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diff --git a/27075-h/27075-h.htm b/27075-h/27075-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9a929f8 --- /dev/null +++ b/27075-h/27075-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9695 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Here And Now Story Book, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + + .notes {background-color: #8c3931; color: #eef06b; font-weight: bold; padding: .5em; + margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 30%; text-align: center;} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; font-size: 110%; + } + + .box { width: 550px; + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 1em; border-width: thin; + border-style: none; } + + .box2 { width: 550px; + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 1em; border-width: thin; + border-style: dotted; } + + .ralign {position: absolute; right: 20%;} + .ralign1 {position: absolute; right: 20%; font-variant: small-caps;} + .ralign2 {position: absolute; right: 25%;} + + .content1 {margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 25%; + } + + .content2 {margin-left: 13%; + margin-right: 25%; + } + + .content2a {margin-left: 18%; text-indent: -5%; + margin-right: 25%; + } + + .content3 {margin-left: 16%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { visibility: hidden; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + a { text-decoration: none; color: #8c3931; } + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Here and Now Story Book, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Here and Now Story Book + Two- to seven-year-olds + +Author: Lucy Sprague Mitchell + +Illustrator: Hendrik Willem Van Loon + +Release Date: October 28, 2008 [EBook #27075] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Anne Storer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class="notes">Transcriber’s Note:<br /> +Midi and PDF files have been provided for the song snippets in +this e-book. To hear, click on the [Listen] link. To view a +song in sheet-music form, click on the [PDF] link.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 408px;"> +<img src="images/icover.jpg" width="408" height="600" alt="cover" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<div class="box2"> + +<h1>HERE AND NOW<br /> +STORY BOOK</h1> + +<h3>TWO- TO SEVEN-YEAR-OLDS</h3> + +<p class="center">Experimental Stories Written for the Children<br /> +of the City and Country School<br /> +(formerly the Play School)<br /> +and the Nursery School of the<br /> +Bureau of Educational Experiments.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center" style="margin-bottom: -1em;"><em>by</em></p> +<h2>LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL</h2> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center" style="margin-bottom: -1em;"><em>Illustrated by</em></p> +<h3>Hendrik Willem Van Loon</h3> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/ititle.png" width="150" height="141" alt="Logo Classics To Grow On" title="" /> +</div> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><em>Published by E. P. Dutton & Company, Inc., for</em><br /> +<span style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>PARENTS’ INSTITUTE, Inc.</strong></span><br /> +Publishers of Parents’ Magazine<br /> +and Approved Publications for Young People<br /> +52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York</p> + +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center"><span class="smcap">copyright, 1921,</span><br /> +BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY, INC.</p> + +<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center"><span class="smcap">copyright (renewal) 1948</span><br /> +BY LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL</p> + +<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center">——————</p> + +<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center"><em>All Rights Reserved</em></p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center"><em>Printed in the United States of America</em></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + +<p><span class="ralign1">page</span></p> + +<p class="content1" style="margin-top: 3em;"> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#FOREWORD">Foreword</a></span>: <span class="smcap">By Caroline Pratt</span> <span class="ralign">ix</span></p> + +<p class="content1"> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_1">Introduction</a></span> <span class="ralign1">1</span></p> +<p class="content2"> + <em><a href="#Page_4">Content</a></em>: Its educational and psychological basis <span class="ralign">4</span></p> +<p class="content2"> + <em><a href="#Page_46">Form</a></em>: Its patterns in words, sentences and stories <span class="ralign">46</span></p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="content1"> +<span class="smcap">Stories</span>:</p> + +<p class="content2a"> + <em>Two-Year-Olds</em>: Types to be adjusted to individual + children. Content, personal activities, told in + motor and sense terms. Form reduced to a succession + of few simple patterns.</p> + +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_73">Marni Takes a Ride</a></span> <span class="ralign">73</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_79">Marni Gets Dressed in the Morning</a></span> <span class="ralign">81</span></p> + +<p class="content2a"> + <em>Three-Year-Olds</em>: Content based on enumeration of + familiar sense and motor associations and + simple familiar chronological sequences. Some + attempt to give opportunity for own contribution + or for “motor enjoyment.”</p> + +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_89">The Room with the Window Looking Out on the Garden</a></span> <span class="ralign">89</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_99">The Many Horse Stable</a></span> <span class="ralign">99</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_103">My Kitty</a></span> <span class="ralign">105</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_107">The Rooster and the Hens</a></span> <span class="ralign">109</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_114">The Little Hen and the Rooster</a></span> <span class="ralign">114</span></p> + +<p class="content2a"> + <em>Jingles</em>:</p> + +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_115">My Horse, Old Dan</a></span> <span class="ralign">115</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_118">Horsie Goes Jog-a-Jog</a></span> <span class="ralign">118</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_119">Auto, Auto</a></span> <span class="ralign">119</span></p> + +<p class="content2a"> + <em>Four- and Five-Year-Olds</em>: Content, simple relationships + between familiar moving objects, stressing + particularly the idea of use. Emphasis on + sound. Attempt to make verse patterns carry + the significant points in the narrative.</p> + +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_121">How Spot Found a Home</a></span> <span class="ralign">121</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_131">The Dinner Horses</a></span> <span class="ralign">131</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_137">The Grocery Man</a></span> <span class="ralign">137</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_141">The Journey</a></span> <span class="ralign">141</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_147">Pedro’s Feet</a></span> <span class="ralign">147</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_153">How the Engine Learned the Knowing Song</a></span> <span class="ralign">153</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_167">The Fog Boat Story</a></span> <span class="ralign">167</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_177">Hammer, Saw, and Plane</a></span> <span class="ralign">177</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_185">The Elephant</a></span> <span class="ralign">185</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_189">How the Animals Move</a></span> <span class="ralign">189</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_193">The Sea-Gull</a></span> <span class="ralign">192</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_197">The Farmer Tries to Sleep</a></span> <span class="ralign">197</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_203">Wonderful-Cow-That-Never-Was</a></span> <span class="ralign">203</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_211">Things that Loved the Lake</a></span> <span class="ralign">211</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_219">How the Singing Water Got to the Tub</a></span> <span class="ralign">219</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_229">The Children’s New Dresses</a></span> <span class="ralign">229</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_237">Old Dan Gets the Coal</a></span> <span class="ralign">237</span></p> + +<p class="content2a"> + <em>Six- and Seven-Year-Olds</em>: Content, relationships + further removed from the personal and immediate + and extended to include social significance of + simple familiar facts. Longer-span pattern which + has become organic with beginning, middle and end.</p> + +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_241">The Subway Car</a></span> <span class="ralign">241</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_251">Boris Takes a Walk and Finds Many Different Kinds of Trains</a></span> <span class="ralign">251</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_267">Boris Walks Every Way in New York</a></span> <span class="ralign">267</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_281">Speed</a></span> <span class="ralign">281</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_291">Five Little Babies</a></span> <span class="ralign">291</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_299">Once the Barn Was Full of Hay</a></span> <span class="ralign">299</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_309">The Wind</a></span> <span class="ralign">309</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_315">The Leaf Story</a></span> <span class="ralign">315</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_320">A Locomotive</a></span> <span class="ralign">320</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_322">Moon, Moon</a></span> <span class="ralign">322</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_323">Automobile Song</a></span> <span class="ralign">323</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_325">Silly Will</a></span> <span class="ralign">325</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_339">Eben’s Cows</a></span> <span class="ralign">340</span></p> +<p class="content3"> + <span class="smcap"><a href="#Page_353">The Sky Scraper</a></span> <span class="ralign">353</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="FOREWORD" id="FOREWORD"></a>FOREWORD</h2> + + +<p>Our school has always assumed that children +are interested in and will work with or give expression +to those things which are familiar to them. +This is not new: the kindergarten gives domestic +life a prominent place with little children. But +with the kindergarten the present and familiar is +abandoned in most schools and emphasis is placed +upon that which is unfamiliar and remote. It is +impossible to conceive of children working their +own way from the familiar to the unknown unless +they develop a method in understanding the +familiar which will apply to the unfamiliar as +well. This method is the method of art and +science—the method of experimentation and inquiry. +We can almost say that children are born +with it, so soon do they begin to show signs of +applying it. As they have been in the past and +as they are in the present to a very great extent, +schools make no attempt to provide for this +method; in fact they take pains to introduce another. +They are disposed to set up a rigid program +which answers inquiries before they are +made and supplies needs before they have been +felt.</p> + +<p>We try to keep the children upon present day +and familiar things until they show by their attack +on materials and especially upon information +that they are ready to work out into the unknown +and unfamiliar. In the matter of stories and +verse which fit into such a program we have always +felt an almost total void. Whether other +schools feel this would depend upon their intentional +program. Surely no school would advise +giving classical literature without the setting +which would make the stories and verse understandable. +It is a question whether the fact of +desirable literature has not in the past and does +not still govern our whole school program more +than many educators would be willing to admit. +What seems to be more logical is to set up that +which is psychologically sound so far as we know +it and create if need be a new literature to help +support the structure.</p> + +<p>In the presence of art, schools have always taken +a modest attitude. For some reason or other they +seem to think it out of their province. They regard +children as potential scientists, professional +men and women, captains of industry, but scarcely +potential artists. To what school of design, what +academy of music, what school of literary production, +do our common schools lead? We are not +fitting our children to compose, to create, but at +our best to appreciate and reproduce.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mitchell as story teller in this new sense +of writing stories, rather than merely telling them, +is having an influence in the school which has not +been altogether unlooked for. The children look +upon themselves as composers in language and +language thus becomes not merely a useful +medium of expression but also an art medium. +They regard their own content, gathered by themselves +in a perfectly familiar setting as fit for use +as art material. That is, just as the children draw +and show power to compose with crayons and +paints, they use language to compose what they +term stories or occasionally, verse. Often these +“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.</p> + +<p>So far as content is concerned the school gives +the children varied opportunities to know and express +what they find in their environment. Mrs. +Mitchell finds this content in the school. It is +being used, it is even being expressed in language. +What she particularly does is to show the possibility +of using this same content as art in language. +She does this both by writing stories herself and +by helping the children to write. The children +are not by any means read to, so much as they are +encouraged to tell their own stories. These are +taken down verbatim by the teachers of the +younger groups. Through skilful handling of several +of the older groups what the children call +“group stories” are produced as well as individual +ones.