. So he ventured
+timidly: &ldquo;Isn&#8217;t this great? I should like to go
+flying along in the sun like this all day.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;In the sun?&rdquo; snarled his old companion.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
+&ldquo;Come now, Freshie, can&#8217;t you catch on to what
+you are? You just look your fill at the old sun
+now for you won&#8217;t see him again for some time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; whimpered No. 793.</p>
+
+<p>But he needed no answer. Ahead of him he
+could see the track sliding down into a deep hole.
+The earth closed over him in a queer rounded
+arch, all lined with shiny white tiles. At the same
+moment the lights all up and down his own ceiling
+flashed on. He noticed then that he had a
+red lantern on his front. He could tell it by the
+red, glinting reflections it threw on the tiles as
+he tore along. Ahead he could see a great cluster
+of lights which seemed to be rushing towards him.
+Of course he was really rushing towards them,
+but he was so excited he got all mixed in his ideas.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Where are we? And what on earth is that
+rushing towards us? And why do we come down
+here under the ground?&rdquo; he screamed to the old
+car behind.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There&#8217;s no room for us on top,&rdquo; jerked the old
+car. &ldquo;There are a heap of people in this old city
+of New York, Freshie, and you will find &#8217;em on
+the surface or scooting in the elevated and here
+jogging along underneath the earth.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;People!&rdquo; screamed No. 793, &ldquo;I don&#8217;t see any.
+What do we do with them in this hole anyway?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>
+Even as he spoke he felt the man in the little
+closet room in his front turn something. His wire
+brush lifted and all his strength seemed to ooze
+away. Then something clutched his wheels. He
+screeched,&mdash;yes, he really screeched, and then he
+stood still, close to the station platform. The station
+looked big to No. 793 and very brilliantly
+lighted. It was jammed with people who stood
+pressed against ropes in long rows.</p>
+
+<p>A man on his own platform pulled down a
+handle and then another. He felt his end doors
+and then his center doors fly open. Then tramp,
+tramp, tramp, tramp&mdash;a hundred feet came pounding
+on his floor. He could feel them and somehow
+he liked the feel. He could even feel two
+small feet that walked much faster than the others,
+and in another moment he felt two little knees
+on one of his straw-covered seats. Then the
+handles were pulled again. His doors banged
+closed; z-zr-zr-rr&mdash;the brush underneath touched
+the rail and the electricity shot through him. He
+felt a hundred feet shift quickly and heavily. He
+felt his leather straps clutched by a hundred
+hands. And amid the noise he heard a little voice
+say, &ldquo;Father, isn&#8217;t this a brand new subway car?&rdquo;
+And then he knew what he was!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS</strong></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This first story is an attempt to let a child discover
+the significance of his everyday environment,&mdash;of
+subways and elevated railways. Here there is no
+content new to the city child. But the relationship
+to congestion he has not always seen for himself. In
+the second story the lay-out of New York on a
+crowded island is discovered. Again the content is
+old but its significance may be new. Both these stories
+verge on the informational.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p>
+<h2>BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS<br />
+MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+Many little boys and girls<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With fathers and with mothers,</span><br />
+Many little boys and girls<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With sisters and with brothers,</span><br />
+Many little boys and girls<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">They come from far away.</span><br />
+They sail and sail to big New York,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there they land and stay!</span><br />
+And you would never, never guess<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When they grow big and tall,</span><br />
+That they had come from far away<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When they were wee and small!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>One of the little boys who sailed and sailed until
+he came to big New York was named Boris. He
+came as the others did, with his father and his
+mother and his sisters and his brothers. He came
+from a wide green country called Russia. In that
+country he had never seen a city, never seen
+wharves with ocean steamers and ferry boats and
+tug boats and barges,&mdash;never seen a street so
+crowded you could hardly get through, had never
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>
+seen great high buildings reaching up, up, up
+to the clouds, he thought. And he had never heard
+a city, never heard the noise of elevated trains and
+surface cars and automobiles and the many, many
+hurrying feet. He often thought of the wide green
+country he had left behind, and he used to talk
+about it to his mother in a funny language you
+wouldn&#8217;t understand. For Boris and his family
+still spoke Russian. But Boris was nine years old
+and he loved new things as well as old. So he
+grew to love this crowded noisy new home of his
+as well as the still wide country he had left.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i269.png" width="500" height="364" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Now Boris had been in New York quite a while.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>
+But he hadn&#8217;t been out on the streets much. One
+day he said to his mother in the funny language,
+&ldquo;I think I&#8217;ll take a walk!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;be careful you don&#8217;t
+get run over by one of those queer wagons that
+run without horses!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes I will,&rdquo; laughed Boris for he was a careful
+and a smart little boy and knew well how to
+take care of himself for all he was so little.</p>
+
+<p>So Boris went out on the street. He walked
+to the corner and waited to go across.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 4em;">
+Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br />
+Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;<br />
+Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He waited another minute.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 4em;">
+Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br />
+Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;<br />
+Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He stood there a long while watching this
+stream of autos and horses and trucks go by and
+he thought:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Dear me! dear me!</span><br />
+ What shall I do?<br />
+ The&#8217;re so many things,<br />
+ I&#8217;ll never get through!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Just then all the autos and the horses and the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>
+trucks stopped. They stood still right in front of
+him. And Boris saw that the big man standing
+in the middle of the street had put up his hand to
+stop them. So he scampered across. Boris didn&#8217;t
+know that the big man was the traffic policeman!</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i271.png" width="500" height="367" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Now Boris scampered down the block to the
+next street. There he waited to go across.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 4em;">
+Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br />
+Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;<br />
+Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He stood there a long time watching the autos
+and horses and trucks go by. And he thought:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Dear me! dear me!</span><br />
+ What shall I do?<br />
+ The&#8217;re so many things,<br />
+ I&#8217;ll never get through!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Boris looked at the big policeman who stood in
+the middle of <em>this</em> street. After a while the big
+policeman raised his hand and all the autos and
+horses and trucks stopped and Boris scampered
+across and ran down the block to the next street
+crossing. And there the same thing happened
+again.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 4em;">
+Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br />
+Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;<br />
+Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;ll not get much of a walk this way,&rdquo; he
+thought. &ldquo;I have to wait and wait at each corner.
+And the&#8217;re so many things I&#8217;ll never get through.&rdquo;
+Just then he saw a street car. &ldquo;I might take a
+car,&rdquo; he thought. But then he saw on the street
+a long line of cars waiting, waiting to get through.
+&ldquo;It wouldn&#8217;t do much good,&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;They&#8217;re
+just like me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Dear me! dear me!</span><br />
+ What can they do?<br />
+ The&#8217;re so many things,<br />
+ They&#8217;ll never get through!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>
+Then he noticed a big hole in the sidewalk.
+Down the hole went some steps and down the steps
+hurried lots and lots of people. &ldquo;I wonder what
+this is?&rdquo; thought Boris and down the steps he ran.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i273.png" width="500" height="430" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>At the bottom of the steps there was a big room
+all lined with white tile and all lighted with electric
+lights. On the side was the funniest little
+house with a little window in it and a man looking
+through the window. Boris watched carefully for
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>
+he didn&#8217;t understand. Everyone went up to the
+window and gave the man 5 cents and the man
+handed out a little piece of blue paper.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&#8217;s a ticket,&rdquo; thought Boris, for he was a
+very smart little boy. &ldquo;These people must be
+going somewhere.&rdquo; So he reached down in his
+pocket and pulled out a nickel. For all he was
+so little, and so new to New York, he knew what
+a 5 cent piece was quite well. He had to stand
+on tiptoe to hand the man his nickel and to reach
+his little blue ticket. Then he watched again.
+Everyone dropped this ticket in a funny little box
+by a funny little gate and another man moved a
+handle up and down. So Boris did just the same.
+He stood on tiptoe and dropped his ticket in the
+box and walked through the little gate to a big
+platform. And what do you think he saw there?
+A great long tunnel stretching off in both directions,&mdash;a
+long tunnel all lined with white tiles!
+And on the bottom were rails! &ldquo;I wonder what
+runs on that track?&rdquo; thought Boris.</p>
+
+<p>Just then he heard a most terrible noise:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!<br />
+Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>and down the tunnel came a train of cars. &ldquo;Yi-i-i-i&mdash;sh-sh-sh-sh!&rdquo;
+screamed the cars and stopped
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>
+right in front of Boris. And then what do you
+suppose happened? The doors in the car right
+in front of him flew open. Everyone stepped in.
+So did Boris.</p>
+
+<p>It was the front car. He walked to the front
+and sat down where he could look out on the
+tracks. He could also look into the funny little
+box room and see the man who pulled the levers
+and made the car go and stop. In a moment they
+started:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!<br />
+How fast! How fast!</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then &ldquo;Yi-i-i-i&mdash;sh-sh-sh-sh!&rdquo; The man put on the
+brakes and they stopped at another station. In
+another moment they started again. Rackety,
+clackety, klang, klong! Then &ldquo;Yi-i-i-i&mdash;sh-sh-sh-sh&rdquo;
+another station! And so they went flying from
+lighted station to lighted station through the white-tiled
+tunnel.</p>
+
+<p>Boris was very happy. He sat quite still watching
+out of the window and saying with the car;
+rackety, clackety, klang, klong; rackety, clackety,
+klang, klong! &ldquo;This is the way to go if you&#8217;re in
+a hurry,&rdquo; he thought. He looked up and smiled
+to think of all the autos and horses and trucks
+above going oh! so slowly down the street!</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>
+At last he thought he would get out. So the
+next time the man put the brakes on and the train
+yelled &ldquo;Yi-i-i-i&mdash;sh-sh-sh-sh!&rdquo; Boris walked
+through the open doors on to the platform, then
+through the little gate, up some long steps and
+found himself on the street again. But right near
+him what do you think he saw? A park all full of
+trees and grass! This made Boris happy for he
+hadn&#8217;t seen so many trees and so much grass since
+he had left the wide country in his old home in
+Russia. A little breeze was blowing too! He
+clapped his hands and ran around and laughed and
+laughed and laughed and sang:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;I like the grass,</span><br />
+ I like the trees,<br />
+ I like the sky,<br />
+ I like the breeze!<br />
+ I touch the grass,<br />
+ I touch the trees,<br />
+ Let me play in the Park,<br />
+ Oh, please! oh, please!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>So he ran all round and played in the Park.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he thought it was time to go home.
+He looked for the hole in the sidewalk but he
+couldn&#8217;t find it. And he didn&#8217;t know how to ask
+for the subway for he didn&#8217;t know its name and
+he couldn&#8217;t talk English. &ldquo;I&#8217;ll have to walk!&rdquo; he
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>
+thought. He knew he must walk south for he had
+noticed which way the sun was when he went into
+the hole in the sidewalk. And now he noticed
+again where it was and so he could tell which way
+was south.</p>
+
+<p>So Boris went out on the street. He walked to
+the corner and waited to go across.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 4em;">
+Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br />
+Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse,<br />
+Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He waited another minute.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 4em;">
+Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br />
+Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;<br />
+Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He stood there a long time watching the stream
+of autos and horses and trucks go by. And he
+thought; &ldquo;I&#8217;ll never get home if I have to go as
+slowly as this.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Dear me! dear me!</span><br />
+ What shall I do?<br />
+ The&#8217;re so many things<br />
+ I&#8217;ll never get through!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And for all he was so smart he was a very little boy
+and he began to cry for his legs were tired and
+he was a little frightened, too.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>
+Just then what do you suppose he saw? Down
+the street way up in the air on a kind of trestle,
+he saw a train of cars tearing by. &ldquo;That&#8217;s just
+what I want! That train doesn&#8217;t have to stop for
+autos and horses and things!&rdquo; thought Boris and
+he ran down the street. When he got to the high
+trestle, there was a long flight of stairs. Up the
+steps went Boris. At the top he found another
+funny little room with a window in it and a man
+looking out. This time he knew just what to do.
+He stood on tiptoe and gave the man 5 cents and
+the man handed him a little red piece of paper.
+Boris took it, walked through a little gate, stood
+on tiptoe and dropped the ticket into another funny
+little box and another man moved the handle up
+and down and his ticket dropped down. And what
+do you suppose he saw from the platform? Tracks
+again! Tracks stretching out in both directions.
+He didn&#8217;t have to wait on the platform long before
+he heard the train coming. It seemed to say:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m the elevated train, I&#8217;m the elevated train,
+I&#8217;m the elevated, elevated, elevated train!&rdquo; It
+stopped right in front of Boris and Boris got into
+the front car again. Here was another man in
+another little box room moving more levers and
+making this train stop and go. And Boris could
+look right out in front and see the stations before
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>
+he reached them. He could see bridges before
+they tore under them; he could look down and
+see the horses and the autos and the trucks. He
+smiled as he saw how slowly they had to go while
+he was racing along above them.</p>
+
+<p>So Boris was quite happy and sat very still and
+watched out of the window. Suddenly he heard
+the conductor call &ldquo;Fourteenth Street!&rdquo; Now that
+was one of the few English words that Boris knew
+for he lived on 14th Street. Now he was pleased
+for he knew he was near home. So he got off
+the car, ran down the long, long steps and found
+himself on the street. Down 14th Street he ran
+until he came to his house.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; called his mother. &ldquo;You&#8217;ve been gone
+a long time! What did you see on the streets?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Boris smiled. &ldquo;I haven&#8217;t been <em>on</em> the streets
+much mother.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>His mother was surprised. &ldquo;Where have you
+been if you haven&#8217;t been on the streets?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>Boris laughed and laughed. &ldquo;There were so
+many things on the streets, so many autos and
+horses and trucks,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that I couldn&#8217;t go
+fast. So I found a wonderful train <em>under</em> the
+streets and I went out on that. And I found a wonderful
+train <em>over</em> the streets and I came home on
+that!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>
+&ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; said his mother. &ldquo;Trains under
+and trains over! Think of that!&rdquo; And Boris did
+think of them much. And when he was in bed
+that night, he seemed to hear this little song about
+them:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+  <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Now out on the streets</span><br />
+   There everything meets<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And they&#8217;re all in a hurry to go.</span><br />
+   But what can they do<br />
+   For they can&#8217;t get through<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And all are so terribly slow?</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+  <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;But under the street</span><br />
+   Where nothing can meet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">The subway goes rackety, klack!</span><br />
+   It can dash and can race,<br />
+   It can flash and can chase,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">For there&#8217;s nothing ahead on the track.</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+  <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;And over the street</span><br />
+   Where nothing can meet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Is a wonderful train indeed!</span><br />
+   High up the stair<br />
+   Way up in the air<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -1em;">It goes at remarkable speed.&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p>
+<h2>BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK</h2>
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 1</strong></span></p>
+
+<p>One morning when Boris was eating his breakfast,
+he suddenly thought of the wide green country
+around his old home in Russia. I don&#8217;t know
+what made him think of it. He just did!
+&ldquo;Mother,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I want to see some grass.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>His mother smiled. &ldquo;Want to go to the Park,
+Boris?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, more grass than that even. I want to see
+it everywhere,&rdquo; and Boris waved his arms around.
+&ldquo;I think I&#8217;ll go and find lots and lots of it!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;d like to see lots and lots of grass too, Boris,&rdquo;
+smiled his mother. But her eyes were full of
+tears too! &ldquo;But I don&#8217;t know where you can go
+in New York and see grass everywhere!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&#8217;ll go out of New York!&rdquo; cried Boris.
+&ldquo;If I walk far enough I&#8217;ll surely find grass,
+won&#8217;t I?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You can try,&rdquo; answered his mother. Boris
+was now much bigger than when he came to New
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>
+York and could talk quite a little English too. So
+his mother let him walk over the city alone. Boris
+clapped his hands! For though he was much bigger,
+he was still a little boy, you know!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Which way had I better go?&rdquo; thought Boris
+when he was out on the street. &ldquo;I think I&#8217;ll go
+west first.&rdquo; So he walked west. Though the
+streets were crowded he had learned to go faster
+than when he took his first walk and discovered
+the subway and elevated. West, west, west he
+went. Street after street,&mdash;houses set close together
+all the way. Then at last he saw something
+that made him run. The city came to an end!
+And there was a big river, oh! such an enormous
+river! The edge of the river was all docks,&mdash;docks
+as far as he could look. Across on the other
+side he could see another city with big chimneys
+and lots and lots of smoke. There were lots of
+boats in the river too. &ldquo;Some day I&#8217;ll come and
+watch them,&rdquo; thought Boris excitedly, &ldquo;but now
+I want to find my grass.&rdquo; So he turned around.
+&ldquo;I&#8217;ll have to go east, I guess,&rdquo; he thought.</p>
+
+<p>So east he went. East he went until he came
+to his house. But he did not stop. He went right
+by it. &ldquo;How many houses there are&rdquo; he thought.
+&ldquo;How many people there must be!&rdquo; And still he
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>
+walked east. And still the houses were set close
+together street after street. After a while he saw
+something that made him run again. The city
+came to an end! And there was another big river!
+This edge too was all docks,&mdash;docks as far as he
+could look. Across on the other side he could
+see another city with big chimneys and lots of
+smoke. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; thought Boris, &ldquo;isn&#8217;t it the funniest
+thing that when I walk west I come to a river
+and when I walk east I come to a river too!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Now this puzzled him so that he thought he
+must ask somebody about it. Close to him was a
+big dock and at the dock was a flat barge. A lot
+of men were unloading coal from her. He walked
+up to one. &ldquo;Please,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;what river is this?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The man stopped his work for a minute. &ldquo;It&#8217;s
+the East River of course. Where do you come
+from, boy?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;From Russia,&rdquo; said Boris, &ldquo;so you see I didn&#8217;t
+know. And please, is the other river the West
+River then?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What other river, boy? What are you talking
+about?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>This made Boris feel very uncomfortable, but
+he knew there was another river in the west for
+hadn&#8217;t he just walked there? So he said bravely,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>
+&ldquo;If you keep walking west you <em>do</em> come to another
+river. I know you do! For I&#8217;ve done it.
+And it&#8217;s a bigger river than this, too!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The man laughed out loud. &ldquo;Right you are,
+boy!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You&#8217;re a great walker, you are.
+Did you walk all the way from Russia?&rdquo; Now
+Boris thought the man couldn&#8217;t know very much
+to ask him such a question. But, then, he didn&#8217;t
+know much either. He was asking questions too!
+So he answered, &ldquo;Oh! no! I came on an enormous
+boat. But please you haven&#8217;t told me the name of
+the other river?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The man laughed louder than ever. &ldquo;It&#8217;s a
+funny thing, boy, that we call it the North River.
+But you are right: it <em>is</em> west! It&#8217;s really the Hudson
+River, boy, that&#8217;s what it is. And a mighty
+big river it is too. Want to know anything more?&rdquo;
+And the man turned back to his work.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; thought Boris. &ldquo;I can&#8217;t get to my grass
+today if I strike rivers everywhere I go.&rdquo; And
+he turned and walked home slowly, because he was
+sorry. And he was very, very tired too. For you
+see he had walked all the way across the city twice
+and that is a pretty long walk even for a boy the
+size of Boris.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p>
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Boris, he went out to walk<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find the country wide.</span><br />
+And he walked west and west he walked<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">But found the Hudson wide!</span><br />
+And so he turned himself about<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And walked the other way</span><br />
+And he walked east and east he walked<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there East River lay!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 2</strong></span></p>
+
+<p>The next morning at breakfast, Boris suddenly
+thought again of the wide green country around
+his old home in Russia. I don&#8217;t know why he
+thought of it again. He just did! And then he
+thought of the Hudson River he had found by
+walking west and of the East River he had found
+by walking east. &ldquo;I might try walking north this
+time,&rdquo; he thought. And so he said to his mother,
+&ldquo;I think I&#8217;ll go on another hunt for grass,&mdash;grass
+that&#8217;s everywhere!&rdquo; and again he waved his arms.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; answered his mother. &ldquo;But I&#8217;m
+afraid you&#8217;ll have to walk a long way to find grass
+everywhere!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Out on the street he began to walk north. Then
+he remembered what a long long ride north in
+the subway he had had the other day. &ldquo;I&#8217;d better
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>
+take something if I want to get to the country
+wide,&rdquo; he thought.</p>
+
+<p>So Boris went down to the subway and took the
+train. He rode for ever and ever so long. He
+kept wondering if there were still houses above
+him or if it was all grass,&mdash;lots and lots of grass.
+&ldquo;I guess I&#8217;ll go up and see,&rdquo; he thought. So up
+he went at the next station. But there were still
+houses everywhere. They weren&#8217;t so high nor
+quite so close together; but still there was no grass.
+So he kept on walking north. Then he saw something
+that made him run. He could hardly believe
+his eyes. There was <em>another river</em>! &ldquo;Oh!
+dear! oh! dear!&rdquo; thought Boris. &ldquo;I&#8217;ll never in
+the world find the country wide if I strike a river
+whatever way I go. I think I&#8217;ll take the subway
+and go way, way south. Surely I can get through
+that way. West a river, east a river, north a river.
+Yes, I&#8217;ll go south!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So again Boris went down to the subway and
+took a train going south. He stayed on it so long
+that he thought he must surely be way out in the
+country wide under grass, grass, everywhere. &ldquo;I
+guess I&#8217;ll go up and see,&rdquo; he thought.</p>
+
+<p>So up he went at the next station. But when he
+came up he found himself on a street. There were
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>
+high buildings all around him. He began to walk
+south. The farther he walked, the higher the
+buildings he found. At last he came to a place
+where the buildings reached up, up, up,&mdash;up to
+the clouds, he thought. He threw back his head
+to look at them,&mdash;so high above him that it made
+him almost dizzy to look at their tops. He wasn&#8217;t
+sure they weren&#8217;t going to fall either! Then he
+looked down again. And what did he see at the
+end of the street? Trees, yes, green trees! &ldquo;Perhaps
+I am coming to the wide green country,&rdquo; he
+thought. And he hurried on.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i288.png" width="500" height="365" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>
+But when he got to the trees he saw that the city
+came to an end again. And what a wonderful end
+it was too! All around him was water,&mdash;water so
+full of boats that it made Boris gasp. When he
+looked to the west he could see a great river with
+another city on the other side. &ldquo;That&#8217;s the Hudson,&rdquo;
+thought Boris for he remembered what the
+coal man had told him. When he looked to the
+east he could see another great river. &ldquo;That&#8217;s the
+East River,&rdquo; he thought for he remembered that
+name too.</p>
+
+<p>But what river was that out in front of him?
+Then suddenly Boris remembered. That was New
+York Harbor! This was where he had landed
+when he had come in the giant steamer from Russia!
+Out there was Ellis Island where he had
+stayed with his father and his mother and his sisters
+and his brothers until they had been looked at!
+He thought he could see Ellis Island from where
+he stood. But there were so many islands he
+couldn&#8217;t be sure. But he <em>could</em> see the Statue of
+Liberty, that enormous woman holding a torch
+in her hand. He was sure of that. And he could
+see the boats everywhere all over the harbor.
+Boris stood there some time just staring and listening
+and staring.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+When Boris he went out again<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find the country wide</span><br />
+And he went north and north he went<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Harlem River&#8217;s side.</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Again he turned himself about<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And went the other way</span><br />
+And he went south and south he went<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there the harbor lay!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 3</strong></span></p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Boris remembered what he had come
+for. He was looking for the wide green country,
+for a place where grass grew everywhere. &ldquo;This
+is the funniest thing in the world,&rdquo; he thought
+scratching his head. &ldquo;Wherever I walk in New
+York I come to water. So many people and water
+on every side of them! How do they ever get
+out?&rdquo; As soon as he thought of this, he began to
+look around. Across the East River he could see
+a giant bridge leaping from New York over to
+another city and on the bridge were trains and cars
+shooting back and forth and autos and horses and
+people. &ldquo;So that is the way they get out!&rdquo; he
+thought.</p>
+
+<p>Then he looked to the west, to the Hudson
+River. &ldquo;No bridges there!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It&#8217;s too
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>
+wide.&rdquo; Then he suddenly remembered the ferry
+boat that had brought him from Ellis Island.
+&ldquo;Ferry boats, of course,&rdquo; he thought. And sure
+enough there were ferry boats and ferry boats
+going back and forth from New York to the other
+side and to the little islands out in the harbor too!</p>
+
+<p>Now Boris walked along thinking hard about
+all this water all around New York. Just then he
+noticed a lot of people coming up out of a hole in
+the sidewalk. &ldquo;The Subway,&rdquo; he thought, for you
+remember he had been on the subway. But the
+name over the steps didn&#8217;t spell &ldquo;subway.&rdquo; He
+looked at it for a long time. At last he could read
+it. &ldquo;Hudson Tubes&rdquo; it said. Hudson Tubes?
+What could that mean? Boris wanted to know.
+So he walked right up to a woman coming out
+of the hole.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What are the Hudson Tubes and where do
+they take you?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>The woman laughed. &ldquo;They take you to New
+Jersey, of course,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Is that over there?&rdquo; Boris asked, pointing
+across the Hudson. &ldquo;And do they really go under
+the Hudson River?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, to be sure they do. Where do you want
+to go?&rdquo; she answered and then Boris remembered
+what he had been hunting for. &ldquo;I want to go to
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>
+a wide green country where there is grass everywhere.
+But every way I walk in New York I
+come to water. I know because I&#8217;ve walked east
+and I&#8217;ve walked west and I&#8217;ve walked north and
+I&#8217;ve walked south,&rdquo; he said, feeling a little like
+crying for he was very tired and he <em>was</em> only a
+little boy too. The woman smiled and she looked
+nice when she smiled. &ldquo;You see, boy,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;New York is an island, so of course, you come
+to water every way you walk. And it&#8217;s so full
+of people that there isn&#8217;t any wide green country
+left,&mdash;except the Parks of course.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I know the Parks,&rdquo; said Boris, &ldquo;but that
+isn&#8217;t quite what I mean!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The woman smiled again. &ldquo;There <em>is</em> a wide
+green country when you get out of the island,&rdquo; she
+said. &ldquo;You&#8217;ll find it some day I&#8217;m sure,&rdquo; and then
+the woman hurried away. Boris was very, very
+tired. So he took the subway home. When he
+came in his mother called out, &ldquo;Did you find the
+wide green country, Boris?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Boris, &ldquo;I couldn&#8217;t, you see. Because
+what do you think New York is?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What do I think New York is, Boris? Why,
+it&#8217;s the biggest city in the world!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&#8217;s not what I mean. What do you think
+it <em>is</em>? What is it built on I mean?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>
+&ldquo;What is it built on? On good sound rock I
+suppose!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Boris laughed and laughed. &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;I mean it&#8217;s an island. Every way you walk, if
+you walk long enough, you come to water. Now
+isn&#8217;t that the funniest thing?&rdquo; And Boris&#8217;s mother
+thought it was funny too.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So many people and all to live on an island!&rdquo;
+she kept saying to herself. &ldquo;I should think it
+would make them a lot of work!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Boris who remembered the bridges and the
+ferry boats and the &ldquo;tubes&rdquo; thought so too!</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+Boris, he went out to walk<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find the country wide</span><br />
+And he walked west and west he walked<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he found the Hudson wide!</span><br />
+And so he turned himself about<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And walked the other way</span><br />
+And he walked east and east he walked<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there East River lay!</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+But Boris he went out again<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find the country wide</span><br />
+And he went north and north he went<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Harlem River&#8217;s side.</span><br />
+Again he turned himself about<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And went the other way</span><br />
+And he went south and south he went<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there the harbor lay!</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>
+Then Boris scratched his head and thought:<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">&ldquo;Whatever way I go</span><br />
+There&#8217;s always water at the end<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever way I go!</span><br />
+New York must be an island<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">An island it must be</span><br />
+So many people all shut in<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">By rivers and by sea!</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+They&#8217;ve bridges and they&#8217;ve ferry boats<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the top to go;</span><br />
+They&#8217;ve subways and they&#8217;ve Hudson tubes<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To burrow down below</span><br />
+To get things in, to get things out<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">How busy they must be!</span><br />
+In that enormous big New York<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">On rivers and on sea!&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>SPEED</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This story is a definite attempt to make the child
+aware of a new relationship in his familiar environment.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">The verse is for the older children. The story has
+lent itself well to dramatization.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SPEED</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once there was a big beautiful white ox. His
+back was broad, his horns were long and his eyes
+were large and gentle. He went slowly sauntering
+down the road one sunshiny summer day. As he
+walked along he swung from side to side carefully
+putting down his small feet. And this is
+what he thought:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am pleased with myself&mdash;so large, so broad,
+so strong am I. Is there anyone else who can
+pull so heavy a load? Is there anyone else who
+can plow so straight a furrow? What would the
+world do without me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Just then he heard something tearing along the
+road behind him. &ldquo;Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty,
+clopperty.&rdquo; In a moment up dashed a big,
+black horse.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Greetings,&rdquo; lowed the ox, slowly turning his
+large gentle eyes on the excited horse. &ldquo;Why such
+haste, my brother?&rdquo; The horse tossed his mane.
+&ldquo;I&#8217;m in a hurry,&rdquo; he snorted, &ldquo;because I&#8217;m made
+to go fast. Why, I can go ten miles while you
+crawl one! The world has no more use for a great
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>
+white snail like you. But if you want speed, I&#8217;m
+just what you need. Watch how fast I go!&rdquo; and
+clopperty, clopperty he was off down the road.
+As the ox watched the horse disappear he thought
+of what he had heard.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He called me a great white snail! He said he
+could go ten miles while I crawled one! Surely
+this swift horse is more wonderful than I!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Now as the horse went frisking along this is
+what he thought. &ldquo;I am pleased with myself. I
+am sleek, I am swift&mdash;swifter than the ox. What
+would the world do without me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Just then he heard a strange humming overhead.
+He glanced up. The sound came from a wire
+taut and vibrating. Then he heard fast turning
+wheels coming &ldquo;Kathump, kathump.&rdquo; And what
+do you think that poor frightened horse saw coming
+along the road? A self-moving car with a
+trolley overhead touching the singing wire! His
+eyes stuck out of his head and his mane stood on
+end he was so scared. What made it go, he wondered.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hello, clodhopper,&rdquo; shrieked the electric car.
+&ldquo;I didn&#8217;t know there were any of you four-footed
+curiosities left. Surely the world has no more use
+for you. Where you go in half a day, I go in an
+hour; where you carry one man, I carry ten. If
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>
+you want speed I&#8217;m just what you need. Just
+watch me!&rdquo; He was gone leaving only the humming
+wire overhead. The poor horse thought of
+what he had heard.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He called me a clodhopper! He said he could
+go in an hour where I take half a day! Surely
+this swift car is more wonderful than I!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Now the trolley went swinging on his way thinking,
+&ldquo;I am pleased with myself. My power is the
+same as the lightning that rips the sky. I am swift,&mdash;swifter
+than the ox&mdash;swifter than the horse.
+What would the world do without me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Just then he heard a terrifying noise. It
+sounded like a mightly monster coughing his life
+away. &ldquo;Chug, a chug a chug a chug, chug.&rdquo; Then
+to his horror he saw coming across the green field
+a gigantic iron creature with black smoke and fiery
+sparks streaming from a nose on top of his head.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, slowpoke,&rdquo; screamed the engine as he
+came near the car. &ldquo;Out o&#8217; breath? No wonder.
+You&#8217;re not made to go fast like me, for I move
+by the great power of steam. Look at my monstrous
+boilers; see my hot fire. Where you go in
+half a day, I go in an hour; where you carry one
+man I carry twenty. If you want speed I&#8217;m just
+what you need! Goodbye. Take your time, slow
+coach.&rdquo; And chug, chug, he was off leaving only
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>
+a trail of dirty smoke behind him. The poor trolley
+car thought of what he had heard.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He called me a slowpoke! He said he could
+go in an hour where I take a half day! Surely
+this ugly engine is greater than I!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i301.png" width="500" height="373" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Now the engine raced down to the freight depot
+which was near the great shipping docks. As he
+waited to be loaded he thought:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am pleased with myself. I am swift&mdash;swifter
+than the ox, swifter than the horse, swifter than
+the electric car. What would the world do without
+me? I serve everyone, I go everywhere&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>
+Just here he was interrupted by the deep booming
+voice of a freight steamer lying alongside the
+wharf. &ldquo;Tooooot&rdquo; is what the voice said, &ldquo;you
+ridiculous landlubber! You go everywhere?
+What about the water? Can you go to France and
+back again? It&#8217;s only I who can haul the world&#8217;s
+goods across the ocean! And even where you <em>can</em>
+go, you never get trusted if they can possibly trust
+me, now do you? Did you ever think why men use
+river steamers instead of you? Did you ever think
+why men cut the great Panama Canal so that sea
+could flow into sea? Well, it&#8217;s simply because
+they&#8217;re smart and prefer me to you when they can
+get me. You eat too much coal with your speed,&mdash;that&#8217;s
+what the trouble is with you&mdash;you ridiculous
+landlubber!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>This long speech made the old steamer quite
+hoarse so he cleared his throat with a long
+&ldquo;Toooot&rdquo; and sank into silence.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course, what he says is true,&rdquo; thought the
+engine. &ldquo;At the same time it is equally true that
+<em>on land</em> I <em>do</em> serve everyone, I go everywhere&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Just here he was interrupted again by a most unexpected
+noise. It sounded half like a steel giggle,
+half like a brass hiccough. It made the engine uneasy.
+He was sure someone was laughing at him.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>
+Majestically he turned his headlight till it lighted
+up a funny little automobile who was laughing
+and laughing and shaking frantically like this and
+going &ldquo;zzzzz.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You silly little road beetle,&rdquo; shouted the great
+engine, &ldquo;what on earth&#8217;s the matter with you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The automobile gave one violent shake, turned
+off his spark and said in an orderly voice, &ldquo;It
+struck my funny bone to hear you say you went
+everywhere <em>on land</em>, that&#8217;s all. Don&#8217;t you realize
+you&#8217;re an old fuss budget with your steam and your
+boiler and your fire and what not? You&#8217;re tied
+to your rails and if everything about your old tracks
+isn&#8217;t kept just so you tumble over into a ditch or
+do some fool thing. Now I&#8217;m the one that can
+endure real hardships. Sparks and gasoline! you
+just sit right there, you baby, you railclinger, and
+watch me take that hill! Honk, honk!&rdquo; And he
+was off up the hill.</p>
+
+<p>The engine slowly turned back his headlight till
+the light shone full on his shiny rails. He thought
+of what he had heard. &ldquo;He called me a railclinger&mdash;yes,
+that I am. How can that preposterous
+little beetle run without tracks? I&#8217;m afraid
+he&#8217;s more wonderful than I.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Now the automobile went jouncing and bouncing
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>
+up the rough road puffing merrily and thinking,
+&ldquo;I&#8217;m mightily pleased with myself. Look at
+the way I climb this hill. There&#8217;s nothing really
+so wonderful as I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Just then he heard a sound that made his engine
+boil with fright. Dzdzdzdzdzr&mdash;it seemed to
+come right out of the sky. He got all his courage
+together and turned his searchlights up. The sight
+instantly killed his engine. Above him soared a
+giant aeroplane. It floated, it wheeled, it rose, it
+dropped. It looked serene, strong and swift.
+Down, down came the great thing. Through the
+terrific droning the automobile could just make
+out these words:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Dzdzdzdz. You think you&#8217;re wonderful, you
+poor little creeping worm tied to the earth! I pity
+all you slow, slow things that I look down on as
+I fly through the sky. Ox made way for horse,
+horse made way for engine, car and auto but all,&mdash;all
+make way for me. For if you want speed, I&#8217;m
+just what you need. Dzdzdzdzdz.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And the great aeroplane wheeled and rose like a
+giant bird. The automobile watched him, too
+humbled to speak. Up, up, up, went the aeroplane&mdash;up,
+up, up &#8217;til it was out of sight.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SPEED</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 8em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -2em;">The hounds they speed with hanging tongues;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: -2em;">The deer they speed with bursting lungs;</span><br />
+    Foxes hurry,<br />
+    Field mice scurry.<br />
+    Eagles fly<br />
+    Swift, through the sky,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -2em;">And man, his face all wrinkled with worry,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: -2em;">Goes speeding by tho&#8217; he couldn&#8217;t tell why!</span><br />
+    But a little wild hare<br />
+    He pauses to stare<br />
+    At the daisies and baby and me<br />
+    Just sitting,&mdash;not trying to go anywhere,<br />
+    Just sitting and playing with never a care<br />
+    In the shade of a great elm tree.<br />
+    And the daisies they laugh<br />
+    As they hear the world pass,<br />
+    What is speed to the growing flowers?<br />
+    And my baby laughs<br />
+    As he sits in the grass,<br />
+    We all laugh through the sunshiny hours,&mdash;<br />
+    Through the long, dear sunshiny hours!<br />
+    For flowers and babies<br />
+    And I still know<br />
+    &#8217;Tis fun to be happy,<br />
+    &#8217;Tis fun to go slow,<br />
+    &#8217;Tis fun to take time to live and to grow.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>FIVE LITTLE BABIES</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This story was originally written because the
+children thought a negro was dirty. The songs are
+authentic. They have been enjoyed by children as
+young as four years old.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p>
+<h2>FIVE LITTLE BABIES</h2>
+
+
+<p>This is going to be a story about some little
+babies,&mdash;five different little babies who were born
+in five different parts of this big round world and
+didn&#8217;t look alike or think alike at all.</p>
+
+<p>One little baby was all yellow. He just came
+that way. His eyes were black and slanted up in
+his little face. His hair was black and straight.
+He wore gay little silk coats and gay little silk
+trousers with flowers and figures sewed all over
+them. When he looked up he saw his father&#8217;s
+face was yellow and so was his mother&#8217;s. And
+his father&#8217;s hair was black and so was his mother&#8217;s.
+And when he was a little older he saw they both
+wore gay silk coats and gay silk trousers with
+flowers and figures sewed all over them. But the
+baby didn&#8217;t think any of this was queer,&mdash;not even
+when he grew up. For every one he knew had
+yellow skin and wore silk coats and trousers. So
+of course he thought all the world was that way.</p>
+
+<p>But long before he was old enough to notice any
+of these things he knew his mother loved her little
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>
+yellow baby with slanting black eyes. And he
+loved to have her take him in her arms and sing
+to him, saying:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Chu Sir Tsun Ching Min. Tsoun Sun</span><br />
+ Gi Gi. Koo Yin Fee Min Kwei<br />
+ Hua Shiang Lee Pan Run Yin.<br />
+ Fon Chin Yoa Sir. Loo Yi To<br />
+ Choa Yeo Liang Sung. Tsun Tze<br />
+ Doo Soo Soo Wei Gun. Tsin Tsin.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>For all this happened in China and he was a little
+Chinese Baby.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Another little baby was all brown. He just
+came that way. His eyes were black and his hair
+was black. He wore pretty colored silk shawls
+and little silk dresses. And when he looked up
+he saw his father&#8217;s face was brown and that he
+wore a big turban on his head. And he saw that
+around his mother&#8217;s brown face was long soft
+hair. He saw that she wore pretty colored silk
+shawls and long silk trousers and bare feet. But
+the baby didn&#8217;t think any of this was queer,&mdash;even
+when he grew up. He thought every one had
+brown skin and that everybody dressed like himself
+and his father and his mother.</p>
+
+<p>But long before he was old enough to notice
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>
+any of these things, he knew his mother loved her
+little brown baby with black eyes. And he loved
+to have her take him in her arms and sing to him,
+saying:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Arecoco Jarecoco, Jungle parkie bare,</span><br />
+ Marabata cunecomunga dumrecarto sare,<br />
+ Hillee milee puneah jara de naddeah,<br />
+ Arecoco Jarecoco Jungle parkie bare.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>For all this happened in India and he was a little
+Indian baby.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Now another little baby was all black. He just
+came that way. His eyes were black and his hair
+was black and curled in tight kinky curls all over
+his little head. And this little baby didn&#8217;t wear
+anything at all except a loin cloth. When he
+looked up he saw the black faces and kinky black
+hair of his father and his mother. And when
+he was a little older he saw that they didn&#8217;t wear
+any clothes either except a loin cloth and a feather
+skirt and some shells. Neither did this baby think
+any of this was queer,&mdash;not even when he grew
+older. He thought all the world looked and
+dressed like that.</p>
+
+<p>But long before he was old enough to notice
+any of these things, he knew his mother loved her
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>
+little black baby with kinky black hair. And he
+loved to have her take him in her arms and sing
+to him, saying,</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;O t&uacute;la, mntw&aacute;na, O t&uacute;la,</span><br />
+ Uny&oacute;ko akam&uacute;ko,<br />
+ Us&eacute;le ezintab&eacute;ni,<br />
+ Uhl&uacute; shwa izigw&eacute;gwe,<br />
+               <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Iw&aacute;.</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+ O t&uacute;la, mntw&aacute;na, O t&uacute;la,<br />
+ Uny&oacute;ko w-zezob&uacute;ya,<br />
+ Akupat&eacute;le &iacute;nto enhl&eacute;,<br />
+               <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Iw&aacute;.&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>For all this happened in Africa and he was a little
+negro baby.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Still another little baby,&mdash;he was the fourth,&mdash;was
+all red. He just came that way. His eyes
+were black and his hair was straight and black.
