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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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