</p> + +<p>We hope this book will bring to parents and +teachers what it has to us, a new method of approach +to literature for little children, and to children +the joy our children have in the stories +themselves.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 30em;"><span class="smcap">Caroline Pratt</span></p> + +<p>The City and Country School<br /> +July, 1921</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2>HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p style="font-size: 2em;" class="center"><strong>HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK</strong></p> + +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + + +<p>These stories are experiments,—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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +interests not historically but through their present +observations and inquiries, and their sense of form +through their spontaneous expressions in language, +and to model my own work strictly on these findings. +I have forced myself throughout to be deliberate, +conscious, for fear I should slip back to +adult habits of thought and expression. I can give +here only samples of the many stories and questions +I have gathered from the children which +form the basis of my own stories. Suffice it that +my own stories attempt to follow honestly the leads +which here and now the children themselves indicate +in content and in form, no matter how difficult +or strange the going for adult feet.</p> + +<p>First, as to the stuff of which the story is made,—the +content. I have assumed that anything to +which a child gives his spontaneous attention, anything +which he questions as he moves around the +world, holds appropriate material about which to +talk to him either in speech or in writing. I have +assumed that the answers to these his spontaneous +inquiries should be given always in terms of a +relationship which is natural and intelligible at +his age and which will help him to order the +familiar facts of his own experiences. Thus the +answers will themselves lead him on to new inquiries. +For they will give him not so much new +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +facts as a new method of attack. I have further +assumed that any of this material which by taking +on a pattern form can thereby enhance or deepen +its intrinsic quality is susceptible of becoming +literature. Material which does not lend itself to +some sort of intentional design or form, may be +good for informational purposes but not for stories +as such.</p> + +<p>The task, then, is to examine first the things +which get the spontaneous attention of a two-year-old, +a three-year-old and so up to a seven-year-old; +and then to determine what relationships are +natural and intelligible at these ages. Obviously +to determine the mere subject of attention is not +enough. Children of all ages attend to engines. +But the two-year-old attends to certain things and +the seven-year-old to quite different ones. The +relationships through which the two-year-old interprets +his observations may make of the engine +a gigantic extension of his own energy and movement; +whereas the relationships through which the +seven-year-old interprets his observations may +make of the engine a scientific example of the expansion +of steam or of the desire of men to get +rapidly from one place to another. What relationship +he is relying on we can get only by watching +the child’s own activities. The second part +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +of the task is to discover what <em>is</em> pattern to the +untrained but unspoiled ears, eyes, muscles and +minds of the little folk who are to consume the +stories. Each part of the task has its peculiar difficulties. +But fortunately in each, children do point +the way if we have the courage to forget our own +adult way and follow theirs.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><strong>CONTENT</strong></p> + +<p>In looking for content for these stories I followed +the general lines of the school for which +they were written. The school gives the children +the opportunity to explore first their own environment +and gradually widens this environment for +them along lines of their own inquiries. Consequently +I did not seek for material outside the ordinary +surroundings of the children. On the +contrary, I assumed that in stories as in other educational +procedure, the place to begin is the point +at which the child has arrived,—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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +say. It may well be that thought is merely associative +memory as Loeb maintains. It may well +be that behaviorists are right and that thought is +just “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.</p> + +<p>For our present purposes this characteristic has +an important bearing. The world pictured for the +child must be a world of sounds and smells and +tastes and sights and feeling and contacts. Above +all his early stories must be of activities and they +must be told in motor terms. Often we are tempted +to give him reasons in response to his incessant +“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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +is indignant if your answer is not what he expects. +One of my children enjoyed this antiphonal +method of following his own thoughts to such an +extent that for a time he told his stories in the +form of questions telling me each time what to +answer! His questions had a social but no scientific +bearing. And even when a three-year-old asks +a real question he wants to be answered in terms +of action or of sense impressions and not in terms +of reasons why. How could it be otherwise since +he still thinks with his senses and his muscles and +not with that generalizing mechanism which conceives +of cause and effect? The next time a three-year-old +asks you “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.</p> + +<p>Now what activities are appropriate for the first +stories? I think the answer is clear. His, the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +child’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 <em>not</em> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +stories with his own familiar little person moving +in his own familiar background. They should +vivify and deepen the sense of the one relationship +he does feel keenly,—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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +go scritch-scratch, not me!” Was not this an +evident effort to comprehend an extra-personal +relationship?</p> + +<p>Again just as at first a small child can not get +outside himself, so he can not get outside the immediate. +At first he can not by himself recall even +a simple chronological sequence. He is still in +the narrowest, most limiting sense, too entangled +in the “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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +related in simple chronological sequence makes a +satisfactory story.</p> + +<p>This can be pressed even further. There is another +kind of relationship by which little children +interpret their environment. It is the early manifestation +of the associational process which in our +adult life so largely crowds out the sensory and +motor appreciation of the world. It runs way back +to the baby’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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +enumeration, like that of a refrain, is in part at +least a pleasure in muscle pattern. My two-year-old +daughter composed a song which well illustrates +the fascination of enumeration. The refrain +“Tick-tock” was borrowed from a song which had +been sung to her.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> + “Tick-tock<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni’s nose,</span><br /> + Tick-tock<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni’s eyes,</span><br /> + Tick-tock<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni’s mouth,</span><br /> + Tick-tock<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni’s teeth,</span><br /> + Tick-tock<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni’s chin,</span><br /> + Tick-tock<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni’s romper,</span><br /> + Tick-tock<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni’s stockings,</span><br /> + Tick-tock<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marni’s shoes,” etc., etc.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>This she sang day after day, enumerating such +groups as her clothes, the objects on the mantel and +her toys. Walt Whitman has given us glorified +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +enumerations of the most astounding vitality. If +some one would only pile up equally vigorous ones +for children! But it is not easy for an adult to +gather mere sense or motor associations without a +plot thread to string them on. The children’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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +day details <em>did</em> deepen his sense of relationships +since by himself he cannot recapture these familiar +details even in a simple chronological sequence.</p> + +<p>But if stories for a two or a three-year-old need +to be of himself they must be written especially +for him. Those written for another two-year-old +may not fit. Consequently the first three stories in +this collection are given as types rather than as +independent narratives. “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.</p> + +<p>I cannot leave the subject of the “familiar” for +children without looking forward a few years. +This process of investigating and trying to control +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +his immediate surroundings, this appreciation of +the world through his senses and his muscles, does +not end when the child has gained some sense of +his own self as distinguished from the world,—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 <em>is</em> 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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +result of this adult blindness. Children do not +find the unusual piquant until they are firmly +acquainted with the usual; they do not find the +preposterous humorous until they have intimate +knowledge of ordinary behavior; they do not get +the point of alien environments until they are securely +oriented in their own. Too often we +mistake excitement for genuine interest and give +the children stimulus instead of food. The fairy +story, the circus, novelty hunting, delight the +sophisticated adult; they excite and confuse the +child. Red Riding-Hood and circus Indians excite +the little child; Cinderella confuses him. Not +one clarifies any relationship which will further +his efforts to order the world. Nonsense when +recognized and enjoyed as such is more than legitimate; +it is a part of every one’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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +stuff in intrigue him; they should seek to deepen +and enrich the relationships by which he is dimly +groping to comprehend and to order his familiar +world.</p> + +<p>But to return to the younger children. Children +of four are not nearly so completely ego-centric as +those of three. There has seemed to me to be a +distinct transition at this age to a more objective +way of thinking. A four-year-old does not to the +same extent have to be a part of every situation he +conceives of. Ordinarily, too, he moves out from +his own narrowly personal environment into a +slightly wider range of experiences. Now, what +in this wider environment gets his spontaneous attention? +What does he take from the street life, +for instance, to make his own? Surely it is moving +things. He is still primarily motor in his interest +and expression and remains so certainly up to six +years. Engines, boats, wagons with horses, all animals, +his own moving self,—these are the things +he notices and these are the things he interprets +in his play activities. Transportation and animals +and himself. Do not these pretty well cover the +field of his interests? If conceived of as motor +and personal do they not hold all the material a +four-or five-year-old needs for stories? If we bring +in inanimate unmoving things, we must do with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +them what he does. We must endow them with +life and motion. We need not be afraid of +personification. This is the age when anthropomorphism +flourishes. The five-year-old is still +motor; his conception of cause is still personal. He +thinks through his muscles; he personifies in his +thought and his play.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless there is very real danger in anthropomorphism,—in +thus leaving the world of reality. +There is danger of confusing the child. We must +be sure our personifications are built on relationships +which our child can understand and which +have an objective validity. We must be sure that +a wolf remains a wolf and an engine an engine, +though endowed with human speech.</p> + +<p>Now, what are the typical relationships which +a four-or five-year-old uses to bind together his +world into intelligible experiences? We have already +noted the personal relationship which persists +in modified form. But does not the grouping +of things because of physical juxtaposition now +give way to a conception of “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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +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?”</p> + +<p>Stories which are offered to small children must +be assessed from this two-fold point of view. What +relationships are they based on? And in what +terms are they told? Fairy stories should not be +exempted. We are inclined to accept them uncritically, +feeling that they do not cramp a child +as does reality. We cling to the idea that children +need a fairy world to “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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +that many of the human experiences which these +old tales embody are quite unsuitable for four-and +five-year-olds. Cruelty, trickery, economic inequality,—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.</p> + +<p>Now, the ordinary fairy tale which is the chief +story diet of the four-and five-year-olds, I believe +does confuse them; not because it does not stick to +reality (for neither do the children) but because +it does not deal with the things with which they +have had first-hand experience and does not attempt +to present or interpret the world according +to the relationships which the child himself employs. +Rather it gives the child material which he +is incapable of handling. Much in these tales is +symbolic and means to the adult something quite +different from what it bears on its face. And +much, I believe, is confused even to the grown-up. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +Now a confused adult does not make a child! Nor +does it ever help a child to give him confusion. +When my four-year-old personified a horse for one +whole summer, he lived the actual life of a horse +as far as he knew it. His bed was always “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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +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 <em>is</em> important that he be able to fit any particular +fact into a rational scheme of thought. Accordingly, +the relationships which a story clarifies +are of much greater import than the facts it gives. +All this, of course, concerns the content of stories—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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +lore. It will sweep him with it. He will relish +the flight the more for having had his feet on the +ground. But for brutal tales like Red Riding-Hood +or for sentimental ones like Cinderella I find +no place in any child’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.</p> + +<p>The whole question of myths and sagas together +with the function of personification must be taken +up with the older children. For the present we +are still concerned with four-and five-year-olds. +Two sets of stories told by four-and five-year-old +children in the school seem to me to show what +emphasizing unrealities may do at this age. The +first child in each set is thinking disjunctively; +the second has his facts organized into definite relationships. +Can one think that the second child +enjoyed his ordered world less than the first enjoyed +his confusion?</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +<span class="smcap"><strong>Two Stories by Four-Year-Olds</strong></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Once there was a table and he was taking a walk +and he fell into a pond of water and an alligator bit +him and then he came up out of the pond of water +and he stepped into a trap that some hunters had set +for him, and turned a somersault on his nose.</p> + +<p class="center">——————</p> + +<p>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.</p></div> + +<p>(The child then played a song by a “’lectric” +engine on the piano and tried to write the notes.)</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Two Stories by Five-Year-Olds</strong></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Once upon a time there was a clown and the clown +jumped on the bed and the bed jumped on the cup. +Then the clown took a pencil and drawed on his face. +And the clown said, “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.</p> + +<p class="center">——————</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +There was a big factory where all the men made +engines. And one man made a smoke stack. And one +man made a tender. And one man made a cab. And +one man made a bell. And one man made a wheel. +And then another man came and put them all together +and made a great big engine. And this man said, +“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?</p> + +<p>(In a sequel he says: So they knocked down the +Arch and chopped up all the pieces. And they chopped +all around the trees but they didn’t chop them down +because they looked so pretty with our station!)</p></div> + +<p> </p> + +<p>I am far from meaning that five-year-olds +should be confined to their literal experiences. +They have made considerable progress in separating +themselves from their environment though at +times they seem still to think of the things around +them more or less as extensions of themselves. +Their inquiries still emanate from their own personal +experiences; but they do not end there. A +child of this age has a genuine curiosity about +where things come from and where they go to. +“What’s it for?” indeed, implies a dim conception +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>In each of the stories for four-and five-year-olds +I have attempted to clarify known facts by showing +them in a relationship a little beyond the children’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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Somewhere about seven years, there seems to be +another transition period. Psychologists, whether +in or out of schools, generally agree in this. Children +of this age are acquiring a sense of social +values,—a consciousness of <em>others</em> as sharply distinguished +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +from themselves. They are also acquiring +a sense of workmanship, of technique,—of +<em>things</em> 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.</p> + +<p>Probably the first extra-personal excursions +should be into alien scenes or experiences which +lead back or contribute directly to their old +familiar world. Stories of unknown raw material +which turn into well-known products are of this +type,—cattle raising in Texas, dairy farms in New +England, lumbering in Minnesota, sheep raising +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +in California. It is a happy coincidence that raw +materials are often produced under semi-primitive +conditions, so that a vicarious participation in their +production gives to children something of that +thrilling contact with the elemental that does the +life of primitive men, and this without sending +them into the remote and, for modern children, +“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.</p> + +<p>It is the peculiar function of a story to raise +inquiries, not to give instruction. A story must +stimulate not merely inform. This is the trouble +with our “informational literature” for children, +of which very little is worthy of the name. Indeed, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +I am not sure it is not a contradiction of +terms. It is frankly didactic. It aims to make +clear certain facts, not to stimulate thought. It +assumes that if a child swallows a fact it must +nourish him. To give the child material with +which to experiment,—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.</p> + +<p>Literature must give a sense of adventure. This +sense of adventure, of excursion into the unknown, +must be furnished to children of every age. As I +have said before, I think “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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>Now is it not possible to give children these adventurous +excursions which they crave and should +have, without so much killing of animals or men, +and so many blood-thirsty excitements, and so much +fake heroism? What relationships do such tales +interpret? What truths do they give a child upon +which to base his thinking? The relation of life +to life is a delicate and difficult thing to interpret. +But surely we can do better at an interpretation +than tales of hunting, of impossible heroisms, and +of war. Or at least, we can protest against having +these almost the sole interpretations of adventure +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +which are offered to children. The world of industry +holds possibilities for adventure as thrilling +as the world of high-colored romance. We must +look with fresh eyes to see it. When once we see +it, we shall be able to give the children a new type +of the “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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +They must be suited to the less experienced: give +them to children. Thus runs the common argument. +And so we find Hawthorne’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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +Now, how much of the classical literature follows +the lead of the children’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 name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> +I have merely taken the dominant characteristic of any piece of +literature as determining its class.</p> + +<p>Myths, properly, are slow-wrought beliefs +which embody a people’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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +why offer the shell without the spirit? It is likely +to remain a shell forever if we do. And indeed, +such an empty thing to most of us is the great myth +of Prometheus or of the Garden of Eden.</p> + +<p>But sagas! Are they not of exactly the heroic +stuff for little children? In essence the relationships +with which they deal are human,—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, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +motherhood, fatherhood. We grasp at them +for our children, I believe, just <em>because</em> they deal +with these fundamental things,—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 <em>positive</em> in sex relations, of the facts of parenthood, +of the institution of marriage, of the mutual +companionship between man and woman, and give +the <em>negative</em>, the unfulfilled, the distorted? This +is preposterous and no one would uphold it. It +must be the beauty of the tale, and not the significance +we are after. But <em>are</em> these tales beautiful +except as we endow them with the subtleties of a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +classical civilization, as we read into them piquant +contrasts of a sensitive, expressive race still primitive +in its social thinking and social habits,—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?</p> + +<p>And in the same way can a child really get the +beauty of Siegfried? What can he make out of +the incestuous love of Siegmund and Sieglinda? +And of Siegfried’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 <em>we</em> get because of what we have +to put into it, is a different matter and should never +be confused with the straight question of what children +get. Outgrown adult thinking in social matters +is no more suitable to children than outgrown +thinking on physical facts. We do not teach that +the world is flat because grown-ups once believed +it was. We are not afraid of a round earth so we +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +tell the truth about it. But we come near to teaching +“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?</p> + +<p>There is other folk-lore less gripping in its +human intensity. Through this may not children +safely gain their needed adventures? And here +we come again to the real “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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +had opportunities for rational experiences. We +all know how children revel in a secret. They +like to live in a world of surprises. To give the +children this sense of mystery I do not believe it is +at all necessary to turn to vicious tales of giants, +of ogres, and Bluebeards, or to the no less vicious +pictures of the beautiful princess and the wicked +stepmother. Even after rejecting the brutal and +sentimental we have a good deal left,—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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>It is just here that most of us fail to be discriminating. +Most of the classical literature, most of +the legends, or the folk tales that I have been discussing +have a compelling charm through their +form. But unfortunately that does not make their +content suitable! Their place in the world’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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +boy stopping the hole in the dyke, the love of the +Queer Little Baker, and the greed and grief of +Midas are eternal. In spite of these and many +more, I maintain that for the most part, myths, +sagas, folk-lore depend for their significance and +beauty alike upon a grasp of present social values +which a young child cannot have and that our first +attention should be to give him those values in +terms intelligible to him. After we have done that +he is safe. It matters little what we give him so +long as it is good: for he will have standards by +which to judge our offerings for himself.</p> + +<p>Yet after all is said and done, we may be reduced +to giving children some of the stories we think +inappropriate, for lack of something better. But +a recognition of the need may evoke a great writer +for children. I maintain we have never had one of +the first order. The best books that we have for +children are throw-offs from artists primarily concerned +with adults,—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 <em>their</em> Psalmist, <em>their</em> Shakespeare, <em>their</em> Keats, +they will not be offered diluted adult literature.</p> + +<p>So after we have gathered what we can from +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +the world’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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Speak roughly to your little boy,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And beat him when he sneezes,</span><br /> + He only does it to annoy<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because he knows it teases.”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +<span class="smcap"><strong>Stories by Four-Year-Olds</strong></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I dreamed I was asleep in a tomato and just scrambled +around until I’d eaten it up.</p> + +<p class="center">——————</p> + +<p>Once there was a cow and he was in a wagon and +he jumped over the wagon’s edge.</p> + +<p class="center">——————</p> + +<p class="center"><strong>Sesame the Cat</strong></p> + +<p>She lived with a nice man, a candy man, and she +was at the gate watching the cattle go by and the men +were digging under some caramel bricks and he called +Sesame the Cat and she came banging and almost +jumped on the man’s head. She jumped like a merry +balloon. Oh, he got angry!</p></div> + +<p class="center">——————</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Story by Five-Year-Old</strong></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Once there was a fly. And he went out walking +on a little boy’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!</p></div> + +<p class="center">——————</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Stories by Six-Year-Olds</strong></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Once upon a time there was a fox and a skunk, and +the fox was walking down the path with a lot of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +prickly bushes on the side of the path. Then he saw +a skunk coming along. He said, “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.