+He was bound up tight and slipped into a basket
+and carried around on his mother&#8217;s back. He
+didn&#8217;t think this was queer, even when he grew
+up. He thought all little babies were carried that
+way. And he thought all fathers and mothers had
+red skin and black hair and wore leather coats
+and trousers trimmed with feathers. For his did.</p>
+
+<p>But long before he was old enough to notice any
+of these things he knew his mother loved her little
+red baby that she carried on her back, and he
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>
+loved to have her take him out of his basket bed
+and rock him in her arms and sing to him, saying:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+ <span style="margin-left: 1em;">&ldquo;Cheda-e</span><br />
+Nakahu-kalu<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be-be!</span><br />
+Nakahu-kalu<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be-be!</span><br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">E-Be-be!&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>For all this happened in America long, long ago,
+and he was a little Indian baby.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The last little baby, and he makes five, was all
+white. He just came so too. His eyes were blue
+and his hair was gold and he looked like a little
+baby you know. And he wore dear little white
+dresses and little knitted shoes. When he looked
+up he saw his father&#8217;s white skin and his mother&#8217;s
+blue eyes. When the baby was big enough he saw
+what kind of clothes his father and his mother
+wore,&mdash;but the story doesn&#8217;t tell what they were
+like. And when the baby was big enough he saw
+they all lived in a big dirty noisy city, but the
+story doesn&#8217;t tell what kind of a house they lived
+in. And the story doesn&#8217;t tell whether he thought
+any of these things queer when he was little or
+when he grew up; probably because you know all
+these things yourselves. But the story does tell that
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>
+long before he was old enough to notice any of
+these things he knew his mother loved her little
+white baby with blue eyes and golden hair. And
+it tells that he loved to have her rock him in her
+arms and sing to him this song:</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">
+<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">&ldquo;Listen, wee baby,</span><br />
+ I&#8217;d sing you a song;<br />
+ The arms of the mothers<br />
+ Are tender and strong,<br />
+ The arms of the mothers<br />
+ Where babies belong!<br />
+ Brown mothers and yellow<br />
+ And black and red too,<br />
+ They love their babies<br />
+ As I, dear, love you,&mdash;<br />
+ My little white blossom<br />
+ With wide eyes of blue!<br />
+ And your wee golden head,<br />
+ I do love it, I do!<br />
+ And your feet and your hands<br />
+ I love you there too!<br />
+ And my love makes me sing to you<br />
+ Sing to you songs,<br />
+ Lying hushed in my arms<br />
+ Where a baby belongs!&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>For all this is happening in your own country
+every day and he is a little American baby. Perhaps
+you know his father,&mdash;perhaps you know the
+baby,&mdash;perhaps, oh, perhaps, you have heard his
+mother sing!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This story made a special appeal to the school children
+because the school building was originally a
+stable in MacDougal Alley. They had even witnessed
+this evolution from stable to garage. The
+children have seemed to enjoy the rhythmic language
+without any sense of strangeness.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p>
+<h2>ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p>
+Once the barn was full of hay,<br />
+Now &#8217;tis there no more.<br />
+I wonder why the hay has left the barn?</p>
+
+<p>
+The old horse stood in the stall all day.<br />
+He wanted to be on the streets.<br />
+He was strong, was this old horse.<br />
+He was wise, was this old horse.<br />
+And he was brave as well.<br />
+And he was proud, oh, very proud to be strong and wise and brave!<br />
+He wanted to be on the streets,<br />
+And he wondered what was wrong<br />
+That now for ten long days<br />
+No one had to come harness him up.<br />
+Old Tom, the aged driver, seemed to have gone away,<br />
+And only the stable boy had given him water and oats,<br />
+And poked him hay from the loft above.<br />
+And as the old horse thought of this<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>
+He reached up high with his quivering nose,<br />
+And pushing his lips far back on his teeth,<br />
+Pulled down a mouthful of hay.<br />
+But as he stood chewing the hay<br />
+Again he wondered and wondered again<br />
+Why nobody needed him,<br />
+Why nobody wished to drive.</p>
+
+<p>
+For almost every day<br />
+Old Tom would harness him up<br />
+To a dear little, neat little, sweet little carriage<br />
+And down the alley they&#8217;d go and around to the front of the house.<br />
+And there he&#8217;d stand and wait, this dear, this steady old horse,<br />
+Flicking the flies with his tail,<br />
+Till the door of the house would open wide<br />
+And out would come his mistress dear with the baby in her arms,<br />
+And running along beside<br />
+Would come her little boy, the little boy he loved so well,<br />
+Who gave him sugar from his hand and patted his nose and neck.<br />
+And into the carriage they all would get,<br />
+His mistress and baby and little boy.<br />
+And Tom would tighten the reins a bit<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>
+And off down the street they&#8217;d go,<br />
+Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clop.<br />
+When he was out on the streets,&mdash;<br />
+This dear old, steady old horse,&mdash;<br />
+He knew just what to do, when to go and when to stand still.<br />
+And when with clang! clang! clang!<br />
+Fire engines shrieked down the street<br />
+He&#8217;d stand as still as a rock<br />
+So his mistress and her baby were never frightened a bit!<br />
+And the little boy laughed and watched and laughed!<br />
+And when the great policeman, so big in the middle of the street,<br />
+Held up his hand,<br />
+The old horse stopped<br />
+But watched him close<br />
+For the first wave of the hand that would tell him to go ahead.<br />
+Always the first to stop,<br />
+Always the first to go,<br />
+The old horse loved the streets.</p>
+
+<p>
+Now he wanted the streets.<br />
+And while he stood and chewed his hay and wondered what was wrong,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>
+Suddenly there came a rumble<br />
+Of noises all a-jumble,<br />
+A quaking and a shaking<br />
+A terrifying tremble<br />
+Making the old horse quiver and stand still!<br />
+It came from the alley,<br />
+His own peaceful alley<br />
+Where he knew every horse, every coach, every wagon!<br />
+Bump, thump, like a lump of lead jolting,<br />
+Bang, whang, like a steam engine bolting,<br />
+Down it came crashing<br />
+Down it came smashing,<br />
+Till it stopped with a snort at his own stable door!<br />
+The old horse pulled at his halter<br />
+And strained to look round at the door.<br />
+Out of the tail of his eye he could see<br />
+The doors, the doors to his very own barn,<br />
+Swing wide under the crane where they hoistedthe hay.<br />
+And there in the alley, oh what did he see<br />
+This old horse with his terrified eye?<br />
+A monster all shiny and black<br />
+With great headlights stuck way out in front,<br />
+With brass things that grated and groaned<br />
+As the driver pulled this thing and that.<br />
+And there on the back of this monster<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>
+Sat old Tom<br />
+Who had driven him now for fifteen long years.<br />
+And out of the mouth of the monster, as there opened a neat little door,<br />
+Stepped his mistress dear<br />
+With her eager little boy and the baby in her arms.<br />
+And the poor horse trembled to see those that he loved so well<br />
+So near this terrible monster.<br />
+&ldquo;&#8217;Twill eat them all!&rdquo; he thought.<br />
+And for the first time in all his brave and prudent life<br />
+The old horse was frightened.<br />
+He raised his head,<br />
+He spread his nostrils,<br />
+He neighed with all his strength.<br />
+His mistress dear<br />
+Would surely hear,<br />
+Would hear and understand!<br />
+He wanted to save her, save the boy and save the little baby<br />
+From this terrible ugly beast<br />
+Snorting there so near!<br />
+And his mistress dear, she heard.<br />
+But did she understand?<br />
+She came and laid her hand upon his quivering side.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>
+&ldquo;Poor dear old horse,&rdquo; she said,<br />
+&ldquo;Your day is gone and you must go!&rdquo;<br />
+What could she mean?<br />
+What could she mean?<br />
+What could she mean?<br />
+&ldquo;You have been strong; but not so strong as is our new machine!<br />
+You have been brave; but see this thing, this thing can know no fear!<br />
+You have been wise; but this machine is like a part of Tom.<br />
+He pulls a lever, turns a wheel and this machine obeys!<br />
+Poor dear old horse<br />
+Your day is gone<br />
+And now you too must go!&rdquo;<br />
+So that was what she meant!<br />
+So that was what she meant!<br />
+So that was what she meant!</p>
+
+<p>
+The old horse heard but how could he understand?<br />
+How could he know that she had said<br />
+They wanted him no longer?<br />
+How could he know that this big monster, this new automobile<br />
+Was going to do his work for them<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>
+And do it better than he!<br />
+He knew that something was wrong.<br />
+He was puzzled and sad and frightened.<br />
+With head drooped low and feet that dragged<br />
+He let old Tom untie his rope<br />
+And lead him from the stall.<br />
+For one short moment as he passed the shiny automobile<br />
+He straightened his head and widened his nostrils<br />
+And snorted and snorted again.<br />
+But there within the monster, lying safe upon a seat,<br />
+He saw the little baby<br />
+Laughing and all alone.<br />
+And the old horse was puzzled, was puzzled and frightened too.<br />
+Then old Tom pulled him gently through the wide swinging doors<br />
+And led him down the alley.<br />
+Past the stables with other horses,<br />
+Past the grooms and stable boys,<br />
+Down the alley he knew so well<br />
+Went the old horse for the last time.<br />
+For he never came back again.<br />
+They had no need of him; they liked their auto better!<br />
+Down the alley he slowly went<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>
+And as he turned into the street below<br />
+One last long look he gave to the stable at the end,<br />
+One last long look at his mistress dear with the baby in her arms,<br />
+One last long look at the little boy waving and calling: &ldquo;Goodbye, goodbye&rdquo;.<br />
+One last long look, and then he was gone!</p>
+
+<p>
+Once the barn was full of hay:<br />
+Now &#8217;tis there no more.<br />
+I wonder why the hay has left the barn?</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE WIND</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This story is composed entirely of observations on
+the wind dictated by a six-year-old and a seven-year-old
+class. Every phrase (except the one word &ldquo;toss&rdquo;)
+is theirs. The ordering only is mine.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE WIND</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 6em;">
+In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing,<br />
+But in a winter storm it growls and roars.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i326.png" width="500" height="380" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Sometimes the wind goes oo-oo-oo-oo-oo! It
+sounds like water running. It makes a singing
+sound. It blows through the grass. It blows
+against the tree and the tree bows over and bends
+way down. It whistles in the leaves and makes
+a rustling sound. The tree shakes, the branches
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>
+and leaves all rustle. The wind knocks the leaves
+off the trees and tosses them up in the air. Then
+it blows them straight in to the window and drags
+them around on the floor. It makes the leaves
+whirl and twirl.</p>
+
+<p>And sometimes the wind is frisky. It whisks
+around the corners. It comes blowing down the
+street. It blows the papers round and round on
+the ground. It tears them and rares them, then
+up, it takes them sailing. It sweeps around the
+house, blowing and puffing. It blows the wash
+up. It blows the chickens off the trees. It makes
+the nuts come rattling down. It turns the windmill
+and makes the fire burn. It blows out the
+matches, it blows out the candles, it blows out the
+gas lights. It hits the people on the street. Some
+it keeps back from walking and some it pushes
+forward. It unbuttons the coat of a little girl, it
+unbuttons her leggings too and the little girl feels
+all chilly in the frisky wind. It blows up her
+skirt. It pulls off her hat and blows through her
+hair till she feels all chilly on her head too. Puff!
+it goes, puff! puff! Then off go other hats spinning
+down the street. It gets under umbrellas and
+turns them inside out. The frisky wind blows
+harder and harder. The houses shake. The windows
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>
+rattle. And the people on the street are
+whirling and twirling like the leaves.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes there is a storm. The wind roars
+over the ocean and makes the waves bigger than
+the ships. The waves go up and down, and up
+and down, and the ship goes rocking and rocking,
+this way and that way, this way and that way, to
+the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, back
+and forth and back and forth. A boat gets tossed
+on the sea. The sails are all torn to pieces by
+the storm. The masts get broken off and fall down
+on the ship. The ship just rocks and rocks. Then
+pretty soon it bumps into a rock and is wrecked
+and sinks. And all the men get drowned.</p>
+
+<p>The wind growls and roars over the mountain.
+There is thunder and lightning. The thunder
+says, &ldquo;Boompety, boom, boom, boom!&rdquo; The
+lightning is all shiny. The rain comes pouring
+down. The wind whistles in the trees. It blows
+a tree over. It crashes down. The lightning goes
+crack! and splits the tree in two. And then the
+tree catches on fire and the leaves burn like paper.</p>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 6em;">
+In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing,<br />
+But in a winter storm it growls and roars.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE LEAF STORY</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+All the content and many of the expressions
+were taken from stories on dried leaves dictated by
+a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE LEAF STORY</h2>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i332.png" width="500" height="375" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 3em;">
+I want to fly up in the air!<br />
+If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet<br />
+And the wind blows<br />
+Perhaps I&#8217;ll fly up in the air!<br />
+Listen!<br />
+Something stirs in the dried leaves,<br />
+The tree bends, the tree bows,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>
+The wind sweeps through the brown leaves.<br />
+The brown leaves crackle and rattle and dance,<br />
+They rustle and murmur and pull at the bough,<br />
+They shiver, they quiver till they pull themselves loose<br />
+And are free.<br />
+Up, up they fly!<br />
+Little brown specks in the sky.<br />
+They twist and they spin,<br />
+They whirl and they twirl,<br />
+They teeter, they turn somersaults in the air.<br />
+Then for a moment the wind holds its breath.<br />
+Down, down, down float the leaves,<br />
+Still turning and twisting,<br />
+Still twirling and whirling,<br />
+The brown leaves float to the earth.<br />
+Puff! goes the wind,<br />
+Up they fly again<br />
+With a little soft rustling laugh.<br />
+Then down they float.<br />
+Down, down, down.<br />
+On the ground the leaves go as if walking or running.<br />
+They go and then they stop.<br />
+They scurry along,<br />
+Still twisting and turning,<br />
+Still twirling and whirling,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span>
+They hurry along,<br />
+With a soft little rustle<br />
+They tumble, they roll and they roll.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 3em;">
+I want to fly up in the air!<br />
+If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet<br />
+And the wind blows,<br />
+Perhaps I&#8217;ll fly up in the air.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A LOCOMOTIVE</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+In the daytime, what am I?<br />
+In the hubbub, what am I?<br />
+A mass of iron and of steel,<br />
+Of boiler, piston, throttle, wheel,<br />
+A monster smoking up the sky,<br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">A locomotive!</span><br />
+      <span style="margin-left: 3em;">That am I!</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">
+In the darkness, what am I?<br />
+In the stillness, what am I?<br />
+Streak of light across the sky,<br />
+A clanging bell, a shriek, a cry,<br />
+A fiery demon rushing by,<br />
+    <span style="margin-left: 2em;">A locomotive</span><br />
+      <span style="margin-left: 3em;">That am I!</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i336.png" width="500" height="372" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MOON MOON</h2>
+
+<p class="center">(<em>To the tune of &ldquo;Du, du, liegst mir im herzen.</em>&rdquo;)</p>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+Moon, moon,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shiny and silver,</span><br />
+Moon, moon,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Silver and white;</span><br />
+Moon, moon,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whisper to children</span><br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">&ldquo;Sleep through the silvery night.&rdquo;</span><br />
+There, there, there, there,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep through the silvery night.</span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+Sun, sun,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shiny and golden,</span><br />
+Sun, sun,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden and gay;</span><br />
+Sun, sun,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shout to the children</span><br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">&ldquo;Wake to the sunshiny day!&rdquo;</span><br />
+There, there, there, there,<br />
+  <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wake to the sunshiny day.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p>
+<h2>AUTOMOBILE SONG</h2>
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
+A-rolling, bowling, fast or slow,<br />
+A-racing, chasing, off we go.<br />
+The jolly automobile<br />
+Whizzes along with flying wheel.<br />
+We go chug, chug-chug, chug-up!<br />
+Then we go s-l-i-d-i-n-g down.<br />
+We go scooting over the hills,<br />
+We go tooting back to town.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>SILLY WILL</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+In this story I have used a device to tie together
+many isolated familiar facts. I have never found
+that six-year-old children did not readily discriminate
+the actual from the imaginary.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SILLY WILL</h2>
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 1</strong></span></p>
+
+<p>Once there was a little boy. Now he was a
+very silly little boy, so silly that he was called
+Silly Will. He had an idea that he was tremendously
+smart and that he could quite well get along
+by himself in this world. This foolish idea made
+him do and say all sorts of silly things which led
+to all sorts of terrible happenings as this story
+will show.</p>
+
+<p>One day he went out walking. He walked down
+the road until he met a little girl. The little girl
+was crying.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What&#8217;s the matter with you?&rdquo; asked Silly Will.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; sobbed the little girl, &ldquo;our cow has died
+and I don&#8217;t know what we shall do. I don&#8217;t know
+how we can get along without her milk and everything.
+We depended on her so!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Depended on a cow!&rdquo; cried Silly Will. &ldquo;Whoever
+heard of such a thing! I&#8217;ve often seen that
+stupid old cow of yours. Clumsy, lumbering
+thing! Cows are no good! I wouldn&#8217;t depend on
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>
+any animal, not I! It wouldn&#8217;t matter to me if all
+the cows in the world died!&rdquo; And Silly Will
+strutted off down the road.</p>
+
+<p>The little girl looked after him with astonishment.
+&ldquo;I just wish no cow would ever give that
+silly boy anything!&rdquo; she thought.</p>
+
+<p>Before long he met an old woman. The old
+woman was crying too.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What&#8217;s the matter with you?&rdquo; asked Silly Will.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried the old woman wringing her hands.
+&ldquo;Our sheep has fallen over a cliff and broken its
+legs and it&#8217;s going to die. I don&#8217;t know how we
+shall get along without her wool for spinning. We
+depended so much on her!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Depended on a sheep!&rdquo; cried Silly Will.
+&ldquo;Whoever heard of such a thing! I&#8217;ve often heard
+your stupid old sheep bleating. Sheep are no
+good. I wouldn&#8217;t depend on any animal, not I!
+It wouldn&#8217;t matter to me if all the sheep in the
+world died!&rdquo; And Silly Will strutted off down
+the road feeling very smart.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman looked after him greatly surprised.
+&ldquo;Silly little boy!&rdquo; she thought. &ldquo;He little
+knows! I just wish no sheep would give him
+anything!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then before long Silly Will met a man. The
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>
+man was sitting beside the road with his face in
+his hands.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What&#8217;s the matter with you?&rdquo; asked Silly Will.</p>
+
+<p>The man looked up. &ldquo;Oh, our horse has died!&rdquo;
+he sighed dolefully, &ldquo;and I don&#8217;t know how we
+can get along without him to plow for us now that
+it&#8217;s seeding time. And there&#8217;s not much use getting
+in the seeds anyway without a horse to carry
+the grain to market when it&#8217;s ripe. We depended
+so on our horse!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Depended on a horse!&rdquo; cried Silly Will.
+&ldquo;Whoever heard of such a thing! First I meet a
+little girl who says she depended on a cow for
+food: then I meet an old woman who says she
+depended on a sheep for clothes. And here is a
+man who says he depends on a horse to work and
+to carry for him! As for me, I depend on no animal,
+not I! It wouldn&#8217;t matter to me if there
+were no animals in the world. They needn&#8217;t give
+me anything! I wish they wouldn&#8217;t!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The man looked at him greatly amazed. &ldquo;Silly
+little boy!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I hope your silly wish will
+come true. How little you understand! I just
+wish tonight all the animal kingdom would leave
+you and then perhaps you would understand a
+little!&rdquo; But Silly Will walked home feeling very
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>
+smart, for he <em>didn&#8217;t</em> understand. Silly people
+never <em>do</em> understand!</p>
+
+<p>Now that night a strange thing happened to
+Silly Will. I can&#8217;t explain how or why it happened.
+But in the middle of the night, all the animals
+<em>did</em> leave Silly Will. Not only the cow and
+the sheep and the horse but all the animal kingdom!
+He was sound asleep in his flannel nightgown
+snuggled under warm wool blankets. Suddenly
+he felt a jerk. What was happening? He
+sat up in bed just in time to see his blankets whisk
+off him and disappear. He looked down. His
+night shirt was gone! He heard a faint sound
+almost like the bleating of the old woman&#8217;s sheep.
+&ldquo;Ba-ba-a-a I take back my wool!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then he was aware that something queer had
+happened to his mattress. It was just an empty
+bag of ticking. He heard a faint sound almost
+like the neighing of the man&#8217;s horse who had died.
+&ldquo;Whey-ey-ey, I take back my hair!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He reached for his pillow. It too was an empty
+sack.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hh-ss-s-hh&rdquo; hissed a faint sound almost like a
+goose. &ldquo;I take back my feathers!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Whatever is happening?&rdquo; screamed Silly Will.
+&ldquo;Let me get a light.&rdquo; He found a match and
+struck it, but his candlestick was empty. &ldquo;Ba-a-moo-oo&rdquo;
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>
+said some faint voices. &ldquo;I take back my fat!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>By this time Silly Will was thoroughly frightened
+and shivering with cold besides.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;d better get dressed,&rdquo; he thought, and groped
+his way to the chair where he had left his clothes.
+He could find only his cotton underwaist and his
+cotton shirt. His wool undershirt and drawers,
+his trousers and stockings, and his silk necktie were
+gone. And so were his leather shoes. Just the
+lacings lay on the floor. &ldquo;Mooooo&rdquo; he seemed to
+hear a faint sound almost like the little girl&#8217;s cow
+he had made fun of in the afternoon. &ldquo;I take back
+my hide.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He put on the few cotton clothes that were left,
+but there were no buttons to hold them together.
+&ldquo;Moooooo,&rdquo; he heard a faint voice say. &ldquo;I take
+back my bones.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Terrified he ran to the closet to see what more he
+could find. &ldquo;I&#8217;ll surely freeze,&rdquo; he thought as he
+lighted another match. &ldquo;I&#8217;ll slip on my coat and
+get into bed.&rdquo; But his warm coat with the fur collar
+was gone, too. &ldquo;Chee, chee, chee,&rdquo; he seemed
+to hear a faint sound almost like the squirrel he was
+fond of frightening. &ldquo;I take back my skin!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But he did find some cotton stockings and some
+old overalls. These he put on relieved to find they
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>
+had metal buttons. Then poor Silly Will
+crawled back to bed wearing his cotton clothes and
+waited for morning to come. He didn&#8217;t sleep much
+for the wire spring cut into him. He was cold, too.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as it was light he hunted around for
+more clothes. He found some straw bed-room slippers.
+His rubbers too were there and he put them
+on over his slippers. Then he ran downstairs to
+get something to eat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Anyway,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;those old animals can&#8217;t
+get me when it comes to eating. I never did care
+much about meat.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The pantry door squeaked as he opened it. It
+sounded for all the world like a far away barnyard&mdash;hens,
+cows, and pigs. He looked around. No
+milk, no eggs, no bacon! &ldquo;Bread and butter will
+do me,&rdquo; he thought.</p>
+
+<p>But the butter had gone too! He opened the
+bread box. The bread was still there! He almost
+wept from relief. By hunting around he found a
+good deal to eat. Cocoa made with water instead
+of milk was pretty good. Then there were crackers
+and apples. His oatmeal wasn&#8217;t very good without
+milk or butter. But he ate it. He knew he
+would have plenty of vegetables and fruits and
+cereals.</p>
+
+<p>And the day was warm enough so that he didn&#8217;t
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>
+mind his cotton clothes. But his feet did hurt
+him. He wondered about wooden shoes and
+thought he would try to make some.</p>
+
+<p>He was a little worried too about his bed. He
+hunted around in the house until he found two
+cotton comforters. One he put under his sheet in
+place of his mattress and one on top in place of his
+blankets. So, on the whole, he thought, he could
+manage to get along.</p>
+
+<p>Poor little Silly Will! He had never before
+thought how much the animals did for him. Once
+in a while he would think of the little girl and the
+old woman and the man he had met that afternoon.
+But not for long. And he never remembered
+that some time winter would come. But long
+before that time came, Silly Will had got himself
+into still more trouble. For even now he didn&#8217;t
+understand!</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 2</strong></span></p>
+
+<p>From this time on nothing went well with Silly
+Will. When he had eaten the vegetables he had in
+the house he walked over to a gardener who lived
+nearby. He wanted to get potatoes and other supplies
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>
+for the winter. To his horror he found everything
+drooping and wilted and withered. &ldquo;What&#8217;s
+the matter with the vegetables, gardener?&rdquo; asked
+Silly Will.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A frost,&rdquo; sighed the gardener. &ldquo;It&#8217;s killed all
+the potatoes. I hope you weren&#8217;t depending on
+them?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, of course not,&rdquo; said Silly Will, gulping
+hard. &ldquo;I certainly wouldn&#8217;t depend on a vegetable.
+That would be too ridiculous. If the frost should
+kill all the vegetables, it would make no difference
+to me!&rdquo; Nevertheless in his heart he felt unhappy
+and a little frightened at the thought of the coming
+winter. But still he didn&#8217;t understand. Silly
+people never do understand.</p>
+
+<p>He walked on down the road saying to himself,
+&ldquo;I&#8217;ll go order my winter wood anyway. I&#8217;m almost
+out of it at home.&rdquo; Just then he looked up. He
+expected to see the green forest stretching up the
+hillside. He stared. The hillside was black smoking
+stumps, fallen blackened trees, white ashes!
+Beside the dead trees stood the old forester wringing
+his hands. Silly Will didn&#8217;t even speak to him.
+He could see what had happened without asking.
+He turned around. Slowly he walked home. He
+went right to bed. He still pretended that he
+wasn&#8217;t unhappy or frightened. He kept saying to
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>
+himself, &ldquo;I don&#8217;t really depend on the wood at all.
+Of course that would be silly! I&#8217;ve got coal. It
+wouldn&#8217;t matter to me if all the plants left me.&rdquo;
+And with that thought he fell asleep. You see
+even now he didn&#8217;t understand. Silly people
+never do understand.</p>
+
+<p>Now that night another strange thing happened
+to Silly Will. I can&#8217;t explain how or why it happened.
+But in the middle of the night all the plants
+<em>did</em> leave Silly Will,&mdash;not only the potatoes and the
+trees but the whole vegetable kingdom.</p>
+
+<p>He was asleep all curled up to keep warm in his
+cotton clothes. Suddenly he felt the comforter and
+sheet under him jerk away and he was left lying
+on the wire spring. At the same time the comforter
+and sheet over him disappeared. So did
+his nightshirt. Then bang! His wooden bed was
+gone. The house began to creak and rock. He
+jumped up and tore down stairs. He just got outside
+the front door when the whole house collapsed.</p>
+
+<p>The moon was shining. Silly Will could see
+quite plainly. There stood the brick chimneys rising
+out of a pile of plaster dumped on top of the
+concrete foundations. There was the slate roof
+and the broken window of glass. The air was full
+of a sound like the violent trembling of many
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>
+leaves. It sounded for all the world as if it said,
+&ldquo;I take back my wood!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Whatever will I do?&rdquo; groaned Silly Will as he
+shivered all naked in the moonlight. Then his eye
+lighted on the kitchen stove. There it stood with
+the stove pipe all safely connected with the chimney.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;ll build a coal fire,&rdquo; he thought. There stood
+the iron coal scuttle. But alas! It was empty!
+He heard a far-away murmur like a faint wind
+stirring in giant ferns. And they said, &ldquo;I take back
+my buried leaves!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>By this time Silly Will was shaking with cold.
+&ldquo;I&#8217;ve heard that newspapers are warm,&rdquo; he
+thought. But the pile behind the stove was gone.
+Again came the murmur of trees&mdash;&ldquo;I take back
+my pulp,&rdquo; and a queer soft sound which he couldn&#8217;t
+quite make out. Was it &ldquo;I take back my cotton?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Silly Will was thoroughly terrified now.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;ll go somewhere to think,&rdquo; he said to himself.
+So he crept down the cement steps to the
+cellar and crawled into a sheltered corner. But
+he couldn&#8217;t think of anything pleasant. He could
+hear a confused noise all around him. Sometimes
+it sounded like growls, like animal cries, like animal
+calls. &ldquo;The animal kingdom has left him,&rdquo;
+it seemed to say.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>
+Again it sounded like the wind rustling a thousand
+leaves. &ldquo;The vegetable kingdom has left
+him,&rdquo; it seemed to say.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;ve nothing to wear,&rdquo; sobbed Silly Will. &ldquo;And
+I&#8217;m afraid I&#8217;ve nothing to eat.&rdquo; At the thought
+of food he jumped up and ran over to the cellar
+pantry. He found just three things. They did not
+make a tempting meal! They were a crock of salt,
+a tin of soda and a porcelain pitcher of water.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What shall I ever do? How shall I live? I&#8217;ll
+never have another glass of milk or cup of cocoa.
+I&#8217;ll never have anything to wear. I&#8217;ll freeze and
+I&#8217;ll starve. I might just as well die now!&rdquo; And
+poor little Silly Will broke down and cried and
+cried and cried.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I can&#8217;t live without other living things,&rdquo; he
+sobbed. &ldquo;I can&#8217;t eat only minerals and I can&#8217;t keep
+warm in minerals. Everybody has to depend on
+animals and vegetables. And after all I&#8217;m only a
+little boy! I&#8217;ve got to have living things to keep
+alive myself!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then a wonderful thing happened to Silly Will.
+I can&#8217;t explain how or why it happened. Suddenly
+he felt all warm and comfortable. &ldquo;Perhaps I&#8217;m
+freezing,&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;I&#8217;ve heard that people feel
+warm when they are almost frozen to death.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Slowly he put out his hand. Surely that was a
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>
+linen sheet! Surely that was a woolen blanket.
+Surely he had on his flannel nightgown. He sat
+straight up. Surely this was his own bed: this was
+his own room: this was his own house. He could
+scarcely believe his eyes. He gave a great shout.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Moo-oo-oo,&rdquo; answered a cow under a tree outside
+his window. And the leaves of the tree rustled
+at him too.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hello, old cow! Hello, old tree!&rdquo; cried Silly
+Will running to the window. &ldquo;Isn&#8217;t it good we&#8217;re
+all alive?&rdquo; And when you think of it that wasn&#8217;t
+a silly remark at all!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Moo-oo-oo,&rdquo; lowed the old cow. &ldquo;Swish-sh-sh-sh,&rdquo;
+rustled the tree. And suddenly Silly Will
+thought he understood! I wonder if he did!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>EBEN&#8217;S COWS</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+This story attempts to make an industrial process
+a background for real adventure.</p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span></p>
+<h2>EBEN&#8217;S COWS</h2>
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 1</strong></span></p>
+
+<p>Eben was looking at the cows. And the cows
+were looking at Eben. What Eben saw was
+twenty-six pairs of large gentle eyes, twenty-six
+mouths chewing with a queer sidewise motion,
+twenty-six fine fat cattle, some red, some white,
+some black, some red and white, and some black
+and white, all in a bright green meadow. What
+the cows saw, held by his mother on the rail fence,
+was a fat baby with a shining face and waving
+arms. What Eben heard was the heavy squashy
+footsteps of the slow-moving cows as they lumbered
+toward the little figure on the fence. What the
+cows heard was a high, excited little voice saying
+a real word for the first time in its life, &ldquo;Cow! cow!
+oh, cow! oh, cow!&rdquo; And so with his first word
+began Eben&#8217;s life-long friendship with the cows.</p>
+
+<p>Eben Brewster lived in a little white farm-house
+with green blinds. The cows lived in a great long
+red barn, which was connected with the little white
+farm-house by a wagon-shed and tool-house. High
+up on the great red barn was printed GREEN
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>
+MOUNTAIN FARM. Long before Eben knew
+how to read he knew what those big letters said,
+and he knew that the lovely rolling hills that
+ringed the farm around, were called the Green
+Mountains. In front of both house and barn
+stretched the bright green meadows where day
+after day fed the twenty-six cows. In a neighboring
+meadow played the long-legged calves. For
+at Green Mountain Farm there were always many
+calves. In the summer they usually had fifteen
+or twenty calves a few months old. For every cow
+of course had her baby once a year. The little
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>
+bull calves they sold; but the little cow calves
+they raised.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i357.png" width="500" height="403" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>When Eben was three years old he made friends
+with the calves his own way. He wiggled through
+the bars of the gate into their pasture. The calves
+stared at him; they sniffed at him. Then they came
+a little closer. They stared at him again. They
+sniffed at him again. Then they came closer still.
+Then one little black and white thing came right
+up to him and licked his face and hands. And
+three-year-old Eben liked the feel of the soft nose
+and the rough tongue and he liked the sweet cow
+smell.</p>
+
+<p>So it came about that Eben played regularly
+with the calves. It always amused his father
+Andrew to watch them together. &ldquo;I never saw a
+child so crazy about cows!&rdquo; he used to say. One
+day he put a pretty little new calf,&mdash;white with
+red spots,&mdash;into the pasture. Eben ran to the calf
+at once. &ldquo;What shall we call the calf, Eben?&rdquo;
+asked his father. &ldquo;Think of some nice name for
+her.&rdquo; Eben put his arms around the calf&#8217;s neck
+and smiled. &ldquo;I call him &#8217;ittle Sister,&rdquo; he said. For
+little baby sister was the only thing three-year-old
+Eben loved better than a calf. And the name stuck
+to the calves of Green Mountain Farm. From that
+time on they were always called Little Sisters!</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>
+Real little sister or Nancy, as she was called,
+grew apace. To her Eben was always wonderful.
+At six years he seemed equal to about anything.
+It did not surprise her at all one day to hear her
+father say, &ldquo;Eben, you get the cows tonight.&rdquo; But
+it did surprise Eben. He had helped his father
+drive them home for years. And now he was to
+do it alone! Down the dusty road he went, switch
+in hand, taking such big important strides that the
+footprints of his little bare feet were almost as
+far apart as a man&#8217;s. The cows stood facing the
+bars. He took down the bars. The cows filed
+through one by one. Nancy and her father, waiting
+to help him turn the cows in at the barn, knew
+he was coming. They could see the cloud of dust
+and hear the many shuffling feet and the shrill
+boy&#8217;s voice calling: &ldquo;Hi, Spotty, don&#8217;t you stop to
+eat! Go &#8217;long there, Crumplehorn, don&#8217;t you know
+the way home yet! Hurry up, Redface. Can&#8217;t
+you keep in the road?&rdquo; Eben felt older from that
+day.</p>
+
+<p>From the day he began driving home the cows
+alone Eben took a real share in the work at the
+farm. He put the cows&#8217; heads into the stanchions
+when each one lumbered into her stall. He fed
+them hay and ensilage through the long winter
+months when the meadows were white with snow.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span>
+He put the cans to catch the cream and the
+skimmed milk when his father turned the separator.
+He took the separator apart and carried
+it up to his mother to be washed. Nancy helped
+and talked. Only she really talked more than she
+helped!</p>
+
+<p>Eben&#8217;s talk ran much on cows. His poor
+mother read all she could in the encyclopedia, but
+even then she couldn&#8217;t answer all his questions.
+Why does a cow have four stomachs? Why does
+her food come back to be chewed? Why does
+she chew sideways? Why does she have to be
+milked twice a day? Why doesn&#8217;t she get out of
+the way when an auto comes down the road?
+When Eben asked his father these things the
+farmer would shake his head and answer, &ldquo;I guess
+it&#8217;s just because she&#8217;s a cow.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There came a very exciting day at Green
+Mountain Farm. For twenty years Andrew
+Brewster and his men had milked his cows morning
+and evening. His hands were hard from the
+practice. The children loved to watch him milk.
+With every pull of his strong hands he made a
+fine white stream of milk shoot into the pail, squirt,
+squirt, squirt. Eben had often tried, but pull as
+he would, he could only get out a few drops. And
+even as Andrew Brewster had milked his cows
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span>
+morning and evening until his hands were horny,
+so had his father done before him. Yes, and his
+father&#8217;s father, too. For three generations of
+Brewsters had hardened their hands milking cows
+on Green Mountain Farm. Then there came this
+exciting day, and a new way of milking began at
+the big red barn.</p>
+
+<p>A milking machine was put in. It ran by a wonderful
+little puffing gasolene engine. It milked
+two cows at once. And it milked all twenty-six
+of them in twenty minutes. Andrew Brewster
+could manage the whole herd alone with what
+help Eben could give him. It was a great day for
+him. It was a great day for Eben and Nancy too.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 2</strong></span></p>
+
+<p>There came another day which was even more
+exciting for the two children than when the milking
+machine was put into the big red barn. This
+story is really about that day. Eben was then ten
+years old and Nancy seven. Their father and
+mother had gone for the day to a county fair. The
+two children were to be alone all day, which made
+up for not going to the fair. The children had
+long since eaten the cold dinner their mother had
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>
+left for them. They had done all their chores
+too. Nancy had gathered the eggs and Eben had
+chopped the kindling and brought in the wood.
+They had fed the baby chickens and given them
+water. Then they had gone to the woods for an
+afternoon climb over the big rocks and a wade in
+the brook. Now they were waiting for their father
+and mother to come back. They had been waiting
+for a long time, for it was seven o&#8217;clock. The
+last thing their mother had called out as she drove
+off behind the two old farm horses was, &ldquo;We&#8217;ll be
+back by five o&#8217;clock, children.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>What could have happened? &ldquo;Eben,&rdquo; said
+Nancy, &ldquo;we&#8217;d better eat our own supper and get
+something ready for Father and Mother. I guess
+I&#8217;ll try to scramble some eggs.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Go ahead,&rdquo; answered Eben. &ldquo;But we&#8217;re not the
+ones I&#8217;m worrying about&mdash;nor Father and Mother
+either. It&#8217;s those poor cows.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh! the cows!&rdquo; cried Nancy. &ldquo;And the poor
+Little Sisters! They&#8217;ll be so hungry.&rdquo; Both children
+ran to the door. &ldquo;Just listen to them,&rdquo; said
+Eben. &ldquo;They&#8217;ve been waiting in the barn for over
+an hour now. I certainly wish Father would
+come.&rdquo; From the big red barn came the lowing
+of the restless cattle. &ldquo;I&#8217;m going to have another
+look at them,&rdquo; said Eben. &ldquo;Come along, Nancy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>
+The two children peered into the big dark barn.
+The unmistakable cow smell came to them strong
+in the dark. Stretching down the whole length
+was stall after stall, each holding an impatient
+cow. The children could see the restless hind feet
+moving and stamping; they could see the flicking
+of many tails; they could feel the cows pulling
+at the stanchions. On the other side were the stalls
+of the Little Sisters. They too were moving about
+wildly. Over above it all rose the deafening sound
+of the plaintive lowings. By the door stood the
+gasolene engine. It was attached to a pipe which
+ran the whole length of the great barn above the
+cows&#8217; stalls. Eben&#8217;s eyes followed this pipe until
+it was lost in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Moo-oo-oo,&rdquo; lowed the cow nearest at hand, so
+loud that both children jumped. &ldquo;Poor old Redface,&rdquo;
+said Nancy. &ldquo;I wish we could help you.&rdquo;
+&ldquo;We&#8217;re going to,&rdquo; said Eben in an excited voice,
+&ldquo;See here, Nancy. We&#8217;re going to milk these
+cows!&rdquo; &ldquo;Why, Eben Brewster, we could never
+do it alone!&rdquo; Nancy&#8217;s eyes went to the gasolene
+engine as she spoke. &ldquo;We&#8217;ve got to,&rdquo; said Eben.
+&ldquo;That&#8217;s all there is about it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So the children began with trembling hands.
+They lighted two lanterns. &ldquo;I wish the cows
+would stop a minute,&rdquo; said Nancy. &ldquo;I can&#8217;t seem
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span>
+to think with such a racket going on.&rdquo; Eben
+turned on the spark of the engine. He had done
+it before, but it seemed different to do it when his
+father wasn&#8217;t standing near. Then he took the
+crank. &ldquo;I hope she doesn&#8217;t kick tonight,&rdquo; he
+wished fervently. He planted his feet firmly and
+grasped the handle! Round he swung it, around
+and around. Only the bellowing of the cows answered.
+He began again. Round he swung the
+handle; around and around. &ldquo;Chug, chug-a-chug,
+chug, chug, chug-a-chug, chug,&rdquo; answered the engine.
+Nancy jumped with delight. &ldquo;You&#8217;re as
+good as a man, Eben,&rdquo; she cried.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come now, bring the lantern,&rdquo; commanded
+Eben. Nancy carried the lantern and Eben a rubber
+tube. This tube Eben fastened on to the first
+faucet on the long pipe between the first two cows.
+This rubber tube branched into two and at the end
+of each were four hollow rubber fingers. Eben
+stuck his fingers down one. He could feel the air
+pull, pull, pull. &ldquo;She&#8217;s working all right, Nancy,&rdquo;
+he whispered in a shaking voice. &ldquo;Put the pail
+here.&rdquo; Nancy obeyed. Eben took one bunch of
+four hollow rubber fingers and slipped one finger
+up each udder of one cow. Then he took the other
+bunch and slipped one finger up each udder of
+the second cow. The cows, feeling relief was near,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span>
+quieted at once. &ldquo;I can see the milk,&rdquo; screamed
+Nancy, watching a tiny glass window in the rubber
+tube. And sure enough, through the tube and
+out into the pail came a pulsing stream of milk.
+Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt. In a few minutes
+the two cows were milked and the children moved
+on to the next pair. Nancy carried the pail and
+Eben the rubber tube which he fastened on to the
+next faucet. And in another few minutes two
+more cows were milked. So the children went the
+length of the great red barn, and gradually the
+restless lowings quieted as pail after pail was filled
+with warm white milk.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I wouldn&#8217;t try the separator if it weren&#8217;t for
+the poor Little Sisters,&rdquo; said Eben anxiously as
+they reached the end of the barn. &ldquo;They&#8217;ve got
+to be fed,&rdquo; said Nancy. &ldquo;But I can&#8217;t lift those
+pails.&rdquo; Slowly Eben carried them one by one with
+many rests back to the separator by the gasoline
+engine. He took the strap off one wheel and put
+it around the wheel of the separator. &ldquo;I can&#8217;t
+lift a whole pail,&rdquo; sighed Eben. Taking a little
+at a time he poured the milk into the tray at the
+top of the separator. In a few minutes the yellow
+cream came pouring out of one spout and the
+blue skimmed milk out of another. In another
+few minutes the calves were drinking the warm
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span>
+skimmed milk. &ldquo;There, Little Sisters, poor,
+hungry Little Sisters,&rdquo; said Nancy, as she watched
+their eager pink tongues.</p>
+
+<p>Eben turned off the engine. &ldquo;I&#8217;m sorry I
+couldn&#8217;t do the final hand milking,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I
+wonder if we&#8217;d better turn the cows out?&rdquo; Before
+Nancy could answer both children heard a
+sound. They held their breath. Surely those were
+horses&#8217; feet! Cloppety clop clop clop cloppety
+clop clop clop. Up to the barn door dashed the
+old farm horses. From the dark outside the children
+heard their mother&#8217;s voice, &ldquo;Children, children,
+are you there? The harness broke and I
+thought we&#8217;d <em>never</em> get home.&rdquo; Carrying a lantern
+apiece the children rushed out and into her
+arms. &ldquo;Here, Eben,&rdquo; called his father. &ldquo;You
+take the horses quick. I must get started milking
+right away. Those poor cows!&rdquo; The children
+were too excited to talk plainly. They both jabbered
+at once. Then each took a hand of their
+father and led him into the great red barn. There
+by the light of the lanterns Andrew Brewster could
+see the pails of warm white milk and yellow
+cream. He stared at the quiet cows and at the Little
+Sisters. Then he stared at Eben and Nancy.
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; cried both children together. &ldquo;We did it.