</p> + +<p class="center">——————</p> + +<p>Once upon a time there was a boy and the boy was +awfully funny. And one day the boy went to the +store to buy some eggs and he got the eggs and ran +so fast with the eggs home,—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.</p></div> + +<p> </p> + +<p>There is still another kind of story which I +believe children of this transition period and a +little older seek and for the most part seek in vain. +These children are beginning to generalize, to +marshal their facts and experiences along lines +which in their later developments we call “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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><strong>FORM</strong></p> + +<p>If content is but half, form is the other half of +stories and not the easier half, either. Every story, +to be worthy of the name, must have a pattern, a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +pattern which is both pleasing and comprehensible. +This design, this composition, this pattern, +whether it be of a story as a whole or of a sentence +or a phrase, is as essential to a piece of writing +as is the design or composition to a picture. It +satisfies the emotional need of the child which is +as essential in real education as is the intellectual. +Without this design, language remains on the +utilitarian level,—where, to be sure, we usually +find it in modern days.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +almost universal appeal to little children. Even +a superficial study of these two sources,—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.</p> + +<p>As the quickest and most eloquent exemplification +of both these principles I give four stories. +The first was told by a little girl of twenty-two +months, a singularly articulate little person,—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.</p> + + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Story by Twenty-Two-Months-Old Child</strong></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> +Where cow?<br /> +Where donk?<br /> +Where little Aa?</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +Cow gone away!<br /> +Donk gone away!<br /> +Little Aa gone away!</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> +Like cow!<br /> +Like donk!<br /> +Like little Aa!</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> +Come back cow!<br /> +Come back donk!<br /> +Come back little Aa!</p> +</div> + + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Story by Two-and-a-Half-Year-Old</strong></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> +I fell in water.<br /> +Man fell in water.<br /> +John fell in water.<br /> +For’ fell in water.<br /> +Aunt Carrie fell in water.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> +I pull boat out.<br /> +Man pull boat out.<br /> +John pull boat out.<br /> +For’ pull boat out.<br /> +Aunt Carrie pull boat out.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> +I go in that boat.<br /> +Man go in that boat.<br /> +John go in that boat.<br /> +For’ go in that boat.<br /> +Aunt Carrie go in that boat.</p> +</div> + + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +<span class="smcap"><strong>Story by Three-Year-Old</strong></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 6em;"> +And father went down, down, down into the hole<br /> +And the bull-frog, he went up, up, up into the sky!<br /> +And then the bull-frog, he went down, down, down into the hole<br /> +And then father, he went up, up, up, way into the sky!<br /> +And then the bull-frog he went down, down, down into the hole<br /> +And up, up into the sky!<br /> +And then he went down into the hole<br /> +And up into the sky!<br /> +And he went down and up and down and up<br /> +And down and up and down and up<br /> +And down and up and down and up<br /> +And down and up<br /> +And down and up<br /> +And down and up<br /> +Down and up—— (to wordless song.)</p> +</div> + + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Story by a Four-Year-Old</strong></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +Baby Bye, Baby Bye<br /> +Here’s a fly<br /> +You’d better be careful<br /> +Else he will sting you<br /> +And here’s a spider too.<br /> +And if you hurt him he will sting you<br /> +And don’t you hurt him<br /> +And his pattern on the wall.</p> +</div> + +<p>Certainly all have form,—spontaneous native art +form. Indeed they strongly suggest that to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +child, the pleasure lay in the form rather than in +the content. The patterns of the first two are somewhat +alike,—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?</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Stories by Five-Year-Olds</strong></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I am going to tell you a story about when I went +to Falmouth with my mother. We had to go all night +on the train and this is the way it sounded, (moving +her hand on the table and intoning in different keys) +thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, +<em>NEW ARK!</em> thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, +thum, thum, thum, thum, FALMOUTH! And then +we got off and we took a trolley car and the trolley +car went clipperty, clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip. And +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +another trolley car came in the other direction (again +with hands) and one came along saying clipperty, +clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip and the other came along +saying clipperty, clipperty, clipperty, zip, zip, zip, +BANG! And they hit in the middle and they got +stuck and they tried to pull them apart and they stuck +and they stuck and they stuck and finally they got +them apart and then we went again. And when we +got off we had to take a subway and the subway went +rockety-rockety-rockety-rock. You know a subway +makes a terrible noise! It made a <em>terrible</em> noise it +sounded like rockety-rockety-rockety-rockety-rock.</p> + +<p>And at last we got there and when we came up in +the streets of Falmouth it was so still that I didn’t +know what to do. You know the streets of Falmouth +are just so terribly quiet and then we had to walk +millions and millions of miles almost to get to our +little cottage. And when we got there I put on my +bathing suit and I went in bathing and I shivered just +like this because it was a rainy day, the day I went to +Falmouth with my mother.</p></div> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><strong>The Talk of the Brook</strong></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +O brook, O brook, that sings so loud,<br /> +O brook, O brook, that goes all day,<br /> +O brook, O brook, that goes all night<br /> +And forever.<br /> +Splashes and waves, girls and boys are playing with<br /> +You and in you.<br /> +Some with shoes off and some with shoes on,<br /> +And some are crying because they fell in you.<br /> +O brook, O brook, have you an end ever?<br /> +Or do you go forever?</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +Technically in all these stories the child exemplifies +the two rules. He attends to but one thing at +a time. And his steps from one point to the next +are short and clear.</p> + +<p>When we look at the forms which have been +presented to children with these their spontaneous +patterns fresh in mind, we can see, I think, why +Mother Goose has been taken as a child’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.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 11em;"> + Jack and Jill<br /> + Went up the hill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">To fetch a pail of water.</span><br /> + Jack fell down<br /> + And broke his crown<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And Jill came tumbling after.</span></p> +</div> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +<span class="smcap"><strong>Time to Rise</strong></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +A birdie with a yellow bill<br /> +Hopped upon the window sill,<br /> +Cocked his shining eye and said:<br /> +“Ain’t you shamed, you sleepy head?”</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 18em;">—<em>Stevenson.</em></p> +</div> + + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>The Little Turtle</strong></span></p> + +<p class="center">(A recitation for Martha Wakefield, three years old)</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 11em;"> +There was a little turtle.<br /> +He lived in a box.<br /> +He swam in a puddle.<br /> +He climbed on the rocks.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 11em;"> +He snapped at a musquito.<br /> +He snapped at a flea.<br /> +He snapped at a minnow.<br /> +And he snapped at me.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 11em;"> +He caught the musquito.<br /> +He caught the flea.<br /> +He caught the minnow.<br /> +But he didn’t catch me.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 18em;">—<em>Vachel Lindsay.</em></p> +</div> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">From <span class="smcap"><strong>The Dinkey-Bird</strong></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +So when the children shout and scamper<br /> + And make merry all the day,<br /> +When there’s naught to put a damper<br /> + To the ardor of their play;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +When I hear their laughter ringing,<br /> + Then I’m sure as sure can be<br /> +That the Dinkey-bird is singing<br /> + In the amfalula tree.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 18em;">—<em>Eugene Field.</em></p> +</div> + +<p>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 <em>hear</em> the +rhyme even if intellectually he could follow the +adult vocabulary and the complicated sentence +with its long postponed subject.</p> + +<p>It is the same with stories. The classic tales +which have held small children,—“The Gingerbread +Man,” “The Three Little Pigs,” “Goldylocks,”—have +patterns so obvious and so simple +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +that they cannot be missed. In “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.</p> + +<p>In other words, the little child is not equipped +psychologically to hear complicated units. I wish +some one could determine how the average four-year-old +hears the harmony of a chord on the +piano. Is it much except confusion? In the same +way, he is not equipped to leap a span between +units. I wish some one would determine the four-year-old’s +memory span for rhymes, for instance. +The involutions, the suggestiveness so attractive to +adult ears, he cannot hear. Even an adult ear, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +untutored, can scarcely hear the intermingling +rhythms and overlapping rhymes which blend like +overtones of a chord in such verse as Patmore’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.</p> + +<p>This pattern enjoyment too is motor in its basis. +His early repetitions of sounds are probably +largely pleasure in muscle patterns. We all know +that a child uses first his large muscles,—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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>And Arabella picked a poppy, and Araminta picked +a poppy, and Arabella picked a poppy, and Araminta +picked a poppy, and Arabella picked a poppy, and +Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella picked a +poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, and Arabella +picked a poppy, and Araminta picked a poppy, until +they each had a great big bunch (I should say a very +large bunch), and then they ran back to the house.</p> + +<p>Arabella got a glass and put her poppies in it, and +Araminta got a glass and put her poppies in it.</p> + +<p>And Arabella clapped her hands and danced around +the table. And Araminta clapped her hands and +danced around the table.</p></div> + +<p>Adult ears repudiate anything as obvious as this; +they still, however, enjoy a ballad refrain.</p> + +<p>Just as small children cannot hear complications, +so they cannot grasp details if the movement +is swift. We must give time for a child’s slow +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +reactions. We usually fail to do this in ordinary +social situations and are often surprised to hear +our three-year-old say “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.</p> + +<p>It is not enough to recognize that since a child +attends to but one thing at a time the units must be +simple. Here in the form as in the content, must +the motor quality of a child’s thinking be held +constantly in mind. In trying to find the general +subject matter appropriate for little children I +said that they think through their muscles. This +motor expression of small children has its direct +application in the concrete method of telling of +any happening. The story child who is experiencing, +should go through the essential muscular +performances which the real listening child would +go through if he were actually experiencing himself. +For he thinks through these muscular expressions. +As an example, when a group of four-year-olds +heard a story about a little boy who saw the +elevated train approach and pass above him, they +thought the child might have been run over. The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +words “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 <em>throw back his +head and look up</em>. Small children act with big +gestures and with big muscles. And they think +through the same mechanisms.</p> + +<p>These two principles, simplicity and continuity, +apply concretely to sentence and phrase structure +as well. The effort to obtain continuity for the +child explains the colloquial “The little boy who +lived in this house, <em>he</em> 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.</p> + +<p>But after all is said and done, why should we +give children stories at all? Is it to instruct and +so should we pay attention to the content? Is it +to delight and so should we pay attention to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +form? Both things, information and relish, have +their place in justifying stories for children. But +both to my mind are of minor importance compared +to a third and quite different thing,—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 <em>hear</em> 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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +the automobile. But the subtler, finer reverberations +we are not sensitive to. Yet little children +love to listen and develop another method of sensing +and appreciating their world by this pleasurable +use of their hearing. It surely is an unused +opportunity for story-tellers. I have tried to use +it in “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 +<em>meaning</em> and forget the sensuous delight of sound.