+We did it ourselves!&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span></p>
+<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE SKY SCRAPER</strong></p>
+
+<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">
+The story tries to assemble into a related form
+many facts well-known to seven-year-olds and to
+present the whole as a modern industrial process.</p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i369.png" width="500" height="348" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SKY SCRAPER</h2>
+
+
+<p>Once in an enormous city, men built an enormous
+building. Deep they built it, deep into the
+ground; high they built it, high into the air. Now
+that it is finished the men who walk about its feet
+forget how deep into the ground it reaches. But
+they can never forget how high into the blue it
+soars. Their necks ache when they throw back
+their heads to see to the top. For, of all the buildings
+in the world, this sky scraper is the highest.</p>
+
+<p>The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great
+city. From its top one can see the city, one can
+hear the city, one can smell the city&mdash;the city
+where men live and work. One can see the
+crowded streets full of tiny men and tiny automobiles,
+the riverside with its baby warehouses and
+its baby docks, the river with its toy bridges and
+toy giant steamers and tug boats and barges and
+ferries. The city noise,&mdash;the distant, rumbling,
+grumbling noise,&mdash;sounds like the purring of a
+far-away giant beast. And over it all lies the smell
+of gas and smoke.</p>
+
+<p>The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span>
+city. But from its top in the blue, blue sky one
+can see all over the land. Landward the fields
+spread out like a map till they are lost in the mist
+and smoke. Seaward lies the vast, the tremendous
+stretch of the sea, the wrinkled, the crinkled, the
+far-away sea that stretches to touch the sky.</p>
+
+<p>Now this soaring sky scraper is the work of men&mdash;of
+many, many men. Its lofty lacy tower was
+first thought of by the architect. With closed eyes
+he saw it, and with his well-trained fingers quickly
+he drew its outline. Then at his office many men
+with T squares and with compasses, sitting at high
+long tables, with green-shaded lamps, worked far
+into the nights till all the plans were ready.</p>
+
+<p>Then the sky scraper began to grow. The first
+men brought mighty steam shovels. One hundred
+feet into the earth they burrowed. The gigantic
+mouths of the steam shovels gnawed at the rock
+and the clay. Huge hulks they clutched from this
+underworld, heaved up with enormous derricks
+and crashed out on the upper land. Deep they
+dug, deep into the ground till they found the firm
+bed-rock. With a network of steel they filled this
+terrific hole. Into the rasping, revolving mixers
+they poured tons of sand and cement and gravel
+which steadily flowed in a sluggish stream to
+strengthen the steel supports.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span>
+At last,&mdash;and that was an exciting day,&mdash;the
+great beams began to rise. Again the derricks
+ground, as slowly, steadily, accurately, they swung
+each beam to its place. A thousand men swarmed
+over the steel bones, some throwing red-hot rivets,
+others catching them in pails, all to the song of
+the rivet driver.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i372.png" width="500" height="456" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>The riveter screamed and shrieked and shrilled.
+It pierced the air of the narrow streets. On the
+nearby buildings it vibrated, echoed. The sky
+scraper seemed alive and thrilled by the quivering,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span>
+throbbing, shrieking shrill,&mdash;by the song of
+the riveter. Story by story the sky scraper grew,
+a monstrous outline against the sky. And ever and
+ever as it grew, hissed the rivet and screamed the
+drill.</p>
+
+<p>At length the sky scraper soared sixty dizzy
+stories high. Then swiftly came the stone masons
+and encased the giant steel frame. Swiftly in its
+center, men reared the plunging elevators. Swiftly
+worked the electrician, the plumber, the carpenter.
+All workmen were called and all workmen
+came. The world listened to the call of this sky
+scraper standing in the heart of the great city.
+From the mines of Minnesota to the swamps of
+Louisiana came goods to serve its need. Long,
+long ago, in olden days, the churches grew slowly
+bit by bit, as one man carved a door post here and
+another fitted a window there, each planning his
+own part. Not so with the sky scraper. It grew
+in haste. Its parts were made in factories scattered
+the country over. Each factory was ready with a
+part, and the railroad was ready swift to bring
+them to its feet. The sky scraper grew in haste.
+For it the many worked as one.</p>
+
+<p>Planned by those who command and reared by
+those who obey, in an enormous city men built this
+enormous building. Deep they built it, deep into
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span>
+the ground; high they built it, high into the air.
+And now they use this building built by them.
+The sky scraper houses an army of ten thousand
+men. All day they clamber up and down its core
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span>
+like insects in a giant tree. They buzz and buzz,
+and then go home.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 396px;">
+<img src="images/i374.png" width="396" height="500" alt="image" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>But there with the shadowy silent streets at its
+feet stands the lofty sky scraper. On its head there
+glows a monstrous light. The rays pierce through
+the fogs. And when the storm is screaming wild,
+the light struggles through to the frightened boats
+tossing on the mountain waves. The storm howls
+and beats on the sides of the lofty lacy tower with
+the shining light on top. The storms beat on its
+side, the tower leans in the wind, the tower of
+steel and of stone leans and leans a full two feet.
+Then when the blast is past, this tower of steel
+and of stone swings back to straightness again.</p>
+
+<p>And so in the enormous city men built this enormous
+building. Deep they built it, deep into the
+ground; high, they built it, high into the air. Now
+that it is finished, the men who walk about its feet
+forget how deep into the ground it reaches. But
+they can never forget how high into the blue it
+soars. Their necks ache when they throw back
+their heads to see to the top. For of all the buildings
+in the world this sky scraper is the highest.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center"><strong>END</strong></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 95%;" />
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> For a clear exposition of this field of literature for children
+see &ldquo;Literature in the Elementary School,&rdquo; by Porter Lander MacClintock,
+University of Chicago Press, 1907.</p></div>
+
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a>
+<em>At this point the teacher might ask, &ldquo;What else?&rdquo;
+Not the first time, however. The children must get
+the outline as a whole before they contribute. Otherwise
+they will be entirely absorbed by the content.</em></p></div>
+
+
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Here and Now Story Book, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK ***
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+</body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg's Here and Now Story Book, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Here and Now Story Book
+       Two- to seven-year-olds
+
+Author: Lucy Sprague Mitchell
+
+Illustrator: Hendrik Willem Van Loon
+
+Release Date: October 28, 2008 [EBook #27075]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Suzanne Shell, Anne Storer and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK
+
+
+
+
+ HERE AND NOW
+ STORY BOOK
+
+ TWO- TO SEVEN-YEAR-OLDS
+
+ Experimental Stories Written for the
+ Children of the City and Country School
+ (formerly the Play School)
+ and the Nursery School of the
+ Bureau of Educational Experiments.
+
+ _by_
+ LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL
+
+ _Illustrated by_
+ Hendrik Willem Van Loon
+
+
+ [Illustration: Logo - CLASSICS TO GROW ON]
+
+
+ _Published by E. P. Dutton & Company, Inc., for_
+ PARENTS' INSTITUTE, Inc.
+ Publishers of Parents' Magazine
+ and Approved Publications for Young People
+ 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York
+
+
+
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1921,
+ BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY, INC.
+
+ COPYRIGHT (RENEWAL) 1948
+ BY LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL
+
+ _All Rights Reserved_
+
+
+ _Printed in the United States of America_
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+                                                                PAGE
+
+ FOREWORD: BY CAROLINE PRATT                                      ix
+ INTRODUCTION                                                      1
+   _Content_: Its educational and psychological basis              4
+   _Form_: Its patterns in words, sentences and stories           46
+
+
+ STORIES:
+
+  _Two-Year-Olds_: Types to be adjusted to individual
+          children. Content, personal activities, told in
+          motor and sense terms. Form reduced to a succession
+          of few simple patterns.
+      MARNI TAKES A RIDE                                          73
+      MARNI GETS DRESSED IN THE MORNING                           81
+
+  _Three-Year-Olds_: Content based on enumeration of
+          familiar sense and motor associations and
+          simple familiar chronological sequences. Some
+          attempt to give opportunity for own contribution
+          or for "motor enjoyment."
+      THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN          89
+      THE MANY HORSE STABLE                                       99
+      MY KITTY                                                   105
+      THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS                                   109
+      THE LITTLE HEN AND THE ROOSTER                             114
+
+  _Jingles_:
+      MY HORSE, OLD DAN                                          115
+      HORSIE GOES JOG-A-JOG                                      118
+      AUTO, AUTO                                                 119
+
+  _Four- and Five-Year-Olds_: Content, simple relationships
+          between familiar moving objects, stressing
+          particularly the idea of use. Emphasis on
+          sound. Attempt to make verse patterns carry
+          the significant points in the narrative.
+    HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME                                        121
+    THE DINNER HORSES                                            131
+    THE GROCERY MAN                                              137
+    THE JOURNEY                                                  141
+    PEDRO'S FEET                                                 147
+    HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED THE KNOWING SONG                      153
+    THE FOG BOAT STORY                                           167
+    HAMMER, SAW, AND PLANE                                       177
+    THE ELEPHANT                                                 185
+    HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE                                         189
+    THE SEA-GULL                                                 192
+    THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP                                    197
+    WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS                                 203
+    THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE                                   211
+    HOW THE SINGING WATER GOT TO THE TUB                         219
+    THE CHILDREN'S NEW DRESSES                                   229
+    OLD DAN GETS THE COAL                                        237
+
+  _Six- and Seven-Year-Olds_: Content, relationships
+          further removed from the personal and immediate
+          and extended to include social significance of
+          simple familiar facts. Longer-span pattern which
+          has become organic with beginning, middle and end.
+    THE SUBWAY CAR                                               241
+    BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS  251
+    BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK                            267
+    SPEED                                                        281
+    FIVE LITTLE BABIES                                           291
+    ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY                                299
+    THE WIND                                                     309
+    THE LEAF STORY                                               315
+    A LOCOMOTIVE                                                 320
+    MOON, MOON                                                   322
+    AUTOMOBILE SONG                                              323
+    SILLY WILL                                                   325
+    EBEN'S COWS                                                  340
+    THE SKY SCRAPER                                              353
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+
+Our school has always assumed that children are interested in and will
+work with or give expression to those things which are familiar to them.
+This is not new: the kindergarten gives domestic life a prominent place
+with little children. But with the kindergarten the present and familiar
+is abandoned in most schools and emphasis is placed upon that which is
+unfamiliar and remote. It is impossible to conceive of children working
+their own way from the familiar to the unknown unless they develop a
+method in understanding the familiar which will apply to the unfamiliar
+as well. This method is the method of art and science--the method of
+experimentation and inquiry. We can almost say that children are born
+with it, so soon do they begin to show signs of applying it. As they
+have been in the past and as they are in the present to a very great
+extent, schools make no attempt to provide for this method; in fact they
+take pains to introduce another. They are disposed to set up a rigid
+program which answers inquiries before they are made and supplies needs
+before they have been felt.
+
+We try to keep the children upon present day and familiar things until
+they show by their attack on materials and especially upon information
+that they are ready to work out into the unknown and unfamiliar. In the
+matter of stories and verse which fit into such a program we have always
+felt an almost total void. Whether other schools feel this would depend
+upon their intentional program. Surely no school would advise giving
+classical literature without the setting which would make the stories
+and verse understandable. It is a question whether the fact of desirable
+literature has not in the past and does not still govern our whole
+school program more than many educators would be willing to admit. What
+seems to be more logical is to set up that which is psychologically
+sound so far as we know it and create if need be a new literature to
+help support the structure.
+
+In the presence of art, schools have always taken a modest attitude. For
+some reason or other they seem to think it out of their province. They
+regard children as potential scientists, professional men and women,
+captains of industry, but scarcely potential artists. To what school of
+design, what academy of music, what school of literary production, do
+our common schools lead? We are not fitting our children to compose, to
+create, but at our best to appreciate and reproduce.
+
+Mrs. Mitchell as story teller in this new sense of writing stories,
+rather than merely telling them, is having an influence in the school
+which has not been altogether unlooked for. The children look upon
+themselves as composers in language and language thus becomes not merely
+a useful medium of expression but also an art medium. They regard their
+own content, gathered by themselves in a perfectly familiar setting as
+fit for use as art material. That is, just as the children draw and show
+power to compose with crayons and paints, they use language to compose
+what they term stories or occasionally, verse. Often these "stories" are
+a mere rehearsal of experiences, but in so far as they are vivid and
+have some sort of fitting ending they pass as a childish art expression
+just as their compositions in drawing do.
+
+So far as content is concerned the school gives the children varied
+opportunities to know and express what they find in their environment.
+Mrs. Mitchell finds this content in the school. It is being used, it is
+even being expressed in language. What she particularly does is to show
+the possibility of using this same content as art in language. She does
+this both by writing stories herself and by helping the children to
+write. The children are not by any means read to, so much as they are
+encouraged to tell their own stories. These are taken down verbatim by
+the teachers of the younger groups. Through skilful handling of several
+of the older groups what the children call "group stories" are produced
+as well as individual ones.
+
+We hope this book will bring to parents and teachers what it has to us,
+a new method of approach to literature for little children, and to
+children the joy our children have in the stories themselves.
+
+                                                     CAROLINE PRATT
+
+ The City and Country School
+ July, 1921
+
+
+
+
+HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK
+
+
+
+
+HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+These stories are experiments,--experiments both in content and in
+form. They were written because of a deep dissatisfaction felt by a
+group of people working experimentally in a laboratory school, with
+the available literature for children. I am publishing them not
+because I feel they have come through to any particularly noteworthy
+achievement, but because they indicate a method of work which I
+believe to be sound where children are concerned. They must always
+be regarded as experiments, but experiments which have been strictly
+limited to lines suggested to me by the children themselves. Both the
+stuff of the stories and the mould in which they are cast are based on
+suggestions gained directly from children. I have tried to put aside
+my notions of what was "childlike." I have tried to ignore what I,
+as an adult, like. I have tried to study children's interests not
+historically but through their present observations and inquiries, and
+their sense of form through their spontaneous expressions in language,
+and to model my own work strictly on these findings. I have forced
+myself throughout to be deliberate, conscious, for fear I should slip
+back to adult habits of thought and expression. I can give here only
+samples of the many stories and questions I have gathered from the
+children which form the basis of my own stories. Suffice it that my
+own stories attempt to follow honestly the leads which here and now
+the children themselves indicate in content and in form, no matter how
+difficult or strange the going for adult feet.
+
+First, as to the stuff of which the story is made,--the content. I have
+assumed that anything to which a child gives his spontaneous attention,
+anything which he questions as he moves around the world, holds
+appropriate material about which to talk to him either in speech or in
+writing. I have assumed that the answers to these his spontaneous
+inquiries should be given always in terms of a relationship which is
+natural and intelligible at his age and which will help him to order the
+familiar facts of his own experiences. Thus the answers will themselves
+lead him on to new inquiries. For they will give him not so much new
+facts as a new method of attack. I have further assumed that any of this
+material which by taking on a pattern form can thereby enhance or deepen
+its intrinsic quality is susceptible of becoming literature. Material
+which does not lend itself to some sort of intentional design or form,
+may be good for informational purposes but not for stories as such.
+
+The task, then, is to examine first the things which get the
+spontaneous attention of a two-year-old, a three-year-old and so up to a
+seven-year-old; and then to determine what relationships are natural and
+intelligible at these ages. Obviously to determine the mere subject of
+attention is not enough. Children of all ages attend to engines. But the
+two-year-old attends to certain things and the seven-year-old to quite
+different ones. The relationships through which the two-year-old
+interprets his observations may make of the engine a gigantic extension
+of his own energy and movement; whereas the relationships through which
+the seven-year-old interprets his observations may make of the engine a
+scientific example of the expansion of steam or of the desire of men to
+get rapidly from one place to another. What relationship he is relying
+on we can get only by watching the child's own activities. The second
+part of the task is to discover what _is_ pattern to the untrained but
+unspoiled ears, eyes, muscles and minds of the little folk who are
+to consume the stories. Each part of the task has its peculiar
+difficulties. But fortunately in each, children do point the way if
+we have the courage to forget our own adult way and follow theirs.
+
+
+CONTENT
+
+In looking for content for these stories I followed the general lines of
+the school for which they were written. The school gives the children
+the opportunity to explore first their own environment and gradually
+widens this environment for them along lines of their own inquiries.
+Consequently I did not seek for material outside the ordinary
+surroundings of the children. On the contrary, I assumed that in stories
+as in other educational procedure, the place to begin is the point at
+which the child has arrived,--to begin and lead out from. With small
+children this point is still within the "here" and the "now," and so
+stories must begin with the familiar and the immediate. But also stories
+must lead children out from the familiar and immediate, for that is the
+method both of education and of art. Here and now stories mean to me
+stories which include the children's first-hand experiences as a
+starting point, not stories which are literally limited to these
+experiences. Therefore to get my basis for the stories I went to the
+environment in which a child of each age naturally finds himself and
+there I watched him. I tried to see what in his home, in his school, in
+the streets, he seized upon and how he made this his own. I tried to
+determine what were the relationships he used to order his experiences.
+Fortunately for the purposes of writing stories I did not have to get
+behind the baffling eyes and the inscrutable sounds of a small baby. Yet
+I learned much for understanding the twos by watching even through the
+first months. What "the great, big, blooming, buzzing confusion" (as
+James describes it) means to an infant, I fancy we grown-ups will really
+never know. But I suppose we may be sure that existence is to him
+largely a stream of sense impressions. Also I suppose we are reasonably
+safe in saying that whatever the impression that reaches him he tends to
+translate it into action. At what age a child accomplishes what can be
+called a "thought" or what these first thoughts are, is surely beyond
+our present powers to describe. But that his early thoughts have a
+discernible muscular expression, I fancy we may say. It may well be
+that thought is merely associative memory as Loeb maintains. It may well
+be that behaviorists are right and that thought is just "the rhythmic
+mimetic rehearsal of the first hand experience in motor terms." If the
+act of thinking is itself motor, its expression is somewhat attenuated
+in adults. Be that as it may, a small child's expressions are still in
+unmistakable motor terms. It is obviously through the large muscles that
+a baby makes his responses. And even a three-year-old can scarcely think
+"engine" without showing the pull of his muscles and the puff-puffing of
+exertion. Nor can he observe an object without making some movement
+towards it. He takes in through his senses; and he interprets through
+his muscles.
+
+For our present purposes this characteristic has an important bearing.
+The world pictured for the child must be a world of sounds and smells
+and tastes and sights and feeling and contacts. Above all his early
+stories must be of activities and they must be told in motor terms.
+Often we are tempted to give him reasons in response to his incessant
+"why?" but when he asks "why?" he really is not searching for reasons
+at all. A large part of the time he is not even asking a question. He
+merely enjoys this reciperative form of speech and is indignant if
+your answer is not what he expects. One of my children enjoyed this
+antiphonal method of following his own thoughts to such an extent that
+for a time he told his stories in the form of questions telling me each
+time what to answer! His questions had a social but no scientific
+bearing. And even when a three-year-old asks a real question he wants to
+be answered in terms of action or of sense impressions and not in terms
+of reasons why. How could it be otherwise since he still thinks with his
+senses and his muscles and not with that generalizing mechanism which
+conceives of cause and effect? The next time a three-year-old asks you
+"why you put on shoes?" see if he likes to be told "Mother wears shoes
+when she goes out because it is cold and the sidewalks are hard," or if
+he prefers, "Mother's going to go outdoors and take a big bus to go and
+buy something:" or "You listen and in a minute you'll hear mother's
+shoes going pat, pat, pat downstairs and then you'll hear the front door
+close bang! and mother won't be here any more!" "Why?" really means,
+"please talk to me!" and naturally he likes to be talked to in terms he
+can understand which are essentially sensory and motor.
+
+Now what activities are appropriate for the first stories? I think the
+answer is clear. His, the child's, own! The first activities which a
+child knows are of course those of his own body movements whether
+spontaneous or imposed upon him by another. Everything is in terms of
+himself. Again I think none of us would like to hazard a guess as to
+when the child comes through to a sharp distinction between himself
+and other things or other persons. But we are sure, I think, that this
+distinction is a matter of growth which extends over many years and that
+at two, three, and even four, it is imperfectly apprehended. We all know
+how long a child is in acquiring a correct use of the pronouns "me" and
+"you." And we know that long after he has this language distinction, he
+still calls everything he likes "mine." "This is my cow, this is my
+tree!" The only way to persuade him that it is _not_ his is to call it
+some one else's. Possessed it must be. He knows the world only in
+personal terms. That is, his early sense of relationship is that of
+himself to his concrete environment. This later evolves into a sense
+of relationship between other people and their concrete environment.
+
+At first, then, a child can not transcend himself or his experiences.
+Nor should he be asked to. A two-year-old's stories must be completely
+his stories with his own familiar little person moving in his own
+familiar background. They should vivify and deepen the sense of the
+one relationship he does feel keenly,--that of himself to something
+well-known. Now a two-year-old's range of experiences is not large. At
+least the experiences in which he takes a real part are not many. So his
+stories must be of his daily routine,--his eating, his dressing, his
+activities with his toys and his home. These are the things to which he
+attends: they make up his world. And they must be his very own eating
+and dressing and home, and not eating and dressing and homes in general.
+Stories which are not intimately his own, I believe either pass by or
+strain a two-year-old; and I doubt whether many three-year-olds can
+participate with pleasure and without strain in any experience which has
+not been lived through in person. He may of course get pleasure from the
+sound of the story apart from its meaning much earlier. Just now we are
+thinking solely of the content. I well remember the struggles of my
+three-year-old boy to get outside himself and view a baby chicken's
+career objectively. He checked up each step in my story by this
+orienting remark, "That the baby chicken in the shell, not me! The baby
+chicken go scritch-scratch, not me!" Was not this an evident effort to
+comprehend an extra-personal relationship?
+
+Again just as at first a small child can not get outside himself, so he
+can not get outside the immediate. At first he can not by himself recall
+even a simple chronological sequence. He is still in the narrowest, most
+limiting sense, too entangled in the "here" and the "now." The plot
+sense emerges slowly. Indeed there is slight plot value in most
+children's stories up to eight years. Plot is present in embryonic form
+in the omnipresent personal drama: "Where's baby? Peek-a-boo! There she
+is!" It can be faintly detected in the pleasure a child has in an actual
+walk. But the pleasure he derives from the sense of completeness, the
+sense that a walk or a story has a beginning and a middle and an end,
+the real plot pleasure, is negligible compared with the pleasure he gets
+in the action itself. Small children's experiences are and should be
+pretty much continuous flows of more or less equally important episodes.
+Their stories should follow their experiences. They should have no
+climaxes, no sense of completion. The episodes should be put together
+more like a string of beads than like an organic whole. Almost any
+section of a child's experience related in simple chronological
+sequence makes a satisfactory story.
+
+This can be pressed even further. There is another kind of relationship
+by which little children interpret their environment. It is the early
+manifestation of the associational process which in our adult life so
+largely crowds out the sensory and motor appreciation of the world. It
+runs way back to the baby's pleasure in recognizing things, certainly
+long before the period of articulate questions. We all retain vestiges
+of this childlike pleasure in our joyful greeting of a foreign word that
+is understood or in any new application of an old thought or design. As
+a child acquires a few words he adds the pleasure of naming,--an
+extension of the pleasure of recognition. This again develops into the
+joy of enumerating objects which are grouped together in some close
+association, usually physical juxtaposition. For instance a two-or
+three-year-old likes to have every article he ate for breakfast
+rehearsed or to have every member of the family named at each episode
+in a story which concerns the group! Earlier he likes to have his five
+little toes checked off as pigs or merely numbered. This is closely tied
+up with the child's pattern sense which we shall discuss at length under
+"Form." Now the pleasure of enumeration, like that of a refrain, is in
+part at least a pleasure in muscle pattern. My two-year-old daughter
+composed a song which well illustrates the fascination of enumeration.
+The refrain "Tick-tock" was borrowed from a song which had been sung to
+her.
+
+    "Tick-tock
+       Marni's nose,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's eyes,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's mouth,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's teeth,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's chin,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's romper,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's stockings,
+     Tick-tock
+       Marni's shoes," etc., etc.
+
+This she sang day after day, enumerating such groups as her clothes, the
+objects on the mantel and her toys. Walt Whitman has given us glorified
+enumerations of the most astounding vitality. If some one would only
+pile up equally vigorous ones for children! But it is not easy for an
+adult to gather mere sense or motor associations without a plot thread
+to string them on. The children's response to the two I have attempted
+in this collection, "Old Dan" and "My Kitty," make me eager to see it
+tried more commonly.
+
+All this means that the small child's attention and energy are absorbed
+in developing a technique of observation and control of his immediate
+surroundings. The functioning of his senses and his muscles engrosses
+him. Ideally his stories should happen currently along with the
+experience they relate or the object they reproduce, merely deepening
+the experience by giving it some pleasurable expression. At first the
+stories will have to be of this running and partly spontaneous type.
+But soon a child will like to have the story to recall an experience
+recently enjoyed. The living over of a walk, a ride, the sight of a
+horse or a cow, will give him a renewed sense of participation in
+a pleasurable activity. This is his first venture in vicarious
+experiences. And he must be helped to it through strong sense and
+muscular recalls. I have felt that these fairly literal recalls of
+every day details _did_ deepen his sense of relationships since by
+himself he cannot recapture these familiar details even in a simple
+chronological sequence.
+
+But if stories for a two or a three-year-old need to be of himself
+they must be written especially for him. Those written for another
+two-year-old may not fit. Consequently the first three stories in this
+collection are given as types rather than as independent narratives.
+"Marni Takes a Ride" is so elementary in its substance and its form as
+to be hardly recognizable as a "story" at all. And yet the appeal is the
+same as in the more developed narratives. It falls between the embryonic
+story stage of "Peek-a-boo!" and Marni's second story. It was first told
+during the actual ride. Repeated later it seemed to give the child a
+sense of adventure,--an inclusion of and still an extension of herself
+beyond the "here" and "now" which is the essence of a story. Both of
+Marni's stories are given as types for a mother to write for her
+two-year-old; the "Room with the Window in It" (written for the Play
+School group) is given as a type for a teacher to write for her
+three-year-old group.
+
+I cannot leave the subject of the "familiar" for children without
+looking forward a few years. This process of investigating and trying
+to control his immediate surroundings, this appreciation of the world
+through his senses and his muscles, does not end when the child has
+gained some sense of his own self as distinguished from the world,--of
+the "me" and the "not me,"--or achieved some ability to expand
+temporarily the "here" and the "now" into the "there" and the "then."
+The process is a precious one and should not be interrupted and confused
+by the interjection of remote or impersonal material. He still thinks
+and feels primarily through his own immediate experiences. If this
+is interfered with he is left without his natural material for
+experimentation for he cannot yet experiment easily in the world of the
+intangible. Moreover to the child the familiar _is_ the interesting. And
+it remains so I believe through that transition period,--somewhere about
+seven years,--when the child becomes poignantly aware of the world
+outside his own immediate experience,--of an order, physical or social,
+which he does not determine, and so gradually develops a sense of
+standards of what is to be expected in the world of nature or of his
+fellows along with a sense of workmanship. It is only the blind eye of
+the adult that finds the familiar uninteresting. The attempt to amuse
+children by presenting them with the strange, the bizarre, the unreal,
+is the unhappy result of this adult blindness. Children do not find the
+unusual piquant until they are firmly acquainted with the usual; they do
+not find the preposterous humorous until they have intimate knowledge of
+ordinary behavior; they do not get the point of alien environments until
+they are securely oriented in their own. Too often we mistake excitement
+for genuine interest and give the children stimulus instead of food. The
+fairy story, the circus, novelty hunting, delight the sophisticated
+adult; they excite and confuse the child. Red Riding-Hood and circus
+Indians excite the little child; Cinderella confuses him. Not one
+clarifies any relationship which will further his efforts to order
+the world. Nonsense when recognized and enjoyed as such is more than
+legitimate; it is a part of every one's heritage. But nonsense which is
+confused with reality is vicious,--the more so because its insinuations
+are subtle. So far as their content is concerned, it is chiefly as
+a protest against this confusing presentation of unreality, this
+substitution of excitement for legitimate interest, that these stories
+have been written. It is not that a child outgrows the familiar. It is
+rather that as he matures, he sees new relationships in the old. If our
+stories would follow his lead, they should not seek for unfamiliar and
+strange stuff in intrigue him; they should seek to deepen and enrich
+the relationships by which he is dimly groping to comprehend and to
+order his familiar world.
+
+But to return to the younger children. Children of four are not
+nearly so completely ego-centric as those of three. There has seemed
+to me to be a distinct transition at this age to a more objective way of
+thinking. A four-year-old does not to the same extent have to be a part
+of every situation he conceives of. Ordinarily, too, he moves out from
+his own narrowly personal environment into a slightly wider range of
+experiences. Now, what in this wider environment gets his spontaneous
+attention? What does he take from the street life, for instance, to make
+his own? Surely it is moving things. He is still primarily motor in his
+interest and expression and remains so certainly up to six years.
+Engines, boats, wagons with horses, all animals, his own moving
+self,--these are the things he notices and these are the things he
+interprets in his play activities. Transportation and animals and
+himself. Do not these pretty well cover the field of his interests? If
+conceived of as motor and personal do they not hold all the material a
+four-or five-year-old needs for stories? If we bring in inanimate
+unmoving things, we must do with them what he does. We must endow them
+with life and motion. We need not be afraid of personification. This is
+the age when anthropomorphism flourishes. The five-year-old is still
+motor; his conception of cause is still personal. He thinks through his
+muscles; he personifies in his thought and his play.
+
+Nevertheless there is very real danger in anthropomorphism,--in thus
+leaving the world of reality. There is danger of confusing the child. We
+must be sure our personifications are built on relationships which our
+child can understand and which have an objective validity. We must be
+sure that a wolf remains a wolf and an engine an engine, though endowed
+with human speech.
+
+Now, what are the typical relationships which a four-or five-year-old
+uses to bind together his world into intelligible experiences? We have
+already noted the personal relationship which persists in modified form.
+But does not the grouping of things because of physical juxtaposition
+now give way to a conception of "Use"? Does he not think of the world
+largely in terms of active functioning? Has not the typical question of
+this age become "What's it for?" Even his early definitions are in terms
+of use which has a strong motor implication. "A table is to eat off"; "a
+spoon is to eat in"; "a river means where you get drinks out of water,
+and catch fish, and throw stones." (Waddle: Introduction to Child
+Psychology, p. 170.) It was only consistent with his general conception
+of relationships in the world to have a little boy of my acquaintance
+examine a very small man sitting beside him in the subway and then turn
+to his father with the question, "What is that little man for?"
+
+Stories which are offered to small children must be assessed from this
+two-fold point of view. What relationships are they based on? And in
+what terms are they told? Fairy stories should not be exempted. We are
+inclined to accept them uncritically, feeling that they do not cramp a
+child as does reality. We cling to the idea that children need a fairy
+world to "cultivate their imaginations." In the folk tales we are
+intrigued by the past,--by the sense that these embodiments of human
+experience, having survived the ages, should be exempt from modern
+analysis. If, however, we do commit the sacrilege of looking at them
+alongside of our educational principles, I think we find a few precious
+ones that stand the test. For children under six, however, even these
+precious few contribute little in content, but much through their
+matchless form. On the other hand, we find that many of the human
+experiences which these old tales embody are quite unsuitable for
+four-and five-year-olds. Cruelty, trickery, economic inequality,--these
+are experiences which have shaped and shaken adults and alas! still
+continue to do so. But do we wish to build them into a four-year-old's
+thinking? Some of these experiences run counter to the trends of
+thinking we are trying to establish in other ways; some merely confuse
+them. We seem to identify imagination with gullibility or vague
+thinking. But surely true imagination is not based on confusion.
+Imagination is the basis of art. But confused art is a contradiction
+of terms.
+
+Now, the ordinary fairy tale which is the chief story diet of the
+four-and five-year-olds, I believe does confuse them; not because it
+does not stick to reality (for neither do the children) but because it
+does not deal with the things with which they have had first-hand
+experience and does not attempt to present or interpret the world
+according to the relationships which the child himself employs. Rather
+it gives the child material which he is incapable of handling. Much in
+these tales is symbolic and means to the adult something quite different
+from what it bears on its face. And much, I believe, is confused even
+to the grown-up. Now a confused adult does not make a child! Nor does
+it ever help a child to give him confusion. When my four-year-old
+personified a horse for one whole summer, he lived the actual life of a
+horse as far as he knew it. His bed was always "a stall," his food was
+always "hay," he always brushed his "mane" and "put on his harness" for
+breakfast. It was only when real horse information gave out that he
+supplied experiences from his own life. He was not limited by reality.
+He was exercising his imagination. This is quite different from the
+adult mixtures of the animal, the social, and the moral worlds. Does not
+Cinderella interject a social and economic situation which is both
+confusing and vicious? Does not Red Riding-Hood in its real ending
+plunge the child into an inappropriate relationship of death and
+brutality or in its "happy ending" violate all the laws that can be
+violated in regard to animal life? Does not "Jack and the Beanstalk"
+delay a child's rationalizing of the world and leave him longer than is
+desirable without the beginnings of scientific standards? The growth of
+the sense of reality is a growth of the sense of relations. From the
+time when the child begins to relate isolated experiences, when he
+groups together associations, when he begins to note the sequence,
+the order of things, from this time he is beginning to think
+scientifically. It is preeminently the function of education to further
+the growth of the sense of reality, to give the child the sense of
+relationship between facts, material or social: that is, to further
+scientific conceptions. Stories, if they are to be a part of an
+educational process, must also further the growth of the sense of
+reality, must help the child to interpret the relationships in the world
+around him and help him to develop a scientific process of thinking. It
+is not important that he know this or that particular fact; it _is_
+important that he be able to fit any particular fact into a rational
+scheme of thought. Accordingly, the relationships which a story
+clarifies are of much greater import than the facts it gives. All this,
+of course, concerns the content of stories--the intentional material it
+presents to the child and has nothing to do with the pleasure of the
+presentation,--the relish which comes from the form of the story. I
+do not wish this to be interpreted to mean that I think all fairy
+stories forever harmful. From the beginning innocuous tales like the
+"Gingerbread Man" should be given for the pattern as should the "Old
+Woman and Her Pig." Moreover, after a child is somewhat oriented in the
+physical and social world, say at six or seven,--I think he can stand a
+good deal of straight fairy lore. It will sweep him with it. He will
+relish the flight the more for having had his feet on the ground. But
+for brutal tales like Red Riding-Hood or for sentimental ones like
+Cinderella I find no place in any child's world. Obviously, fairy
+stories cannot be lumped and rejected en masse. I am merely pleading not
+to have them accepted en masse on the ground that they "have survived
+the ages" and "cultivate the imagination." For a child's imagination,
+since it is his native endowment, will surely flourish if he is given
+freedom for expression, without calling upon the stimulus of adult
+fancies. It is only the jaded adult mind, afraid to trust to the
+children's own fresh springs of imagination, that feels for children
+the need of the stimulus of magic.
+
+The whole question of myths and sagas together with the function of
+personification must be taken up with the older children. For the
+present we are still concerned with four-and five-year-olds. Two sets
+of stories told by four-and five-year-old children in the school seem
+to me to show what emphasizing unrealities may do at this age. The
+first child in each set is thinking disjunctively; the second has his
+facts organized into definite relationships. Can one think that the
+second child enjoyed his ordered world less than the first enjoyed
+his confusion?
+
+
+TWO STORIES BY FOUR-YEAR-OLDS
+
+Once there was a table and he was taking a walk and he fell into a pond
+of water and an alligator bit him and then he came up out of the pond of
+water and he stepped into a trap that some hunters had set for him, and
+turned a somersault on his nose.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+There was a new engine and it didn't have any headlight--its light
+wasn't open in its headlight so its engineer went and put some fire in
+the wires and made a light. And then it saw a lot of other engines on
+the track in front of it. So when it wanted to puff smoke and go fast it
+told its engineer and he put some coal in the coal car. And then the
+other engines told their engineers to put coal in their coal cars and
+then they all could go.
+
+(The child then played a song by a "'lectric" engine on the piano and
+tried to write the notes.)
+
+
+TWO STORIES BY FIVE-YEAR-OLDS
+
+     Once upon a time there was a clown and the clown jumped on the bed
+     and the bed jumped on the cup. Then the clown took a pencil and
+     drawed on his face. And the clown said, "Oh, I guess I'll sit in a
+     rocking chair." So the rocking chair said, "Ha! ha!" and it tumbled
+     away. Then a little pig came along and he said, "Could you throw me
+     up and throw an apple down?" So the clown threw him so far that he
+     was dead. He was on the track.
+
+                    *       *       *
+
+     There was a big factory where all the men made engines. And one man
+     made a smoke stack. And one man made a tender. And one man made a
+     cab. And one man made a bell. And one man made a wheel. And then
+     another man came and put them all together and made a great big
+     engine. And this man said, "We haven't any tracks!" And then a man
+     came and made the tracks. And then another man said, "We haven't
+     any station!" So many men came and built a big station. And they
+     said, "Let's have the station in Washington Square." So they pulled
+     down the Arch and they pulled up all the sidewalks. And they built
+     a big station. And they left all the houses; for where would we
+     live else?
+
+     (In a sequel he says: So they knocked down the Arch and chopped up
+     all the pieces. And they chopped all around the trees but they
+     didn't chop them down because they looked so pretty with our
+     station!)
+
+I am far from meaning that five-year-olds should be confined to their
+literal experiences. They have made considerable progress in separating
+themselves from their environment though at times they seem still to
+think of the things around them more or less as extensions of
+themselves. Their inquiries still emanate from their own personal
+experiences; but they do not end there. A child of this age has a
+genuine curiosity about where things come from and where they go to.
+"What's it for?" indeed, implies a dim conception beyond the "here" and
+the "now," a conception which his stories should help him to clarify. If
+we try to escape the pitfall of "fairy stories,"--abandoning a child in
+unrealities,--we must not fall into the opposite pitfall and continue
+the easy habit of merely recounting a series of events, neither
+significant in themselves nor, as in the earlier years, significant
+because they are personal experiences. "Arabella and Araminta" and their
+like give a five-year-old no real food. They are saved, if saved they
+are, not by their content, but by a daring and skilful use of repetition
+and of sound quality. No, our stories must add something to the
+children's knowledge and must take them beyond the "here" and the
+"now." But this "something," as I have already said, is not so much new
+information as it is a new relationship among already familiar facts.
+
+In each of the stories for four-and five-year-olds I have attempted to
+clarify known facts by showing them in a relationship a little beyond
+the children's own experience. All the stories came from definite
+inquiries raised by some child. They attempt to answer these inquiries
+and to raise others. "How the Engine Learned the Knowing Song," "The Fog
+Boat Story," "Hammer and Saw and Plane," "How the Singing Water Gets to
+the Tub," "Things That Loved the Lake," "The Children's New Dresses,"
+"How Animals Move,"--all are based on definite relationships, largely
+physical, between simple physical facts.
+
+Interest in these relationships,--inquiries which hold the germ of
+physical science, continue and increase with each year. In addition, a
+little later, children seem to begin questioning things social and to be
+ready for the simpler social relationships which underlie and determine
+the physical world of their acquaintance. "What's it for?" still
+dominates, but a six-year-old is on the way to becoming a conscious
+member of society. He now likes his answers to be in human terms. He
+takes readily to such conceptions as congestion as the cause for subways
+and elevated trains; the desire for speed as the cause of change in
+transportation; the dependence of man on other living things,--all of
+which I have made the bases of stories. To the children the material in
+"The Subway Car," "Speed," "Silly Will," is familiar; the relationships
+in which it appears are new.
+
+Somewhere about seven years, there seems to be another transition
+period. Psychologists, whether in or out of schools, generally agree in
+this. Children of this age are acquiring a sense of social values,--a
+consciousness of _others_ as sharply distinguished from themselves.
+They are also acquiring a sense of workmanship, of technique,--of
+_things_ as sharply distinguished from themselves. They seek information
+in and for itself,--not merely in its immediate application to
+themselves. Their inquiries take on the character of "how?" This means,
+does it not, that the children have oriented themselves in their narrow
+personal world and that they are reaching out for experience in larger
+fields? It means that the "not-me" which was so shadowy in the earlier
+years has gained in social and in physical significance. And this again
+means that opportunity for exploration in ever-widening circles should
+be given. Stories should follow this general trend and open up the
+relationships in larger and larger environments until at last a child is
+capable of seeing relationships for himself and of regarding the whole
+world in its infinite physical and social complexity, as his own
+environment.
+
+Probably the first extra-personal excursions should be into alien
+scenes or experiences which lead back or contribute directly to their
+old familiar world. Stories of unknown raw material which turn into
+well-known products are of this type,--cattle raising in Texas, dairy
+farms in New England, lumbering in Minnesota, sheep raising in
+California. It is a happy coincidence that raw materials are often
+produced under semi-primitive conditions, so that a vicarious
+participation in their production gives to children something of that
+thrilling contact with the elemental that does the life of primitive
+men, and this without sending them into the remote and, for modern
+children, "unnatural" world of unmodified nature. The danger here is
+that the story will be sacrificed to the information. Indeed it can
+hardly be otherwise, if the aim is to give an adequate picture of some
+process of production. This, of course, is a legitimate aim,--but for
+the encyclopedia, not for the story. What I have in mind is a dramatic
+situation which has this process as a background, so that the child
+becomes interested in the process because of the part it plays in the
+drama just as he would if the process were a background in his own life.
+I am thinking of the opportunities which these comparatively primitive
+situations give for adventure rather than for the detailed elucidation
+of a process of production.
+
+It is the peculiar function of a story to raise inquiries, not to give
+instruction. A story must stimulate not merely inform. This is the
+trouble with our "informational literature" for children, of which
+very little is worthy of the name. Indeed, I am not sure it is not a
+contradiction of terms. It is frankly didactic. It aims to make clear
+certain facts, not to stimulate thought. It assumes that if a child
+swallows a fact it must nourish him. To give the child material with
+which to experiment,--this lies outside its present range. Reaction from
+the unloveliness of this didactic writing has produced a distressing
+result. The misunderstood and misapplied educational principle that
+children's work should interest them has developed a new species of
+story,--a sort of pseudo-literary thing in which the medicinal facts
+are concealed by various sugar-coating devices. Children will take this
+sort of story,--what will their eager little minds not take? And like
+encyclopedias and other books of reference this type has its place in a
+child's world. But it should never be confused with literature.
+
+Literature must give a sense of adventure. This sense of adventure, of
+excursion into the unknown, must be furnished to children of every age.
+As I have said before, I think "Peek-a-boo, there's the baby!" is the
+elementary expression of this love of adventure. The baby disappears
+into the unknown vastness behind the handkerchief and to her, her
+reappearance is a thrilling experience. Children's stories,--as indeed
+all stories,--have been largely founded on this. The "Prudy" and "Dotty
+Dimple" books though keyed so low in the scale seem adventurous because
+of the meagre background of their young readers. But children of the
+age we are considering,--who have left the narrowly personal and
+predominantly play period demand something higher in the scale of
+adventure. To them are offered the great variety of tales of adventure
+and danger of which the boy scout is the latest example. Every child in
+reading these becomes a hero. And every child (and grown-up) enjoys
+being a hero. Higher still comes "Kidnapped" and so up to Stanley Weyman
+and "The Three Musketeers" which differ in their art, not in their
+appeal.