</p> + +<p>But happily children are not so determined to +wring a meaning out of every sight and every +sound. Children play. Play is a child’s own technique. +Through it he seizes the strange unknown +world around him and fashions it into his very +own. He recreates through play. And through +creating, he learns and he enjoys.</p> + +<p>There is no better play material in the world +than words. They surround us, go with us through +our work-a-day tasks, their sound is always in our +ears, their rhythms on our tongue. Why do we +leave it to special occasions and to special people +to use these common things as precious play material? +Because we are grown-ups and have closed +our ears and our eyes that we may not be distracted +from our plodding ways! But when we turn to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +children, to hearing and seeing children, to whom +all the world is as play material, who think and +feel through play, can we not then drop our adult +utilitarian speech and listen and watch for the patterns +of words and ideas? Can we not care for +the <em>way</em> we say things to them and not merely <em>what</em> +we say? Can we not speak in rhythm, in pleasing +sounds, even in song for the mere sensuous delight +it gives us and them, even though it adds nothing +to the content of our remark? If we can, I feel +sure children will not lose their native use of +words: more, I think those of six and seven and +eight who have lost it in part,—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.</p> + +<p>In the City and Country School where my experiments +in language have been carried on, we +have not gone far enough to offer convincing proof +along these lines. But I submit two stories told +by a six-year-old class which are at least suggestive. +The first is the best story told to me by any +member of the class before any effort had been +made to get the children to listen to the sound of +their words or to think of their ideas as all pointing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +in one direction and giving a single impression. +The second was told by the class as a whole +while looking at Willebeek Le Mair’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?</p> + + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Story by a Six-Year-Old</strong></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Once upon a time there was a little boy named +Peter and a little boy named Boris. And Peter took +him out for a walk and took him all around school. +Then I took him out to my house and saw all my play +things. And then I took him to Central Park and +showed him sea lions and the giraffe and the elephant +and I showed how they eat by their trunks. And he +thought it was queer. And he said he was afraid of +animals and so I took him home. I told him to tell +his mother about it and his mother said, “You want +to go for another walk?” and he said, “Yes, but not +where the wild animals are.” I said, “Do you want +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +to go to Central Park?” and he said, “Yes.” You +see he got fooled! He didn’t know about the wild +animals.</p></div> + + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Joint Story by Six-Year-Old Class</strong></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I like it when the boy and the girl look at the sky. +They look at the trees and they are sleepy. It is dark +outside. It is night and the sky is dark blue. And it +is kind of whitish and the trees are next to the blue +sky. The bright evening star is out. The star is so +far up in the sky that you can hardly see it. The +children are looking at the sky before they go to bed +and they are praying to God. They have their +nightgowns on. The bed is all nice so they couldn’t +have just got up. The clothes are hanging on the bed. +They sleep in their own bed together. When they go +to bed they have their door closed.</p></div> + +<p> </p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Because of the pattern, the play aspect of language, +I believe in written stories even for very +little ones. If we loved our language better and +played with its sound in our ordinary speech, perhaps +stories for two- and three-year-olds would not +be needed. But as it is, we need to present them +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +with something more intentional, more thought out +than is possible with most of us in a story told. +If the patterns of our ideas or of our speech are +to have charm, if they are to fit the occasion with +nicety, if they are to flow easily and are to be continuous +enough to be comprehended by little children, +they will need careful attention,—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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +of sparrows in the dirt, the drift of snow on +the roofs,—perhaps we shall learn to use such +thought-out phrases or refrains like blocks for +building many stories. If we could work out some +such technique as this, we could keep the intimacy, +the flexibility, the waywardness of the spoken +story and still give the children the charm of careful +thinking and careful phrasing. Many such +phrases have been fashioned by people sensitive +to the quality of sound. Every nursery has had +its rooster crow:</p> + +<p class="center">“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”</p> + +<p>But few have given its children that delightful +epitome of the songs of spring birds which has +piped with irrepressible freshness now for nearly +four centuries:</p> + +<p class="center">“Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!”</p> + +<p>I have never known the child who did not respond +to Kipling’s engine song:</p> + +<p class="center"> + “With a michnai-ghignai-shtingal! Yah! Yah! Yah!”</p> + +<p>Every child creates these wonderful sound interpretations +of the world. We smile a smile of indulgence +when we hear them. And then we forget +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +them! Cannot we seize some of them however +imperfectly and learn to build them into the structure +of our stories? It was more or less this kind +of thing that I had in mind in writing Marni’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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +aware of the form of thought and language. It +is interesting that the children to whom these +stories have been read, have seized upon the rhyme +refrains as their own and after a few readings have +joined in saying them as though this were their +natural portion. It is with this hope that I have +tried to make the refrains not mere interludes in +the story, as they usually are, but the real skeleton, +the intrinsic thought pattern, the fundamental design. +In “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.</p> + +<p>For the sake of analysis, I have treated content +and form separately. But I am keenly aware that +the divorce of the two is what has made our stories +for children so unsatisfactory. We have good +ideas told without charm of design; and we have +meaningless patterns which tickle the ear for the +moment but fade because they spring from no real +thought. Literature is only achieved when the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +thought pattern and the language pattern exactly +fit. A refrain for the mere sake of recurrent +jingle, that has no genuine no essential recurrence +in the thought, is a trick. If the pattern does not +help the thought and the thought suggest the pattern, +there is something wrong. It is an artifice, +not art. This matching of content and form is +nothing new. It is and always has been the basis +of good literature. The task that is new is to find +thought sequences, thought relations which are +truly childlike and the language design which is +really appropriate to them,—to make both content +and form the child’s.</p> + +<p>As I said at the beginning, so must I say at the +end. These stories are experiments, experiments +both in content and form. To have any value they +must be treated as such. The theses underlying +them have been stated for brevity’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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +precious records. We must study them not merely +as showing what a child is thinking, but the <em>way</em> +he is thinking and the way he is enjoying. It is +the hope that these stories may be tried out with +children, the hope of reaching others who may be +watching and listening and working along these +lines, the hope that we may gather records of children’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. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +To those then, who wish to follow the lead of little +children, to those who have the curiosity to know +into what new paths of literature children’s interest +and children’s spontaneous expression of those +interests will lead, and to the children themselves, +I send these stories.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 55%;"> +<span class="smcap">Lucy Sprague Mitchell.</span></p> + +<p>New York City<br /> +July, 1921.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>MARNI TAKES A RIDE</strong></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>IN A WAGON</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +The refrains in this story were first made up during +the actual ride. Later they served to recall the experience +with vividness. This story is given only as a +type which any one may use when helping a two-year-old +to live over an experience.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> +<h2>MARNI TAKES A RIDE IN A WAGON</h2> + + +<p>One day Marni went for a ride. Little Aa, he +climbed into Sprague’s wagon and Marni, she +climbed in behind him. Then Mother took the +handle and she began to pull the wagon with little +Aa and Marni in it. And Mother she went:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Jog, jog, jog, jog,</span><br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Jog!</span></p> +</div> + +<p>And the wheels, they went, (with motion of hands):</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9.5em;"> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Round, round, round, round,</span><br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Round!</span></p> +</div> + +<p>And then Mother was tired. So she stopped. +And Marni said, “Whoa, horsie!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +Then Little Aa said, “Ugh, ugh!” for he wanted +to go.</p> + +<p>But Marni said, “Get up, horsie!” for she +wanted to go too. So Mother took hold of the +handle and went:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Jog, jog, jog, jog,</span><br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Jog!</span></p> +</div> + +<p>And the wheels they went:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9.5em;"> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Round, round, round, round,</span><br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Round!</span></p> +</div> + +<p>And then Mother was tired. So she stopped, +and Marni said, “Whoa, horsie!”</p> + +<p>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,</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Jog, jog, jog, jog,</span><br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + Jog, jog, jog, jog,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Jog!</span></p> +</div> + +<p>And the wheels they went:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9.5em;"> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1.9em;"><em>And</em> Round, round, round, round,</span><br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + Round, round, round, round,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Round!</span></p> +</div> + +<p>And then Mother was very, <em>very</em> tired. So she +stopped. And Marni said, “Whoa, horsie!”</p> + +<p>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, <em>very</em>, <span class="smcap">very</span> tired. She had jogged, jogged, +jogged so long and made the wheels go round, +round, round, round, so much! So she said, “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!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>MARNI GETS DRESSED</strong></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>IN THE MORNING</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This story, obviously, is for a particular little girl. +It is told in the terms of her own experience, of her +own environment, and of her own observations. It +is nothing more or less than the living over in rhythmic +form of the daily routine of her morning dressing. +Her story remarks are either literal quotations or +adaptations of her actual every day responses. The +little verse refrains are the type of thing almost anyone +can improvise. I have found that any simple statement +about a familiar object or act told (or sung) with a +kind of ceremonious attention and with an obvious and +simple rhythm, enthralls a two-year-old. The little +girl for whom this story was written began embryonic +stories before her second birthday. The water-soap-sponge +episode is an adaptation of one of her first +narrative forms. This story is meant merely as a +suggestion of the way almost anyone can make +language an every day plaything to the small child she +is caring for.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> +<h2>MARNI GETS DRESSED IN THE MORNING</h2> + + +<p>Once there was a little girl and her name was +Marni Moo. Marni used to sleep in a little bed in +mother’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.”</p> + +<p>And mother would say:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Hoohoo, Marni Moo.</span><br /> + I’m coming, I’m coming,<br /> + I’m coming for you.”</p> +</div> + +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +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:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i097.png" width="500" height="478" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Where water?</span><br /> + Where soap?<br /> + Where sponge?</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> + Water gone away!<br /> + Soap gone away!<br /> + Sponge gone away!”</p> +</div> + +<p>And after that what do you suppose Marni would +say?</p> + +<p>“Shirt, shirt.” And mother would put Marni’s +shirt over her head and say:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Peek-a-boo, Marni Moo,</span><br /> + Marni’s head is coming through.”</p> +</div> + +<p>and then mother would button up Marni’s shirt.</p> + +<p>And then Marni would say “Waist, waist.” +Then while mother put on Marni’s waist she would +say:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;"> +“Here’s one hand</span><br /> + And here’s another.<br /> + Marni’s a sister<br /> + And Robin’s a brother.”</p> +</div> + +<p>And then Marni would say, “Drawers, drawers.” +And while mother put on Marni’s drawers she +would say:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Here’s one foot</span><br /> + And here’s another.