+
+Now is it not possible to give children these adventurous excursions
+which they crave and should have, without so much killing of animals or
+men, and so many blood-thirsty excitements, and so much fake heroism?
+What relationships do such tales interpret? What truths do they give a
+child upon which to base his thinking? The relation of life to life is a
+delicate and difficult thing to interpret. But surely we can do better
+at an interpretation than tales of hunting, of impossible heroisms, and
+of war. Or at least, we can protest against having these almost the sole
+interpretations of adventure which are offered to children. The world
+of industry holds possibilities for adventure as thrilling as the world
+of high-colored romance. We must look with fresh eyes to see it. When
+once we see it, we shall be able to give the children a new type of the
+"story of adventure." Of all the experiments which the stories in this
+collection represent, this attempt to find and picture the romance and
+adventure in our world here and now, I consider the most important and
+difficult. In such stories as "Boris" and "Eben's Cows" and "The Sky
+Scraper," I have made experimental attempts to give children a sense of
+adventure by presenting social relations in this new way.
+
+The cultured world has yet another answer to the question, "How shall
+we give our children adventure?" It points to the wealth of classical
+myths, of Iliads, sagas, of fairy-stories which are practically
+folk-lore, semi-magic, semi-allegorical, semi-moral tales which express
+the ideals and experiences of a different and younger world than ours of
+today. And it replies, "Give them these." It feels in the sternness of
+saga stuff and in the humanity of folk-lore, a validity and a dignity
+and a simplicity which seem to make them suitable for children. These
+tales tell of beliefs of folk less experienced than we: we have outgrown
+them. They must be suited to the less experienced: give them to
+children. Thus runs the common argument. And so we find Hawthorne's
+"Tanglewood Tales," AEsop's "Fables," various Indian myths and Celtic
+legends, and even the "Niebelungen Lied" often given to quite young
+children. But do we find this reasoning valid when we examine these
+tales free from the glamour which adult sophistication casts around
+them? Remember we are thinking now of children in that delicate seven-to
+eight-year-old transition period. I have already told how I believe
+these children are but just beginning to have conceptions of
+laws,--social and physical. They are groping their way, regimenting
+their experiences, seeing dim generalizations and abstractions. But they
+are not firmly oriented. They are beginners in the world of physical or
+social science and can be easily side-tracked or confused. A child of
+twelve or even ten is quite a different creature, often with clear if
+not articulate conceptions of the make-up of the physical and human
+world. He has something to measure against, some standards to cling to.
+But we are talking about children still in the early plastic stages of
+standards who will take the relationships we offer them through stories
+and build them into the very fabric of their thinking.
+
+Now, how much of the classical literature follows the lead of the
+children's own inquiries? How much of it stimulates fruitful inquiries?
+What are the relationships which sagas, myths and folk-lore interpret?
+And what are the interpretations? This is a vast question and can be
+answered only briefly with the full consciousness that there is much
+lumping of dissimilar material with resulting injustices and
+superficiality. Also there is no attempt to use the words "myth," "saga"
+and "folk-lore" in technical senses.[A] I have merely taken the dominant
+characteristic of any piece of literature as determining its class.
+
+ [A] For a clear exposition of this field of literature for children
+     see "Literature in the Elementary School," by Porter Lander
+     MacClintock, University of Chicago Press, 1907.
+
+Myths, properly, are slow-wrought beliefs which embody a people's effort
+to understand their relations to the great unknown. They are essentially
+religious, symbolic, mystic, subtle, full of fears and propitiations,
+involved, often based on the forgotten,--altogether unlike in their
+approach to the ingenuous and confident child. They are full of the
+struggle of life. Hardly before the involved introspections and theories
+of adolescence can we expect the real beauty and poignancy of a genuine
+myth to be even dimly understood. And why offer the shell without the
+spirit? It is likely to remain a shell forever if we do. And indeed,
+such an empty thing to most of us is the great myth of Prometheus or of
+the Garden of Eden.
+
+But sagas! Are they not of exactly the heroic stuff for little children?
+In essence the relationships with which they deal are human,--social.
+The story of Siegfried, of Achilles, of Abraham,--these are great sagas.
+Each is a tremendous picture of a human experience, the first two
+under heroic, enlarged conditions, the last under a human culture
+picturesquely different from our own. But even as straight tales of
+adventure they do not carry for little children. The environment is too
+remote, the world to be conquered too unknown to carry a convincing
+sense of heroism to small children. The same is true of the heroic tales
+of romance,--of Arthur and all the legends which cluster around his
+name. Magic, the children will get from these tales but little else. But
+if the tales should succeed in taking a child with them in their strange
+exploits into a strange land, they would surely fail to take him into
+the turgid human drama they picture. And as surely we should wish them
+to fail. The sagas, like most genuine folk-lore deal with the great
+elemental human facts, life and death, love, sexual passion and its
+consequences, marriage, motherhood, fatherhood. We grasp at them for
+our children, I believe, just _because_ they deal with these fundamental
+things,--the very things we are afraid of unless they come to us
+concealed in strange clothing. But what kind of a foundation for
+interpreting these great elemental facts will the stories of Achilles
+and Briseus, of Jason and Medea, Pluto and Proserpina, of Guinevere and
+Launcelot make? What do we expect a child to get from these pictures of
+sexual passion on the part of the man,--even though a god,--and of
+social dependence of woman? Do Greek draperies make prostitution
+suitable for children? Does the glamour of chivalry explain illicit
+love? Most parents and schools who unhesitatingly hand over these social
+pictures to their children have never tried,--and neither care nor dare
+to try,--to face these elemental facts with their children. Can we
+really wish to avoid a frank statement of the _positive_ in sex
+relations, of the facts of parenthood, of the institution of marriage,
+of the mutual companionship between man and woman, and give the
+_negative_, the unfulfilled, the distorted? This is preposterous and no
+one would uphold it. It must be the beauty of the tale, and not the
+significance we are after. But _are_ these tales beautiful except as we
+endow them with the subtleties of a classical civilization, as we read
+into them piquant contrasts of a sensitive, expressive race still
+primitive in its social thinking and social habits,--that elusive
+thing which we mean by "Greek"? And can children get this without its
+background, particularly as they have yet no social background in their
+own world to hold it up against? And can children do any better with the
+perplexing ideals of the chivalrous knight swept by a human passion?
+
+And in the same way can a child really get the beauty of Siegfried? What
+can he make out of the incestuous love of Siegmund and Sieglinda? And of
+Siegfried's naive passion on his first glimpse of a woman? What do we
+want him to make of it? Is that the way we wish to introduce him to sex?
+And as for the rest, the allegory of the ring itself, the sword, the
+dragon's blood, what do little children get from this except the
+excitement of magic? What _we_ get because of what we have to put into
+it, is a different matter and should never be confused with the straight
+question of what children get. Outgrown adult thinking in social matters
+is no more suitable to children than outgrown thinking on physical
+facts. We do not teach that the world is flat because grown-ups once
+believed it was. We are not afraid of a round earth so we tell the
+truth about it. But we come near to teaching "spontaneous generation"
+with our endless evasions. We are afraid of a reproducing world, and so
+we fall back on curious mixtures of sex fables,--on storks and fairy
+godmothers and leave the mysteries of sex to be interpreted by Achilles
+and Siegfried and Guinevere! To emasculate these tales is to insult
+them,--to strip them of their significance and individuality. Is it not
+wiser to wait until children will not be confused by all their straight
+vigor and beauty?
+
+There is other folk-lore less gripping in its human intensity. Through
+this may not children safely gain their needed adventures? And here we
+come again to the real "Maerchen,"--the fairy tales. They take us into a
+lovely world of unreality where magic and luck hold sway and where the
+child is safe from human problems and from scientific laws alike. I have
+already said in talking of the younger children that I feel it unsafe
+to loose a child in this unsubstantial world before he is fairly well
+grounded in a sense of reality. Once he has his bearings there is a good
+deal he will enjoy without confusion. The common defense that the
+mystery of fairy tales answers to a legitimate need in children, I
+believe holds good for children of six or seven, or even five, who have
+had opportunities for rational experiences. We all know how children
+revel in a secret. They like to live in a world of surprises. To give
+the children this sense of mystery I do not believe it is at all
+necessary to turn to vicious tales of giants, of ogres, and Bluebeards,
+or to the no less vicious pictures of the beautiful princess and the
+wicked stepmother. Even after rejecting the brutal and sentimental we
+have a good deal left,--a good deal that is intrinsically amusing as in
+"The Musicians of Bremen" or "Prudent Hans" or charming as in "Briar
+Rose." Symbolic or primitive attempts to explain the physical world,--as
+in the Indian legend of "Tavwots" I have never found held great appeal
+for the modern six- or seven-year-old scientists. Also the burden
+of symbolic morality rests on a good many of the traditional tales which
+usually neither adds nor detracts for the child and satisfies an adult
+yearning. Allegories like AEsop's "Fables" and "The Lion of Androcles"
+have a certain right to a hearing because of their historic prestige,
+apart from any reform they may accomplish in the way of character
+building. And in our own day many animals have achieved what I believe
+is a permanent place in child literature. "The Elephant's Child," the
+wild creatures of the "Jungle Book," "Raggylug" and even the little
+mole in the "Wind in the Willows,"--these are animals to trust any child
+with. Yet even in these exquisitely drawn tales, I doubt if children
+enjoy what we adults wish them to enjoy either in content or in form.
+And I doubt if we should accept even some of Kipling's matchless tales
+if the faultless form did not intrigue us and make us oblivious of the
+content.
+
+It is just here that most of us fail to be discriminating. Most of
+the classical literature, most of the legends, or the folk tales that
+I have been discussing have a compelling charm through their form. But
+unfortunately that does not make their content suitable! Their place
+in the world's thinking and feeling and their transcription into their
+present forms by really great artists give them a permanent place in
+the world's literature. This I do not question. It is partly because I
+believe this so intensely that I wish them kept for fuller appreciation.
+It is as formative factors in a young child's thinking that I am afraid
+of them. Neither am I afraid of all of them. There are some old
+conceptions of life and death and human relations which the race has not
+outgrown, perhaps never will outgrow. The mystery and pathos of the Pied
+Piper, the humor of Prudent Hans, the cleverness of the boy David, the
+heroism of the little Dutch boy stopping the hole in the dyke, the love
+of the Queer Little Baker, and the greed and grief of Midas are eternal.
+In spite of these and many more, I maintain that for the most part,
+myths, sagas, folk-lore depend for their significance and beauty alike
+upon a grasp of present social values which a young child cannot have
+and that our first attention should be to give him those values in terms
+intelligible to him. After we have done that he is safe. It matters
+little what we give him so long as it is good: for he will have
+standards by which to judge our offerings for himself.
+
+Yet after all is said and done, we may be reduced to giving children
+some of the stories we think inappropriate, for lack of something
+better. But a recognition of the need may evoke a great writer for
+children. I maintain we have never had one of the first order. The best
+books that we have for children are throw-offs from artists primarily
+concerned with adults,--Kipling and Stevenson stand in this group,--or
+child versions of adult literature,--from Charles and Mary Lamb down.
+The world has yet to see a genuinely great creator whose real vision is
+for children. When children have _their_ Psalmist, _their_ Shakespeare,
+_their_ Keats, they will not be offered diluted adult literature.
+
+So after we have gathered what we can from the world's store for
+children of this seven-to-eight-year old period I think we shall find
+many unfilled gaps. Most attempts at humor, for instance, are on the
+level of the comic sheet of the Sunday supplement or the circus. There
+is little except a few of the "drolls" which give the child pure fun
+unmixed with excitement or confusion. Even "Alice in Wonderland" when
+first read to a six-year-old who was used to rational thinking and
+talking was pronounced "Too funny!" This same boy, however, went back
+to Alice again and again. He always relished such bits as:
+
+    "Speak roughly to your little boy,
+       And beat him when he sneezes,
+     He only does it to annoy
+       Because he knows it teases."
+
+No child's world is complete without humor. And children have a sense of
+the preposterous, the inappropriate all their own. Lewis Carroll and a
+few others have occasionally found it. Still, I think much remains to be
+done in the way of studying the things that children themselves find
+amusing. This is true for the younger ones as well. I give several
+younger children's stories which appeared both to the tellers and their
+audiences to be convulsing. The humor is strangely physical and
+amazingly simple. And it is all fresh.
+
+
+STORIES BY FOUR-YEAR-OLDS
+
+     I dreamed I was asleep in a tomato and just scrambled around until
+     I'd eaten it up.
+
+                    *       *       *
+
+     Once there was a cow and he was in a wagon and he jumped over the
+     wagon's edge.
+
+                    *       *       *
+
+     Sesame the Cat
+
+     She lived with a nice man, a candy man, and she was at the gate
+     watching the cattle go by and the men were digging under some
+     caramel bricks and he called Sesame the Cat and she came banging
+     and almost jumped on the man's head. She jumped like a merry
+     balloon. Oh, he got angry!
+
+               *       *       *
+
+
+STORY BY FIVE-YEAR-OLD
+
+     Once there was a fly. And he went out walking on a little boy's
+     face. He came to a kind of a soft hump. "What is this?" thought the
+     fly. "Oh, I guess it's the little boy's eye!" Then he came to a lot
+     of kind of wiggly things that went down with him. "What is this?"
+     thought the fly. "Oh, I guess it's the little boy's hair!" Then he
+     slipped and fell into a deep hole. It was the little boy's ear. And
+     he couldn't get out. He tried and he tried. But he staid there
+     until the little boy's ear got all sore!
+
+               *       *       *
+
+
+STORIES BY SIX-YEAR-OLDS
+
+     Once upon a time there was a fox and a skunk, and the fox was
+     walking down the path with a lot of prickly bushes on the side of
+     the path. Then he saw a skunk coming along. He said, "Will you let
+     me throw my little bag of perfume on you?" And then she (it was a
+     lady fox) she backed and backed and backed and backed and backed
+     and backed, and she backed so far she backed into the bushes, and
+     she got her skirt torn on the prickly bushes.
+
+                    *       *       *
+
+     Once upon a time there was a boy and the boy was awfully funny. And
+     one day the boy went to the store to buy some eggs and he got the
+     eggs and ran so fast with the eggs home,--he stumbled and broke the
+     eggs. So he took the eggs, and took the shell and fixed it like the
+     same egg. And he walked off slowly to his home. And his mother was
+     going to beat the eggs and she just opened the shell and no egg was
+     there, and she couldn't make no cake that night.
+
+There is still another kind of story which I believe children of this
+transition period and a little older seek and for the most part seek in
+vain. These children are beginning to generalize, to marshal their facts
+and experiences along lines which in their later developments we call
+"laws." They like these wide-spreading conceptions which order the
+world for them. But they cannot always take them as bald scientific
+statements. Moreover there are certain general truths which tie together
+isolated familiar facts which can be most simply pictured through some
+device such as personification,--for at this age personification is
+recognized and enjoyed as a device and not, as in earlier years, as a
+necessary expression of thought. This uniting bond, this underlying
+relation may be a physical law like the dependence of life on life; it
+may be a social law like the division of labor in modern industry. Any
+dramatic statement of these laws is a simplification as is a diagram or
+map. And like a diagram or map, it is in a way artificial since it gives
+weight to one element at the expense of the others. But again like the
+diagram or map, the thing it shows is a fact, a fact which is more
+readily grasped by this artificial device than by bald statement. Maps
+do not take the place of photographs, nevertheless they have their own
+peculiar place in making intelligible the make-up of the physical world.
+In the same way, personification does not take the place of science.
+Nevertheless it has its own peculiar place in making clear to the child
+some simplifying principle,--physical or social,--which unifies his
+multitudinous experiences. So long as personification elucidates a true,
+a scientific principle, so long as it is not pressed to tortuous lengths
+which actually give false impressions, so long as it is kept within the
+bounds of aesthetic decency, so long as it is recognized as a play
+device and does not confuse a child's thinking,--so long as it is
+justified. No more. It is a useful intellectual tool and a charming
+device for play. Kipling is preeminently the master here. It is a
+dangerous tool in lesser hands. Yet I have dared to use it and without
+scruple in "Speed," in "Once the Barn was Full of Hay" and in "Silly
+Will." Here again I feel sure that study of children's questions and
+stories would bring rich suggestions as to how to fill this large gap
+in their present literature.
+
+Gaps there are, and many and large ones. Still, taken all in all, the
+field for the seven- to eight-year-old transition period is not as
+completely barren as the field for the earlier years. For these children
+are evolving from the stage where they need "Here and Now" stories. They
+are beginning to take on adult modes of thought and to appreciate and
+understand the peculiar language which adults use no matter how young a
+child they address! So much for the content of children's stories. And
+at best the content is but half.
+
+
+FORM
+
+If content is but half, form is the other half of stories and not the
+easier half, either. Every story, to be worthy of the name, must have
+a pattern, a pattern which is both pleasing and comprehensible. This
+design, this composition, this pattern, whether it be of a story as
+a whole or of a sentence or a phrase, is as essential to a piece of
+writing as is the design or composition to a picture. It satisfies the
+emotional need of the child which is as essential in real education as
+is the intellectual. Without this design, language remains on the
+utilitarian level,--where, to be sure, we usually find it in modern
+days.
+
+Now what kind of pattern is adapted to a small child,--say a
+three-year-old? What kind does he like? More, what kind can he perceive?
+Herein the expression as fatally as in the content has the adult shaped
+the mould to his own liking. Or rather, the case is even worse. The
+adult more often than not has presented his stories and verse to
+children in forms which the children could not like because they
+literally could not hear them! The pattern, as such, did not exist for
+them. But what have we to guide us in creating suitable patterns for
+these little children who can help us neither by analysis nor by
+articulate remonstrance? We have two sources of help and both of
+them come straight from the children. The first are the children's own
+spontaneous art forms; the second are the story and verse patterns which
+make an almost universal appeal to little children. Even a superficial
+study of these two sources,--and where shall we find a thorough
+study?--suggests two fundamental principles. They sound obvious and
+perhaps they are. But how often is the obvious ignored in the treatment
+of children! The first is that the individual units whether ideas,
+sentences or phrases must be simple. The second is that these simple
+units must be put close together.
+
+As the quickest and most eloquent exemplification of both these
+principles I give four stories. The first was told by a little girl of
+twenty-two months, a singularly articulate little person,--as she looked
+at the blank wall where had hung a picture of a baby (she supposed her
+little brother), a cow and a donkey. The second was a story told by a
+little girl of two and a half after a summer on the seashore. The third
+was achieved by a boy of three,--a child, in general, unsensitive to
+music. The fourth was told in school by a four-year-old girl.
+
+
+STORY BY TWENTY-TWO-MONTHS-OLD CHILD
+
+    Where cow?
+    Where donk?
+    Where little Aa?
+
+    Cow gone away!
+    Donk gone away!
+    Little Aa gone away!
+
+    Like cow!
+    Like donk!
+    Like little Aa!
+
+    Come back cow!
+    Come back donk!
+    Come back little Aa!
+
+
+STORY BY TWO-AND-A-HALF-YEAR-OLD
+
+    I fell in water.
+    Man fell in water.
+    John fell in water.
+    For' fell in water.
+    Aunt Carrie fell in water.
+
+    I pull boat out.
+    Man pull boat out.
+    John pull boat out.
+    For' pull boat out.
+    Aunt Carrie pull boat out.
+
+    I go in that boat.
+    Man go in that boat.
+    John go in that boat.
+    For' go in that boat.
+    Aunt Carrie go in that boat.
+
+
+STORY BY THREE-YEAR-OLD
+
+    And father went down, down, down into the hole
+    And the bull-frog, he went up, up, up into the sky!
+    And then the bull-frog, he went down, down, down into the hole
+    And then father, he went up, up, up, way into the sky!
+    And then the bull-frog he went down, down, down into the hole
+    And up, up into the sky!
+    And then he went down into the hole
+    And up into the sky!
+    And he went down and up and down and up
+    And down and up and down and up
+    And down and up and down and up
+    And down and up
+    And down and up
+    And down and up
+    Down and up---- (to wordless song.)
+
+
+STORY BY A FOUR-YEAR-OLD
+
+    Baby Bye, Baby Bye
+    Here's a fly
+    You'd better be careful
+    Else he will sting you
+    And here's a spider too.
+    And if you hurt him he will sting you
+    And don't you hurt him
+    And his pattern on the wall.
+
+Certainly all have form,--spontaneous native art form. Indeed they
+strongly suggest that to the child, the pleasure lay in the form rather
+than in the content. The patterns of the first two are somewhat
+alike,--variations of a simple statement. In content the younger child
+keeps her attention on one point, so to speak, while the older child
+allows a slight movement like an embryonic narrative. The pattern of the
+three-year-old's is considerably more complex. The phrases shorten, the
+tempo quickens, until the whole swings off into wordless melody. The
+fourth probably started from some remembered lullaby but quickly became
+the child's own. I give two more examples of stories. In the first, does
+not this five-year-old girl give us her vivid impressions in marvelously
+simple sense and motor terms? And does not the six-year-old boy in the
+second show that imagination can spring from real experiences?
+
+
+STORIES BY FIVE-YEAR-OLDS
+
+     I am going to tell you a story about when I went to Falmouth with
+     my mother. We had to go all night on the train and this is the way
+     it sounded, (moving her hand on the table and intoning in different
+     keys) thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, _NEW ARK!_
+     thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum,
+     FALMOUTH! And then we got off and we took a trolley car and the
+     trolley car went clipperty, clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip. And
+     another trolley car came in the other direction (again with hands)
+     and one came along saying clipperty, clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip
+     and the other came along saying clipperty, clipperty, clipperty,
+     zip, zip, zip, BANG! And they hit in the middle and they got stuck
+     and they tried to pull them apart and they stuck and they stuck and
+     they stuck and finally they got them apart and then we went again.
+     And when we got off we had to take a subway and the subway went
+     rockety-rockety-rockety-rock. You know a subway makes a terrible
+     noise! It made a _terrible_ noise it sounded like
+     rockety-rockety-rockety-rockety-rock.
+
+     And at last we got there and when we came up in the streets of
+     Falmouth it was so still that I didn't know what to do. You know
+     the streets of Falmouth are just so terribly quiet and then we had
+     to walk millions and millions of miles almost to get to our little
+     cottage. And when we got there I put on my bathing suit and I went
+     in bathing and I shivered just like this because it was a rainy
+     day, the day I went to Falmouth with my mother.
+
+
+The Talk of the Brook
+
+    O brook, O brook, that sings so loud,
+    O brook, O brook, that goes all day,
+    O brook, O brook, that goes all night
+    And forever.
+    Splashes and waves, girls and boys are playing with
+    You and in you.
+    Some with shoes off and some with shoes on,
+    And some are crying because they fell in you.
+    O brook, O brook, have you an end ever?
+    Or do you go forever?
+
+Technically in all these stories the child exemplifies the two rules. He
+attends to but one thing at a time. And his steps from one point to the
+next are short and clear.
+
+When we look at the forms which have been presented to children with
+these their spontaneous patterns fresh in mind, we can see, I think, why
+Mother Goose has been taken as a child's own and Eugene Field and even
+Stevenson rejected as unintelligible. I do not believe there is anything
+in the content of Mother Goose to win the child. I believe it is the
+form that makes the appeal. Vachel Lindsay, whose daring play with words
+has made him an object of suspicion to the reluctant of mind, has given
+us one poem in pattern singularly like the children's own and in content
+full of interest and charm. Again I give examples as the quickest of
+arguments. And I give them in verse where the form is more obvious and
+can be shown in briefer space than in stories.
+
+
+      Jack and Jill
+      Went up the hill
+    To fetch a pail of water.
+      Jack fell down
+      And broke his crown
+    And Jill came tumbling after.
+
+
+TIME TO RISE
+
+    A birdie with a yellow bill
+    Hopped upon the window sill,
+    Cocked his shining eye and said:
+    "Ain't you shamed, you sleepy head?"
+
+                          --_Stevenson._
+
+
+THE LITTLE TURTLE
+
+(A recitation for Martha Wakefield, three years old)
+
+    There was a little turtle.
+    He lived in a box.
+    He swam in a puddle.
+    He climbed on the rocks.
+
+    He snapped at a musquito.
+    He snapped at a flea.
+    He snapped at a minnow.
+    And he snapped at me.
+
+    He caught the musquito.
+    He caught the flea.
+    He caught the minnow.
+    But he didn't catch me.
+
+               --_Vachel Lindsay._
+
+
+From THE DINKEY-BIRD
+
+    So when the children shout and scamper
+      And make merry all the day,
+    When there's naught to put a damper
+      To the ardor of their play;
+    When I hear their laughter ringing,
+      Then I'm sure as sure can be
+    That the Dinkey-bird is singing
+      In the amfalula tree.
+
+--_Eugene Field._
+
+Of the two "Jack and Jill" and "Birdie with the Yellow Bill," surely
+Stevenson's is the more charming to the adult ear. But when I have read
+it to three-year-olds, I have felt that they were lost. They could not
+sustain the long grammatical suspense, could not carry over "A birdie"
+from the first line to the conclusion and so actually did not know who
+was saying "Ain't you shamed, you sleepy-head!" Mother Goose repeats her
+subject. The span to carry is two phrases in Mother Goose as against
+four in Stevenson. The Vachel Lindsay I have found is as easily
+remembered and as much enjoyed as Mother Goose, though it is a pity
+it is about an unfamiliar animal. As for the Dinkey-bird even a
+seven-year-old can hardly _hear_ the rhyme even if intellectually he
+could follow the adult vocabulary and the complicated sentence with its
+long postponed subject.
+
+It is the same with stories. The classic tales which have held
+small children,--"The Gingerbread Man," "The Three Little Pigs,"
+"Goldylocks,"--have patterns so obvious and so simple that they cannot
+be missed. In "The Gingerbread Man" the pattern is one of increasing
+additions. It belongs to the aptly called "cumulative" tales. The
+refrains act like sign-posts to help the child to mark the progress.
+This is simply a skilful way of making the continuity close, of showing
+the ladder rungs for the child's feet. I venture to say that any good
+story-teller consciously or unconsciously puts up sign-posts to help the
+children. If he is skilful, he makes a pattern of them so that they are
+not merely intellectually helpful but charming as well. So Kipling in
+his "Just So Stories" uses his sign-posts,--which are sometimes words,
+sometimes phrases, sometimes situations,--in such a way that they ring
+musically and give a pleasant sense of pattern even to children too
+young to find them intellectually helpful.
+
+In other words, the little child is not equipped psychologically to hear
+complicated units. I wish some one could determine how the average
+four-year-old hears the harmony of a chord on the piano. Is it much
+except confusion? In the same way, he is not equipped to leap a span
+between units. I wish some one would determine the four-year-old's
+memory span for rhymes, for instance. The involutions, the
+suggestiveness so attractive to adult ears, he cannot hear. Even an
+adult ear, untutored, can scarcely hear the intermingling rhythms and
+overlapping rhymes which blend like overtones of a chord in such verse
+as Patmore's Ode "The Toys." I feel sure the small child cannot hear
+complexities; he cannot leap gaps. And so he cannot understand when even
+simple ideas are given in complex and discontinuous form. This explains
+his notorious love of repetition. Repetition is the simplest of
+patterns, simple enough to be enjoyed as pattern. I have found that
+almost any simple phrase of music or words repeated slowly and with a
+kind of ceremonious attention, enthralls a year-old child. If the unit
+is simple enough to be remembered he will inevitably enjoy recognizing
+it as it recurs and recurs. This is the embryonic pattern sense.
+
+This pattern enjoyment too is motor in its basis. His early repetitions
+of sounds are probably largely pleasure in muscle patterns. We all know
+that a child uses first his large muscles,--arm, leg and back,--and that
+he early enjoys any regular recurrent use of these muscles. So at the
+time when the vocal muscles tend to become his means of expression, he
+enjoys repeating the same sounds over and over. And soon he gets
+enjoyment from listening to repetitions or rhythmic language,--a
+vicarious motor enjoyment. Surely it is important that stories should
+furnish him this exercise and pleasure. Three- and four-year-olds
+will enjoy a positively astounding amount of repetition. In the Arabella
+and Araminta stories a large proportion of the sentences are given in
+duplicate by the simple device of having twins who do and say the same
+things and by telling the remarks and actions of each. The selection
+quoted is repeated entire four times, the variation being only in the
+flower picked:
+
+     And Arabella picked a poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, and
+     Arabella picked a poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella
+     picked a poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella picked a
+     poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella picked a poppy,
+     and Araminta picked a poppy, until they each had a great big bunch
+     (I should say a very large bunch), and then they ran back to the
+     house.
+
+     Arabella got a glass and put her poppies in it, and Araminta got a
+     glass and put her poppies in it.
+
+     And Arabella clapped her hands and danced around the table. And
+     Araminta clapped her hands and danced around the table.
+
+Adult ears repudiate anything as obvious as this; they still, however,
+enjoy a ballad refrain.
+
+Just as small children cannot hear complications, so they cannot grasp
+details if the movement is swift. We must give time for a child's slow
+reactions. We usually fail to do this in ordinary social situations and
+are often surprised to hear our three-year-old say "good-bye" long after
+the front door is closed and our guest well on his way down the street.
+In stories we must take a leisurely pace. We must also read very slowly
+allowing ample time for a child to give the full motor expression to his
+thought for the art of abbreviation he has not yet learned.
+
+It is not enough to recognize that since a child attends to but one
+thing at a time the units must be simple. Here in the form as in the
+content, must the motor quality of a child's thinking be held constantly
+in mind. In trying to find the general subject matter appropriate for
+little children I said that they think through their muscles. This motor
+expression of small children has its direct application in the concrete
+method of telling of any happening. The story child who is experiencing,
+should go through the essential muscular performances which the real
+listening child would go through if he were actually experiencing
+himself. For he thinks through these muscular expressions. As an
+example, when a group of four-year-olds heard a story about a little
+boy who saw the elevated train approach and pass above him, they thought
+the child might have been run over. The words "up" and "above" and
+"overhead" had been used but the children failed to get the idea of
+"upness." Unquestionably they would have understood if I had made the
+little boy _throw back his head and look up_. Small children act with
+big gestures and with big muscles. And they think through the same
+mechanisms.
+
+These two principles, simplicity and continuity, apply concretely to
+sentence and phrase structure as well. The effort to obtain continuity
+for the child explains the colloquial "The little boy who lived in this
+house, _he_ did so and so----" You help your child back to the subject,
+"the little boy" by the grammatically redundant "he" after his mind has
+gone off on "this house." This same need for continuity also explains
+why a child's own stories are characteristically one continuous sentence
+strung together with "ands" and "thens" and "buts." He sees and hears
+and consequently thinks in a simple, rhythmic, continuous flow. If we
+would have him see and hear and think with us, we must give him his
+stories and verse in simple units closely and obviously linked together.
+
+But after all is said and done, why should we give children stories at
+all? Is it to instruct and so should we pay attention to the content? Is
+it to delight and so should we pay attention to the form? Both things,
+information and relish, have their place in justifying stories for
+children. But both to my mind are of minor importance compared to a
+third and quite different thing,--and this is to get children to create
+stories of their own, to play with words. "To get" is an unhappy phrase
+for it suggests that children must be coaxed to the task. This I do not
+believe though I cannot prove it. I do believe that children play with
+words naturally and spontaneously just as they play with any material
+that comes to their creative hands. And further I believe,--though this
+too I cannot prove,--that we adults kill this play with words just as we
+kill their creative play with most things. Most of us have forgotten how
+to play with anything, most of all with words. We are utilitarian, we
+are executive, we are didactic, we are earth-tied, we are hopelessly
+adult! Actually children use their ears and noses and fingers much more
+than do we adults. Our stories rely mainly upon visual recalls. We
+forget to listen even to birds whose message is pure melody. And how
+many of us _hear_ the city sounds which surround us, the characteristic
+whirr of revolving wheels, the vibrating rhythm of horses' feet, the
+crunch of footsteps in the snow? Noises we hear, the warning shriek of
+the fire engine or the honk! honk! of the automobile. But the subtler,
+finer reverberations we are not sensitive to. Yet little children love
+to listen and develop another method of sensing and appreciating their
+world by this pleasurable use of their hearing. It surely is an unused
+opportunity for story-tellers. I have tried to use it in "Pedro's Feet"
+which is an attempt to give them an ordinary story by means of sounds.
+And even less than to city sounds do we listen for the cadences in
+language. We listen only for the _meaning_ and forget the sensuous
+delight of sound.
+
+But happily children are not so determined to wring a meaning out of
+every sight and every sound. Children play. Play is a child's own
+technique. Through it he seizes the strange unknown world around him and
+fashions it into his very own. He recreates through play. And through
+creating, he learns and he enjoys.
+
+There is no better play material in the world than words. They surround
+us, go with us through our work-a-day tasks, their sound is always in
+our ears, their rhythms on our tongue. Why do we leave it to special
+occasions and to special people to use these common things as precious
+play material? Because we are grown-ups and have closed our ears and our
+eyes that we may not be distracted from our plodding ways! But when we
+turn to the children, to hearing and seeing children, to whom all the
+world is as play material, who think and feel through play, can we not
+then drop our adult utilitarian speech and listen and watch for the
+patterns of words and ideas? Can we not care for the _way_ we say things
+to them and not merely _what_ we say? Can we not speak in rhythm, in
+pleasing sounds, even in song for the mere sensuous delight it gives us
+and them, even though it adds nothing to the content of our remark? If
+we can, I feel sure children will not lose their native use of words:
+more, I think those of six and seven and eight who have lost it in
+part,--and their stories show they have,--will win back to their
+spontaneous joy in the play of words. This is the ultimate test of
+stories and verse,--whether they help children to retain their native
+gift of play with language and with thought.
+
+In the City and Country School where my experiments in language have
+been carried on, we have not gone far enough to offer convincing proof
+along these lines. But I submit two stories told by a six-year-old class
+which are at least suggestive. The first is the best story told to me by
+any member of the class before any effort had been made to get the
+children to listen to the sound of their words or to think of their
+ideas as all pointing in one direction and giving a single impression.
+The second was told by the class as a whole while looking at Willebeek
+Le Mair's illustration of "Twinkle, twinkle, little star." They said the
+picture made them feel sleepy and that they would say only things that
+made them sleepy and use only words that made them sleepy. Between the
+two stories I had met with them seven times. I had read them sounding
+and rhythmic verse. They had become interested in the sound of language
+apart from its meaning. They had become interested in the sound of the
+rain and the fire. They were thinking through their ears. Am I mistaken
+in believing this shows in their language and in their thought?
+
+
+STORY BY A SIX-YEAR-OLD
+
+     Once upon a time there was a little boy named Peter and a little
+     boy named Boris. And Peter took him out for a walk and took him all
+     around school. Then I took him out to my house and saw all my play
+     things. And then I took him to Central Park and showed him sea
+     lions and the giraffe and the elephant and I showed how they eat
+     by their trunks. And he thought it was queer. And he said he was
+     afraid of animals and so I took him home. I told him to tell his
+     mother about it and his mother said, "You want to go for another
+     walk?" and he said, "Yes, but not where the wild animals are." I
+     said, "Do you want to go to Central Park?" and he said, "Yes." You
+     see he got fooled! He didn't know about the wild animals.
+
+
+JOINT STORY BY SIX-YEAR-OLD CLASS
+
+     I like it when the boy and the girl look at the sky. They look at
+     the trees and they are sleepy. It is dark outside. It is night and
+     the sky is dark blue. And it is kind of whitish and the trees are
+     next to the blue sky. The bright evening star is out. The star is
+     so far up in the sky that you can hardly see it. The children are
+     looking at the sky before they go to bed and they are praying to
+     God. They have their nightgowns on. The bed is all nice so they
+     couldn't have just got up. The clothes are hanging on the bed. They
+     sleep in their own bed together. When they go to bed they have
+     their door closed.
+
+"The Leaf Story" and "The Wind Story" I have incorporated with my
+stories, though they are almost entirely the work of children. In both
+cases the organization is beyond the children. But the content and the
+phraseology bear their unmistakable imprint. The same is true of "The
+Sea Gull."
+
+Because of the pattern, the play aspect of language, I believe in
+written stories even for very little ones. If we loved our language
+better and played with its sound in our ordinary speech, perhaps stories
+for two- and three-year-olds would not be needed. But as it is, we
+need to present them with something more intentional, more thought out
+than is possible with most of us in a story told. If the patterns of
+our ideas or of our speech are to have charm, if they are to fit the
+occasion with nicety, if they are to flow easily and are to be
+continuous enough to be comprehended by little children, they will need
+careful attention,--attention that cannot be given under the emergency
+of telling a story, not, at least, by the uninspired of us. Inevitably,
+with our utilitarian tendencies, we shall be drawn off to an undue
+regard of the content to the neglect of the expression. And yet, for
+very little children, there is unquestionably something lost by the
+formality and fixity of a written story. A story told has more
+spontaneity, allows more leeway to include the chance happenings or
+remarks of the children; it can be more intimately personal, more
+adapted to the particular occasion and to the particular child. Perhaps
+some time we shall achieve a fortunate compromise, a stepping stone
+between the story told and the story read. Perhaps we shall work out
+happy or characteristic phrases about familiar things,--little personal
+things about the clothes and habits of each child, general familiar
+things like autos and wagons and horses on the street, coal going down
+the hole in the sidewalk, the squabbling of sparrows in the dirt, the
+drift of snow on the roofs,--perhaps we shall learn to use such
+thought-out phrases or refrains like blocks for building many stories.
+If we could work out some such technique as this, we could keep the
+intimacy, the flexibility, the waywardness of the spoken story and still
+give the children the charm of careful thinking and careful phrasing.
+Many such phrases have been fashioned by people sensitive to the quality
+of sound. Every nursery has had its rooster crow:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
+
+But few have given its children that delightful epitome of the songs of
+spring birds which has piped with irrepressible freshness now for nearly
+four centuries:
+
+    "Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!"
+
+I have never known the child who did not respond to Kipling's engine
+song:
+
+    "With a michnai-ghignai-shtingal! Yah! Yah! Yah!"
+
+Every child creates these wonderful sound interpretations of the world.
+We smile a smile of indulgence when we hear them. And then we forget
+them! Cannot we seize some of them however imperfectly and learn to
+build them into the structure of our stories? It was more or less this
+kind of thing that I had in mind in writing Marni's stories and "The
+Room with the Window Looking Out Upon the Garden" which as I have said
+elsewhere are types to be told rather than narratives to be read. And I
+feel sure if we could once make a beginning that the children themselves
+would soon take the matter into their own hands and create their own
+building blocks.
+
+For children are primarily creators. They do not willingly nor for long
+maintain the passive role. This should be reckoned with in stories and
+not merely as a concession to restless children but as a real aid to
+the story. An active role should be provided for the children somewhere
+within every story until the children are old enough to have a genuinely
+impersonal interest in things and events and until they do not need a
+motor expression of their thoughts. For as I have already said, up
+to that age,--and it is for psychologists to say when that age
+is,--children think in terms of themselves expressed through their own
+activities. This active role should be used not merely as a safety valve
+of expression to keep the child a patient listener, but as a tool by
+which he may become aware of the form of thought and language. It is
+interesting that the children to whom these stories have been read, have
+seized upon the rhyme refrains as their own and after a few readings
+have joined in saying them as though this were their natural portion.
+It is with this hope that I have tried to make the refrains not mere
+interludes in the story, as they usually are, but the real skeleton, the
+intrinsic thought pattern, the fundamental design. In "How the Singing
+Water Gets to the Tub" and "How Spot Found a Home," for instance, the
+refrains taken by themselves out of the context, tell the whole story.
+It is too soon to say, but I am strong in the hope that through relish
+for this kind of active participation in written stories, a small child
+may become captivated by the play side of the stories as opposed to the
+content and so turn to language as play material in which to fashion
+patterns of his own.
+
+For the sake of analysis, I have treated content and form separately.
+But I am keenly aware that the divorce of the two is what has made our
+stories for children so unsatisfactory. We have good ideas told without
+charm of design; and we have meaningless patterns which tickle the ear
+for the moment but fade because they spring from no real thought.
+Literature is only achieved when the thought pattern and the language
+pattern exactly fit. A refrain for the mere sake of recurrent jingle,
+that has no genuine no essential recurrence in the thought, is a trick.
+If the pattern does not help the thought and the thought suggest the
+pattern, there is something wrong. It is an artifice, not art. This
+matching of content and form is nothing new. It is and always has been
+the basis of good literature. The task that is new is to find thought
+sequences, thought relations which are truly childlike and the language
+design which is really appropriate to them,--to make both content and
+form the child's.
+
+As I said at the beginning, so must I say at the end. These stories are
+experiments, experiments both in content and form. To have any value
+they must be treated as such. The theses underlying them have been
+stated for brevity's sake only in didactic form. In reality, they lie in
+my mind as open questions urgently in need of answers. But I do not hope
+much from the answers of adults,--from the deaf and blind writers to the
+hearing and seeing children. The answers must come from the children
+themselves. We must listen to children's speech, to their casual
+everyday expressions. We must gather children's stories. Mothers and
+teachers everywhere should be making these precious records. We must
+study them not merely as showing what a child is thinking, but the _way_
+he is thinking and the way he is enjoying. It is the hope that these
+stories may be tried out with children, the hope of reaching others who
+may be watching and listening and working along these lines, the hope
+that we may gather records of children's stories which will become a
+basis for a real literature, the hope that somewhere among grown-ups we
+may find an ear still sensitive to hear and an eye still fresh to
+see,--it is this hope that has given me the courage to expose these
+pitifully inadequate adult efforts to speak with little children in
+their own language. Some one must dare, if only to give courage to the
+better equipped. And if we dare enough, I am sure the children will come
+to our rescue. If we let them, they will lead us. Whatever these stories
+hold of merit or of suggestiveness is due to the inspiration and
+tolerance of the courageous group of workers in the City and Country
+School and in the Bureau of Educational Experiments and in particular to
+Caroline Pratt without whom these stories would never have been dreamed
+or written; and above all to the children themselves, for whom the
+stories were written and to whom they have been read, both in the
+laboratory school and in my own home. To those then, who wish to follow
+the lead of little children, to those who have the curiosity to know
+into what new paths of literature children's interest and children's
+spontaneous expression of those interests will lead, and to the children
+themselves, I send these stories.
+
+                                         LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL.
+
+ New York City
+ July, 1921.
+
+
+
+
+                                               MARNI TAKES A RIDE
+                                                       IN A WAGON
+
+
+The refrains in this story were first made up during the actual ride.