<br /> + Marni’s a sister<br /> + And Peter’s a brother.”</p> +</div> + +<p>And then Marni would say, “Stockings, stockings.” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +And mother would put on one stocking on +her left foot, and then she’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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Here’s one leg</span><br /> + And here’s another.<br /> + Marni’s a sister<br /> + And Jack-o’s a brother.”</p> +</div> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Here’s one foot</span><br /> + And here’s another.<br /> + Marni’s a sister<br /> + And Robin’s a brother.”</p> +</div> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Look, look,</span><br /> + Hook, hook.”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +And when the shoes were all buttoned up, mother +would hit first one little sole and then the other +little sole, and say:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Now we’re through</span><br /> + Tit, tat, too.<br /> + Here a nail, there a nail,<br /> + Now we’re through.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Then Marni would run and get her romper and +bring it to mother calling, “Romper, romper.” +And mother would put on her romper, singing:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Romper, romper</span><br /> + Who’s got a romper?<br /> + Little Marni Moo<br /> + She’s got two.<br /> + One is a yellow one<br /> + And one is blue.<br /> + Romper, romper<br /> + Who’s got a romper?”</p> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And then Marni would say, “Sweater.” And +mother would put on her little blue sweater saying:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Sweater, sweater</span><br /> + Who’s got a sweater?<br /> + Little Marni Moo<br /> + She’s got two.<br /> + One is a yellow one<br /> + And one is blue.<br /> + Sweater, sweater,<br /> + Who’s got a sweater?”</p> +</div> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Brush it so</span><br /> + And brush it slow.<br /> + Brush it here<br /> + And brush it there.<br /> + Brush it so<br /> + And brush it slow.<br /> + And brush it here<br /> + And brush it there<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -5em;">And brush it all over your dear little head.”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>And then Marni would say, “All ready.” And +mother would put her down on the floor.</p> + +<p>Then Marni would say:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Where my little pail?</span><br /> + My little pail gone away.<br /> + I want my little pail<br /> + Come, little pail.”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +And mother would give her her little pail. And +Marni would put one nut in her pail, and then +she’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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Then mother would call, “Breakfast, breakfast. +Anyone ready for breakfast?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +And Jack-o would call back, “I am, I am, I am +ready for breakfast.”</p> + +<p>And Peter would run as fast as he could calling, +“I am, I am, I am ready for breakfast.”</p> + +<p>And last of all would come little Marni Moo +calling, “Breakfast, breakfast.”</p> + +<p>Then the two boys would chase Marni to the +breakfast table saying:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Marni Mitchell,</span><br /> + Marni Moo,<br /> + Run like a mousie<br /> + Or I’ll catch you.”</p> +</div> + +<p>And Marni would scimper scamper like a +mousie until she reached the breakfast table.</p> + +<p>Then they would all have breakfast together.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE ROOM WITH THE</strong></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>WINDOW LOOKING OUT</strong></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 2.7em;"><strong>ON THE GARDEN</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 7em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +In this story written for a three-year-old group, I +have tried to present the familiar setting of the classroom +from a new point of view and to give the presentation +a very obvious pattern. I want the children +to take an <em>active</em> part in the story. But before they +try to do this I want them to have some conception of +the whole pattern of the story so that their contributions +may be in proper design, both in substance and in +length. That is the reason I give two samples before +throwing the story open to the children. If each +child has a part which falls into a recognized scheme, +through performing that part he gets a certain practice +in pattern making in language,—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.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN</h2> + + +<p>Once there was a little girl. She was just three +years old. One morning she and her mother put +on their hats and coats right after breakfast. They +walked and walked and walked from their house +until they came to MacDougal Alley. And then +they walked straight down the alley into the Play +School. Now the little girl had never been to the +Play School before and she didn’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.”</p> + +<p>And sure enough, when the little girl looked +around there was the sun shining right in through +a window which looked out on a lovely garden! +She knelt right down on the window sill to look +out.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 473px;"> +<img src="images/i107.png" width="473" height="500" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Then she heard some one say, “Little New Girl, +why don’t you take off your things?” She turned +around and there was Virginia talking to her. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +“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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Then Virginia said, “Let me show Little New +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +Girl something.” So what did Virginia show her?—Virginia +showed her the horses and wagons. +“You can harness them up,” said Virginia.</p> + +<p>Then Craig said, “Let <em>me</em> show Little New Girl +something.” So what did Craig show her?—Craig +showed her the beads. “You can string them +in strings,” said Craig.</p> + +<p>Then Peter said, “Let <em>me</em> 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.</p> + +<p>Then Tom said, “Let <em>me</em> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>So Little New Girl stood quite still. She saw +Robert go and get some paper and crayons and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +sit down at his little table to draw. She saw Virginia +get some horses and harness and sit down at +her little table to harness them. She saw Craig +get some beads and sit down at his little table to +string them. She saw Peter get the clay and sit +down at his little table to model. She saw Tom +go to the bench and begin to saw a piece of wood. +She saw Barbara get some paper and scissors and +paste and sit down at her little table to cut out +and to paste.</p> + +<p>Then she said, “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.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE ROOM WITH THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON THE GARDEN</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> + I know a yellow room<br /> + With great big sliding doors<br /> + And a window on the side<br /> + Looking out upon a garden.<br /> + There’s a balcony above<br /> + With a bench for carpenters<br /> + With planes and saws and hammers,<br /> + Bang! bang! with nails and hammers.<br /> + There are hooks beneath the stairs<br /> + To hang up hats and coats,<br /> + And nearby there’s a sink<br /> + With everybody’s cup.<br /> + There’s a rope and there’s a slide<br /> + Zzzip! but there’s a slide.<br /> + There are shelves and shelves and shelves<br /> + With colored silk and beads,<br /> + With paper and with crayons,<br /> + And a great big crock with clay.<br /> + And the’re blocks and blocks and blocks<br /> + And blocks and blocks and blocks<br /> + And the’re horses there and wagons<br /> + And cows and dogs and sheep,<br /> + And men and women, boys and girls<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> + With clothes upon them too.<br /> + And then the’re cars to make a train<br /> + With engine and caboose.<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a><br /> + And the’re lots of little tables<br /> + In this yellow, yellow room<br /> + For boys and girls to sit at<br /> + And play with all those things.<br /> + And there’s a great big floor<br /> + In this yellow, yellow room<br /> + For boys and girls to sit on<br /> + And play with all those things.<br /> + And there is lots of sunshine<br /> + In this yellow, yellow room<br /> + For boys and girls to sit in<br /> + And play with all those things.</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE MANY-HORSE STABLE</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +All the material for this story was supplied by a +three-year-old. The pattern was added. An older +child would not be content with so sketchy an account. +But it seems to compass a three-year-old’s most significant +associations with a stable. The title is one in +actual use by a four-year-old class.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE MANY-HORSE STABLE</h2> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i116.png" width="500" height="343" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Once there was a stable. The stable was in a big +city. Downstairs in the stable there were many +g-r-e-a-t b-i-g wagons and one little-bit-of-a +wagon. And on the walls there were many +g-r-e-a-t b-i-g harnesses and one little-bit-of-a harness. +And there were many g-r-e-a-t b-i-g blankets +and one little-bit-of-a blanket. And there were +some g-r-e-a-t b-i-g whips and one little-bit-of-a +whip. And there were some g-r-e-a-t b-i-g nose +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +bags and one little-bit-of-a nose bag. Upstairs in +the stalls there were some g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses +and one little-bit-of-a pony.</p> + +<p>In the morning the men would come and harness +up the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses with the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g +harnesses to the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g wagons. They +would put in the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g blankets and the +g-r-e-a-t b-i-g whips and the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g nose +bags. Then they would get up on the seats and +gather up the reins and off down the street would +go the g-r-e-a-t b-i-g horses. Clumpety-lumpety +bump! thump! Clumpety-lumpety bump! thump!</p> + +<p>Then a little-bit-of-a man would harness up the +little-bit-of-a pony with the little-bit-of-a harness +to the little-bit-of-a wagon. He would put in the +little-bit-of-a blanket and the little-bit-of-a whip +and the little-bit-of-a nose bag. Then he would get +up on the seat and gather up the reins and off down +the street would go the little-bit-of-a pony! +Lippety-lippety! lip! lip! lip! Lippety-lippety! +lip! lip! lip!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>MY KITTY</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +Here there is no plot. Instead I have attempted +to enumerate the associations which cluster +around a kitten, and present them in a patterned form.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> +<h2>MY KITTY</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 6em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Meow, meow!</span><br /> + Kitty’s eyes, two eyes, yellow eyes, shiny bright eyes.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Meow, meow!</span><br /> + Kitty’s pointed ears, pink on the inside, fur on the outside.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Meow, meow!</span><br /> + Kitty’s mouth, little white teeth and whiskers long.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Meow, meow!</span><br /> + Kitty’s fur, soft to stroke like this, like this.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 6em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Prrrr, prrrr,</span><br /> + Little fur ball cuddled close to the warm, warm fire.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Prrrr, prrrr,</span><br /> + Little padded feet pattering soft to get her milk.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Prrrr, prrrr,</span><br /> + Little pink tongue, lapping up the milk from her own little dish.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Prrrr, prrrr,</span><br /> + Warm little, round little, happy little kitten snuggled in my arms.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 6em;"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Pssst, pssst!</span><br /> + Stiff little kitten, spitting at a dog.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Pssst, pssst!</span><br /> + Hair standing up on her humped-up back.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Pssst, pssst!</span><br /> + Sharp white teeth, sharp, sharp, claws.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Pssst, pssst!</span><br /> + Ready to jump and to bite and to scratch.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 6em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Kitty, kitty, kitty,</span><br /> + You funny little cat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I never know whether you’ll purr or spit</span><br /> + You funny little cat!</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +An objective story tied in with the personal.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE ROOSTER AND THE HENS</h2> + + +<p>Once there was an egg. Inside the egg there +was a little chicken growing, for the mother hen +had sat on it for three weeks. When the chicken +was big enough he wanted to come out and so he +went pick, peck, pick, peck, until he made a little +hole in the shell. Then he stuck his bill through +the hole and wiggled it until the shell cracked and +he could get his head through. Then he wiggled +it a little more and the shell broke and he could +get his foot out. And then the shell broke right +in two.</p> + +<p>As soon as the little chicken was out he went +scritch, scratch, with his little foot. Then he ran +to a little saucer of water. He took a little water +in his bill; then he held his head up in the air +while the water ran down his throat. The mother +hen went:</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck,”</p> + +<p>and the little chicken ran to her calling:</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Cheep, cheep, cheep.