+Later they served to recall the experience with vividness. This story is
+given only as a type which any one may use when helping a two-year-old
+to live over an experience.
+
+
+
+
+MARNI TAKES A RIDE IN A WAGON
+
+
+One day Marni went for a ride. Little Aa, he climbed into Sprague's
+wagon and Marni, she climbed in behind him. Then Mother took the handle
+and she began to pull the wagon with little Aa and Marni in it. And
+Mother she went:
+
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+     _And_ Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+                Jog!
+
+And the wheels, they went, (with motion of hands):
+
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+     _And_ Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+                  Round!
+
+And then Mother was tired. So she stopped. And Marni said, "Whoa,
+horsie!"
+
+Then Little Aa said, "Ugh, ugh!" for he wanted to go.
+
+But Marni said, "Get up, horsie!" for she wanted to go too. So Mother
+took hold of the handle and went:
+
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+     _And_ Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+                Jog!
+
+And the wheels they went:
+
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+     _And_ Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+                  Round!
+
+And then Mother was tired. So she stopped, and Marni said, "Whoa,
+horsie!"
+
+Then Little Aa said, "Ugh, ugh!" for he wanted to go. But Marni said
+"Get up, horsie!" for she wanted to go too. So Mother took hold of the
+handle and went,
+
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+     _And_ Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+        Jog, jog, jog, jog,
+                Jog!
+
+And the wheels they went:
+
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+     _And_ Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+        Round, round, round, round,
+                  Round!
+
+And then Mother was very, _very_ tired. So she stopped. And Marni said,
+"Whoa, horsie!"
+
+Then Little Aa said, "Ugh, ugh!" for he wanted to go again. But Marni
+said "Get up, horsie!" for she wanted to go too. But Mother she was
+very, _very_, VERY tired. She had jogged, jogged, jogged so long and
+made the wheels go round, round, round, round, so much! So she said,
+"The ride is all over!" Then Little Aa climbed down out of the wagon and
+Marni climbed down out of the wagon. And Marni said, "Goodbye, wagon!"
+and ran away!
+
+
+
+
+                                               MARNI GETS DRESSED
+                                                   IN THE MORNING
+
+
+This story, obviously, is for a particular little girl. It is told in
+the terms of her own experience, of her own environment, and of her own
+observations. It is nothing more or less than the living over in
+rhythmic form of the daily routine of her morning dressing. Her story
+remarks are either literal quotations or adaptations of her actual every
+day responses. The little verse refrains are the type of thing almost
+anyone can improvise. I have found that any simple statement about a
+familiar object or act told (or sung) with a kind of ceremonious
+attention and with an obvious and simple rhythm, enthralls a
+two-year-old. The little girl for whom this story was written began
+embryonic stories before her second birthday. The water-soap-sponge
+episode is an adaptation of one of her first narrative forms. This story
+is meant merely as a suggestion of the way almost anyone can make
+language an every day plaything to the small child she is caring for.
+
+
+
+
+MARNI GETS DRESSED IN THE MORNING
+
+
+Once there was a little girl and her name was Marni Moo. Marni used to
+sleep in a little bed in mother's room. In the morning Marni would wake
+up and she would say "Hello, Mother." And then in a minute she would
+say, "I want to get up."
+
+And mother would say:
+
+    "Hoohoo, Marni Moo.
+     I'm coming, I'm coming,
+     I'm coming for you."
+
+Then mother would get up and she'd come over and she'd unfasten the
+blanket and she'd take little Marni Moo in her arms and she'd walk into
+Marni's bath-room and she'd take off Marni's nightgown and Marni's
+shirt. And then she'd get a little basin, and she'd put some water in
+it, and she'd get some soap and she'd get a sponge and she'd wash little
+Marni Moo. She'd wash Marni's face and then she'd wash Marni's hands,
+and Marni would put one hand in the basin and she'd splash the water
+like this:--    Then she'd put another hand in the basin and
+she'd splash the water like this:--    Then mother would wipe
+both hands and she'd throw the water down the sink and she'd put away
+the soap and the sponge. And Marni would watch mother and then she'd
+say:
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+    "Where water?
+     Where soap?
+     Where sponge?
+
+     Water gone away!
+     Soap gone away!
+     Sponge gone away!"
+
+And after that what do you suppose Marni would say?
+
+"Shirt, shirt." And mother would put Marni's shirt over her head and
+say:
+
+    "Peek-a-boo, Marni Moo,
+     Marni's head is coming through."
+
+and then mother would button up Marni's shirt.
+
+And then Marni would say "Waist, waist." Then while mother put on
+Marni's waist she would say:
+
+    "Here's one hand
+     And here's another.
+     Marni's a sister
+     And Robin's a brother."
+
+And then Marni would say, "Drawers, drawers." And while mother put on
+Marni's drawers she would say:
+
+    "Here's one foot
+     And here's another.
+     Marni's a sister
+     And Peter's a brother."
+
+And then Marni would say, "Stockings, stockings." And mother would put
+on one stocking on her left foot, and then she'd put on another stocking
+on her right foot. And then she'd fasten the garters on one stocking,
+and then she'd fasten the garters on the other stocking. And all the
+time mother would keep saying:
+
+    "Here's one leg
+     And here's another.
+     Marni's a sister
+     And Jack-o's a brother."
+
+Then Marni would say, "Shoe, shoe." And mother would put one shoe on her
+left foot and then she'd put on the other shoe on her right foot. And
+then she'd say again:
+
+    "Here's one foot
+     And here's another.
+     Marni's a sister
+     And Robin's a brother."
+
+And then Marni would say, "Hook, hook." And mother would get the
+button-hook and then she'd button up the left shoe and then she'd button
+up the right shoe. And all the time she was buttoning up first one shoe
+and then the other shoe Marni would say:
+
+    "Look, look,
+     Hook, hook."
+
+And when the shoes were all buttoned up, mother would hit first one
+little sole and then the other little sole, and say:
+
+    "Now we're through
+     Tit, tat, too.
+     Here a nail, there a nail,
+     Now we're through."
+
+Then Marni would run and get her romper and bring it to mother calling,
+"Romper, romper." And mother would put on her romper, singing:
+
+    "Romper, romper
+     Who's got a romper?
+     Little Marni Moo
+     She's got two.
+     One is a yellow one
+     And one is blue.
+     Romper, romper
+     Who's got a romper?"
+
+And then Marni would say, "Button, button." And mother would button up
+her romper all down the back. First one button and then another button
+and then another button and then another button, and then another button
+and then another button until they were buttoned all down the back.
+
+And then Marni would say, "Sweater." And mother would put on her little
+blue sweater saying:
+
+    "Sweater, sweater
+     Who's got a sweater?
+     Little Marni Moo
+     She's got two.
+     One is a yellow one
+     And one is blue.
+     Sweater, sweater,
+     Who's got a sweater?"
+
+And then Marni would say, "Hair." And mother would get the brush and
+comb and brush Marni's hair. And all the time she was brushing it she
+would say:
+
+            "Brush it so
+             And brush it slow.
+             Brush it here
+             And brush it there.
+             Brush it so
+             And brush it slow.
+             And brush it here
+             And brush it there
+    And brush it all over your dear little head."
+
+And then Marni would say, "All ready." And mother would put her down on
+the floor.
+
+Then Marni would say:
+
+    "Where my little pail?
+     My little pail gone away.
+     I want my little pail
+     Come, little pail."
+
+And mother would give her her little pail. And Marni would put one nut
+in her pail, and then she'd put another nut in her pail, and then she'd
+put another nut in her pail. And then she'd put a marble in her pail,
+and then she'd put another marble in her pail, and then she'd put
+another marble in her pail. And then she'd put her quack-quack in her
+pail, and then she'd put her fish in her pail, and then she'd put her
+frog in her pail. Then she would shake her pail with all of the nuts and
+the marbles and the quack-quack and the frog and the fish, and they
+would all go bingety-bang, crickety-crack, bingety-bang, crickety-crack.
+
+And Marni would say, "Bingety-bang, crickety-crack. Where Jack-o?" And
+Marni would run to find Jack-o, and she would say, "Jack-o, hear
+bingety-bang, crickety-crack." And she would rattle her little pail with
+all the nuts and the marbles and the quack-quack and the fish and the
+frog. Then she'd say, "Where Peter?" And Marni would run to find Peter,
+and she would say, "Peter, hear bingety-bang, crickety-crack." And she
+would rattle her little pail with all the nuts and the marbles and the
+quack-quack and the fish and the frog.
+
+Then mother would call, "Breakfast, breakfast. Anyone ready for
+breakfast?"
+
+And Jack-o would call back, "I am, I am, I am ready for breakfast."
+
+And Peter would run as fast as he could calling, "I am, I am, I am ready
+for breakfast."
+
+And last of all would come little Marni Moo calling, "Breakfast,
+breakfast."
+
+Then the two boys would chase Marni to the breakfast table saying:
+
+    "Marni Mitchell,
+     Marni Moo,
+     Run like a mousie
+     Or I'll catch you."
+
+And Marni would scimper scamper like a mousie until she reached the
+breakfast table.
+
+Then they would all have breakfast together.
+
+
+
+
+                                                THE ROOM WITH THE
+                                               WINDOW LOOKING OUT
+                                                    ON THE GARDEN
+
+
+In this story written for a three-year-old group, I have tried to
+present the familiar setting of the classroom from a new point of view
+and to give the presentation a very obvious pattern. I want the children
+to take an _active_ part in the story. But before they try to do this I
+want them to have some conception of the whole pattern of the story so
+that their contributions may be in proper design, both in substance and
+in length. That is the reason I give two samples before throwing the
+story open to the children. If each child has a part which falls into
+a recognized scheme, through performing that part he gets a certain
+practice in pattern making in language,--however primitive--and also a
+certain practice in the technique of co-operation which means listening
+to the others as well as performing himself. I have not tried to add
+anything to their stock of information,--merely to give them the
+pleasure of drawing on a common fund together.
+
+
+
+
+THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN
+
+
+Once there was a little girl. She was just three years old. One morning
+she and her mother put on their hats and coats right after breakfast.
+They walked and walked and walked from their house until they came to
+MacDougal Alley. And then they walked straight down the alley into the
+Play School. Now the little girl had never been to the Play School
+before and she didn't know where anything was and she didn't know any
+of the children and she didn't even know her teacher! So she asked her
+mother, "Which room is going to be mine?" And her mother answered, "The
+one with the window looking out on the garden."
+
+And sure enough, when the little girl looked around there was the sun
+shining right in through a window which looked out on a lovely garden!
+She knelt right down on the window sill to look out.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Then she heard some one say, "Little New Girl, why don't you take off
+your things?" She turned around and there was Virginia talking to her.
+"Because I don't know where to put them," said Little New Girl. "How
+funny!" laughed Virginia, "because see, here are all the hooks right in
+plain sight," and she pointed under the stairs. So the little girl took
+off her hat and her mittens. Her mother had to unbutton the hard top
+button but she did all the rest. Then she hung up everything on a hook.
+
+"Goodbye," said her mother. "Goodbye," said Little New Girl. "Don't
+forget to come for me because I don't know where anything is and I don't
+know the children and I don't even know my teacher." And her mother
+answered, "No, I won't." And then she was gone.
+
+"Now, Little New Girl, what do you want to do?" said her teacher. But
+the little girl only shook her head and said, "I don't know anything to
+do." One little boy said, "Let me show Little New Girl something." And
+what did he show her? He took her over to the shelves and he showed her
+the blocks. "You can build a house or anything with them," said the
+little boy.
+
+Then another little girl said, "Let me show Little New Girl something."
+And what did this other little girl show her? She showed her the dolls.
+"You can put them into a house," said this other little girl.
+
+"Who else can show Little New Girl something to do?" called her teacher.
+"Will you, Robert?" So what did Robert show her? (Give child ample time
+to think. If he does not respond go on.) Robert took her over to the
+shelves and showed her the paper and crayons. "You can draw ever so many
+pictures," said Robert.
+
+Then Virginia said, "Let me show Little New Girl something." So what
+did Virginia show her?--Virginia showed her the horses and wagons. "You
+can harness them up," said Virginia.
+
+Then Craig said, "Let _me_ show Little New Girl something." So what did
+Craig show her?--Craig showed her the beads. "You can string them in
+strings," said Craig.
+
+Then Peter said, "Let _me_ show Little New Girl something." So what did
+Peter show her?--Peter showed her the clay. "You can make anything you
+want out of it," said Peter.
+
+Then Tom said, "Let _me_ show Little New Girl something." So what did
+Tom show her? Tom showed her the saw and hammer and nails. "You can saw
+or hammer nails," said Tom.
+
+Then Barbara said, "Let me show Little New Girl something." So what did
+Barbara show her? Barbara showed her the paper and scissors. "You can
+cut out anything you want," said Barbara.
+
+"Now Little New Girl, what do you want to do?" said her teacher. And
+this time the little girl jumped right up and down and said, "I'm glad!
+I want to do everything." "But which thing first?" asked her teacher.
+"Let me watch," the Little New Girl said.
+
+So Little New Girl stood quite still. She saw Robert go and get some
+paper and crayons and sit down at his little table to draw. She saw
+Virginia get some horses and harness and sit down at her little table to
+harness them. She saw Craig get some beads and sit down at his little
+table to string them. She saw Peter get the clay and sit down at his
+little table to model. She saw Tom go to the bench and begin to saw a
+piece of wood. She saw Barbara get some paper and scissors and paste and
+sit down at her little table to cut out and to paste.
+
+Then she said, "I want to draw first." So she took some paper and some
+colored crayons and she sat down at a little table near the window
+looking out on the garden. There she drew and she drew and she drew. And
+she didn't feel like a Little New Girl at all for now she knew where
+everything was and she knew all the children and she knew her teacher.
+
+
+
+
+THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN
+
+
+    I know a yellow room
+    With great big sliding doors
+    And a window on the side
+    Looking out upon a garden.
+    There's a balcony above
+    With a bench for carpenters
+    With planes and saws and hammers,
+    Bang! bang! with nails and hammers.
+    There are hooks beneath the stairs
+    To hang up hats and coats,
+    And nearby there's a sink
+    With everybody's cup.
+    There's a rope and there's a slide
+    Zzzip! but there's a slide.
+    There are shelves and shelves and shelves
+    With colored silk and beads,
+    With paper and with crayons,
+    And a great big crock with clay.
+    And the're blocks and blocks and blocks
+    And blocks and blocks and blocks
+    And the're horses there and wagons
+    And cows and dogs and sheep,
+    And men and women, boys and girls
+    With clothes upon them too.
+    And then the're cars to make a train
+    With engine and caboose.[B]
+    And the're lots of little tables
+    In this yellow, yellow room
+    For boys and girls to sit at
+    And play with all those things.
+    And there's a great big floor
+    In this yellow, yellow room
+    For boys and girls to sit on
+    And play with all those things.
+    And there is lots of sunshine
+    In this yellow, yellow room
+    For boys and girls to sit in
+    And play with all those things.
+
+ [B] _At this point the teacher might ask, "What else?" Not the first
+     time, however. The children must get the outline as a whole before
+     they contribute. Otherwise they will be entirely absorbed by the
+     content._
+
+
+
+
+                                            THE MANY-HORSE STABLE
+
+
+All the material for this story was supplied by a three-year-old. The
+pattern was added. An older child would not be content with so sketchy
+an account. But it seems to compass a three-year-old's most significant
+associations with a stable. The title is one in actual use by a
+four-year-old class.
+
+
+
+
+THE MANY-HORSE STABLE
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Once there was a stable. The stable was in a big city. Downstairs in the
+stable there were many g-r-e-a-t b-i-g wagons and one little-bit-of-a
+wagon. And on the walls there were many g-r-e-a-t b-i-g harnesses and
+one little-bit-of-a harness. And there were many g-r-e-a-t b-i-g
+blankets and one little-bit-of-a blanket. And there were some g-r-e-a-t
+b-i-g whips and one little-bit-of-a whip. And there were some g-r-e-a-t
+b-i-g nose bags and one little-bit-of-a nose bag. Upstairs in the
+stalls there were some g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses and one little-bit-of-a
+pony.
+
+In the morning the men would come and harness up the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g
+horses with the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g harnesses to the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g wagons.
+They would put in the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g blankets and the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g
+whips and the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g nose bags. Then they would get up on the
+seats and gather up the reins and off down the street would go the
+g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses. Clumpety-lumpety bump! thump! Clumpety-lumpety
+bump! thump!
+
+Then a little-bit-of-a man would harness up the little-bit-of-a pony
+with the little-bit-of-a harness to the little-bit-of-a wagon. He would
+put in the little-bit-of-a blanket and the little-bit-of-a whip and the
+little-bit-of-a nose bag. Then he would get up on the seat and gather up
+the reins and off down the street would go the little-bit-of-a pony!
+Lippety-lippety! lip! lip! lip! Lippety-lippety! lip! lip! lip!
+
+
+
+
+                                                         MY KITTY
+
+
+Here there is no plot. Instead I have attempted to enumerate the
+associations which cluster around a kitten, and present them in a
+patterned form.
+
+
+
+
+MY KITTY
+
+
+    Meow, meow!
+      Kitty's eyes, two eyes, yellow eyes, shiny bright eyes.
+    Meow, meow!
+      Kitty's pointed ears, pink on the inside, fur on the outside.
+    Meow, meow!
+      Kitty's mouth, little white teeth and whiskers long.
+    Meow, meow!
+      Kitty's fur, soft to stroke like this, like this.
+
+    Prrrr, prrrr,
+      Little fur ball cuddled close to the warm, warm fire.
+    Prrrr, prrrr,
+      Little padded feet pattering soft to get her milk.
+    Prrrr, prrrr,
+      Little pink tongue, lapping up the milk from her own little dish.
+    Prrrr, prrrr,
+      Warm little, round little, happy little kitten snuggled in my arms.
+
+    Pssst, pssst!
+      Stiff little kitten, spitting at a dog.
+    Pssst, pssst!
+      Hair standing up on her humped-up back.
+    Pssst, pssst!
+      Sharp white teeth, sharp, sharp, claws.
+    Pssst, pssst!
+      Ready to jump and to bite and to scratch.
+
+    Kitty, kitty, kitty,
+      You funny little cat,
+    I never know whether you'll purr or spit
+      You funny little cat!
+
+
+
+
+                                         THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS
+
+
+An objective story tied in with the personal.
+
+
+
+
+THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS
+
+
+Once there was an egg. Inside the egg there was a little chicken
+growing, for the mother hen had sat on it for three weeks. When the
+chicken was big enough he wanted to come out and so he went pick, peck,
+pick, peck, until he made a little hole in the shell. Then he stuck his
+bill through the hole and wiggled it until the shell cracked and he
+could get his head through. Then he wiggled it a little more and the
+shell broke and he could get his foot out. And then the shell broke
+right in two.
+
+As soon as the little chicken was out he went scritch, scratch, with his
+little foot. Then he ran to a little saucer of water. He took a little
+water in his bill; then he held his head up in the air while the water
+ran down his throat. The mother hen went:
+
+    "Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck,"
+
+and the little chicken ran to her calling:
+
+    "Cheep, cheep, cheep."
+
+Then he heard a funny little noise. He looked around and what do you
+think he saw? Another egg was cracking because another little chicken
+was going pick, peck inside. Soon out of the shell came a little baby
+brother. And then he heard another funny little noise, and another shell
+broke and out of the shell came a little baby sister. And then he heard
+another little noise and another shell broke and out of the shell came
+still another little sister. This went on until there were a lot of
+yellow baby chickens. Then all the little chickens went scritch,
+scratch, with their little feet looking for worms, and all the little
+chickens took a drink of water and held up their heads to let the water
+run down their throats. And all the little chickens ran to the mother
+hen calling:
+
+    "Cheep, cheep, cheep."
+
+Now all the little chickens began to grow. The little sisters all got
+little bits of combs on the tops of their heads and under their bills.
+Their little yellow feathers turned into all kinds of colors. But the
+little brother chicken, he got a great big red comb on the top of his
+head and under his bill, and he got long spurs on his ankles. On his
+neck the feathers grew long and yellow and behind on his tail they grew
+very long and all shiny green.
+
+He was walking around one morning while it was still dark when suddenly
+he felt a funny feeling in his throat. He wanted to open his mouth. So
+he did, and out of his mouth this is what came:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo."
+
+He thought it sounded perfectly wonderful; so he opened his mouth again
+and out came the same sound:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo."
+
+Now when his sister hens heard this wonderful rooster-noise they all
+came running out of the chicken house. This made the rooster more
+pleased than ever. So he threw his head way back and he opened his beak
+wide and he crowed:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     I'm twice as smart as you,
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     See what I can do."
+
+When his sister hens heard him say this each one began to cluck and say:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I'm going to lay an egg, an egg."
+
+Then the rooster answered:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     I don't believe it's true.
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     I don't believe it's true."
+
+So the little black and white hen, she ran into the barn and up on the
+side of the wall she saw a little box. She jumped into the little box
+and there she laid an egg. Then she said:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Robert.
+     Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Robert."
+
+Then the little yellow hen she jumped right into the manger and she
+wiggled around in the straw until she made a little nest where she laid
+an egg. Then she said:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Martha.
+     Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Martha."
+
+Then the little black hen she saw another little box nailed on to the
+wall so she jumped up on it and she laid an egg and then she said:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Tom, for Tom,
+     Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Tom."
+
+And then the little white hen she could not find any place at all. She
+ran around and around. Finally she sat right down in the soft dust which
+by this time the sun had made all warm, until she made a little round
+hollow and there she laid an egg. Then she said:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Peter.
+     Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     I laid an egg for Peter."
+
+When the rooster saw all these eggs he opened his mouth again and
+bragged:
+
+    "Cock-a-doodle-doo,
+     What they say is true.
+     See what they can do,
+     Cock-a-doodle-doo."
+
+And the little hens answered:
+
+    "Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     We can lay an egg, an egg,
+     Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,
+     We can lay an egg."
+
+And if ever you are out in the country early in the morning you will
+hear the wonderful rooster-noise. And then you will hear the hens
+telling how many eggs they have laid for you.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE HEN AND THE ROOSTER
+
+
+    The little hen goes "cut cut cut."
+    The rooster he goes "cock a doodle doo!
+    You want me and I want you,
+    But I'm up here and you're down there."
+    The little hen goes "cut cut cut,"
+    The rooster he steps with a funny little strut,
+    He cocks his eye, gives a funny little sound,
+    He looks at the hen, he looks all around,
+    He flaps his wings, he beats the air,
+    He stretches his neck, then flies to the ground.
+    "Cock a doodle, cock a doodle, cock a doodle doo!
+    Now you have me and I have you!"
+
+
+
+
+                                                MY HORSE, OLD DAN
+
+
+This verse utilizes a child's love of enumeration and of movement. The
+School has found it the most successful of my verse for small
+children.
+
+
+
+
+MY HORSE, OLD DAN
+
+
+    Old Dan has two ears
+    Old Dan has two eyes
+    Old Dan has one mouth
+      With many, many, many, many teeth.
+
+    Old Dan has four feet
+    Old Dan has four hoofs
+    Old Dan has one tail
+      With many, many, many, many hairs.
+
+    Old Dan can    w a l k,    w a l k,
+    Old Dan can    trot,    trot,    trot,
+    Old Dan can run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run,
+      Many, many, many, many miles.
+
+                   *       *       *
+
+    Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog
+      The wheels go round and round and round.
+    Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog
+      Oh, hear what a rattlety, tattlety sound!
+    Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog
+      The wheels they pound and pound and pound.
+    Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog
+      While the wagon it rattles along the ground!
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+    Auto, auto.
+    May I have a ride?
+    Yes, sir, yes, sir,
+    Step right inside.
+    Pour in the water,
+    Turn on the gasolene,
+    And chug, chug, away we go
+    Through the country green.
+
+
+
+
+                                            HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME
+
+
+This story was worked out with the help of a five-year-old boy who
+supplied most of the content. It at once suggested dramatization to
+various groups of children to whom it was read. The refrains are
+definite corner posts in the story and are recognized as such by the
+children.
+
+
+
+
+HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME
+
+
+Once there was a cat. She was a black and white and yellow cat and the
+boys on the street called her Spot. For she was a poor cat with no home
+but the street. When she wanted to sleep, she had to hunt for a dark
+empty cellar. When she wanted to eat, she had to hunt for a garbage can.
+So poor Spot was very thin and very unhappy. And much of the time she
+prowled and yowled and howled.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Now one day Spot was prowling along the fence in the alley. She wanted
+to find a home. She was saying to herself:
+
+    "Meow, meow!
+     I've no place to eat,
+     I've no place to sleep,
+     I've only the street!
+     Meow, meow, meow!"
+
+Then suddenly she smelled something. Sniff! went her pink little nose.
+Spot knew it was smoke she smelled. The smoke came out of the chimney of
+a house. "Where there is smoke there is fire," thought Spot, "and where
+there is fire, it is warm to lie." So she jumped down from the fence and
+on her little padded feet ran softly to the door. There she saw an empty
+milk bottle. "Where there are milk bottles, there is milk," thought
+Spot, "and where there is milk, it is good to drink." So she slipped in
+through the door.
+
+Inside was a warm, warm kitchen. Spot trotted softly to the front of the
+stove and there she curled up. She was very happy, so she closed her
+eyes and began to sing:
+
+    "Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Curling up warm
+     To a ball of fur,
+     I close my eyes
+     And purr and purr.
+     Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Purrrr, purrrr."
+
+Bang! went the kitchen door. Spot opened one sleepy eye. In front of her
+stood a cross, cross woman. The cross, cross woman scowled. She picked
+up poor Spot and threw her out of the door, screaming:
+
+    "Scat, scat!
+     You old street cat!
+     Scat, scat!
+     And never come back!"
+
+With a bound Spot jumped back to the fence.
+
+    "Meow, meow!
+     I've no place to eat,
+     I've no place to sleep,
+     I've only the street.
+     Meow, meow, meow!"
+
+So she trotted along the fence. In a little while sniff! went her little
+pink nose again. She smelled more smoke. She stopped by a house with two
+chimneys. The smoke came out of both chimneys! "Where there are two
+fires there must be room for me," thought Spot. She jumped off the fence
+and pattered to the door. By the door there were two empty milk bottles.
+"Where there is so much milk there will be some for me," thought Spot.
+But the door was shut tight. Spot ran to the window. It was open! In
+skipped Spot. There was another warm, warm kitchen and there was another
+stove. Spot trotted softly to the stove and curled up happy and warm.
+She closed her eyes and softly sang:
+
+    "Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Curling up warm
+     To a ball of fur,
+     I close my eyes
+     And purr and purr.
+     Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Purrrr, purrrr."
+
+"Ssssspt!" hissed something close by. Spot leapt to her feet. "Ssssspt!"
+she answered back. For there in front of her stood an enormous black
+cat. His back was humped, his hair stood on end, his eyes gleamed and
+his teeth showed white.
+
+    "Ssssspt! leave my rug!
+     Ssssspt! leave my fire!
+     Ssssspt! leave my milk!
+     Ssssspt! leave my home!"
+
+Spot gave one great jump out of the window and another great jump to the
+top of the fence. For Spot was little and thin and the great black cat
+was strong and big. And he didn't want Spot in his home.
+
+Poor Spot trotted along the fence, thinking:
+
+    "Meow, meow,
+     I've no place to eat,
+     I've no place to sleep,
+     I've only the street,
+     Meow, meow, meow."
+
+In a little while she smelled smoke again. Sniff! went her little pink
+nose. This time she stopped by a house with three chimneys. The smoke
+came out of all the chimneys! "Where there are three fires there _must_
+be room for me," thought Spot. So she jumped off the fence and pattered
+to the door. By the door were three empty milk bottles! "Where there is
+so much milk there must be children," thought Spot and then she began to
+feel happy. But the door was shut tight. She trotted to the window. The
+window was shut tight too! Then she saw some stairs. Up the stairs she
+trotted. There she found another door and in she slipped. She heard a
+very pleasant sound.
+
+             "I crickle, I crackle,
+              I flicker, I flare,
+    I jump from nothing right into the air."
+
+There on the hearth burned an open fire with a warm, warm rug in front
+of it. On the rug was a little table and on the table were two little
+mugs of milk. Spot curled up on the rug under the table and began to
+sing:
+
+    "Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Curling up warm
+     To a ball of fur,
+     I close my eyes,
+     And purr and purr.
+     Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Purrrr, purrrr."
+
+Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat! Spot heard some little feet
+coming. A little boy in a nightgown ran into the room. "Look," he
+called, "at the pretty spotted cat under our table!" Then pat, pat, pat,
+pat, pat! And a little girl in a nightgown ran into the room. "See," she
+called, "the pussy has come to take supper with us!" Then the little
+boy, quick as a wink, put a saucer on the floor and poured some of his
+milk into it and the little girl, quick as a wink, poured some of hers
+in too.
+
+In and out, in and out, in and out, went Spot's pink tongue lapping up
+the milk. Then she sat up and washed her face very carefully. Then she
+curled up and closed her eyes and began to sing. That was her way of
+saying "Thank you, little boy and little girl! I'm so glad I've found a
+home!"
+
+    "Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Purrrr, purrrr,
+     Purrrr, purrrr, purrrr."
+
+
+
+
+                                                THE DINNER HORSES
+                                                  THE GROCERY MAN
+
+
+The material for these stories came from questions and observations on
+the part of three- and four-year-olds arising largely from their
+trips on the city streets. The children should be allowed to name the
+various kinds of food.
+
+
+
+
+THE DINNER HORSES
+
+
+In a certain house on a certain street there lives a certain little girl
+and her name is Ruth (one of children's names). She sleeps in a little
+bed in a room with a big window opening on to the street. She sleeps all
+night in the little bed with her eyes closed tight. In the morning she
+opens her eyes and it's just beginning to get light. Then she stretches
+and stretches her legs. Then she stops still and listens. For she hears
+him coming, coming, coming down the street. Clopperty, clopperty,
+clopperty, clop! comes the milk horse down the street! He stops in front
+of Ruth's house. Ruth hears him. Then she hears the driver jump out and
+pat, pat, pat, she hears his feet coming to the door. Clank, clink,
+clank, go the milk bottles in his hands. Clank! she hears him put them
+down. Then fast she hears his feet, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat.
+"Go on, Dan!" she hears him call, and clopperty, clopperty, clopperty,
+clop! off goes the milk horse down the street.
+
+Then after a while she hears something else. It's quite light now. Ruth
+thinks it must be time to get up. She stretches and stretches her legs.
+Then she stretches and stretches her arms. Then she stops still and
+listens.
+
+For she hears him coming, coming, coming down the street. Clippety, lip,
+lip, lip, clippety, lip, lip, lip! comes the bread horse down the
+street. He stops in front of Ruth's house. Ruth hears him. Then she
+hears the driver jump out and pat, pat, pat, she hears his feet coming
+to the door. Rattle, crackle, goes the paper as he puts down the loaves
+of bread all wrapped up to keep them clean. Then fast she hears his
+feet, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. "Go on, Bill!" she hears him
+call and clippety, lip, lip, lip, clippety, lip, lip, lip! off goes the
+bread horse down the street.
+
+After breakfast when Ruth is all ready to go to school she hears a big
+auto coming down the street. Kachug-a-chug-a-chug comes the grocery auto
+down the street. It stops at Ruth's house. Ruth runs and looks out of
+the window. She sees the driver jump out and take from the back of the
+auto a basket all full of things. She can see spinach and potatoes and a
+package of sugar and----and----and----.
+
+Then pat, pat, pat, the driver runs to the door. Prrrrrr! she hears the
+bell ring and Ruth knows that the driver is giving Bessie all the things
+at the kitchen door. Then pat, pat, pat back comes the driver, jumps
+into the auto and kachug-a-chug-a-chug! off goes the grocery auto down
+the street!
+
+On the way to school Ruth passes another wagon. Rattling and clattering,
+she hears the butcher's wagon come down the street. "Is there anything
+in that wagon for us?" asks Ruth. And her mother answers, "Yes, a little
+chicken." Then rattling and clattering off to Ruth's house goes the
+butcher's wagon down the street.
+
+Now while Ruth is away at school Bessie washes the spinach and chops it
+up fine and puts it on the stove to boil. She puts the little chicken in
+a pan and puts it in the oven to roast. Then she puts some big potatoes
+in the oven to bake. Then she slices some bread and cuts off a piece of
+butter and pours out some glasses of milk.
+
+When Ruth comes home from school she smells something good. "Dinner's
+all ready," calls Bessie. Ruth answers, "Come father, come mother. I'm
+hungry."
+
+So Ruth and her father and mother sit down at the table and they drink
+the milk and they eat the bread and the spinach and the potatoes and the
+chicken which the milk horse and the bread horse and the grocery auto
+and the butcher's wagon brought in the morning.
+
+
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+THE GROCERY MAN
+
+
+Prrrip! prrrip! prrrip! the telephone rings in the grocery store.
+"Hello," says the grocery man. "Who are you?"
+
+"I'm Ruth's mother. Good morning, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Good morning, Ruth's Mother. What can I send you today?"
+
+"Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some potatoes and some graham crackers
+and a package of sugar and some carrots."
+
+"Is that all, Ruth's Mother?"
+
+"Yes, that's all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Goodbye, Ruth's Mother."
+
+So the grocery man hangs up the telephone and takes a basket and in the
+basket he puts some potatoes, some graham crackers, a package of sugar
+and some carrots.
+
+Then prrrip! prrrip! prrrip! the telephone rings again.
+
+"Hello!" says the Grocery Man. "Who is this?"
+
+"This is John's Mother. Good morning, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Good morning, John's Mother. What can I send you today?"
+
+"Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some spinach and some apples and some
+butter and some eggs."
+
+"Is that all, John's Mother?"
+
+"Yes, that's all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Goodbye, John's Mother."
+
+So the Grocery Man hangs up the telephone and takes another basket and
+in the basket he puts some spinach and some apples and some butter and
+some eggs.
+
+Then prrrip! prrrip, prrrip! the telephone rings another time.
+
+"Hello!" says the Grocery Man. "Who are you?"
+
+"I'm Robert's Mother. Good morning, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Good morning, Robert's Mother. What can I send you today?"
+
+"Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some prunes and some macaroni and some
+salt and some oatmeal."
+
+"Is that all, Robert's Mother?"
+
+"Yes, that's all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man."
+
+"Goodbye, Robert's Mother."
+
+So the Grocery Man hangs up the telephone and takes another basket and
+in the basket he puts some prunes and some macaroni and some salt and
+some oatmeal. Then he carries Ruth's basket out and puts it in a wagon
+on the street. Then he carries John's basket out and puts it in the
+wagon. At last he carries Robert's basket out and puts that in the wagon
+with the others. Then the driver jumps to the seat and gathers up the
+reins and says "Go on, Old Dan," and clopperty, clopperty clop! off goes
+Old Dan down the street.
+
+Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop till he gets to Ruth's house and
+there he stops. The driver jumps out and takes the basket and pat, pat,
+pat, go his feet running to the door. Prrrr! he rings the bell and gives
+Ruth's mother the potatoes, the graham crackers, the sugar and the
+carrots. Then pat, pat, pat, he is back in the wagon. "Go on, Old Dan,"
+and clopperty, clopperty, clop! off goes Old Dan down the street.
+
+Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop till he gets to John's house and
+there he stops. The driver jumps out and takes another basket and pat,
+pat, pat go his feet running to the door. Prrrr! he rings the bell and
+gives John's mother the spinach, the apples, the butter and the eggs.
+Then pat, pat, pat, he is back in the wagon. "Go on, Old Dan," and
+clopperty, clopperty, clop! off goes Old Dan down the street.
+
+Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop till he gets to Robert's house
+and there he stops. The driver jumps out, takes another basket and pat,
+pat, pat, he is at the door. Prrrr! he rings the bell and gives Robert's
+mother the prunes, the macaroni, the salt and the oatmeal. Then pat,
+pat, pat, he is back in the wagon. "Go on, Old Dan," and clopperty,
+clopperty, clop! off goes old Dan down the street.
+
+So Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop from house to house until he
+has left a basket with everybody who telephoned to the grocery man in
+the morning.
+
+
+
+
+                                                      THE JOURNEY
+
+
+This story, which is an adaptation of a five-year-old's story quoted in
+the introduction, embodies the details given to me by another
+three-year-old child. The sound of the train should be intoned, as it
+was in the original telling.
+
+
+
+
+THE JOURNEY
+
+
+Once Ruth's father was going to take a journey. He got out his suitcase.
+And in his suitcase he put his slippers, his pajamas, his tooth brush,
+some tooth paste, some clean underclothes, some clean shirts, some
+collars, some socks and some handkerchiefs. Then he kissed Ruth goodbye
+as she lay asleep in her bed and he kissed her mother goodbye and with
+his suitcase in his hand went up to the Pennsylvania Station.
+
+At the train he met the negro porter. "What berth, sir?" said the
+porter. "Lower 10", said Ruth's father. So the porter took the suitcase
+and put it down at Number 10 which was all made up into two beds, one
+above the other, with green curtains hanging in front. Then Ruth's
+father undressed. And in a few minutes he was asleep behind the green
+curtains.
+
+Soon the train started and Ruth's father never woke up. "Thum," said the
+train (on many different keys) all through the night. "Thum, thum, thum;
+thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum.
+_Philadelphia!_ Thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum,
+thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum. _Baltimore!_ Thum, thum, thum,
+thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum,
+thum. _Washington!_"
+
+Then Ruth's father got up and dressed himself, for it was morning. The
+negro porter carried his suitcase to the platform. "Goodbye, sir," he
+said. "Goodbye, Porter," said Ruth's father. And then he went off to a
+hotel.
+
+The next day it was time for him to go home. So Ruth's father packed his
+suitcase again. In his suitcase he put his slippers, his pajamas, his
+tooth brush, some tooth paste, his dirty underclothes, his dirty shirts,
+his collars, his socks and his handkerchiefs. Then he went to the
+Pennsylvania Station in Washington.
+
+At the train he met another negro porter. "What berth, sir?" said the
+porter. "Upper 6," said Ruth's father. So the porter took the suitcase
+and put it in the top bed of Number 6. Ruth's father climbed up into the
+upper berth. Then he undressed and in a few minutes he was asleep behind
+the green curtains.
+
+Soon the train started. "Thum," said the train, though Ruth's father
+never heard it he was so sound asleep. "Thum, thum, thum, thum; thum,
+thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum.
+_Baltimore!_ Thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum,
+thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum. _Philadelphia!_ Thum, thum, thum,
+thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum,
+thum. _New York!_"
+
+Then Ruth's father got up and dressed himself for it was morning. The
+negro porter carried his suitcase to the platform. "Goodbye, sir," he
+said. "Goodbye, Porter," said Ruth's father.
+
+Then Ruth's father jumped into a taxi and in a few minutes he was at
+home. Ruth came running down the stairs. "Here's father," she cried.
+"Here's father in time for breakfast!" "My," said Ruth's father, giving
+her a hug, "It's good to be home!"
+
+
+
+
+                                                     PEDRO'S FEET
+
+
+Here there is a definite attempt to let the sounds tell their own
+story.
+
+
+
+
+PEDRO'S FEET
+
+
+Little Pedro was a dog. He lived in New York City. He was owned by a
+little boy who loved him. For Pedro had big brown eyes and curly brown
+hair and when he wanted anything he would go:
+
+"Hu-u-u, hu-u-u, hu-u-u!" And any one would have loved Pedro.
+
+One day Pedro was lying on his front steps in the warm, warm sun. He put
+his nose on his little fore paws and went to sleep.
+
+"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!" went a little fly in his ear.
+
+"Yap, yap!" went Pedro's jaws as he snapped at the fly. But he missed
+the fly.
+
+"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!" went the little fly.
+
+"Yap, yap!" went Pedro's jaws. But he missed the fly again.
+
+"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!"
+
+"Yap, yap, yap!"
+
+"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!"
+
+"Yap, yap, yap, yap!"
+
+Up jumped Pedro. "I can't sleep with that fly in my ear! I'll take a
+walk!" Down the steps he went. Skippety, skippety, skippety, skippety.
+He reached the sidewalk. On the sidewalk went his feet. You could hear
+them as they beat. Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter down the
+street.
+
+When he came to the end of the block, he started across the street.
+Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat----
+
+"Honk, honk! Look out, look out! Honk, honk!"
+
+Jump-thump! went Pedro's feet. Jump-jump jump-jump, jump-jump,
+thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, jump-jump, jump-jump, jump-jump,
+pitter patter, pitter patter,--he'd reached the other side! And the auto
+hadn't hurt him!
+
+Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could hear them as they beat
+pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter down the street.
+
+When he came to the end of this block, he started across the next
+street.
+
+Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat----
+
+"Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty! Get out of my way, get out
+of my way! Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty!"
+
+Jump-thump! went Pedro's feet. Jump-jump jump-jump, jump-jump,
+thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, jump-jump, jump-jump, jump-jump,
+pitter patter, pitter patter,--he'd reached the other side! And the
+horse hadn't hurt him either!
+
+Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could hear them as they
+beat,--pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter down the street.
+
+When he came to the end of this block, he started across the next
+street.
+
+Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat---- Pedro stopped with
+one little front foot up in the air. In the middle of the street stood a
+man. He had on high rubber boots and he held a big hose.
+
+Shrzshrzshrzshrzshrz--came the water out of the hose. It hit the street.
+Splsh splsh splsh splsh splsh! It ran in a little stream into the hole
+in the gutter,--gubble, gubble, gubble, gubble, gubble! This was
+something new to Pedro. He didn't understand.
+
+Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter. He thought he'd better find
+out about it.
+
+"Hie, you little dog! Look out!" shouted the man.
+
+Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter.
+
+"Hie, you little dog. I say look out!"
+
+Pitter patter, pitter pat--ssssssssss bang! the water hit him!
+
+"Ki-eye! yow! yow!" Kathump, kathump, kathump, kathump; kathump,
+kathump, kathump, kathump! Fast, fast went Pedro's feet, running,
+tearing down the street.
+
+"Ki-eye! I'm going home!" Kathump, kathump, kathump, kathump! Down the
+sidewalk, 'cross the street, 'nother sidewalk, 'nother street, kathump,
+kathump, kathump, kathump! Pedro was at home. Skippety, skippety up the
+stairs. Pedro was at his own front door.
+
+He stopped. Brrrrrrrrrrrrr--he shook himself. He scattered the water all
+around.
+
+"Bow, wow, I'm glad I'm home! Bow, wow, I'm glad I'm home!"
+
+Then he lay down in the warm, warm sun. And he put his nose on his
+little fore paws. And he closed his eyes and he went to sleep.
+
+"Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!"
+
+But Pedro was too sound asleep to hear the fly.
+
+"Whe-whuhuhu, whe-whuhuhu, whe-whuhuhu." That's the way he was
+breathing. For he was oh, so sound asleep! And there he is sleeping
+now.
+
+
+
+
+                                           HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED
+                                                 THE KNOWING SONG
+
+
+This story stresses the relationship of use in response to what seems to
+be a five-year-old method of thinking.
+
+The school has found it best to let the younger children take the parts
+individually but to omit the parts in unison. The joy of the mere noise
+makes it difficult to bring them back for the close of the story. All
+the children have repeated the refrains after a few readings with
+evident enjoyment.
+
+
+
+
+HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED THE KNOWING SONG
+
+
+Once there was a new engine. He had a great big boiler; he had a smoke
+stack; he had a bell; he had a whistle; he had a sand-dome; he had a
+headlight; he had four big driving wheels; he had a cab. But he was very
+sad, was this engine, for he didn't know how to use any of his parts.
+All around him on the tracks were other engines, puffing or whistling or
+ringing their bells and squirting steam. One big engine moved his wheels
+slowly, softly muttering to himself, "I'm going, I'm going, I'm going."
+Now the new engine knew this was the end of the Knowing Song of Engines.
+He wanted desperately to sing it. So he called out:
+
+    "I want to go
+     But I don't know how;
+     I want to know,
+     Please teach me now.
+     Please somebody teach me how."
+
+Now there were two men who had come just on purpose to teach him how.
+And who do you suppose they were? The engineer and the fireman! When
+the engineer heard the new engine call out, he asked, "What do you want,
+new engine?"
+
+And the engine answered:
+
+    "I want the sound
+     Of my wheels going round.
+     I want to stream
+     A jet of steam.
+     I want to puff
+     Smoke and stuff.
+     I want to ring
+     Ding, ding-a-ding.
+     I want to blow
+     My whistle so.
+     I want my light
+     To shine out bright.
+     I want to go ringing and singing the song,
+     The humming song of the engine coming,
+     The clear, near song of the engine here,
+     The knowing song of the engine going."
+
+Now the engineer and the fireman were pleased when they heard what the
+new engine wanted. But the engineer said:
+
+    "All in good time, my engine,
+     Steady, steady,
+     'Til you're ready.
+     Learn to know
+     Before you go."
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Then he said to the fireman, "First we must give our engine some water."
+So they put the end of a hose hanging from a big high-up tank right into
+a little tank under the engine's tender. The water filled up this little
+tank and then ran into the big boiler and filled that all up too. And
+while they were doing this the water kept saying:
+
+    "I am water from a stream
+     When I'm hot I turn to steam."
+
+When the engine felt his boiler full of water he asked eagerly:
+
+    "Now I have water,
+     Now do I know
+     How I should go?"
+
+But the fireman said:
+
+    "All in good time, my engine,
+     Steady, steady,
+     'Til you're ready,
+     Learn to know
+     Before you go."
+
+Then he said to the engineer, "Now we must give our engine some coal."
+So they filled the tender with coal, and then under the boiler the
+fireman built a fire. Then the fireman began blowing and the coals began
+glowing. And as he built the fire, the fire said:
+
+    "I am fire,
+     The coal I eat
+     To make the heat
+     To turn the stream
+     Into the steam."
+
+When the engine felt the sleeping fire wake up and begin to live inside
+him and turn the water into steam he said eagerly:
+
+    "Now I have water,
+     Now I have coal,
+     Now do I know
+     How I should go?"
+
+But the engineer said:
+
+    "All in good time, my engine,
+     Steady, steady,
+     'Til you're ready.
+     Learn to know
+     Before you go."
+
+Then he said to the fireman, "We must oil our engine well." So they took
+oil cans with funny long noses and they oiled all the machinery, the
+piston-rods, the levers, the wheels, everything that moved or went
+round. And all the time the oil kept saying:
+
+    "No creak,
+     No squeak."
+
+When the engine felt the oil smoothing all his machinery, he said
+eagerly:
+
+    "Now I have water,
+     Now I have coal,
+     Now I am oiled,
+     Now do I know
+     How I should go?"
+
+But the fireman said:
+
+    "All in good time, my engine,
+     Steady, steady,
+     'Til you're ready.
+     Learn to know
+     Before you go."
+
+Then he said to the engineer, "We must give our engine some sand." So
+they took some sand and they filled the sand domes on top of the boiler
+so that he could send sand down through his two little pipes and
+sprinkle it in front of his wheels when the rails were slippery. And all
+the time the sand kept saying:
+
+    "When ice drips,
+     And wheel slips,
+     I am sand
+     Close at hand."
+
+When the new engine felt his sand-dome filled with sand he said eagerly:
+
+    "Now I have water,
+     Now I have coal,
+     Now I am oiled,
+     Now I have sand,
+     Now do I know
+     How I should go?"
+
+But the engineer said:
+
+    "All in good time, my engine,
+     Steady, steady,
+     'Til you're ready.
+     Learn to know
+     Before you go."
+
+Then he said to the fireman, "We must light our engine's headlight." So
+the fireman took a cloth and he wiped the mirror behind the light and
+polished the brass around it. Then he filled the lamp with oil. Then the
+engineer struck a match and lighted the lamp and closed the little door
+in front of it. And all the time the light kept saying:
+
+    "I'm the headlight shining bright
+     Like a sunbeam through the night."
+
+Now when the engine saw the great golden path of brightness streaming
+out ahead of him, he said eagerly:
+
+    "Now I have water,
+     Now I have coal,
+     Now I am oiled,
+     Now I have sand,
+     Now I make light,
+     Now do I know
+     How I should go?"
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+And the engineer said, "We will see if you are ready, my new engine." So
+he climbed into the cab and the fireman got in behind him. Then he said,
+"Engine, can you blow your whistle so?" And he pulled a handle which let
+the steam into the whistle and the engine whistled (who wants to be the
+whistle?) "Toot, toot, toot." Then he said, "Can you puff smoke and
+stuff?" And the engine puffed black smoke (who wants to be the
+smoke?), saying, "Puff, puff, puff, puff, puff." Then he said, "Engine,
+can you squirt a stream of steam?" And he opened a valve (who wants to
+be the steam?) and the engine went, "Szszszszsz." Then he said, "Engine,
+can you sprinkle sand?" And he pulled a little handle (who wants to be
+the sand?) and the sand trickled drip, drip, drip, down on the tracks in
+front of the engine's wheels. Then he said, "Engine, does your light
+shine out bright?" And he looked (who wants to be the headlight?) and
+there was a great golden flood of light on the track in front of him.
+Then he said, "Engine, can you make the sound of your wheels going
+round?" And he pulled another lever and the great wheels began to move
+(who wants to be the wheels?) Then the engineer said:
+
+    "Now is the time,
+     Now is the time.
+     Steady, steady,
+     Now you are ready.
+
+Blow whistle, ring bell, puff smoke, hiss steam, sprinkle sand, shine
+light, turn wheels!
+
+    'Tis time to be ringing and singing the song,
+    The humming song of the engine coming,
+    The clear, near song of the engine here,
+    The knowing song of the engine going."
+
+Then whistle blew, bell rang, smoke puffed, steam hissed, sand
+sprinkled, light shone and wheels turned like this: (Eventually the
+children can do this together, each performing his chosen part.)
+
+    "Toot-toot, ding-a-ding, puff-puff,
+     Szszszszsz, drip-drip, chug-chug."
+
+(After a moment stop the children)
+
+That's the way the new engine sounded when he started on his first ride
+and didn't know how to do things very well. But that's not the way he
+sounded when he had learned to go really smooth and fast. Then it was
+that he learned _really_ to sing "The Knowing Song of the Engine." He
+sang it better than any one else for he became the fastest, the
+steadiest, the most knowing of all express engines. And this is the song
+he sang. You could hear it humming on the rails long before he came and
+hear it humming on the rails long after he had passed. Now listen to the
+song.
+
+(Begin very softly rising to a climax with "I'm here" and gradually
+dying to a faint whisper)
+
+    "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming,
+     I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming,
+     I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming,
+     I'm Coming, I'm Coming, I'm Coming, I'm Coming.
+     I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M HERE,
+     I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M HERE.
+     I'm Going, I'm Going, I'm Going, I'm Going,
+     I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going,
+     I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going,
+     I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going."
+
+
+
+
+                                               THE FOG BOAT STORY
+
+
+The refrains must be intoned if not sung to get the proper effect. Most
+of the informational parts of the original story have been cut out. The
+story grew out of questions asked before breakfast on foggy days, and
+was originally told to the sound of the distant fog horns.
+
+
+
+
+THE FOG BOAT STORY
+
+
+Early, early one morning, all the fog boats were talking. This is the
+way they were going:
+
+"Toot, toot, toot, too-oot, to-oo-oot!" (on many different keys.)
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Way down at the wharf a big steamer was being pulled out into the river.
+The furnaces were all going for the stokers were down in the hole
+shoveling coal, down in the hole shoveling coal, shoveling coal, and a
+lot of black smoke was coming out of the smoke stack. And the engines
+were working, chug, chug, chug. And all the baggage and freight had been
+put down in the hold. And all the food had been put on the ice. And all
+the passengers were on board and the gang-plank had been pulled up. And
+this is what the big steamer was saying:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Toot toot I'm mov-ing; toot toot I'm mov-ing."]
+
+And do you know what was making the steamer move? What was pulling her
+out into the river? It was a little tug boat and the tug boat had hold
+of one end of a big rope and the other end of the rope was tied fast to
+the steamer. And the little tug boat was puffing and chucking and
+working away as hard as he could and calling out:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Too too too too toot I'm aw-ful smart; too too too too toot I pull
+ big things."]
+
+And do you know why the tug boat and the steamer were talking like this?
+It is because they were afraid they might bump into some other ship in
+the fog for they can't see in the fog. You know how white and thick the
+fog can be.
+
+So the old steamer and the little tug boat both kept tooting until they
+were way out in the middle of the river.
+
+"Toot, toot, I'm moving." "Tootootootootoot, I'm awful smart."
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Now when they were way out in the middle of the river, the little tug
+boat dropped the rope from the big steamer and turned around. As it
+puffed away it called out:
+
+    "Too-too-too-tootoot, I'm going home
+     Too-too-too-tootoot, I'm awful smart."
+
+Then the big steamer moved slowly down the river towards the great ocean
+calling through the fog:
+
+    "Toot, toot, I'm moving."
+
+Up on the captain's bridge stood the pilot. He is the man who tells just
+where to make the steamer go in the harbor. He knows where everything
+is. He knows where the rocks are on the right and he didn't let the
+steamer bump them. He knows where the sand reef is on the left and he
+didn't let the steamer get on to that. He knows just where the deep
+water is and he kept the steamer in it all the time.
+
+Now down on the right so close that it almost bumped, there went a flat
+boat. This boat was saying:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Toot toot My load is heavy, load is heavy, load is heavy, toot,"]
+
+And that was a coal barge. And then down on the left so close that it
+almost bumped on the other side they heard another boat saying:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Too toot, back & forth, Too toot, back & forth"]
+
+And that was a ferry boat! Then off on the right they heard a great big
+deep voice. This is what it said:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Toot toot, 'tis I"]
+
+And that was a war boat! And every time the old steamer answered:
+
+    "Toot, toot, I'm moving."
+
+Once off on the left the passengers could hear this:
+
+    "Ding----g! dong----g!
+     Hear my song----g!
+     Ding----g! dong----g!"
+
+And what bell do you think that was way out there? A bell buoy rocking
+on the water! Every time the wave went up it said, "ding" and every time
+the wave went down it said, "dong."
+
+By this time the old steamer was out of the harbor way out in the open
+sea. The pilot came down from the captain's deck; he climbed down the
+rope ladder to the little pilot boat that was tied close to the big
+steamer. Then the little pilot boat pushed away into the fog calling:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Too too toot too toot I'm go-ing go-ing home"]
+
+And again the big steamer answered:
+
+    "Toot, toot, I'm moving."
+
+Then way off on the left so far away it could barely hear it, it heard:
+
+ [Illustration: Musical Score
+ "Don't hit me, toot toot, don't hit me, toot toot"]
+
+And that was a sail boat! Then way off on the right so far away it could
+barely hear it, it heard
+
+    "Toot, toot, I'm moving"
+
+and that was another steamer.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+And again the big steamer answered:
+
+    "Toot, toot, I'm moving."
+
+And so the old steamer went out into the fog calling, calling so that no
+boat would hit it. And all the other boats that passed it, they went
+calling, calling too.
+
+
+
+
+                                         HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE
+
+
+This story is a slight extension of the children's own experience. It is
+purposely limited to the tools they themselves handle familiarly.
+
+
+
+
+HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE
+
+
+Once there was a carpenter. He had built himself a fine new house. And
+now it was all done. The walls, the floors and the roof were done. The
+stairs were done. The windows and doors were done. And the carpenter had
+moved into his new house.
+
+In his house he had a stove and he had electric lights. He had beds and
+chairs and bureaus and bookcases. He had everything except a table to
+eat off of. He still had to stand up when he ate his meals!
+
+So the carpenter thought he would make him a table. But he had no lumber
+left. So off he went to the lumber mill. At the lumber mill he saw lots
+and lots of lumber piled in the yard. The carpenter told the man at the
+lumber mill just how much lumber he wanted and just how long he wanted
+it and how broad he wanted it and how thick he wanted it.
+
+So the man at the lumber mill put all this lumber,--just what the
+carpenter had ordered,--on a wagon and sent it out to the carpenter's
+house.
+
+And then the carpenter began. He said to himself, "First I must make my
+boards just the right length." So he measured a board just as long as he
+wanted the top to be; then he put the board on a sawhorse and he took
+his saw and began to saw:
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+            "Zzzu," went the saw,
+            "Zzzu, zzzu, zzzu."
+             The sawdust flew
+             The saw ripped through
+    Down dropped the board sawed right in two.
+
+And then the carpenter took another board and he measured this just the
+same length. Then he put this board on the sawhorse and he took the saw
+and began to saw:
+
+            "Zzzu," went the saw,
+            "Zzzu, zzzu, zzzu."
+             The sawdust flew
+             The saw ripped through
+    Down dropped the board sawed right in two.
+
+And then the carpenter took still another board and "Zzzu," went the saw
+until this board too was sawed right in two. Then he had enough for the
+top of the table. Then he took the pieces that were going to make the
+legs and he sawed four of them just the right length. Then he sawed the
+boards that were going to be the braces until they too were just the
+right length. And underneath his sawhorse there was a little pile of
+sawdust.
+
+Then after this the carpenter says to himself, "I must make my boards
+smooth." So he puts a board in the vise and he begins to plane the
+board.
+
+    The plane he guides
+    The plane it glides
+    It smooths, it slides
+    All over the sides.
+
+And when this board is all smooth, the carpenter takes it out of the
+vise and puts in another board. Then he takes his plane.
+
+    The plane he guides
+    The plane it glides
+    It smooths, it slides
+    All over the sides.
+
+And then the carpenter takes still another board and he guides and
+slides the plane until this board too is all smooth. And he does this
+until all the boards that are going to make the top and the legs and the
+braces are all smooth. And underneath his bench there is a pile of
+shavings.
+
+And then the carpenter he says to himself, "I must nail my boards
+together." So he puts the boards that are going to make the top together
+and he takes a nail and then he swings his hammer:
+
+    The hammer it gives a swinging pound.
+    The nail it gives a ringing sound.
+        Bing! bang! bing! bing!
+    And the boards are tight together!
+
+And then the carpenter takes another piece of the top and puts it beside
+the other two and he takes another nail and then he swings his hammer
+again.
+
+    The hammer it gives a swinging pound.
+    The nail it gives a ringing sound.
+        Bing! bang! bing! bing!
+    And the boards are tight together!
+
+And then the carpenter takes one piece that is going to be a leg and he
+holds it so it stands right out from the top, and he takes another nail
+and he nails the leg to the top. Bing! bang! bing! bing! He does this
+with the other three legs of his table. And then he has four strong legs
+and the top of his table all nailed together.
+
+Then the carpenter he says to himself, "I'll put some boards across and
+make it stronger." So he takes some boards sawed just the right length,
+and he nails them across underneath the top, bing! bang! bing! bing! And
+then he has a table!
+
+So the carpenter lifts his table out into the middle of his room and he
+puts a chair beside it. When he sits down he is smiling all over. For
+the table is just the right size and just the right height and it is
+strong and good to look at. The carpenter is so glad to have a table to
+eat off of that he says to himself:
+
+      "Now isn't it grand?
+      I won't have to stand
+    While eating my dinner again!
+      For now I am able
+      To sit at the table
+    I made with saw, hammer and plane!"
+
+
+
+
+                                                     THE ELEPHANT
+
+
+This was written with the help of eight-year-old children who were
+trying to make everything sound "heavy" and "slow."
+
+
+
+
+THE ELEPHANT
+
+
+The little boy had never before been to the Zoo. He walked up close to
+the high iron fence. On the other side he saw a huge wrinkled grey lump
+slowly sway to one side and then slowly sway back to the other. And as
+it swayed from side to side its great long wrinkled trunk swung slowly
+too. The little boy followed the trunk with his eye up to the huge head
+of the great wrinkled grey lump. There were enormous torn worn flapping
+ears. And there, too, embedded like jewels in a leather wall sparkled
+two little eyes. These eyes were fastened on the little boy. They seemed
+to shine in the dull wrinkled skin. Slowly the huge mass began to move.
+Slowly one heavy padded foot came up and then went down with a soft
+thud. Then came another soft thud and another and another. Suddenly the
+monstrous trunk waved, curled, lifted, stretched and stretched, until
+its soft pink end was thrust through the high iron fence and the little
+boy could look up into the fleshy yawning red mouth. The little boy drew
+back from the high iron fence. The end of the trunk wiggled and
+wriggled around feeling its way up and down a rod of the fence; the
+great body swayed from one heavy foot to the other; and all the time the
+bright little eyes were fastened on the boy.
+
+The little boy looked and looked and looked again. He could hardly
+believe his eyes. "Whew!" he said at last, "so that's an elephant!"
+
+
+
+
+                                             HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE
+
+
+The classifications and most of the expressions were suggested by a
+child.
+
+
+
+
+HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE
+
+
+    The lion, he has paws with claws,
+      The horse, he walks on hooves,
+    The worm, he lies right on the ground
+      And wriggles when he moves!
+
+    The seal, he moves with swimming feet,
+      The moth, has wings like a sail,
+    The fly he clings; the bird he wings,
+      The monkey swings by his tail!
+
+        But boys and girls
+        With feet and hands
+        Can walk and run
+        And swim and stand!
+
+
+
+
+                                                     THE SEA-GULL
+
+
+All the material and most of the expressions are taken from a story by a
+six-year-old. It was put into rhythm because the children wished "the
+words to go like the waves."
+
+
+
+
+THE SEA-GULL
+
+
+    Feel the waves go rocking, rocking,
+      Feel them roll and roll and roll.
+    On the top there sits a sea-gull
+      And he's rocking with the waves.
+    Now 'tis evening and he's weary
+      So he's resting on the waves.
+
+    When he woke in early morning
+      Like a flash he spied a fish.
+    Quick he flew and quickly diving
+      Snapped the fish and ate him straight.
+    Then he screamed for he was happy.
+      Then he spied another fish
+    Quick he flew and quickly diving
+      Snapped the fish and ate him straight.
+    So he played while shone the sunshine,
+      Catching fish and screaming hoarse
+    Till he was quite out of hunger,
+      And would rest him on the waves.
+    Once he flapped and flapped his great wings,
+      Soaring like an aeroplane.
+    Down below him lay the ocean
+      Like a wrinkled crinkly thing,
+    And giant steamers looked like toy ones
+      Slowly moving on the waves.
+
+    Now the moonshine's making silver
+      All the tossing, rocking waves.
+    And the sea-gull looks like silver
+      And his great wings look like silver
+      Pressing close his silver side,
+    And his sharp beak looks like silver
+      Tucked beneath his silver wings.
+    For beneath the silver moonlight
+      See, the sea-gull's gone to sleep.
+    Rocking, rocking on the water,
+    Sleeping, sleeping on the waves,
+    Rocking--sleeping--sleeping--rocking,
+    Fast asleep upon the waves.
+
+
+
+
+                                        THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP
+
+
+It has seemed appropriate to let the children realize the incessant
+quality of farm work before that of the factory.
+
+
+
+
+THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP
+
+
+    The farmer woke up in the morning
+      And sleepy as sleepy was he,
+    He turned in his bed and he grouchily said:
+      "Today I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!
+       Today I will sleep! Let me be!"
+
+    Now Puss in the corner she heard
+      She heard what the farmer had said,
+    She ran to the barn and she mewed in alarm;
+      "The farmer will sleep in his bed, in his bed!
+       Today he will sleep in his bed!"
+
+    Then Horse in the stable looked up,
+      He whinneyed and shook his old head;
+    "Shall I stand here all day without any hay?
+      Whey-ey-ey! Farmer, come feed me!" he said, so he said,
+      "Whey-ey-ey! Farmer, come feed me!" he said.
+
+    But the farmer he tight closed his eyes
+      For sleepy as sleepy was he,
+    He turned in his bed and he angrily said:
+      "Horse, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!
+       Horse, I will sleep! Let me be!"
+
+    Down under the barn in the dirt
+      Pig heard what the Pussy cat mewed.
+    "Can he give me the scraps when he's taking his naps?
+      Wee-ee, Farmer, come give me my food, oh, my food!
+      Wee-ee, Farmer, come give me my food!"
+
+    But the farmer he tight closed his ears
+      For sleepy as sleepy was he,
+    He turned in his bed and he sulkily said:
+      "Pig, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!
+       Pig, I will sleep! Let me be!"
+
+    Now Rooster with Chickens and Hen
+      Had been crowing since early that morn,
+    And he crowed when he heard this terrible word:
+      "Cock-a-doo! Farmer, give us our corn, us our corn!
+       Cock-a-doo! Farmer, give us our corn."
+
+    But the farmer he pulled up the covers
+      For sleepy as sleepy was he,
+    He turned in his bed and crossly he said:
+      "Cock, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!
+       Cock, I will sleep! Let me be!"
+
+    Cow heard in the pasture and lowed;
+      "My cud no longer I chew,
+    I stand by the gate and I wait and I wait,
+      Oh, Farmer, come milk me! Moo-oo, moo-oo!
+      Oh, Farmer, come milk me, moo-oo!"
+
+    But the farmer got under the covers,
+      For sleepy as sleepy was he,
+    He turned in his bed and fiercely he said,
+      "Cow, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!
+       Cow, I will sleep! Let me be!"
+
+    Then Horse he broke from the stable,
+      And Pig he broke from the pen,
+    And Cow jumped the fence though she hadn't much sense,
+      And Cock called Chickens and Hen, and Hen,
+      He called to Chickens and Hen.
+
+    Then up to the farm house door
+      All followed the Pussy who knew.
+    Horse whinneyed, Cock crowed, Pig grunted, Cow lowed;
+      "Get up, Farmer! Whey, cock-a-doo, wee-wee-wee, mooo!
+       Whey, cock-a-doo, wee-wee-wee, moooo!"
+
+    The farmer down under the covers,
+      He heard and he groaned and he sighed.
+    He wearily rose and he put on his clothes;
+      "They need me, I'm coming, I'm coming," he cried,
+      "They need me, I'm coming," he cried.
+
+    "I'll feed Horse, Chickens and Pig,
+      I'll milk old Cow," said he,
+    "And when this is done, my work's just begun,
+      Today I must work, so I see, so I see!
+      Today I must work, so I see!"
+
+    So he fed Horse, Chickens and Pig
+      And afterwards milked old Cow.
+    For Farmer must work, he never can shirk!
+      Today he is working, right now, right now!
+      Today he is working right now!
+
+
+
+
+                                    WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS!
+
+
+All the essential points in this story were taken from the story of a
+four-year-old's about a horse. He enjoyed the nonsense in telling it.
+Some of the four-year-old groups have appreciated the humor; some
+five-year-olds have not. Instead they have seemed confused.
+
+
+
+
+WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS!
+
+
+Once there was a wonderful cow,--only she never was! She always had been
+wonderful, ever since she was a baby calf. Her mother noticed it at
+once. She was born out in the pasture one sunny morning in June. As soon
+as she was born, she got up on her long, thin legs. She wobbled quite a
+little for she wasn't very strong. Then she went over to her mother and
+put her nose down to her mother's bag and took a drink of milk. This is
+what all the old cow's babies had always done so the old cow thought
+nothing of that. But when this wonderful last baby calf had drunk its
+breakfast, what do you suppose it did? It stood on its head! Now the old
+cow had never seen anything like this. It was most surprising! It
+frightened her. She called to it:
+
+    "Oh, my baby, baby calf,
+     Your mother kindly begs,
+     Please, _please_ get off your head
+     And stand upon your legs!"
+
+But the baby calf only mooed. And it smiled when it mooed which the old
+cow thought queer too. None of her other babies had smiled. Then the
+calf said:
+
+      "I'm a wonderful calf,
+       And it makes me laugh
+    Such wonderful things can I do!
+       I stand on my head
+       Whenever I'm fed,
+    And smile whenever I moo,
+         I do,
+    I smile whenever I moo!"
+
+"Dear me!" thought the old mother cow. "I never saw or heard anything
+like this!"
+
+But this was only the beginning. The baby calf kept on doing
+strange and wonderful things till at last everyone called her
+Wonderful-calf-that-never-was! And many people used to come to see her
+stand on her head whenever she was fed. She did other queer things too!
+Once she pulled off the ear of another calf! And all she said was: "Poor
+little calf! You mustn't go in the pasture where there are other
+calves!" But the little calf who had lost its ear said, "Yes, I must!"
+But after that Wonderful-calf-that-never-was was kept in the barn for a
+long time.
+
+At last it was June again and she was a year old. Her horns had begun
+to grow. The old cow, her mother, had another baby. This new baby calf
+was just like other calves and not wonderful at all. The old cow was
+glad for Wonderful-cow-that-never-was worried her very much. For
+everything about her was queer. One day the calf who had lost
+the ear,--she was a young cow now,--took hold of the tail of
+Wonderful-young-cow-that-never-was and pulled it. And what do
+you suppose happened? The tail broke right off! All the cows
+were frightened. Whoever heard of a broken tail? But
+Wonderful-young-cow-that-never-was only mooed and when she mooed
+she always smiled. Then she said:
+
+      "I'm a wonderful cow
+       And I don't know how
+    Such wonderful things I do!
+       If I break my tail,
+       I never fail
+    To glue with a grasshopper's goo,
+         I do,
+    I glue with a grasshopper's goo!"
+
+And so she did. She got a grasshopper to give her some sticky stuff
+and she smeared it on the two ends of her broken tail and stuck them
+together. "And now it's as good as new," she said, "and now it's as good
+as new!"
+
+Her horns grew and grew. She was very proud of them and was always
+trying to hook some one or gore another cow with them. But one day she
+went to the edge of the lake when it was very still. It wasn't wavy at
+all. And as she leaned over to drink, she saw herself in the water. My
+mercy! but she was shocked!
+
+"My horns are straight!" she screamed, "and I want them curly!" She ran
+to the old mother cow and had what her mother called the "Krink-kranks."
+She jumped up and down and bellowed: "My horns are straight and I want
+them curly!"
+
+The old mother cow was giving her new baby some milk. It made her cross
+to hear Wonderful-cow-that-never-was having krink-kranks over her horns.
+"Horns grow the way they grow!" she remarked crossly. "So what are you
+going to do about it?"
+
+"Something!" answered the young cow. "I'm not
+Wonderful-cow-that-never-was for nothing!" And she stopped having
+krink-kranks and went off. She stayed away all day and when she did come
+back, her horns were curled up tight! And she was chewing and smiling
+and chewing and smiling.
+
+"What have you done now?" gasped the old mother cow. "I never saw horns
+curled so crumply!"
+
+The young cow smiled and said:
+
+      "I'm a wonderful cow
+       And I don't know how
+    Such wonderful things I do!
+       I curl my horn
+       On the cob of a corn
+    And smile whenever I chew,
+         I do,
+    I smile whenever I chew!"
+
+"And here is the corn cob I curled them on," she said, opening her
+mouth. And sure enough, there was the corn cob!
+
+Now Wonderful-cow-that-never-was got queerer and queerer until the
+farmer thought her a little _too_ queer. She was very proud of her
+crumpled horns and tried to hook everyone on them. Once she tore the
+farmer's coat trying to hook him. And once she _did_ toss him up. She
+watched him in the air and all she said was "He's up now, but he'll come
+down some time." And bang! So he did!
+
+Finally one terrible day, they tied her tight and cut off her horns. She
+was never the same afterwards. She couldn't hook any more. "I don't
+care about being queer any more," she said to her mother. And she
+wasn't. She stopped standing on her head. She never pulled off another
+ear. She never broke her tail again and of course she never curled her
+horns again. Because she hadn't any! "After all," she said, "it's
+wonderful enough just to be a cow and have four stomachs and chew cud
+and give milk and have a baby each Spring!" And that's what she's doing
+now!
+
+      She's a wonderful cow,
+      And anyhow
+    She does a wonderful thing!
+      She wallows in mud,
+      She chews her cud,
+    And has a baby in Spring!
+
+
+
+
+                                       THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE
+
+This story was worked out with a five-year-old boy. It is the result of
+his own summer experiences on a lake.
+
+
+
+
+THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE
+
+
+Once there was a little lake. And many things loved the little lake for
+its water was clear and smooth and blue when it was sunshiny, and dark
+and wavy and cross-looking when it was rainy. Now one of the things that
+loved the little lake was a little fish. He was a slippery shiny little
+fish all covered with slippery shiny scales. He lived in the shadow of
+a big rock near a deep, dark, cool pool. And when his wide-open shiny
+eye saw a little fly fall on the top of the water, he would flip his
+slippery, shiny tail and wave his slippery, shiny fins and dart out and
+up and--snap! he'd have the fly inside him! Then like a shiny streak
+he'd quietly slip back to the cool, deep, dark pool.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Another thing that loved the little lake was a spotted green frog. He
+too lived near the big rock. He would squat like a lump on the top in
+the sun, blinking his bright little eyes. Then splash! jump he would go,
+plump into the water. He'd keep his funny head with the little blinking,
+bright eyes above water while he'd kick his long, spotted, green legs
+and he'd swim across to another rock. At first he used to frighten the
+slippery shiny little fish when he came tumbling into the quiet water.
+But the spotted green frog never did anything to hurt the little fish so
+the slippery shiny little fish didn't mind him after all. But at night
+what do you think the spotted green frog did? He squatted on the rock
+with his front feet toeing in, like this, and he looked up at the
+far-away white moon in the far-away dark sky, and then he swelled and he
+swelled and he swelled his throat, and then he opened his wide, wide
+mouth and out came a noise. Oh, such a noise! "K-K-K-Krink!!
+K-K-K-Krank!!" All night the spotted frog swelled his throat and croaked
+at the moon.
+
+Now another thing that loved the little lake was a beautiful wild duck.
+The wild duck had beautiful green and brown feathers and on his head he
+had a little green top-knot. Every year he flew north from the warm
+south where he had been spending the winter. High up in the air he flew,
+leading many other beautiful wild ducks. He flew with his head stretched
+out and his feet tucked up close to his body and his strong wings
+flapping, flapping, flapping like great fans. And as he flew way up in
+the air his keen eye would see the little lake glistening down below.
+"Quonk-quonk!" he would call. And the other wild ducks would answer,
+"Quonk-quonk-quonk!" And then they would swoop, right down to the little
+lake and they'd light right on the water. There they would sit, rocking
+on the little waves or swimming about with their red webbed feet. Oh,
+the wild ducks loved the little lake very much!
+
+But not the slippery shiny fish, not the spotted green frog, not the
+beautiful wild duck loves the lake as much as some one else does. I
+don't believe any one else loves the little lake as much as does the
+little summer boy! Sometimes the little summer boy goes rowing on top
+of the lake. He leans way forward and stretches his oars way back,
+then he puts them into the water and pulls as hard as ever he
+can--splash--splash--splash--splash----! And the boat glides and slides
+right over the water! Sometimes,--and this he loves better still,--he
+stands on the rock in his red bathing suit. Then plump! he jumps right
+into the water! Sometimes he goes feetwards and sometimes he goes
+headwards and sometimes he turns a somersault in the air before he
+touches the water. And then away he goes moving his arms and kicking his
+legs almost like the spotted green frog. But the little fish when he
+hears this great thing come splashing into the quiet water, he flips his
+slippery shiny tail and waves his slippery shiny fins and darts way out
+into the deep water where the little boy with the red bathing suit can't
+follow him. For to the little fish this little summer boy seems very
+queer, and very, _very_ noisy, and very, _very_, VERY enormous! And the
+spotted green frog too gets out of the way when the little boy comes
+racketing into the water. He hops, hops under the rocks into a safe
+little cave and from there he watches and blinks his bright little eyes.
+But he never croaks then! The little summer boy knows the green frog is
+there and sometimes he peeks at him and thinks "I wish I could make my
+back legs go like yours!" For he's often seen the spotted green frog
+swim from rock to rock.
+
+But the beautiful wild duck, he never saw the little summer boy. For
+long before the boy came to the little lake, the duck had left the lake
+far behind. Early one morning in Spring he flapped his strong wings and
+tucked his wet webbed feet up close to his body and stretched out his
+long neck and calling "Quonk-quonk!" he flapped away to the north.
+And all the other beautiful wild ducks followed calling,
+"Quonk-quonk-quonk!" So the little summer boy never knew the wild duck!
+
+It is too bad that the fish and the frog are scared away when the summer
+boy goes in bathing. But it is only for a little while anyway. For the
+little summer boy's mother doesn't let him play in the lake all day as
+does the mother of the slippery shiny fish and the mother of the spotted
+green frog. She has called him now, and he calls back, "One more time!"
+for no one loves the little lake as much as the little boy in the red
+bathing suit. He has climbed up on the rock. The water is running down
+him, for he is as wet as a baby seal. Now he puts out his hands, like
+this, and he calls out, "This time I'm going to take a headwards dive!"
+
+    In the lake they play,
+      The spotted green frog
+    And the slippery shiny fish.
+      They frisk and they whisk,
+      And they dip and they flip.
+      And the water it glimmers,
+      It ripples and twinkles
+    When the frog and the fishes play.
+
+    In the lake they play,
+      The beautiful duck
+    And the rackety summer boy.
+      When the wild duck swims
+      The water it skims.
+      But the boy with a shout
+      He plumps in, he jumps out.
+    And the little lake shakes with his play.
+
+
+
+
+                                            HOW THE SINGING WATER
+                                                   GOT TO THE TUB
+
+
+In this story I have tried to make the refrains carry the essential
+points in the content. I have tried, however, to subordinate the
+information to the pattern. This story came in response to direct
+questions during baths.
+
+
+
+
+HOW THE SINGING WATER GOT TO THE TUB
+
+
+Once there was a little singing stream of water. It sang whatever it
+did. And it did many things from the time it bubbled up in the far-away
+hills to the time it splashed into the dirty little boy's tub. It began
+as a little spring of water. Then the water was as cool as cool could be
+for it came up from the deep cool earth all hidden away from the sun. It
+came up into a little hollow scooped out of the earth and in the hollow
+were little pebbles. Right up through the pebbles, bubbling and gurgling
+it came. And what do you suppose the water did when the little hollow
+was all full? It did just what water always does, it tried to find a way
+to run down hill! One side of the little hollow was lower than the
+others and here the water spilled over and trickled down. And this is
+the song the water sang then:
+
+    "I bubble up so cool
+     Into the pebbly pool.
+     Over the edge I spill
+     And gallop down the hill!"
+
+So the water became a little stream and began its long journey to the
+little boy's tub. And always it wanted to run down--always down, and as
+it ran, it tinkled this song:
+
+    "I sing, I run,
+     In the shade, in the sun,
+     It's always fun
+     To sing and to run."
+
+Sometimes it pushed under twigs and leaves; sometimes it made a big
+noise tumbling over the roots of trees; sometimes it flowed all quiet
+and slow through long grasses in a meadow. Once it came to the edge of a
+pretty big rock and over it went, splashing and crashing and dashing and
+making a fine, fine spray.
+
+It sang to the little birds that took their baths in the spray. And the
+little birds ruffled their feathers to get dry and sang back to the
+little brook. "Ching-a-ree!" they sang. It sang to the bunny rabbit who
+got his whiskers all wet when he took a drink. It sang to the mother
+deer who always came to the same place and licked up some water with her
+tongue. To all of these and many more little wild wood things the little
+brook rippled its song:
+
+    "I sing, I run,
+     In the shade, in the sun,
+     It's always fun
+     To sing and to run."
+
+But to the fish in the big dark pool under the rocks it sang so softly,
+so quietly, that only the fishes heard.
+
+Now all the time that the little brook kept running down hill, it kept
+getting bigger. For every once in a while it would be joined by another
+little brook coming from another hillside spring. And, of course, the
+two of them were twice as large as each had been alone. This kept
+happening until the stream was a small river,--so big and deep that the
+horses couldn't ford it any more. Then people built bridges over it,
+and this made the small river feel proud. Little boats sailed in it
+too,--canoes and sail boats and row boats. Sometimes they held a lot
+of little boys without any clothes on who jumped into the water and
+splashed and laughed and splashed and laughed.
+
+At last the river was strong enough to carry great gliding boats, with
+deep deep voices. "Toot," said the boats, "tootoot-tooooooooot!"
+
+And now the song of the river was low and slow as it answered the song
+of the boats:
+
+    "I grow and I flow
+     As I carry the boats,
+     As I carry the boats of men."
+
+After the little river had been running down hill for ever so long, it
+came to a place where the banks went up very high and steep on each side
+of it. Here something strange happened. The little river was stopped by
+an enormous wall. The wall was made of stone and cement and it stretched
+right across the river from one bank to the other. The little river
+couldn't get through the wall, so it just filled up behind it. It filled
+and filled until it found that it had spread out into a real little
+lake. Only the people who walked around it called it a reservoir!
+
+Now in the wall was just one opening down near the bottom. And what
+do you suppose that led to? A pipe! But the pipe was so big that an
+elephant could have walked down it swinging his trunk! Only, of course,
+there wasn't any elephant there.
+
+Now the little river didn't like to have his race down hill stopped. So
+he began muttering to himself:
+
+    "What shall I do, oh, what shall I do?
+     Here's a big dam and I can't get through!
+     Behind the dam I fill and fill
+     But I want to go running and running down hill!
+     If the pipe at the bottom will let me through
+     I'll run through the pipe! That's what I'll do!"
+
+So he rushed into the pipe as fast as he could for there he found he
+could run down hill again! He ran and he ran for miles and miles. Above
+him he knew there were green fields and trees and cows and horses. These
+were the things he had sung to before he rushed into the pipe. Then
+after a long time he knew he was under something different. He could
+feel thousands of feet scurrying this way and that; he could feel
+thousands of horses pulling carriages and wagons and trucks; he could
+feel cars, subways, engines;--he could feel so many things crossing him
+that he wondered they didn't all bump each other. Then he knew he was
+under the Big City. And this is the song he shouted then:
+
+    "Way under the street, street, street,
+     I feel the feet, feet, feet.
+     I feel their beat, beat, beat,
+     Above on the street, street, street."
+
+And then again something queer happened. Every once in a while a pipe
+would go off from the big pipe. Now one of these pipes turned into a
+certain street and then a still smaller pipe turned off into a certain
+house and a still smaller pipe went right up between the walls of the
+house. And in this house there lived the dirty little boy.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+The water flowed into the street pipe and then it flowed into the house
+pipe and then,--what do you think?--it went right up that pipe between
+the walls of the house! For you see even the top of that dirty little
+boy's house isn't nearly as high as the reservoir on the hill where the
+water started and the water can run up just as high as it has run down.
+
+In the bath-room was the dirty little boy. His face was dirty, his hands
+were dirty, his feet were dirty and his knees--oh! his knees were very,
+very dirty. This very dirty little boy went over to the faucet and
+slowly turned it. Out came the water splashing, and crashing and
+dashing.
+
+"My! but I need a bath tonight," said the dirty little boy as he heard
+the water splashing in the tub. The water was still the singing water
+that had sung all the way from the far-away hills. It had sung a
+bubbling song when it gurgled up as a spring; it had sung a tinkling
+song as it rippled down hill as a brook; it had crooned a flowing song
+when it bore the talking boats; it had muttered and throbbed and sung to
+itself as it ran through the big, big pipe. Now as it splashed into the
+dirty little boy's tub it laughed and sang this last song:
+
+    "I run from the hill,--down, down, down,
+     Under the streets of the town, town, town,
+     Then in the pipe, up, up, up,
+     I tumble right into your tub, tub, tub."
+
+And the dirty little boy laughed and jumped into the Singing Water!
+
+
+
+
+                                       THE CHILDREN'S NEW DRESSES
+
+
+An old pattern with new content. The steps in the process were
+originally dug out by a child of six through his own questions.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHILDREN'S NEW DRESSES
+
+
+Once there was a small town. In the small town were many houses and in
+the houses were many people. In one of these houses there lived a mother
+with a great many children. One night after the children were all in bed
+and the mother was sitting by the fire, a brick fell down the chimney.
+Then another came bumping and rattling down. Now outside there was a
+great wind blowing. It whistled down the chimney and up flamed the fire.
+The sparks flew into the hole where the bricks had fallen out. The first
+thing the mother knew the house was all on fire. Still the great wind
+roared. The house next door caught fire, then the next, then the next,
+then the next, until half the little town was burning. The mother with
+the many children and many other frightened people ran to the part of
+the town behind the great wind. And there they stayed until the wind
+died down and they could put the fire out.
+
+Now many of these people's clothes had burned with their houses. The
+many children who had gone to bed before the fire began had nothing to
+wear except their nightclothes. The mother went to the store. That too
+was burned! But she found the storekeeper and said:--"Storekeeper, sell
+me some dresses for my children for their dresses have been burned and
+they have nothing to wear."
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+"But, mother of the many children," the storekeeper replied, "first I
+must get me the dresses. For that I must send to the many-fingered
+factory in the middle of the city."
+
+So he sent to the many-fingered factory in the middle of the great city
+and he said:--"Clothier, send me some dresses that I may sell to the
+mother; for her children's dresses have burned up and they have nothing
+to wear."
+
+But the clothier in the many-fingered factory replied:--"First I must
+get me the cloth. For that I must send to the weaving mill. The weaving
+mill is in the hills where there is water to turn its wheels."
+
+So the clothier sent to the weaving mill in the hills where there is
+water to turn its wheels and said:--"Weaver, send me the cloth that the
+many fingers at the factory may make dresses to send to the storekeeper
+in the small town to sell to the mother; for her children's dresses have
+burned up and they have nothing to wear."