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +Then he heard a funny little noise. He looked +around and what do you think he saw? Another +egg was cracking because another little chicken +was going pick, peck inside. Soon out of the shell +came a little baby brother. And then he heard +another funny little noise, and another shell broke +and out of the shell came a little baby sister. And +then he heard another little noise and another shell +broke and out of the shell came still another little +sister. This went on until there were a lot of yellow +baby chickens. Then all the little chickens +went scritch, scratch, with their little feet looking +for worms, and all the little chickens took a drink +of water and held up their heads to let the water +run down their throats. And all the little chickens +ran to the mother hen calling:</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Cheep, cheep, cheep.”</p> + +<p>Now all the little chickens began to grow. The +little sisters all got little bits of combs on the tops +of their heads and under their bills. Their little +yellow feathers turned into all kinds of colors. +But the little brother chicken, he got a great big +red comb on the top of his head and under his +bill, and he got long spurs on his ankles. On his +neck the feathers grew long and yellow and behind +on his tail they grew very long and all shiny green.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +He was walking around one morning while it +was still dark when suddenly he felt a funny feeling +in his throat. He wanted to open his mouth. +So he did, and out of his mouth this is what came:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Cock-a-doodle-doo,</span><br /> + Cock-a-doodle-doo.”</p> +</div> + +<p>He thought it sounded perfectly wonderful; so +he opened his mouth again and out came the same +sound:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Cock-a-doodle-doo,</span><br /> + Cock-a-doodle-doo.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Now when his sister hens heard this wonderful +rooster-noise they all came running out of the +chicken house. This made the rooster more +pleased than ever. So he threw his head way back +and he opened his beak wide and he crowed:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Cock-a-doodle-doo,</span><br /> + Cock-a-doodle-doo,<br /> + I’m twice as smart as you,<br /> + Cock-a-doodle-doo,<br /> + See what I can do.”</p> +</div> + +<p>When his sister hens heard him say this each +one began to cluck and say:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br /> + I’m going to lay an egg, an egg.”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +Then the rooster answered:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Cock-a-doodle-doo,</span><br /> + I don’t believe it’s true.<br /> + Cock-a-doodle-doo,<br /> + I don’t believe it’s true.”</p> +</div> + +<p>So the little black and white hen, she ran into +the barn and up on the side of the wall she saw a +little box. She jumped into the little box and +there she laid an egg. Then she said:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br /> + I laid an egg for Robert.<br /> + Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,<br /> + I laid an egg for Robert.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Then the little yellow hen she jumped right into +the manger and she wiggled around in the straw +until she made a little nest where she laid an egg. +Then she said:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br /> + I laid an egg for Martha.<br /> + Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,<br /> + I laid an egg for Martha.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Then the little black hen she saw another little +box nailed on to the wall so she jumped up on +it and she laid an egg and then she said:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br /> + I laid an egg for Tom, for Tom,<br /> + Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,<br /> + I laid an egg for Tom.”</p> +</div> + +<p>And then the little white hen she could not find +any place at all. She ran around and around. +Finally she sat right down in the soft dust which +by this time the sun had made all warm, until +she made a little round hollow and there she laid +an egg. Then she said:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br /> + I laid an egg for Peter.<br /> + Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,<br /> + I laid an egg for Peter.”</p> +</div> + +<p>When the rooster saw all these eggs he opened +his mouth again and bragged:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Cock-a-doodle-doo,</span><br /> + What they say is true.<br /> + See what they can do,<br /> + Cock-a-doodle-doo.”</p> +</div> + +<p>And the little hens answered:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,</span><br /> + We can lay an egg, an egg,<br /> + Cut-cut-cut, cadaakut,<br /> + We can lay an egg.”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +And if ever you are out in the country early in +the morning you will hear the wonderful rooster-noise. +And then you will hear the hens telling +how many eggs they have laid for you.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h2>THE LITTLE HEN AND THE ROOSTER</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 6em;"> +The little hen goes “cut cut cut.”<br /> +The rooster he goes “cock a doodle doo!<br /> +You want me and I want you,<br /> +But I’m up here and you’re down there.”<br /> +The little hen goes “cut cut cut,”<br /> +The rooster he steps with a funny little strut,<br /> +He cocks his eye, gives a funny little sound,<br /> +He looks at the hen, he looks all around,<br /> +He flaps his wings, he beats the air,<br /> +He stretches his neck, then flies to the ground.<br /> +“Cock a doodle, cock a doodle, cock a doodle doo!<br /> +Now you have me and I have you!”</p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>MY HORSE, OLD DAN</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This verse utilizes a child’s love of enumeration +and of movement. The School has found it the most +successful of my verse for small children.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> +<h2>MY HORSE, OLD DAN</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Old Dan has two ears<br /> +Old Dan has two eyes<br /> +Old Dan has one mouth<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With many, many, many, many teeth.</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Old Dan has four feet<br /> +Old Dan has four hoofs<br /> +Old Dan has one tail<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With many, many, many, many hairs.</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Old Dan can w a l k, w a l k,<br /> +Old Dan can trot, trot, trot,<br /> +Old Dan can run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Many, many, many, many miles.</span></p> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wheels go round and round and round.</span><br /> +Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, hear what a rattlety, tattlety sound!</span><br /> +Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wheels they pound and pound and pound.</span><br /> +Horsie goes jog-a-jog-a-jog<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the wagon it rattles along the ground!</span></p> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i134.png" width="500" height="390" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +Auto, auto.<br /> +May I have a ride?<br /> +Yes, sir, yes, sir,<br /> +Step right inside.<br /> +Pour in the water,<br /> +Turn on the gasolene,<br /> +And chug, chug, away we go<br /> +Through the country green.</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This story was worked out with the help of a five-year-old +boy who supplied most of the content. It at +once suggested dramatization to various groups of +children to whom it was read. The refrains are +definite corner posts in the story and are recognized +as such by the children.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> +<h2>HOW SPOT FOUND A HOME</h2> + + +<p>Once there was a cat. She was a black and +white and yellow cat and the boys on the street +called her Spot. For she was a poor cat with no +home but the street. When she wanted to sleep, +she had to hunt for a dark empty cellar. When +she wanted to eat, she had to hunt for a garbage +can. So poor Spot was very thin and very unhappy. +And much of the time she prowled and yowled and howled.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i138.png" width="500" height="395" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +Now one day Spot was prowling along the fence +in the alley. She wanted to find a home. She +was saying to herself:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Meow, meow!</span><br /> + I’ve no place to eat,<br /> + I’ve no place to sleep,<br /> + I’ve only the street!<br /> + Meow, meow, meow!”</p> +</div> + +<p>Then suddenly she smelled something. Sniff! +went her pink little nose. Spot knew it was smoke +she smelled. The smoke came out of the chimney +of a house. “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.</p> + +<p>Inside was a warm, warm kitchen. Spot trotted +softly to the front of the stove and there she curled +up. She was very happy, so she closed her eyes +and began to sing:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Purrrr, purrrr,</span><br /> + Curling up warm<br /> + To a ball of fur,<br /> + I close my eyes<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> + And purr and purr.<br /> + Purrrr, purrrr,<br /> + Purrrr, purrrr.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Bang! went the kitchen door. Spot opened one +sleepy eye. In front of her stood a cross, cross +woman. The cross, cross woman scowled. She +picked up poor Spot and threw her out of the +door, screaming:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Scat, scat!</span><br /> + You old street cat!<br /> + Scat, scat!<br /> + And never come back!”</p> +</div> + +<p>With a bound Spot jumped back to the fence.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Meow, meow!</span><br /> + I’ve no place to eat,<br /> + I’ve no place to sleep,<br /> + I’ve only the street.<br /> + Meow, meow, meow!”</p> +</div> + +<p>So she trotted along the fence. In a little while +sniff! went her little pink nose again. She smelled +more smoke. She stopped by a house with two +chimneys. The smoke came out of both chimneys! +“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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Purrrr, purrrr,</span><br /> + Curling up warm<br /> + To a ball of fur,<br /> + I close my eyes<br /> + And purr and purr.<br /> + Purrrr, purrrr,<br /> + Purrrr, purrrr.”</p> +</div> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Ssssspt! leave my rug!</span><br /> + Ssssspt! leave my fire!<br /> + Ssssspt! leave my milk!<br /> + Ssssspt! leave my home!”</p> +</div> + +<p>Spot gave one great jump out of the window +and another great jump to the top of the fence. +For Spot was little and thin and the great black +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +cat was strong and big. And he didn’t want Spot +in his home.</p> + +<p>Poor Spot trotted along the fence, thinking:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Meow, meow,</span><br /> + I’ve no place to eat,<br /> + I’ve no place to sleep,<br /> + I’ve only the street,<br /> + Meow, meow, meow.”</p> +</div> + +<p>In a little while she smelled smoke again. +Sniff! went her little pink nose. This time she +stopped by a house with three chimneys. The +smoke came out of all the chimneys! “Where +there are three fires there <em>must</em> 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.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I crickle, I crackle,</span><br /> + I flicker, I flare,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: -4em;">I jump from nothing right into the air.”</span></p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +There on the hearth burned an open fire with a +warm, warm rug in front of it. On the rug was +a little table and on the table were two little mugs +of milk. Spot curled up on the rug under the +table and began to sing:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Purrrr, purrrr,</span><br /> + Curling up warm<br /> + To a ball of fur,<br /> + I close my eyes,<br /> + And purr and purr.<br /> + Purrrr, purrrr,<br /> + Purrrr, purrrr.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat! Spot heard +some little feet coming. A little boy in a nightgown +ran into the room. “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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +curled up and closed her eyes and began to sing. +That was her way of saying “Thank you, little +boy and little girl! I’m so glad I’ve found a +home!”</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Purrrr, purrrr,</span><br /> + Purrrr, purrrr,<br /> + Purrrr, purrrr, purrrr.”</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE DINNER HORSES</strong></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>THE GROCERY MAN</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +The material for these stories came from questions +and observations on the part of three- and four-year-olds +arising largely from their trips on the city streets. +The children should be allowed to name the various +kinds of food.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE DINNER HORSES</h2> + + +<p>In a certain house on a certain street there lives +a certain little girl and her name is Ruth (one +of children’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.</p> + +<p>Then after a while she hears something else. +It’s quite light now. Ruth thinks it must be time +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +to get up. She stretches and stretches her legs. +Then she stretches and stretches her arms. Then +she stops still and listens.</p> + +<p>For she hears him coming, coming, coming +down the street. Clippety, lip, lip, lip, clippety, +lip, lip, lip! comes the bread horse down the street. +He stops in front of Ruth’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.</p> + +<p>After breakfast when Ruth is all ready to go to +school she hears a big auto coming down the street. +Kachug-a-chug-a-chug comes the grocery auto +down the street. It stops at Ruth’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——.</p> + +<p>Then pat, pat, pat, the driver runs to the door. +Prrrrrr! she hears the bell ring and Ruth knows +that the driver is giving Bessie all the things at +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +the kitchen door. Then pat, pat, pat back comes +the driver, jumps into the auto and kachug-a-chug-a-chug! +off goes the grocery auto down the street!