+
+But the weaver in the weaving mill in the hills sent back word:--"First
+I must get me the cotton. For that I must send to the cotton fields. The
+cotton fields are in the south where the land is hot and low."
+
+So the weaver in the weaving mill in the hills sent to the cotton
+plantation, and he said:--"Planter, send me the cotton from the hot
+low lands that I may make cloth in the mill in the hills to send to the
+clothier in the many-fingered factory in the middle of the great city to
+be made into dresses to send to the storekeeper in the small town to
+sell to the mother; for her children's dresses have burned up and they
+have nothing to wear."
+
+But the planter sent back word:--"First I must get the negroes to pick
+the cotton. For cotton must be picked in the hot sun and negroes are the
+only ones who can stand the sun."
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+So the planter went to the negroes and he said:--"Pick me the cotton
+from the hot low lands that I may send it to the weaver in his mill in
+the hills that he may weave the cloth to send to the clothier in the
+many-fingered factory in the middle of the great city to make dresses to
+send to the storekeeper in the small town to sell to the mother; for
+her children's dresses have burned up and they have nothing to wear."
+
+But the negroes answered:--"First de sun, he hab got to shine and shine
+and shine! 'Cause de sun, he am de only one dat can make dem little seed
+bolls bust wide open!"
+
+So the negroes sang to the sun:--"Big sun, so shiny hot! Is you gwine to
+shine on dem cotton bolls so we can pick de cotton for de massah so he
+can send it to de weaver in de weaving mills in de hills to weave into
+cloth so he can send it to de clothier in de many-fingered factory in de
+middle of de big city to make dresses to send to de storekeeper in de
+small town so he can sell it to de mammy; for de chillun's dresses hab
+gone and burned up and dey ain't got nothin' to wear!"
+
+Now the sun heard the song of the negroes of the south. And he began to
+shine. And he kept on shining on the hot low lands. And when the cotton
+bolls on the hot low lands felt the sun shine and shine and shine, they
+burst wide open. Then the negroes picked the cotton, the planter shipped
+it, the weaver wove it, the clothier made it into dresses, and the
+storekeeper sold them to the mother.
+
+So at last the many children took off their nightclothes and put on
+their new dresses. And so they were all happy again!
+
+
+
+
+                                            OLD DAN GETS THE COAL
+
+
+The occupations of the city horse are always absorbing to the school
+children. They have many tales about various "Old Dans" and their
+various trades. The docks are familiar to almost all the children,--even
+to the four-year-olds. This verse is meant to be read fast or slow
+according to whether or no the wagon is empty.
+
+
+
+
+OLD DAN GETS THE COAL
+
+
+    Old Dan, he lives in a stable, he does,
+    He sleeps in a stable stall.
+    Old Dan, he eats in the stable, he does,
+    He eats the hay from the manger, he does,
+        He pulls the hay
+        And he chews the hay
+    When he eats in his stable stall.
+
+    Old Dan, he leaves the stable, he does,
+    He pulls the wagon behind.
+    Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does,
+    He trots with the wagon all empty, he does;
+        The wagon, it clatters,
+        The mud, it all spatters
+    Old Dan with the wagon behind.
+
+    Old Dan, he trots to the dock, he does,
+    He trots to the coal barge dock.
+    Old Dan, he stands by the barge, he does,
+    He stands and the big crane creaks, it does.
+        Up! into the chute,
+        Bang! out of the chute
+    Comes the coal at the coal barge dock!
+
+    Old Dan, he pulls the load, he does,
+    He pulls the heavy load.
+    Old Dan he pulls the coal, he does,
+    He slowly pulls the heavy coal.
+        The wagon thumps,
+        It bumps, it clumps
+    When old Dan pulls the load.
+
+    Old Dan, he stands by the house, he does,
+    And the coal rattles out behind.
+    Old Dan stands still by the house, he does,
+    He stands and the slippery coal, so it does
+        Goes rattlety klang!
+        Zippy kabang!
+    As it slides from the wagon behind!
+
+    Old Dan, he then leaves the house, so he does,
+    A-pulling the wagon behind.
+    Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does,
+    He trots with the wagon all empty, he does.
+        The wagon it clatters,
+        The mud it all spatters
+    Old Dan with the wagon behind.
+
+    Old Dan, comes home to his stable, he does,
+    Home to his stable stall.
+    He finds the hay in the stable, he does,
+    He eats the hay from the manger, he does,
+        He pulls the hay,
+        He chews the hay,
+    Then he sleeps in his stable stall.
+
+
+
+
+                                                   THE SUBWAY CAR
+
+
+The relationship which this story aims to clarify is the social
+significance of the subway car--its construction and the need it answers
+to. Children have enjoyed the verse better, I think, than any other in
+the book.
+
+
+
+
+THE SUBWAY CAR
+
+
+    The surface car is a poky car,
+    It stops 'most every minute.
+    At every corner someone gets out
+    And someone else gets in it.
+    It stops for a lady, an auto, a hoss,
+    For any old thing that wants to cross,
+    This poky old, stupid old, silly old, timid old,
+          lumbering surface car.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+    Up on high against the sky
+    The elevated train goes by.
+    Above it soars, above it roars
+    On level with the second floors
+    Of dirty houses, dirty stores
+    Who have to see, who have to hear
+    This noisy ugly monster near.
+    And as it passes hear it yell,
+    "I'm the deafening, deadening, thunderous, hideous,
+          competent, elegant el."
+
+    Under the ground like a mole in a hole,
+    I tear through the white tiled tunnel,
+    With my wire brush on the rail I rush
+    From station to lighted station.
+    Levers pull, the doors fly ope',
+    People press against the rope.
+    And some are stout and some are thin
+    And some get out and some get in.
+    Again I go. Beginning slow
+    I race, I chase at a terrible pace,
+    I flash and I dash with never a crash,
+    I hurry, I scurry with never a flurry.
+    I tear along, flare along, singing my lightning song,
+    "I'm the rushing, speeding, racing, fleeting, rapid subway car."
+
+
+
+
+THE SUBWAY CAR
+
+
+Whew-ee-ee-ee-ew-ew went the siren whistle. And all the men and all the
+women hurried toward the factory. For that meant it was time to begin
+work. Each man and each woman went to his particular machine. The steam
+was up; the belts were moving; the wheels were whirring; the piston rods
+were shooting back and forth. And one man made a piece of wheel, and one
+man made a part of a brake, and one man made a belt, and one man made
+a leather strap, and one man made a door, and one man made some
+straw-covered seats, and one man made a window-frame, and one man made
+a little wire brush. And then some other men took all these things and
+began putting them together. And when the car was finished some other
+men came and painted it, and on the side they painted the number 793.
+
+The car stood on the siding wondering what he was for and what he was to
+do. Suddenly he heard another car come bumping and screeching down the
+track. Before the new car could think what was happening,--bang!--the
+battered old car went smash into him. This seemed to be just what the
+man standing along side expected. For the car felt him swing on to the
+steps, and shout "Go ahead." At the same minute the car felt a piece of
+iron slip from his own rear and hook into the front of the other car.
+
+And "go ahead" he did, though No. 793 thought he would be wrenched to
+pieces.
+
+"Whatever is happening to me?" he nervously asked the car that was
+pushing him. "I feel my wheels going round and round underneath me and I
+can't stop them. Can't you just hear me creak? I'm afraid I will split
+in two."
+
+The dilapidated old thing behind simply screamed with delight as he
+jounced over a switch.
+
+"See here, now," he said in a rasping voice, "what do you think wheels
+are for anyway if they are not to go round? And if you can't hang
+together in a quiet little jaunt like this, you had better turn into a
+baby carriage and be done with it. Say, what do you think you were made
+for anyway, Freshie?"
+
+With this he gave a vicious pull. Freshie thought it would probably
+loosen every carefully fastened bolt in his whole structure.
+
+"And what's more," continued the amused and irritated old car, "if you
+think all you've got to do is to be pulled around like a fine lady in a
+limousine, you are pretty well fooled. Wait till you feel the juice go
+through you--just wait--that's all I say."
+
+"What is juice?" groaned No. 793.
+
+But he could get no answer except "Just wait, you will find out soon
+enough."
+
+In another minute he had found out. He felt his door pulled open and a
+heavy tread come clump, clump, clump down the whole length of him to the
+little closet room at the end. There he felt levers pulled and switches
+turned. Suddenly the little wire brush underneath him dropped until it
+touched the third rail. Z-z-zr-zr-zr-zz-zz--What in the name of all
+blazes was happening to him? He tingled in every bolt. He quivered with
+fear. "This must be the juice!" Another lever was turned. He leaped
+forward on the track, jerking and thumping and creaking.
+
+Then he settled down and it wasn't so bad. The first scare was over. He
+did not go to pieces. On the contrary he felt so excited and strong that
+he almost told the old thing behind him to take off his brush and let
+himself be pulled. But he was afraid of the cross old car. So he
+ventured timidly: "Isn't this great? I should like to go flying along in
+the sun like this all day."
+
+"In the sun?" snarled his old companion. "Come now, Freshie, can't you
+catch on to what you are? You just look your fill at the old sun now for
+you won't see him again for some time."
+
+"Why not?" whimpered No. 793.
+
+But he needed no answer. Ahead of him he could see the track sliding
+down into a deep hole. The earth closed over him in a queer rounded
+arch, all lined with shiny white tiles. At the same moment the lights
+all up and down his own ceiling flashed on. He noticed then that he had
+a red lantern on his front. He could tell it by the red, glinting
+reflections it threw on the tiles as he tore along. Ahead he could see
+a great cluster of lights which seemed to be rushing towards him. Of
+course he was really rushing towards them, but he was so excited he got
+all mixed in his ideas.
+
+"Where are we? And what on earth is that rushing towards us? And why do
+we come down here under the ground?" he screamed to the old car behind.
+
+"There's no room for us on top," jerked the old car. "There are a heap
+of people in this old city of New York, Freshie, and you will find 'em
+on the surface or scooting in the elevated and here jogging along
+underneath the earth."
+
+"People!" screamed No. 793, "I don't see any. What do we do with them in
+this hole anyway?"
+
+Even as he spoke he felt the man in the little closet room in his front
+turn something. His wire brush lifted and all his strength seemed to
+ooze away. Then something clutched his wheels. He screeched,--yes, he
+really screeched, and then he stood still, close to the station
+platform. The station looked big to No. 793 and very brilliantly
+lighted. It was jammed with people who stood pressed against ropes in
+long rows.
+
+A man on his own platform pulled down a handle and then another. He felt
+his end doors and then his center doors fly open. Then tramp, tramp,
+tramp, tramp--a hundred feet came pounding on his floor. He could feel
+them and somehow he liked the feel. He could even feel two small feet
+that walked much faster than the others, and in another moment he felt
+two little knees on one of his straw-covered seats. Then the handles
+were pulled again. His doors banged closed; z-zr-zr-rr--the brush
+underneath touched the rail and the electricity shot through him. He
+felt a hundred feet shift quickly and heavily. He felt his leather
+straps clutched by a hundred hands. And amid the noise he heard a little
+voice say, "Father, isn't this a brand new subway car?" And then he knew
+what he was!
+
+
+
+
+                                     BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS
+                                   MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS
+
+
+This first story is an attempt to let a child discover the significance
+of his everyday environment,--of subways and elevated railways. Here
+there is no content new to the city child. But the relationship to
+congestion he has not always seen for himself. In the second story the
+lay-out of New York on a crowded island is discovered. Again the content
+is old but its significance may be new. Both these stories verge on the
+informational.
+
+
+
+
+BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS
+
+
+    Many little boys and girls
+      With fathers and with mothers,
+    Many little boys and girls
+      With sisters and with brothers,
+    Many little boys and girls
+      They come from far away.
+    They sail and sail to big New York,
+      And there they land and stay!
+    And you would never, never guess
+      When they grow big and tall,
+    That they had come from far away
+      When they were wee and small!
+
+One of the little boys who sailed and sailed until he came to big New
+York was named Boris. He came as the others did, with his father and his
+mother and his sisters and his brothers. He came from a wide green
+country called Russia. In that country he had never seen a city, never
+seen wharves with ocean steamers and ferry boats and tug boats and
+barges,--never seen a street so crowded you could hardly get through,
+had never seen great high buildings reaching up, up, up to the clouds,
+he thought. And he had never heard a city, never heard the noise of
+elevated trains and surface cars and automobiles and the many, many
+hurrying feet. He often thought of the wide green country he had left
+behind, and he used to talk about it to his mother in a funny language
+you wouldn't understand. For Boris and his family still spoke Russian.
+But Boris was nine years old and he loved new things as well as old. So
+he grew to love this crowded noisy new home of his as well as the still
+wide country he had left.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Now Boris had been in New York quite a while. But he hadn't been out on
+the streets much. One day he said to his mother in the funny language,
+"I think I'll take a walk!"
+
+"All right," she answered, "be careful you don't get run over by one of
+those queer wagons that run without horses!"
+
+"Yes I will," laughed Boris for he was a careful and a smart little boy
+and knew well how to take care of himself for all he was so little.
+
+So Boris went out on the street. He walked to the corner and waited to
+go across.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+He waited another minute.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+He stood there a long while watching this stream of autos and horses and
+trucks go by and he thought:
+
+    "Dear me! dear me!
+     What shall I do?
+     The're so many things,
+     I'll never get through!"
+
+Just then all the autos and the horses and the trucks stopped. They
+stood still right in front of him. And Boris saw that the big man
+standing in the middle of the street had put up his hand to stop them.
+So he scampered across. Boris didn't know that the big man was the
+traffic policeman!
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Now Boris scampered down the block to the next street. There he waited
+to go across.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+He stood there a long time watching the autos and horses and trucks go
+by. And he thought:
+
+    "Dear me! dear me!
+     What shall I do?
+     The're so many things,
+     I'll never get through!"
+
+Boris looked at the big policeman who stood in the middle of _this_
+street. After a while the big policeman raised his hand and all the
+autos and horses and trucks stopped and Boris scampered across and ran
+down the block to the next street crossing. And there the same thing
+happened again.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+"I'll not get much of a walk this way," he thought. "I have to wait and
+wait at each corner. And the're so many things I'll never get through."
+Just then he saw a street car. "I might take a car," he thought. But
+then he saw on the street a long line of cars waiting, waiting to get
+through. "It wouldn't do much good," he thought. "They're just like me."
+
+    "Dear me! dear me!
+     What can they do?
+     The're so many things,
+     They'll never get through!"
+
+Then he noticed a big hole in the sidewalk. Down the hole went some
+steps and down the steps hurried lots and lots of people. "I wonder what
+this is?" thought Boris and down the steps he ran.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+At the bottom of the steps there was a big room all lined with white
+tile and all lighted with electric lights. On the side was the funniest
+little house with a little window in it and a man looking through the
+window. Boris watched carefully for he didn't understand. Everyone went
+up to the window and gave the man 5 cents and the man handed out a
+little piece of blue paper.
+
+"That's a ticket," thought Boris, for he was a very smart little boy.
+"These people must be going somewhere." So he reached down in his pocket
+and pulled out a nickel. For all he was so little, and so new to New
+York, he knew what a 5 cent piece was quite well. He had to stand on
+tiptoe to hand the man his nickel and to reach his little blue ticket.
+Then he watched again. Everyone dropped this ticket in a funny little
+box by a funny little gate and another man moved a handle up and down.
+So Boris did just the same. He stood on tiptoe and dropped his ticket in
+the box and walked through the little gate to a big platform. And what
+do you think he saw there? A great long tunnel stretching off in both
+directions,--a long tunnel all lined with white tiles! And on the bottom
+were rails! "I wonder what runs on that track?" thought Boris.
+
+Just then he heard a most terrible noise:
+
+    Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!
+    Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!
+
+and down the tunnel came a train of cars. "Yi-i-i-i--sh-sh-sh-sh!"
+screamed the cars and stopped right in front of Boris. And then what do
+you suppose happened? The doors in the car right in front of him flew
+open. Everyone stepped in. So did Boris.
+
+It was the front car. He walked to the front and sat down where he could
+look out on the tracks. He could also look into the funny little box
+room and see the man who pulled the levers and made the car go and stop.
+In a moment they started:
+
+    Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!
+    How fast! How fast!
+
+Then "Yi-i-i-i--sh-sh-sh-sh!" The man put on the brakes and they stopped
+at another station. In another moment they started again. Rackety,
+clackety, klang, klong! Then "Yi-i-i-i--sh-sh-sh-sh" another station!
+And so they went flying from lighted station to lighted station through
+the white-tiled tunnel.
+
+Boris was very happy. He sat quite still watching out of the window and
+saying with the car; rackety, clackety, klang, klong; rackety, clackety,
+klang, klong! "This is the way to go if you're in a hurry," he thought.
+He looked up and smiled to think of all the autos and horses and trucks
+above going oh! so slowly down the street!
+
+At last he thought he would get out. So the next time the man put the
+brakes on and the train yelled "Yi-i-i-i--sh-sh-sh-sh!" Boris walked
+through the open doors on to the platform, then through the little gate,
+up some long steps and found himself on the street again. But right near
+him what do you think he saw? A park all full of trees and grass! This
+made Boris happy for he hadn't seen so many trees and so much grass
+since he had left the wide country in his old home in Russia. A little
+breeze was blowing too! He clapped his hands and ran around and laughed
+and laughed and laughed and sang:
+
+    "I like the grass,
+     I like the trees,
+     I like the sky,
+     I like the breeze!
+     I touch the grass,
+     I touch the trees,
+     Let me play in the Park,
+     Oh, please! oh, please!"
+
+So he ran all round and played in the Park.
+
+Suddenly he thought it was time to go home. He looked for the hole in
+the sidewalk but he couldn't find it. And he didn't know how to ask for
+the subway for he didn't know its name and he couldn't talk English.
+"I'll have to walk!" he thought. He knew he must walk south for he had
+noticed which way the sun was when he went into the hole in the
+sidewalk. And now he noticed again where it was and so he could tell
+which way was south.
+
+So Boris went out on the street. He walked to the corner and waited to
+go across.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse,
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+He waited another minute.
+
+    Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;
+    Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;
+    Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.
+
+He stood there a long time watching the stream of autos and horses and
+trucks go by. And he thought; "I'll never get home if I have to go as
+slowly as this.
+
+    "Dear me! dear me!
+     What shall I do?
+     The're so many things
+     I'll never get through!"
+
+And for all he was so smart he was a very little boy and he began to cry
+for his legs were tired and he was a little frightened, too.
+
+Just then what do you suppose he saw? Down the street way up in the air
+on a kind of trestle, he saw a train of cars tearing by. "That's just
+what I want! That train doesn't have to stop for autos and horses and
+things!" thought Boris and he ran down the street. When he got to the
+high trestle, there was a long flight of stairs. Up the steps went
+Boris. At the top he found another funny little room with a window in it
+and a man looking out. This time he knew just what to do. He stood on
+tiptoe and gave the man 5 cents and the man handed him a little red
+piece of paper. Boris took it, walked through a little gate, stood on
+tiptoe and dropped the ticket into another funny little box and another
+man moved the handle up and down and his ticket dropped down. And what
+do you suppose he saw from the platform? Tracks again! Tracks stretching
+out in both directions. He didn't have to wait on the platform long
+before he heard the train coming. It seemed to say:
+
+"I'm the elevated train, I'm the elevated train, I'm the elevated,
+elevated, elevated train!" It stopped right in front of Boris and Boris
+got into the front car again. Here was another man in another little box
+room moving more levers and making this train stop and go. And Boris
+could look right out in front and see the stations before he reached
+them. He could see bridges before they tore under them; he could look
+down and see the horses and the autos and the trucks. He smiled as he
+saw how slowly they had to go while he was racing along above them.
+
+So Boris was quite happy and sat very still and watched out of the
+window. Suddenly he heard the conductor call "Fourteenth Street!" Now
+that was one of the few English words that Boris knew for he lived on
+14th Street. Now he was pleased for he knew he was near home. So he got
+off the car, ran down the long, long steps and found himself on the
+street. Down 14th Street he ran until he came to his house.
+
+"Well," called his mother. "You've been gone a long time! What did you
+see on the streets?"
+
+Boris smiled. "I haven't been _on_ the streets much mother."
+
+His mother was surprised. "Where have you been if you haven't been on
+the streets?" she asked.
+
+Boris laughed and laughed. "There were so many things on the streets, so
+many autos and horses and trucks," he said, "that I couldn't go fast. So
+I found a wonderful train _under_ the streets and I went out on that.
+And I found a wonderful train _over_ the streets and I came home on
+that!"
+
+"Well, well," said his mother. "Trains under and trains over! Think of
+that!" And Boris did think of them much. And when he was in bed that
+night, he seemed to hear this little song about them:
+
+      "Now out on the streets
+       There everything meets
+    And they're all in a hurry to go.
+       But what can they do
+       For they can't get through
+    And all are so terribly slow?
+
+      "But under the street
+       Where nothing can meet
+    The subway goes rackety, klack!
+       It can dash and can race,
+       It can flash and can chase,
+    For there's nothing ahead on the track.
+
+      "And over the street
+       Where nothing can meet
+    Is a wonderful train indeed!
+       High up the stair
+       Way up in the air
+    It goes at remarkable speed."
+
+
+
+
+BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK
+
+
+PART 1
+
+One morning when Boris was eating his breakfast, he suddenly thought of
+the wide green country around his old home in Russia. I don't know what
+made him think of it. He just did! "Mother," he said, "I want to see
+some grass."
+
+His mother smiled. "Want to go to the Park, Boris?" she asked.
+
+"No, more grass than that even. I want to see it everywhere," and Boris
+waved his arms around. "I think I'll go and find lots and lots of it!"
+
+"I'd like to see lots and lots of grass too, Boris," smiled his mother.
+But her eyes were full of tears too! "But I don't know where you can go
+in New York and see grass everywhere!"
+
+"Then I'll go out of New York!" cried Boris. "If I walk far enough I'll
+surely find grass, won't I?"
+
+"You can try," answered his mother. Boris was now much bigger than when
+he came to New York and could talk quite a little English too. So his
+mother let him walk over the city alone. Boris clapped his hands! For
+though he was much bigger, he was still a little boy, you know!
+
+"Which way had I better go?" thought Boris when he was out on the
+street. "I think I'll go west first." So he walked west. Though the
+streets were crowded he had learned to go faster than when he took his
+first walk and discovered the subway and elevated. West, west, west he
+went. Street after street,--houses set close together all the way. Then
+at last he saw something that made him run. The city came to an end! And
+there was a big river, oh! such an enormous river! The edge of the river
+was all docks,--docks as far as he could look. Across on the other side
+he could see another city with big chimneys and lots and lots of smoke.
+There were lots of boats in the river too. "Some day I'll come and watch
+them," thought Boris excitedly, "but now I want to find my grass." So he
+turned around. "I'll have to go east, I guess," he thought.
+
+So east he went. East he went until he came to his house. But he did not
+stop. He went right by it. "How many houses there are" he thought. "How
+many people there must be!" And still he walked east. And still the
+houses were set close together street after street. After a while he saw
+something that made him run again. The city came to an end! And there
+was another big river! This edge too was all docks,--docks as far as he
+could look. Across on the other side he could see another city with big
+chimneys and lots of smoke. "Well," thought Boris, "isn't it the
+funniest thing that when I walk west I come to a river and when I walk
+east I come to a river too!"
+
+Now this puzzled him so that he thought he must ask somebody about it.
+Close to him was a big dock and at the dock was a flat barge. A lot of
+men were unloading coal from her. He walked up to one. "Please," he
+said, "what river is this?"
+
+The man stopped his work for a minute. "It's the East River of course.
+Where do you come from, boy?"
+
+"From Russia," said Boris, "so you see I didn't know. And please, is the
+other river the West River then?"
+
+"What other river, boy? What are you talking about?"
+
+This made Boris feel very uncomfortable, but he knew there was another
+river in the west for hadn't he just walked there? So he said bravely,
+"If you keep walking west you _do_ come to another river. I know you do!
+For I've done it. And it's a bigger river than this, too!"
+
+The man laughed out loud. "Right you are, boy!" he said. "You're a great
+walker, you are. Did you walk all the way from Russia?" Now Boris
+thought the man couldn't know very much to ask him such a question. But,
+then, he didn't know much either. He was asking questions too! So he
+answered, "Oh! no! I came on an enormous boat. But please you haven't
+told me the name of the other river?"
+
+The man laughed louder than ever. "It's a funny thing, boy, that we call
+it the North River. But you are right: it _is_ west! It's really the
+Hudson River, boy, that's what it is. And a mighty big river it is too.
+Want to know anything more?" And the man turned back to his work.
+
+"Well," thought Boris. "I can't get to my grass today if I strike rivers
+everywhere I go." And he turned and walked home slowly, because he was
+sorry. And he was very, very tired too. For you see he had walked all
+the way across the city twice and that is a pretty long walk even for a
+boy the size of Boris.
+
+    Boris, he went out to walk
+      To find the country wide.
+    And he walked west and west he walked
+      But found the Hudson wide!
+    And so he turned himself about
+      And walked the other way
+    And he walked east and east he walked
+      And there East River lay!
+
+
+PART 2
+
+The next morning at breakfast, Boris suddenly thought again of the wide
+green country around his old home in Russia. I don't know why he thought
+of it again. He just did! And then he thought of the Hudson River he had
+found by walking west and of the East River he had found by walking
+east. "I might try walking north this time," he thought. And so he said
+to his mother, "I think I'll go on another hunt for grass,--grass that's
+everywhere!" and again he waved his arms.
+
+"All right," answered his mother. "But I'm afraid you'll have to walk a
+long way to find grass everywhere!"
+
+Out on the street he began to walk north. Then he remembered what a long
+long ride north in the subway he had had the other day. "I'd better
+take something if I want to get to the country wide," he thought.
+
+So Boris went down to the subway and took the train. He rode for ever
+and ever so long. He kept wondering if there were still houses above him
+or if it was all grass,--lots and lots of grass. "I guess I'll go up and
+see," he thought. So up he went at the next station. But there were
+still houses everywhere. They weren't so high nor quite so close
+together; but still there was no grass. So he kept on walking north.
+Then he saw something that made him run. He could hardly believe his
+eyes. There was _another river_! "Oh! dear! oh! dear!" thought Boris.
+"I'll never in the world find the country wide if I strike a river
+whatever way I go. I think I'll take the subway and go way, way south.
+Surely I can get through that way. West a river, east a river, north a
+river. Yes, I'll go south!"
+
+So again Boris went down to the subway and took a train going south. He
+stayed on it so long that he thought he must surely be way out in the
+country wide under grass, grass, everywhere. "I guess I'll go up and
+see," he thought.
+
+So up he went at the next station. But when he came up he found himself
+on a street. There were high buildings all around him. He began to walk
+south. The farther he walked, the higher the buildings he found. At last
+he came to a place where the buildings reached up, up, up,--up to the
+clouds, he thought. He threw back his head to look at them,--so high
+above him that it made him almost dizzy to look at their tops. He wasn't
+sure they weren't going to fall either! Then he looked down again. And
+what did he see at the end of the street? Trees, yes, green trees!
+"Perhaps I am coming to the wide green country," he thought. And he
+hurried on.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+But when he got to the trees he saw that the city came to an end again.
+And what a wonderful end it was too! All around him was water,--water so
+full of boats that it made Boris gasp. When he looked to the west he
+could see a great river with another city on the other side. "That's the
+Hudson," thought Boris for he remembered what the coal man had told him.
+When he looked to the east he could see another great river. "That's the
+East River," he thought for he remembered that name too.
+
+But what river was that out in front of him? Then suddenly Boris
+remembered. That was New York Harbor! This was where he had landed when
+he had come in the giant steamer from Russia! Out there was Ellis Island
+where he had stayed with his father and his mother and his sisters and
+his brothers until they had been looked at! He thought he could see
+Ellis Island from where he stood. But there were so many islands he
+couldn't be sure. But he _could_ see the Statue of Liberty, that
+enormous woman holding a torch in her hand. He was sure of that. And he
+could see the boats everywhere all over the harbor. Boris stood there
+some time just staring and listening and staring.
+
+    When Boris he went out again
+      To find the country wide
+    And he went north and north he went
+      To Harlem River's side.
+
+    Again he turned himself about
+      And went the other way
+    And he went south and south he went
+      And there the harbor lay!
+
+
+PART 3
+
+Suddenly Boris remembered what he had come for. He was looking for the
+wide green country, for a place where grass grew everywhere. "This is
+the funniest thing in the world," he thought scratching his head.
+"Wherever I walk in New York I come to water. So many people and water
+on every side of them! How do they ever get out?" As soon as he thought
+of this, he began to look around. Across the East River he could see a
+giant bridge leaping from New York over to another city and on the
+bridge were trains and cars shooting back and forth and autos and horses
+and people. "So that is the way they get out!" he thought.
+
+Then he looked to the west, to the Hudson River. "No bridges there!" he
+said. "It's too wide." Then he suddenly remembered the ferry boat that
+had brought him from Ellis Island. "Ferry boats, of course," he thought.
+And sure enough there were ferry boats and ferry boats going back and
+forth from New York to the other side and to the little islands out in
+the harbor too!
+
+Now Boris walked along thinking hard about all this water all around New
+York. Just then he noticed a lot of people coming up out of a hole in
+the sidewalk. "The Subway," he thought, for you remember he had been on
+the subway. But the name over the steps didn't spell "subway." He looked
+at it for a long time. At last he could read it. "Hudson Tubes" it said.
+Hudson Tubes? What could that mean? Boris wanted to know. So he walked
+right up to a woman coming out of the hole.
+
+"What are the Hudson Tubes and where do they take you?" he asked.
+
+The woman laughed. "They take you to New Jersey, of course," she said.
+
+"Is that over there?" Boris asked, pointing across the Hudson. "And do
+they really go under the Hudson River?"
+
+"Yes, to be sure they do. Where do you want to go?" she answered and
+then Boris remembered what he had been hunting for. "I want to go to a
+wide green country where there is grass everywhere. But every way I walk
+in New York I come to water. I know because I've walked east and I've
+walked west and I've walked north and I've walked south," he said,
+feeling a little like crying for he was very tired and he _was_ only a
+little boy too. The woman smiled and she looked nice when she smiled.
+"You see, boy," she said, "New York is an island, so of course, you come
+to water every way you walk. And it's so full of people that there isn't
+any wide green country left,--except the Parks of course."
+
+"Yes, I know the Parks," said Boris, "but that isn't quite what I mean!"
+
+The woman smiled again. "There _is_ a wide green country when you get
+out of the island," she said. "You'll find it some day I'm sure," and
+then the woman hurried away. Boris was very, very tired. So he took the
+subway home. When he came in his mother called out, "Did you find the
+wide green country, Boris?"
+
+"No," said Boris, "I couldn't, you see. Because what do you think New
+York is?"
+
+"What do I think New York is, Boris? Why, it's the biggest city in the
+world!"
+
+"That's not what I mean. What do you think it _is_? What is it built on
+I mean?"
+
+"What is it built on? On good sound rock I suppose!"
+
+Boris laughed and laughed. "No, no," he said. "I mean it's an island.
+Every way you walk, if you walk long enough, you come to water. Now
+isn't that the funniest thing?" And Boris's mother thought it was funny
+too.
+
+"So many people and all to live on an island!" she kept saying to
+herself. "I should think it would make them a lot of work!"
+
+And Boris who remembered the bridges and the ferry boats and the "tubes"
+thought so too!
+
+    Boris, he went out to walk
+      To find the country wide
+    And he walked west and west he walked
+      But he found the Hudson wide!
+    And so he turned himself about
+      And walked the other way
+    And he walked east and east he walked
+      And there East River lay!
+
+    But Boris he went out again
+      To find the country wide
+    And he went north and north he went
+      To Harlem River's side.
+    Again he turned himself about
+      And went the other way
+    And he went south and south he went
+      And there the harbor lay!
+
+    Then Boris scratched his head and thought:
+      "Whatever way I go
+    There's always water at the end
+      Whatever way I go!
+    New York must be an island
+      An island it must be
+    So many people all shut in
+      By rivers and by sea!
+
+    They've bridges and they've ferry boats
+      Across the top to go;
+    They've subways and they've Hudson tubes
+      To burrow down below
+    To get things in, to get things out
+      How busy they must be!
+    In that enormous big New York
+      On rivers and on sea!"
+
+
+
+
+                                                            SPEED
+
+
+This story is a definite attempt to make the child aware of a new
+relationship in his familiar environment.
+
+The verse is for the older children. The story has lent itself well to
+dramatization.
+
+
+
+
+SPEED
+
+
+Once there was a big beautiful white ox. His back was broad, his horns
+were long and his eyes were large and gentle. He went slowly sauntering
+down the road one sunshiny summer day. As he walked along he swung from
+side to side carefully putting down his small feet. And this is what he
+thought:
+
+"I am pleased with myself--so large, so broad, so strong am I. Is there
+anyone else who can pull so heavy a load? Is there anyone else who can
+plow so straight a furrow? What would the world do without me?"
+
+Just then he heard something tearing along the road behind him.
+"Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty." In a moment up dashed a
+big, black horse.
+
+"Greetings," lowed the ox, slowly turning his large gentle eyes on the
+excited horse. "Why such haste, my brother?" The horse tossed his mane.
+"I'm in a hurry," he snorted, "because I'm made to go fast. Why, I can
+go ten miles while you crawl one! The world has no more use for a great
+white snail like you. But if you want speed, I'm just what you need.
+Watch how fast I go!" and clopperty, clopperty he was off down the road.
+As the ox watched the horse disappear he thought of what he had heard.
+
+"He called me a great white snail! He said he could go ten miles while I
+crawled one! Surely this swift horse is more wonderful than I!"
+
+Now as the horse went frisking along this is what he thought. "I am
+pleased with myself. I am sleek, I am swift--swifter than the ox. What
+would the world do without me?"
+
+Just then he heard a strange humming overhead. He glanced up. The sound
+came from a wire taut and vibrating. Then he heard fast turning wheels
+coming "Kathump, kathump." And what do you think that poor frightened
+horse saw coming along the road? A self-moving car with a trolley
+overhead touching the singing wire! His eyes stuck out of his head and
+his mane stood on end he was so scared. What made it go, he wondered.
+
+"Hello, clodhopper," shrieked the electric car. "I didn't know there
+were any of you four-footed curiosities left. Surely the world has no
+more use for you. Where you go in half a day, I go in an hour; where you
+carry one man, I carry ten. If you want speed I'm just what you need.
+Just watch me!" He was gone leaving only the humming wire overhead. The
+poor horse thought of what he had heard.
+
+"He called me a clodhopper! He said he could go in an hour where I take
+half a day! Surely this swift car is more wonderful than I!"
+
+Now the trolley went swinging on his way thinking, "I am pleased with
+myself. My power is the same as the lightning that rips the sky. I am
+swift,--swifter than the ox--swifter than the horse. What would the
+world do without me?"
+
+Just then he heard a terrifying noise. It sounded like a mightly monster
+coughing his life away. "Chug, a chug a chug a chug, chug." Then to his
+horror he saw coming across the green field a gigantic iron creature
+with black smoke and fiery sparks streaming from a nose on top of his
+head.
+
+"Well, slowpoke," screamed the engine as he came near the car. "Out o'
+breath? No wonder. You're not made to go fast like me, for I move by the
+great power of steam. Look at my monstrous boilers; see my hot fire.
+Where you go in half a day, I go in an hour; where you carry one man I
+carry twenty. If you want speed I'm just what you need! Goodbye. Take
+your time, slow coach." And chug, chug, he was off leaving only a trail
+of dirty smoke behind him. The poor trolley car thought of what he had
+heard.
+
+"He called me a slowpoke! He said he could go in an hour where I take a
+half day! Surely this ugly engine is greater than I!"
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Now the engine raced down to the freight depot which was near the great
+shipping docks. As he waited to be loaded he thought:
+
+"I am pleased with myself. I am swift--swifter than the ox, swifter than
+the horse, swifter than the electric car. What would the world do
+without me? I serve everyone, I go everywhere----"
+
+Just here he was interrupted by the deep booming voice of a freight
+steamer lying alongside the wharf. "Tooooot" is what the voice said,
+"you ridiculous landlubber! You go everywhere? What about the water? Can
+you go to France and back again? It's only I who can haul the world's
+goods across the ocean! And even where you _can_ go, you never get
+trusted if they can possibly trust me, now do you? Did you ever think
+why men use river steamers instead of you? Did you ever think why men
+cut the great Panama Canal so that sea could flow into sea? Well, it's
+simply because they're smart and prefer me to you when they can get me.
+You eat too much coal with your speed,--that's what the trouble is with
+you--you ridiculous landlubber!"
+
+This long speech made the old steamer quite hoarse so he cleared his
+throat with a long "Toooot" and sank into silence.
+
+"Of course, what he says is true," thought the engine. "At the same time
+it is equally true that _on land_ I _do_ serve everyone, I go
+everywhere----"
+
+Just here he was interrupted again by a most unexpected noise. It
+sounded half like a steel giggle, half like a brass hiccough. It
+made the engine uneasy. He was sure someone was laughing at him.
+Majestically he turned his headlight till it lighted up a funny little
+automobile who was laughing and laughing and shaking frantically like
+this and going "zzzzz."
+
+"You silly little road beetle," shouted the great engine, "what on
+earth's the matter with you?"
+
+The automobile gave one violent shake, turned off his spark and said in
+an orderly voice, "It struck my funny bone to hear you say you went
+everywhere _on land_, that's all. Don't you realize you're an old fuss
+budget with your steam and your boiler and your fire and what not?
+You're tied to your rails and if everything about your old tracks isn't
+kept just so you tumble over into a ditch or do some fool thing. Now I'm
+the one that can endure real hardships. Sparks and gasoline! you just
+sit right there, you baby, you railclinger, and watch me take that hill!
+Honk, honk!" And he was off up the hill.
+
+The engine slowly turned back his headlight till the light shone full on
+his shiny rails. He thought of what he had heard. "He called me a
+railclinger--yes, that I am. How can that preposterous little beetle run
+without tracks? I'm afraid he's more wonderful than I."
+
+Now the automobile went jouncing and bouncing up the rough road puffing
+merrily and thinking, "I'm mightily pleased with myself. Look at the way
+I climb this hill. There's nothing really so wonderful as I----"
+
+Just then he heard a sound that made his engine boil with fright.
+Dzdzdzdzdzr--it seemed to come right out of the sky. He got all his
+courage together and turned his searchlights up. The sight instantly
+killed his engine. Above him soared a giant aeroplane. It floated, it
+wheeled, it rose, it dropped. It looked serene, strong and swift. Down,
+down came the great thing. Through the terrific droning the automobile
+could just make out these words:
+
+"Dzdzdzdz. You think you're wonderful, you poor little creeping worm
+tied to the earth! I pity all you slow, slow things that I look down on
+as I fly through the sky. Ox made way for horse, horse made way for
+engine, car and auto but all,--all make way for me. For if you want
+speed, I'm just what you need. Dzdzdzdzdz."
+
+And the great aeroplane wheeled and rose like a giant bird. The
+automobile watched him, too humbled to speak. Up, up, up, went the
+aeroplane--up, up, up 'til it was out of sight.
+
+
+
+
+SPEED
+
+
+    The hounds they speed with hanging tongues;
+    The deer they speed with bursting lungs;
+        Foxes hurry,
+        Field mice scurry.
+        Eagles fly
+        Swift, through the sky,
+    And man, his face all wrinkled with worry,
+    Goes speeding by tho' he couldn't tell why!
+        But a little wild hare
+        He pauses to stare
+        At the daisies and baby and me
+        Just sitting,--not trying to go anywhere,
+        Just sitting and playing with never a care
+        In the shade of a great elm tree.
+        And the daisies they laugh
+        As they hear the world pass,
+        What is speed to the growing flowers?
+        And my baby laughs
+        As he sits in the grass,
+        We all laugh through the sunshiny hours,--
+        Through the long, dear sunshiny hours!
+        For flowers and babies
+        And I still know
+        'Tis fun to be happy,
+        'Tis fun to go slow,
+        'Tis fun to take time to live and to grow.
+
+
+
+
+                                               FIVE LITTLE BABIES
+
+
+This story was originally written because the children thought a negro
+was dirty. The songs are authentic. They have been enjoyed by children
+as young as four years old.
+
+
+
+
+FIVE LITTLE BABIES
+
+
+This is going to be a story about some little babies,--five different
+little babies who were born in five different parts of this big round
+world and didn't look alike or think alike at all.
+
+One little baby was all yellow. He just came that way. His eyes were
+black and slanted up in his little face. His hair was black and
+straight. He wore gay little silk coats and gay little silk trousers
+with flowers and figures sewed all over them. When he looked up he saw
+his father's face was yellow and so was his mother's. And his father's
+hair was black and so was his mother's. And when he was a little older
+he saw they both wore gay silk coats and gay silk trousers with flowers
+and figures sewed all over them. But the baby didn't think any of this
+was queer,--not even when he grew up. For every one he knew had yellow
+skin and wore silk coats and trousers. So of course he thought all the
+world was that way.
+
+But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew
+his mother loved her little yellow baby with slanting black eyes. And
+he loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying:
+
+    "Chu Sir Tsun Ching Min. Tsoun Sun
+     Gi Gi. Koo Yin Fee Min Kwei
+     Hua Shiang Lee Pan Run Yin.
+     Fon Chin Yoa Sir. Loo Yi To
+     Choa Yeo Liang Sung. Tsun Tze
+     Doo Soo Soo Wei Gun. Tsin Tsin."
+
+For all this happened in China and he was a little Chinese Baby.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+Another little baby was all brown. He just came that way. His eyes were
+black and his hair was black. He wore pretty colored silk shawls and
+little silk dresses. And when he looked up he saw his father's face was
+brown and that he wore a big turban on his head. And he saw that around
+his mother's brown face was long soft hair. He saw that she wore pretty
+colored silk shawls and long silk trousers and bare feet. But the baby
+didn't think any of this was queer,--even when he grew up. He thought
+every one had brown skin and that everybody dressed like himself and his
+father and his mother.
+
+But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he
+knew his mother loved her little brown baby with black eyes. And he
+loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying:
+
+    "Arecoco Jarecoco, Jungle parkie bare,
+     Marabata cunecomunga dumrecarto sare,
+     Hillee milee puneah jara de naddeah,
+     Arecoco Jarecoco Jungle parkie bare."
+
+For all this happened in India and he was a little Indian baby.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+Now another little baby was all black. He just came that way. His eyes
+were black and his hair was black and curled in tight kinky curls all
+over his little head. And this little baby didn't wear anything at all
+except a loin cloth. When he looked up he saw the black faces and kinky
+black hair of his father and his mother. And when he was a little older
+he saw that they didn't wear any clothes either except a loin cloth and
+a feather skirt and some shells. Neither did this baby think any of this
+was queer,--not even when he grew older. He thought all the world looked
+and dressed like that.
+
+But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he knew
+his mother loved her little black baby with kinky black hair. And he
+loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying,
+
+    "O tula, mntwana, O tula,
+     Unyoko akamuko,
+     Usele ezintabeni,
+     Uhlu shwa izigwegwe,
+                   Iwa.
+
+     O tula, mntwana, O tula,
+     Unyoko w-zezobuya,
+     Akupatele into enhle,
+                   Iwa."
+
+For all this happened in Africa and he was a little negro baby.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+Still another little baby,--he was the fourth,--was all red. He just
+came that way. His eyes were black and his hair was straight and black.
+He was bound up tight and slipped into a basket and carried around on
+his mother's back. He didn't think this was queer, even when he grew up.
+He thought all little babies were carried that way. And he thought all
+fathers and mothers had red skin and black hair and wore leather coats
+and trousers trimmed with feathers. For his did.
+
+But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew
+his mother loved her little red baby that she carried on her back, and
+he loved to have her take him out of his basket bed and rock him in her
+arms and sing to him, saying:
+
+     "Cheda-e
+    Nakahu-kalu
+      Be-be!
+    Nakahu-kalu
+      Be-be!
+      E-Be-be!"
+
+For all this happened in America long, long ago, and he was a little
+Indian baby.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+The last little baby, and he makes five, was all white. He just came
+so too. His eyes were blue and his hair was gold and he looked like a
+little baby you know. And he wore dear little white dresses and little
+knitted shoes. When he looked up he saw his father's white skin and his
+mother's blue eyes. When the baby was big enough he saw what kind of
+clothes his father and his mother wore,--but the story doesn't tell what
+they were like. And when the baby was big enough he saw they all lived
+in a big dirty noisy city, but the story doesn't tell what kind of a
+house they lived in. And the story doesn't tell whether he thought any
+of these things queer when he was little or when he grew up; probably
+because you know all these things yourselves. But the story does tell
+that long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he
+knew his mother loved her little white baby with blue eyes and golden
+hair. And it tells that he loved to have her rock him in her arms and
+sing to him this song:
+
+    "Listen, wee baby,
+     I'd sing you a song;
+     The arms of the mothers
+     Are tender and strong,
+     The arms of the mothers
+     Where babies belong!
+     Brown mothers and yellow
+     And black and red too,
+     They love their babies
+     As I, dear, love you,--
+     My little white blossom
+     With wide eyes of blue!
+     And your wee golden head,
+     I do love it, I do!
+     And your feet and your hands
+     I love you there too!
+     And my love makes me sing to you
+     Sing to you songs,
+     Lying hushed in my arms
+     Where a baby belongs!"
+
+For all this is happening in your own country every day and he is a
+little American baby. Perhaps you know his father,--perhaps you know the
+baby,--perhaps, oh, perhaps, you have heard his mother sing!
+
+
+
+
+                                    ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY
+
+
+This story made a special appeal to the school children because the
+school building was originally a stable in MacDougal Alley. They had
+even witnessed this evolution from stable to garage. The children have
+seemed to enjoy the rhythmic language without any sense of
+strangeness.
+
+
+
+
+ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY
+
+
+   Once the barn was full of hay,
+   Now 'tis there no more.
+   I wonder why the hay has left the barn?
+
+   The old horse stood in the stall all day.
+   He wanted to be on the streets.
+   He was strong, was this old horse.
+   He was wise, was this old horse.
+   And he was brave as well.
+   And he was proud, oh, very proud to be strong and wise and brave!
+   He wanted to be on the streets,
+   And he wondered what was wrong
+   That now for ten long days
+   No one had to come harness him up.
+   Old Tom, the aged driver, seemed to have gone away,
+   And only the stable boy had given him water and oats,
+   And poked him hay from the loft above.
+   And as the old horse thought of this
+   He reached up high with his quivering nose,
+   And pushing his lips far back on his teeth,
+   Pulled down a mouthful of hay.
+   But as he stood chewing the hay
+   Again he wondered and wondered again
+   Why nobody needed him,
+   Why nobody wished to drive.
+
+   For almost every day
+   Old Tom would harness him up
+   To a dear little, neat little, sweet little carriage
+   And down the alley they'd go and around to the front of the house.
+   And there he'd stand and wait, this dear, this steady old horse,
+   Flicking the flies with his tail,
+   Till the door of the house would open wide
+   And out would come his mistress dear with the baby in her arms,
+   And running along beside
+   Would come her little boy, the little boy he loved so well,
+   Who gave him sugar from his hand and patted his nose and neck.
+   And into the carriage they all would get,
+   His mistress and baby and little boy.
+   And Tom would tighten the reins a bit
+   And off down the street they'd go,
+   Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clop.
+   When he was out on the streets,--
+   This dear old, steady old horse,--
+   He knew just what to do, when to go and when to stand still.
+   And when with clang! clang! clang!
+   Fire engines shrieked down the street
+   He'd stand as still as a rock
+   So his mistress and her baby were never frightened a bit!
+   And the little boy laughed and watched and laughed!
+   And when the great policeman, so big in the middle of the street,
+   Held up his hand,
+   The old horse stopped
+   But watched him close
+   For the first wave of the hand that would tell him to go ahead.
+   Always the first to stop,
+   Always the first to go,
+   The old horse loved the streets.
+
+   Now he wanted the streets.
+   And while he stood and chewed his hay and wondered what was wrong,
+   Suddenly there came a rumble
+   Of noises all a-jumble,
+   A quaking and a shaking
+   A terrifying tremble
+   Making the old horse quiver and stand still!
+   It came from the alley,
+   His own peaceful alley
+   Where he knew every horse, every coach, every wagon!
+   Bump, thump, like a lump of lead jolting,
+   Bang, whang, like a steam engine bolting,
+   Down it came crashing
+   Down it came smashing,
+   Till it stopped with a snort at his own stable door!
+   The old horse pulled at his halter
+   And strained to look round at the door.
+   Out of the tail of his eye he could see
+   The doors, the doors to his very own barn,
+   Swing wide under the crane where they hoisted the hay.
+   And there in the alley, oh what did he see
+   This old horse with his terrified eye?
+   A monster all shiny and black
+   With great headlights stuck way out in front,
+   With brass things that grated and groaned
+   As the driver pulled this thing and that.
+   And there on the back of this monster
+   Sat old Tom
+   Who had driven him now for fifteen long years.
+   And out of the mouth of the monster, as there opened a neat little door,
+   Stepped his mistress dear
+   With her eager little boy and the baby in her arms.
+   And the poor horse trembled to see those that he loved so well
+   So near this terrible monster.
+   "'Twill eat them all!" he thought.
+   And for the first time in all his brave and prudent life
+   The old horse was frightened.
+   He raised his head,
+   He spread his nostrils,
+   He neighed with all his strength.
+   His mistress dear
+   Would surely hear,
+   Would hear and understand!
+   He wanted to save her, save the boy and save the little baby
+   From this terrible ugly beast
+   Snorting there so near!
+   And his mistress dear, she heard.
+   But did she understand?
+   She came and laid her hand upon his quivering side.
+   "Poor dear old horse," she said,
+   "Your day is gone and you must go!"
+   What could she mean?
+   What could she mean?
+   What could she mean?
+   "You have been strong; but not so strong as is our new machine!
+   You have been brave; but see this thing, this thing can know no fear!
+   You have been wise; but this machine is like a part of Tom.
+   He pulls a lever, turns a wheel and this machine obeys!
+   Poor dear old horse
+   Your day is gone
+   And now you too must go!"
+   So that was what she meant!
+   So that was what she meant!
+   So that was what she meant!
+
+                   *       *       *
+
+   The old horse heard but how could he understand?
+   How could he know that she had said
+   They wanted him no longer?
+   How could he know that this big monster, this new automobile
+   Was going to do his work for them
+   And do it better than he!
+   He knew that something was wrong.
+   He was puzzled and sad and frightened.
+   With head drooped low and feet that dragged
+   He let old Tom untie his rope
+   And lead him from the stall.
+   For one short moment as he passed the shiny automobile
+   He straightened his head and widened his nostrils
+   And snorted and snorted again.
+   But there within the monster, lying safe upon a seat,
+   He saw the little baby
+   Laughing and all alone.
+   And the old horse was puzzled, was puzzled and frightened too.
+   Then old Tom pulled him gently through the wide swinging doors
+   And led him down the alley.
+   Past the stables with other horses,
+   Past the grooms and stable boys,
+   Down the alley he knew so well
+   Went the old horse for the last time.
+   For he never came back again.
+   They had no need of him; they liked their auto better!
+   Down the alley he slowly went
+   And as he turned into the street below
+   One last long look he gave to the stable at the end,
+   One last long look at his mistress dear with the baby in her arms,
+   One last long look at the little boy waving and
+       calling: "Goodbye, goodbye".
+   One last long look, and then he was gone!
+
+   Once the barn was full of hay:
+   Now 'tis there no more.
+   I wonder why the hay has left the barn?
+
+
+
+
+                                                         THE WIND
+
+
+This story is composed entirely of observations on the wind dictated by
+a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class. Every phrase (except the one
+word "toss") is theirs. The ordering only is mine.
+
+
+
+
+THE WIND
+
+
+    In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing,
+    But in a winter storm it growls and roars.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Sometimes the wind goes oo-oo-oo-oo-oo! It sounds like water running. It
+makes a singing sound. It blows through the grass. It blows against the
+tree and the tree bows over and bends way down. It whistles in the
+leaves and makes a rustling sound. The tree shakes, the branches and
+leaves all rustle. The wind knocks the leaves off the trees and tosses
+them up in the air. Then it blows them straight in to the window and
+drags them around on the floor. It makes the leaves whirl and twirl.
+
+And sometimes the wind is frisky. It whisks around the corners. It comes
+blowing down the street. It blows the papers round and round on the
+ground. It tears them and rares them, then up, it takes them sailing. It
+sweeps around the house, blowing and puffing. It blows the wash up. It
+blows the chickens off the trees. It makes the nuts come rattling down.
+It turns the windmill and makes the fire burn. It blows out the matches,
+it blows out the candles, it blows out the gas lights. It hits the
+people on the street. Some it keeps back from walking and some it
+pushes forward. It unbuttons the coat of a little girl, it unbuttons her
+leggings too and the little girl feels all chilly in the frisky wind. It
+blows up her skirt. It pulls off her hat and blows through her hair till
+she feels all chilly on her head too. Puff! it goes, puff! puff! Then
+off go other hats spinning down the street. It gets under umbrellas and
+turns them inside out. The frisky wind blows harder and harder. The
+houses shake. The windows rattle. And the people on the street are
+whirling and twirling like the leaves.
+
+Sometimes there is a storm. The wind roars over the ocean and makes the
+waves bigger than the ships. The waves go up and down, and up and down,
+and the ship goes rocking and rocking, this way and that way, this way
+and that way, to the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, back
+and forth and back and forth. A boat gets tossed on the sea. The sails
+are all torn to pieces by the storm. The masts get broken off and fall
+down on the ship. The ship just rocks and rocks. Then pretty soon it
+bumps into a rock and is wrecked and sinks. And all the men get drowned.
+
+The wind growls and roars over the mountain. There is thunder and
+lightning. The thunder says, "Boompety, boom, boom, boom!" The lightning
+is all shiny. The rain comes pouring down. The wind whistles in the
+trees. It blows a tree over. It crashes down. The lightning goes crack!
+and splits the tree in two. And then the tree catches on fire and the
+leaves burn like paper.
+
+    In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing,
+    But in a winter storm it growls and roars.
+
+
+
+
+                                                   THE LEAF STORY
+
+
+All the content and many of the expressions were taken from stories on
+dried leaves dictated by a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class.
+
+
+
+
+THE LEAF STORY
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+    I want to fly up in the air!
+    If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet
+    And the wind blows
+    Perhaps I'll fly up in the air!
+    Listen!
+    Something stirs in the dried leaves,
+    The tree bends, the tree bows,
+    The wind sweeps through the brown leaves.
+    The brown leaves crackle and rattle and dance,
+    They rustle and murmur and pull at the bough,
+    They shiver, they quiver till they pull themselves loose
+    And are free.
+    Up, up they fly!
+    Little brown specks in the sky.
+    They twist and they spin,
+    They whirl and they twirl,
+    They teeter, they turn somersaults in the air.
+    Then for a moment the wind holds its breath.
+    Down, down, down float the leaves,
+    Still turning and twisting,
+    Still twirling and whirling,
+    The brown leaves float to the earth.
+    Puff! goes the wind,
+    Up they fly again
+    With a little soft rustling laugh.
+    Then down they float.
+    Down, down, down.
+    On the ground the leaves go as if walking or running.
+    They go and then they stop.
+    They scurry along,
+    Still twisting and turning,
+    Still twirling and whirling,
+    They hurry along,
+    With a soft little rustle
+    They tumble, they roll and they roll.
+
+    I want to fly up in the air!
+    If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet
+    And the wind blows,
+    Perhaps I'll fly up in the air.
+
+
+
+
+A LOCOMOTIVE
+
+
+    In the daytime, what am I?
+    In the hubbub, what am I?
+    A mass of iron and of steel,
+    Of boiler, piston, throttle, wheel,
+    A monster smoking up the sky,
+        A locomotive!
+          That am I!
+
+    In the darkness, what am I?
+    In the stillness, what am I?
+    Streak of light across the sky,
+    A clanging bell, a shriek, a cry,
+    A fiery demon rushing by,
+        A locomotive
+          That am I!
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+MOON MOON
+
+(_To the tune of "Du, du, liegst mir im herzen._")
+
+
+    Moon, moon,
+      Shiny and silver,
+    Moon, moon,
+      Silver and white;
+    Moon, moon,
+      Whisper to children
+      "Sleep through the silvery night."
+    There, there, there, there,
+      Sleep through the silvery night.
+
+    Sun, sun,
+      Shiny and golden,
+    Sun, sun,
+      Golden and gay;
+    Sun, sun,
+      Shout to the children
+      "Wake to the sunshiny day!"
+    There, there, there, there,
+      Wake to the sunshiny day.
+
+
+
+
+AUTOMOBILE SONG
+
+
+    A-rolling, bowling, fast or slow,
+    A-racing, chasing, off we go.
+    The jolly automobile
+    Whizzes along with flying wheel.
+    We go chug, chug-chug, chug-up!
+    Then we go s-l-i-d-i-n-g down.
+    We go scooting over the hills,
+    We go tooting back to town.
+
+
+
+
+                                                       SILLY WILL
+
+
+In this story I have used a device to tie together many isolated
+familiar facts. I have never found that six-year-old children did not
+readily discriminate the actual from the imaginary.
+
+
+
+
+SILLY WILL
+
+
+PART 1
+
+Once there was a little boy. Now he was a very silly little boy,
+so silly that he was called Silly Will. He had an idea that he was
+tremendously smart and that he could quite well get along by himself in
+this world. This foolish idea made him do and say all sorts of silly
+things which led to all sorts of terrible happenings as this story will
+show.
+
+One day he went out walking. He walked down the road until he met a
+little girl. The little girl was crying.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.
+
+"Oh!" sobbed the little girl, "our cow has died and I don't know what
+we shall do. I don't know how we can get along without her milk and
+everything. We depended on her so!"
+
+"Depended on a cow!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing!
+I've often seen that stupid old cow of yours. Clumsy, lumbering thing!
+Cows are no good! I wouldn't depend on any animal, not I! It wouldn't
+matter to me if all the cows in the world died!" And Silly Will strutted
+off down the road.
+
+The little girl looked after him with astonishment. "I just wish no cow
+would ever give that silly boy anything!" she thought.
+
+Before long he met an old woman. The old woman was crying too.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.
+
+"Oh!" cried the old woman wringing her hands. "Our sheep has fallen over
+a cliff and broken its legs and it's going to die. I don't know how we
+shall get along without her wool for spinning. We depended so much on
+her!"
+
+"Depended on a sheep!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing!
+I've often heard your stupid old sheep bleating. Sheep are no good. I
+wouldn't depend on any animal, not I! It wouldn't matter to me if all
+the sheep in the world died!" And Silly Will strutted off down the road
+feeling very smart.
+
+The old woman looked after him greatly surprised. "Silly little boy!"
+she thought. "He little knows! I just wish no sheep would give him
+anything!"
+
+Then before long Silly Will met a man. The man was sitting beside the
+road with his face in his hands.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.
+
+The man looked up. "Oh, our horse has died!" he sighed dolefully, "and I
+don't know how we can get along without him to plow for us now that it's
+seeding time. And there's not much use getting in the seeds anyway
+without a horse to carry the grain to market when it's ripe. We depended
+so on our horse!"
+
+"Depended on a horse!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing!
+First I meet a little girl who says she depended on a cow for food: then
+I meet an old woman who says she depended on a sheep for clothes. And
+here is a man who says he depends on a horse to work and to carry for
+him! As for me, I depend on no animal, not I! It wouldn't matter to me
+if there were no animals in the world. They needn't give me anything! I
+wish they wouldn't!"
+
+The man looked at him greatly amazed. "Silly little boy!" he said. "I
+hope your silly wish will come true. How little you understand! I just
+wish tonight all the animal kingdom would leave you and then perhaps you
+would understand a little!" But Silly Will walked home feeling very
+smart, for he _didn't_ understand. Silly people never _do_ understand!
+
+Now that night a strange thing happened to Silly Will. I can't explain
+how or why it happened. But in the middle of the night, all the animals
+_did_ leave Silly Will. Not only the cow and the sheep and the horse but
+all the animal kingdom! He was sound asleep in his flannel nightgown
+snuggled under warm wool blankets. Suddenly he felt a jerk. What was
+happening? He sat up in bed just in time to see his blankets whisk off
+him and disappear. He looked down. His night shirt was gone! He heard a
+faint sound almost like the bleating of the old woman's sheep.
+"Ba-ba-a-a I take back my wool!"
+
+Then he was aware that something queer had happened to his mattress. It
+was just an empty bag of ticking. He heard a faint sound almost like the
+neighing of the man's horse who had died. "Whey-ey-ey, I take back my
+hair!"
+
+He reached for his pillow. It too was an empty sack.
+
+"Hh-ss-s-hh" hissed a faint sound almost like a goose. "I take back my
+feathers!"
+
+"Whatever is happening?" screamed Silly Will. "Let me get a light." He
+found a match and struck it, but his candlestick was empty.
+"Ba-a-moo-oo" said some faint voices. "I take back my fat!"
+
+By this time Silly Will was thoroughly frightened and shivering with
+cold besides.
+
+"I'd better get dressed," he thought, and groped his way to the chair
+where he had left his clothes. He could find only his cotton underwaist
+and his cotton shirt. His wool undershirt and drawers, his trousers and
+stockings, and his silk necktie were gone. And so were his leather
+shoes. Just the lacings lay on the floor. "Mooooo" he seemed to hear a
+faint sound almost like the little girl's cow he had made fun of in the
+afternoon. "I take back my hide."
+
+He put on the few cotton clothes that were left, but there were no
+buttons to hold them together. "Moooooo," he heard a faint voice say. "I
+take back my bones."
+
+Terrified he ran to the closet to see what more he could find. "I'll
+surely freeze," he thought as he lighted another match. "I'll slip on my
+coat and get into bed." But his warm coat with the fur collar was gone,
+too. "Chee, chee, chee," he seemed to hear a faint sound almost like the
+squirrel he was fond of frightening. "I take back my skin!"
+
+But he did find some cotton stockings and some old overalls. These he
+put on relieved to find they had metal buttons. Then poor Silly Will
+crawled back to bed wearing his cotton clothes and waited for morning to
+come. He didn't sleep much for the wire spring cut into him. He was
+cold, too.
+
+As soon as it was light he hunted around for more clothes. He found some
+straw bed-room slippers. His rubbers too were there and he put them on
+over his slippers. Then he ran downstairs to get something to eat.
+
+"Anyway," he thought, "those old animals can't get me when it comes to
+eating. I never did care much about meat."
+
+The pantry door squeaked as he opened it. It sounded for all the world
+like a far away barnyard--hens, cows, and pigs. He looked around. No
+milk, no eggs, no bacon! "Bread and butter will do me," he thought.
+
+But the butter had gone too! He opened the bread box. The bread was
+still there! He almost wept from relief. By hunting around he found a
+good deal to eat. Cocoa made with water instead of milk was pretty good.
+Then there were crackers and apples. His oatmeal wasn't very good
+without milk or butter. But he ate it. He knew he would have plenty of
+vegetables and fruits and cereals.
+
+And the day was warm enough so that he didn't mind his cotton clothes.
+But his feet did hurt him. He wondered about wooden shoes and thought he
+would try to make some.
+
+He was a little worried too about his bed. He hunted around in the house
+until he found two cotton comforters. One he put under his sheet in
+place of his mattress and one on top in place of his blankets. So, on
+the whole, he thought, he could manage to get along.
+
+Poor little Silly Will! He had never before thought how much the animals
+did for him. Once in a while he would think of the little girl and the
+old woman and the man he had met that afternoon. But not for long. And
+he never remembered that some time winter would come. But long before
+that time came, Silly Will had got himself into still more trouble. For
+even now he didn't understand!
+
+
+PART 2
+
+From this time on nothing went well with Silly Will. When he had eaten
+the vegetables he had in the house he walked over to a gardener who
+lived nearby. He wanted to get potatoes and other supplies for the
+winter. To his horror he found everything drooping and wilted and
+withered. "What's the matter with the vegetables, gardener?" asked
+Silly Will.
+
+"A frost," sighed the gardener. "It's killed all the potatoes. I hope
+you weren't depending on them?"
+
+"Oh, of course not," said Silly Will, gulping hard. "I certainly
+wouldn't depend on a vegetable. That would be too ridiculous. If the
+frost should kill all the vegetables, it would make no difference to
+me!" Nevertheless in his heart he felt unhappy and a little frightened
+at the thought of the coming winter. But still he didn't understand.
+Silly people never do understand.
+
+He walked on down the road saying to himself, "I'll go order my winter
+wood anyway. I'm almost out of it at home." Just then he looked up. He
+expected to see the green forest stretching up the hillside. He stared.
+The hillside was black smoking stumps, fallen blackened trees, white
+ashes! Beside the dead trees stood the old forester wringing his hands.
+Silly Will didn't even speak to him. He could see what had happened
+without asking. He turned around. Slowly he walked home. He went right
+to bed. He still pretended that he wasn't unhappy or frightened. He kept
+saying to himself, "I don't really depend on the wood at all. Of course
+that would be silly! I've got coal. It wouldn't matter to me if all the
+plants left me." And with that thought he fell asleep. You see even now
+he didn't understand. Silly people never do understand.
+
+Now that night another strange thing happened to Silly Will. I can't
+explain how or why it happened. But in the middle of the night all the
+plants _did_ leave Silly Will,--not only the potatoes and the trees but
+the whole vegetable kingdom.
+
+He was asleep all curled up to keep warm in his cotton clothes. Suddenly
+he felt the comforter and sheet under him jerk away and he was left
+lying on the wire spring. At the same time the comforter and sheet over
+him disappeared. So did his nightshirt. Then bang! His wooden bed was
+gone. The house began to creak and rock. He jumped up and tore down
+stairs. He just got outside the front door when the whole house
+collapsed.
+
+The moon was shining. Silly Will could see quite plainly. There stood
+the brick chimneys rising out of a pile of plaster dumped on top of the
+concrete foundations. There was the slate roof and the broken window of
+glass. The air was full of a sound like the violent trembling of many
+leaves. It sounded for all the world as if it said, "I take back my
+wood!"
+
+"Whatever will I do?" groaned Silly Will as he shivered all naked in the
+moonlight. Then his eye lighted on the kitchen stove. There it stood
+with the stove pipe all safely connected with the chimney.
+
+"I'll build a coal fire," he thought. There stood the iron coal scuttle.
+But alas! It was empty! He heard a far-away murmur like a faint wind
+stirring in giant ferns. And they said, "I take back my buried leaves!"
+
+By this time Silly Will was shaking with cold. "I've heard that
+newspapers are warm," he thought. But the pile behind the stove was
+gone. Again came the murmur of trees--"I take back my pulp," and a queer
+soft sound which he couldn't quite make out. Was it "I take back my
+cotton?"
+
+Silly Will was thoroughly terrified now.
+
+"I'll go somewhere to think," he said to himself. So he crept down the
+cement steps to the cellar and crawled into a sheltered corner. But he
+couldn't think of anything pleasant. He could hear a confused noise all
+around him. Sometimes it sounded like growls, like animal cries, like
+animal calls. "The animal kingdom has left him," it seemed to say.
+
+Again it sounded like the wind rustling a thousand leaves. "The
+vegetable kingdom has left him," it seemed to say.
+
+"I've nothing to wear," sobbed Silly Will. "And I'm afraid I've nothing
+to eat." At the thought of food he jumped up and ran over to the cellar
+pantry. He found just three things. They did not make a tempting meal!
+They were a crock of salt, a tin of soda and a porcelain pitcher of
+water.
+
+"What shall I ever do? How shall I live? I'll never have another glass
+of milk or cup of cocoa. I'll never have anything to wear. I'll freeze
+and I'll starve. I might just as well die now!" And poor little Silly
+Will broke down and cried and cried and cried.
+
+"I can't live without other living things," he sobbed. "I can't eat only
+minerals and I can't keep warm in minerals. Everybody has to depend on
+animals and vegetables. And after all I'm only a little boy! I've got to
+have living things to keep alive myself!"
+
+Then a wonderful thing happened to Silly Will. I can't explain how or
+why it happened. Suddenly he felt all warm and comfortable. "Perhaps I'm
+freezing," he thought. "I've heard that people feel warm when they are
+almost frozen to death."
+
+Slowly he put out his hand. Surely that was a linen sheet! Surely that
+was a woolen blanket. Surely he had on his flannel nightgown. He sat
+straight up. Surely this was his own bed: this was his own room: this
+was his own house. He could scarcely believe his eyes. He gave a great
+shout.
+
+"Moo-oo-oo," answered a cow under a tree outside his window. And the
+leaves of the tree rustled at him too.
+
+"Hello, old cow! Hello, old tree!" cried Silly Will running to the
+window. "Isn't it good we're all alive?" And when you think of it that
+wasn't a silly remark at all!
+
+"Moo-oo-oo," lowed the old cow. "Swish-sh-sh-sh," rustled the tree. And
+suddenly Silly Will thought he understood! I wonder if he did!
+
+
+
+
+                                                      EBEN'S COWS
+
+
+This story attempts to make an industrial process a background for real
+adventure.
+
+
+
+
+EBEN'S COWS
+
+
+PART 1
+
+Eben was looking at the cows. And the cows were looking at Eben. What
+Eben saw was twenty-six pairs of large gentle eyes, twenty-six mouths
+chewing with a queer sidewise motion, twenty-six fine fat cattle, some
+red, some white, some black, some red and white, and some black and
+white, all in a bright green meadow. What the cows saw, held by his
+mother on the rail fence, was a fat baby with a shining face and waving
+arms. What Eben heard was the heavy squashy footsteps of the slow-moving
+cows as they lumbered toward the little figure on the fence. What the
+cows heard was a high, excited little voice saying a real word for the
+first time in its life, "Cow! cow! oh, cow! oh, cow!" And so with his
+first word began Eben's life-long friendship with the cows.
+
+Eben Brewster lived in a little white farm-house with green blinds. The
+cows lived in a great long red barn, which was connected with the little
+white farm-house by a wagon-shed and tool-house. High up on the great
+red barn was printed GREEN MOUNTAIN FARM. Long before Eben knew how to
+read he knew what those big letters said, and he knew that the lovely
+rolling hills that ringed the farm around, were called the Green
+Mountains. In front of both house and barn stretched the bright green
+meadows where day after day fed the twenty-six cows. In a neighboring
+meadow played the long-legged calves. For at Green Mountain Farm there
+were always many calves. In the summer they usually had fifteen or
+twenty calves a few months old. For every cow of course had her baby
+once a year. The little bull calves they sold; but the little cow
+calves they raised.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+When Eben was three years old he made friends with the calves his own
+way. He wiggled through the bars of the gate into their pasture. The
+calves stared at him; they sniffed at him. Then they came a little
+closer. They stared at him again. They sniffed at him again. Then they
+came closer still. Then one little black and white thing came right up
+to him and licked his face and hands. And three-year-old Eben liked the
+feel of the soft nose and the rough tongue and he liked the sweet cow
+smell.
+
+So it came about that Eben played regularly with the calves. It always
+amused his father Andrew to watch them together. "I never saw a child so
+crazy about cows!" he used to say. One day he put a pretty little new
+calf,--white with red spots,--into the pasture. Eben ran to the calf at
+once. "What shall we call the calf, Eben?" asked his father. "Think of
+some nice name for her." Eben put his arms around the calf's neck and
+smiled. "I call him 'ittle Sister," he said. For little baby sister was
+the only thing three-year-old Eben loved better than a calf. And the
+name stuck to the calves of Green Mountain Farm. From that time on they
+were always called Little Sisters!
+
+Real little sister or Nancy, as she was called, grew apace. To her Eben
+was always wonderful. At six years he seemed equal to about anything. It
+did not surprise her at all one day to hear her father say, "Eben, you
+get the cows tonight." But it did surprise Eben. He had helped his
+father drive them home for years. And now he was to do it alone! Down
+the dusty road he went, switch in hand, taking such big important
+strides that the footprints of his little bare feet were almost as far
+apart as a man's. The cows stood facing the bars. He took down the bars.
+The cows filed through one by one. Nancy and her father, waiting to help
+him turn the cows in at the barn, knew he was coming. They could see the
+cloud of dust and hear the many shuffling feet and the shrill boy's
+voice calling: "Hi, Spotty, don't you stop to eat! Go 'long there,
+Crumplehorn, don't you know the way home yet! Hurry up, Redface. Can't
+you keep in the road?" Eben felt older from that day.
+
+From the day he began driving home the cows alone Eben took a real share
+in the work at the farm. He put the cows' heads into the stanchions when
+each one lumbered into her stall. He fed them hay and ensilage through
+the long winter months when the meadows were white with snow. He put
+the cans to catch the cream and the skimmed milk when his father turned
+the separator. He took the separator apart and carried it up to his
+mother to be washed. Nancy helped and talked. Only she really talked
+more than she helped!
+
+Eben's talk ran much on cows. His poor mother read all she could in the
+encyclopedia, but even then she couldn't answer all his questions. Why
+does a cow have four stomachs? Why does her food come back to be chewed?
+Why does she chew sideways? Why does she have to be milked twice a day?
+Why doesn't she get out of the way when an auto comes down the road?
+When Eben asked his father these things the farmer would shake his head
+and answer, "I guess it's just because she's a cow."
+
+There came a very exciting day at Green Mountain Farm. For twenty years
+Andrew Brewster and his men had milked his cows morning and evening. His
+hands were hard from the practice. The children loved to watch him milk.
+With every pull of his strong hands he made a fine white stream of milk
+shoot into the pail, squirt, squirt, squirt. Eben had often tried, but
+pull as he would, he could only get out a few drops. And even as Andrew
+Brewster had milked his cows morning and evening until his hands were
+horny, so had his father done before him. Yes, and his father's father,
+too. For three generations of Brewsters had hardened their hands milking
+cows on Green Mountain Farm. Then there came this exciting day, and a
+new way of milking began at the big red barn.
+
+A milking machine was put in. It ran by a wonderful little puffing
+gasolene engine. It milked two cows at once. And it milked all
+twenty-six of them in twenty minutes. Andrew Brewster could manage the
+whole herd alone with what help Eben could give him. It was a great day
+for him. It was a great day for Eben and Nancy too.
+
+
+PART 2
+
+There came another day which was even more exciting for the two children
+than when the milking machine was put into the big red barn. This story
+is really about that day. Eben was then ten years old and Nancy seven.
+Their father and mother had gone for the day to a county fair. The two
+children were to be alone all day, which made up for not going to the
+fair. The children had long since eaten the cold dinner their mother
+had left for them. They had done all their chores too. Nancy had
+gathered the eggs and Eben had chopped the kindling and brought in the
+wood. They had fed the baby chickens and given them water. Then they had
+gone to the woods for an afternoon climb over the big rocks and a wade
+in the brook. Now they were waiting for their father and mother to come
+back. They had been waiting for a long time, for it was seven o'clock.
+The last thing their mother had called out as she drove off behind the
+two old farm horses was, "We'll be back by five o'clock, children."
+
+What could have happened? "Eben," said Nancy, "we'd better eat our own
+supper and get something ready for Father and Mother. I guess I'll try
+to scramble some eggs."
+
+"Go ahead," answered Eben. "But we're not the ones I'm worrying
+about--nor Father and Mother either. It's those poor cows."
+
+"Oh! the cows!" cried Nancy. "And the poor Little Sisters! They'll be
+so hungry." Both children ran to the door. "Just listen to them," said
+Eben. "They've been waiting in the barn for over an hour now. I
+certainly wish Father would come." From the big red barn came the lowing
+of the restless cattle. "I'm going to have another look at them," said
+Eben. "Come along, Nancy."
+
+The two children peered into the big dark barn. The unmistakable cow
+smell came to them strong in the dark. Stretching down the whole length
+was stall after stall, each holding an impatient cow. The children could
+see the restless hind feet moving and stamping; they could see the
+flicking of many tails; they could feel the cows pulling at the
+stanchions. On the other side were the stalls of the Little Sisters.
+They too were moving about wildly. Over above it all rose the deafening
+sound of the plaintive lowings. By the door stood the gasolene engine.
+It was attached to a pipe which ran the whole length of the great barn
+above the cows' stalls. Eben's eyes followed this pipe until it was lost
+in the dark.
+
+"Moo-oo-oo," lowed the cow nearest at hand, so loud that both children
+jumped. "Poor old Redface," said Nancy. "I wish we could help you."
+"We're going to," said Eben in an excited voice, "See here, Nancy. We're
+going to milk these cows!" "Why, Eben Brewster, we could never do it
+alone!" Nancy's eyes went to the gasolene engine as she spoke. "We've
+got to," said Eben. "That's all there is about it."
+
+So the children began with trembling hands. They lighted two lanterns.
+"I wish the cows would stop a minute," said Nancy. "I can't seem to
+think with such a racket going on." Eben turned on the spark of the
+engine. He had done it before, but it seemed different to do it when his
+father wasn't standing near. Then he took the crank. "I hope she doesn't
+kick tonight," he wished fervently. He planted his feet firmly and
+grasped the handle! Round he swung it, around and around. Only the
+bellowing of the cows answered. He began again. Round he swung the
+handle; around and around. "Chug, chug-a-chug, chug, chug, chug-a-chug,
+chug," answered the engine. Nancy jumped with delight. "You're as good
+as a man, Eben," she cried.
+
+"Come now, bring the lantern," commanded Eben. Nancy carried the lantern
+and Eben a rubber tube. This tube Eben fastened on to the first faucet
+on the long pipe between the first two cows. This rubber tube branched
+into two and at the end of each were four hollow rubber fingers. Eben
+stuck his fingers down one. He could feel the air pull, pull, pull.
+"She's working all right, Nancy," he whispered in a shaking voice. "Put
+the pail here." Nancy obeyed. Eben took one bunch of four hollow rubber
+fingers and slipped one finger up each udder of one cow. Then he took
+the other bunch and slipped one finger up each udder of the second cow.
+The cows, feeling relief was near, quieted at once. "I can see the
+milk," screamed Nancy, watching a tiny glass window in the rubber tube.
+And sure enough, through the tube and out into the pail came a pulsing
+stream of milk. Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt. In a few minutes the two
+cows were milked and the children moved on to the next pair. Nancy
+carried the pail and Eben the rubber tube which he fastened on to the
+next faucet. And in another few minutes two more cows were milked. So
+the children went the length of the great red barn, and gradually the
+restless lowings quieted as pail after pail was filled with warm white
+milk.
+
+"I wouldn't try the separator if it weren't for the poor Little
+Sisters," said Eben anxiously as they reached the end of the barn.
+"They've got to be fed," said Nancy. "But I can't lift those pails."
+Slowly Eben carried them one by one with many rests back to the
+separator by the gasoline engine. He took the strap off one wheel and
+put it around the wheel of the separator. "I can't lift a whole pail,"
+sighed Eben. Taking a little at a time he poured the milk into the tray
+at the top of the separator. In a few minutes the yellow cream came
+pouring out of one spout and the blue skimmed milk out of another. In
+another few minutes the calves were drinking the warm skimmed milk.
+"There, Little Sisters, poor, hungry Little Sisters," said Nancy, as
+she watched their eager pink tongues.
+
+Eben turned off the engine. "I'm sorry I couldn't do the final hand
+milking," he said. "I wonder if we'd better turn the cows out?" Before
+Nancy could answer both children heard a sound. They held their breath.
+Surely those were horses' feet! Cloppety clop clop clop cloppety clop
+clop clop. Up to the barn door dashed the old farm horses. From the dark
+outside the children heard their mother's voice, "Children, children,
+are you there? The harness broke and I thought we'd _never_ get home."
+Carrying a lantern apiece the children rushed out and into her arms.
+"Here, Eben," called his father. "You take the horses quick. I must get
+started milking right away. Those poor cows!" The children were too
+excited to talk plainly. They both jabbered at once. Then each took a
+hand of their father and led him into the great red barn. There by the
+light of the lanterns Andrew Brewster could see the pails of warm white
+milk and yellow cream. He stared at the quiet cows and at the Little
+Sisters. Then he stared at Eben and Nancy. "Yes," cried both children
+together. "We did it. We did it ourselves!"
+
+
+
+
+                                                  THE SKY SCRAPER
+
+
+The story tries to assemble into a related form many facts well-known
+to seven-year-olds and to present the whole as a modern industrial
+process.
+
+
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+THE SKY SCRAPER
+
+
+Once in an enormous city, men built an enormous building. Deep they
+built it, deep into the ground; high they built it, high into the air.
+Now that it is finished the men who walk about its feet forget how deep
+into the ground it reaches. But they can never forget how high into the
+blue it soars. Their necks ache when they throw back their heads to see
+to the top. For, of all the buildings in the world, this sky scraper is
+the highest.
+
+The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great city. From its top one
+can see the city, one can hear the city, one can smell the city--the
+city where men live and work. One can see the crowded streets full of
+tiny men and tiny automobiles, the riverside with its baby warehouses
+and its baby docks, the river with its toy bridges and toy giant
+steamers and tug boats and barges and ferries. The city noise,--the
+distant, rumbling, grumbling noise,--sounds like the purring of a
+far-away giant beast. And over it all lies the smell of gas and smoke.
+
+The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great city. But from its top
+in the blue, blue sky one can see all over the land. Landward the fields
+spread out like a map till they are lost in the mist and smoke. Seaward
+lies the vast, the tremendous stretch of the sea, the wrinkled, the
+crinkled, the far-away sea that stretches to touch the sky.
+
+Now this soaring sky scraper is the work of men--of many, many men. Its
+lofty lacy tower was first thought of by the architect. With closed eyes
+he saw it, and with his well-trained fingers quickly he drew its
+outline. Then at his office many men with T squares and with compasses,
+sitting at high long tables, with green-shaded lamps, worked far into
+the nights till all the plans were ready.
+
+Then the sky scraper began to grow. The first men brought mighty steam
+shovels. One hundred feet into the earth they burrowed. The gigantic
+mouths of the steam shovels gnawed at the rock and the clay. Huge hulks
+they clutched from this underworld, heaved up with enormous derricks and
+crashed out on the upper land. Deep they dug, deep into the ground till
+they found the firm bed-rock. With a network of steel they filled this
+terrific hole. Into the rasping, revolving mixers they poured tons of
+sand and cement and gravel which steadily flowed in a sluggish stream to
+strengthen the steel supports.
+
+At last,--and that was an exciting day,--the great beams began to rise.
+Again the derricks ground, as slowly, steadily, accurately, they swung
+each beam to its place. A thousand men swarmed over the steel bones,
+some throwing red-hot rivets, others catching them in pails, all to the
+song of the rivet driver.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+The riveter screamed and shrieked and shrilled. It pierced the air of
+the narrow streets. On the nearby buildings it vibrated, echoed. The
+sky scraper seemed alive and thrilled by the quivering, throbbing,
+shrieking shrill,--by the song of the riveter. Story by story the sky
+scraper grew, a monstrous outline against the sky. And ever and ever as
+it grew, hissed the rivet and screamed the drill.
+
+At length the sky scraper soared sixty dizzy stories high. Then swiftly
+came the stone masons and encased the giant steel frame. Swiftly in its
+center, men reared the plunging elevators. Swiftly worked the
+electrician, the plumber, the carpenter. All workmen were called and
+all workmen came. The world listened to the call of this sky scraper
+standing in the heart of the great city. From the mines of Minnesota to
+the swamps of Louisiana came goods to serve its need. Long, long ago, in
+olden days, the churches grew slowly bit by bit, as one man carved a
+door post here and another fitted a window there, each planning his own
+part. Not so with the sky scraper. It grew in haste. Its parts were made
+in factories scattered the country over. Each factory was ready with a
+part, and the railroad was ready swift to bring them to its feet. The
+sky scraper grew in haste. For it the many worked as one.
+
+Planned by those who command and reared by those who obey, in an
+enormous city men built this enormous building. Deep they built it, deep
+into the ground; high they built it, high into the air. And now they
+use this building built by them. The sky scraper houses an army of ten
+thousand men. All day they clamber up and down its core like insects in
+a giant tree. They buzz and buzz, and then go home.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+But there with the shadowy silent streets at its feet stands the lofty
+sky scraper. On its head there glows a monstrous light. The rays pierce
+through the fogs. And when the storm is screaming wild, the light
+struggles through to the frightened boats tossing on the mountain waves.
+The storm howls and beats on the sides of the lofty lacy tower with the
+shining light on top. The storms beat on its side, the tower leans in
+the wind, the tower of steel and of stone leans and leans a full two
+feet. Then when the blast is past, this tower of steel and of stone
+swings back to straightness again.
+
+And so in the enormous city men built this enormous building. Deep they
+built it, deep into the ground; high, they built it, high into the air.
+Now that it is finished, the men who walk about its feet forget how deep
+into the ground it reaches. But they can never forget how high into the
+blue it soars. Their necks ache when they throw back their heads to see
+to the top. For of all the buildings in the world this sky scraper is
+the highest.
+
+
+END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Here and Now Story Book, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK ***
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