</p> + +<p>On the way to school Ruth passes another +wagon. Rattling and clattering, she hears the +butcher’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.</p> + +<p>Now while Ruth is away at school Bessie washes +the spinach and chops it up fine and puts it on the +stove to boil. She puts the little chicken in a pan +and puts it in the oven to roast. Then she puts +some big potatoes in the oven to bake. Then she +slices some bread and cuts off a piece of butter +and pours out some glasses of milk.</p> + +<p>When Ruth comes home from school she smells +something good. “Dinner’s all ready,” calls +Bessie. Ruth answers, “Come father, come +mother. I’m hungry.”</p> + +<p>So Ruth and her father and mother sit down at +the table and they drink the milk and they eat the +bread and the spinach and the potatoes and the +chicken which the milk horse and the bread horse +and the grocery auto and the butcher’s wagon +brought in the morning.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i151.png" width="500" height="365" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +THE GROCERY MAN</h2> + + +<p>Prrrip! prrrip! prrrip! the telephone rings in +the grocery store. “Hello,” says the grocery man. +“Who are you?”</p> + +<p>“I’m Ruth’s mother. Good morning, Mr. Grocery +Man.”</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Ruth’s Mother. What can I +send you today?”</p> + +<p>“Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some potatoes +and some graham crackers and a package +of sugar and some carrots.”</p> + +<p>“Is that all, Ruth’s Mother?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man.”</p> + +<p>“Goodbye, Ruth’s Mother.”</p> + +<p>So the grocery man hangs up the telephone and +takes a basket and in the basket he puts some potatoes, +some graham crackers, a package of sugar +and some carrots.</p> + +<p>Then prrrip! prrrip! prrrip! the telephone rings +again.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” says the Grocery Man. “Who is this?”</p> + +<p>“This is John’s Mother. Good morning, Mr. +Grocery Man.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +“Good morning, John’s Mother. What can I +send you today?”</p> + +<p>“Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some +spinach and some apples and some butter and some +eggs.”</p> + +<p>“Is that all, John’s Mother?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man.”</p> + +<p>“Goodbye, John’s Mother.”</p> + +<p>So the Grocery Man hangs up the telephone and +takes another basket and in the basket he puts +some spinach and some apples and some butter +and some eggs.</p> + +<p>Then prrrip! prrrip, prrrip! the telephone rings +another time.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” says the Grocery Man. “Who are +you?”</p> + +<p>“I’m Robert’s Mother. Good morning, Mr. +Grocery Man.”</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Robert’s Mother. What can I +send you today?”</p> + +<p>“Please, Mr. Grocery Man, send me some +prunes and some macaroni and some salt and +some oatmeal.”</p> + +<p>“Is that all, Robert’s Mother?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s all. Goodbye, Mr. Grocery Man.”</p> + +<p>“Goodbye, Robert’s Mother.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +So the Grocery Man hangs up the telephone +and takes another basket and in the basket he +puts some prunes and some macaroni and some +salt and some oatmeal. Then he carries Ruth’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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +pat, he is back in the wagon. “Go on, Old Dan,” +and clopperty, clopperty, clop! off goes Old Dan +down the street.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>So Old Dan goes clopperty, clopperty, clop from +house to house until he has left a basket with +everybody who telephoned to the grocery man in +the morning.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE JOURNEY</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This story, which is an adaptation of a five-year-old’s +story quoted in the introduction, embodies the +details given to me by another three-year-old child. +The sound of the train should be intoned, as it was in +the original telling.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE JOURNEY</h2> + + +<p>Once Ruth’s father was going to take a journey. +He got out his suitcase. And in his suitcase he put +his slippers, his pajamas, his tooth brush, some +tooth paste, some clean underclothes, some clean +shirts, some collars, some socks and some handkerchiefs. +Then he kissed Ruth goodbye as she +lay asleep in her bed and he kissed her mother +goodbye and with his suitcase in his hand went up +to the Pennsylvania Station.</p> + +<p>At the train he met the negro porter. “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.</p> + +<p>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. <em>Philadelphia!</em> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +Thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, +thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, +thum, thum, thum. <em>Baltimore!</em> Thum, thum, +thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, +thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum. +<em>Washington!</em>”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Soon the train started. “Thum,” said the train, +though Ruth’s father never heard it he was so +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +sound asleep. “Thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, +thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; +thum, thum, thum, thum. <em>Baltimore!</em> Thum, +thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, thum; +thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, +thum. <em>Philadelphia!</em> Thum, thum, thum, thum; +thum, thum, thum, thum; thum, thum, thum, +thum; thum, thum, thum, thum. <em>New York!</em>”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>PEDRO’S FEET</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +Here there is a definite attempt to let the sounds +tell their own story.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> +<h2>PEDRO’S FEET</h2> + + +<p>Little Pedro was a dog. He lived in New York +City. He was owned by a little boy who loved +him. For Pedro had big brown eyes and curly +brown hair and when he wanted anything he +would go:</p> + +<p>“Hu-u-u, hu-u-u, hu-u-u!” And any one would +have loved Pedro.</p> + +<p>One day Pedro was lying on his front steps in +the warm, warm sun. He put his nose on his little +fore paws and went to sleep.</p> + +<p>“Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!” went a little fly in his +ear.</p> + +<p>“Yap, yap!” went Pedro’s jaws as he snapped at +the fly. But he missed the fly.</p> + +<p>“Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!” went the little fly.</p> + +<p>“Yap, yap!” went Pedro’s jaws. But he missed +the fly again.</p> + +<p>“Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!”</p> + +<p>“Yap, yap, yap!”</p> + +<p>“Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!”</p> + +<p>“Yap, yap, yap, yap!”</p> + +<p>Up jumped Pedro. “I can’t sleep with that fly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>When he came to the end of the block, he started +across the street. Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter +pat——</p> + +<p>“Honk, honk! Look out, look out! Honk, +honk!”</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could +hear them as they beat pitter patter, pitter patter, +pitter patter down the street.</p> + +<p>When he came to the end of this block, he +started across the next street.</p> + +<p>Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat——</p> + +<p>“Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty! +Get out of my way, get out of my way! Clopperty, +clopperty, clopperty, clopperty!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +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!</p> + +<p>Again on the sidewalk went his feet. You could +hear them as they beat,—pitter patter, pitter patter, +pitter patter down the street.</p> + +<p>When he came to the end of this block, he +started across the next street.</p> + +<p>Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter pat—— Pedro +stopped with one little front foot up in the air. +In the middle of the street stood a man. He had +on high rubber boots and he held a big hose.</p> + +<p>Shrzshrzshrzshrzshrz—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.</p> + +<p>Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter. He +thought he’d better find out about it.</p> + +<p>“Hie, you little dog! Look out!” shouted the +man.</p> + +<p>Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +“Hie, you little dog. I say look out!”</p> + +<p>Pitter patter, pitter pat—ssssssssss bang! the +water hit him!</p> + +<p>“Ki-eye! yow! yow!” Kathump, kathump, +kathump, kathump; kathump, kathump, kathump, +kathump! Fast, fast went Pedro’s feet, running, +tearing down the street.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>He stopped. Brrrrrrrrrrrrr—he shook himself. +He scattered the water all around.</p> + +<p>“Bow, wow, I’m glad I’m home! Bow, wow, +I’m glad I’m home!”</p> + +<p>Then he lay down in the warm, warm sun. And +he put his nose on his little fore paws. And he +closed his eyes and he went to sleep.</p> + +<p>“Bzbzbzbzbzbzbzbzbz!”</p> + +<p>But Pedro was too sound asleep to hear the fly.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED</strong></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>THE KNOWING SONG</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This story stresses the relationship of use in +response to what seems to be a five-year-old method +of thinking.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +The school has found it best to let the younger +children take the parts individually but to omit the +parts in unison. The joy of the mere noise makes it +difficult to bring them back for the close of the story. +All the children have repeated the refrains after a +few readings with evident enjoyment.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> +<h2>HOW THE ENGINE LEARNED THE KNOWING SONG</h2> + + +<p>Once there was a new engine. He had a great +big boiler; he had a smoke stack; he had a bell; +he had a whistle; he had a sand-dome; he had +a headlight; he had four big driving wheels; he +had a cab. But he was very sad, was this engine, +for he didn’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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I want to go</span><br /> + But I don’t know how;<br /> + I want to know,<br /> + Please teach me now.<br /> + Please somebody teach me how.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Now there were two men who had come just +on purpose to teach him how. And who do you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +suppose they were? The engineer and the fireman! +When the engineer heard the new engine +call out, he asked, “What do you want, new +engine?”</p> + +<p>And the engine answered:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I want the sound</span><br /> + Of my wheels going round.<br /> + I want to stream<br /> + A jet of steam.<br /> + I want to puff<br /> + Smoke and stuff.<br /> + I want to ring<br /> + Ding, ding-a-ding.<br /> + I want to blow<br /> + My whistle so.<br /> + I want my light<br /> + To shine out bright.<br /> + I want to go ringing and singing the song,<br /> + The humming song of the engine coming,<br /> + The clear, near song of the engine here,<br /> + The knowing song of the engine going.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Now the engineer and the fireman were pleased +when they heard what the new engine wanted. +But the engineer said:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“All in good time, my engine,</span><br /> + Steady, steady,<br /> + ’Til you’re ready.<br /> + Learn to know<br /> + Before you go.”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i172.png" width="500" height="368" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Then he said to the fireman, “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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I am water from a stream</span><br /> + When I’m hot I turn to steam.”</p> +</div> + +<p>When the engine felt his boiler full of water he +asked eagerly:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Now I have water,</span><br /> + Now do I know<br /> + How I should go?”</p> +</div> + +<p>But the fireman said:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“All in good time, my engine,</span><br /> + Steady, steady,<br /> + ’Til you’re ready,<br /> + Learn to know<br /> + Before you go.”</p> +</div> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I am fire,</span><br /> + The coal I eat<br /> + To make the heat<br /> + To turn the stream<br /> + Into the steam.”</p> +</div> + +<p>When the engine felt the sleeping fire wake up +and begin to live inside him and turn the water +into steam he said eagerly:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Now I have water,</span><br /> + Now I have coal,<br /> + Now do I know<br /> + How I should go?”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +But the engineer said:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“All in good time, my engine,</span><br /> + Steady, steady,<br /> + ’Til you’re ready.<br /> + Learn to know<br /> + Before you go.”</p> +</div> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“No creak,</span><br /> + No squeak.”</p> +</div> + +<p>When the engine felt the oil smoothing all his +machinery, he said eagerly:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Now I have water,</span><br /> + Now I have coal,<br /> + Now I am oiled,<br /> + Now do I know<br /> + How I should go?”</p> +</div> + +<p>But the fireman said:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“All in good time, my engine,</span><br /> + Steady, steady,<br /> + ’Til you’re ready.<br /> + Learn to know<br /> + Before you go.”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“When ice drips,</span><br /> + And wheel slips,<br /> + I am sand<br /> + Close at hand.”</p> +</div> + +<p>When the new engine felt his sand-dome filled +with sand he said eagerly:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Now I have water,</span><br /> + Now I have coal,<br /> + Now I am oiled,<br /> + Now I have sand,<br /> + Now do I know<br /> + How I should go?”</p> +</div> + +<p>But the engineer said:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“All in good time, my engine,</span><br /> + Steady, steady,<br /> + ’Til you’re ready.<br /> + Learn to know<br /> + Before you go.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Then he said to the fireman, “We must light our +engine’s headlight.” So the fireman took a cloth +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +and he wiped the mirror behind the light and +polished the brass around it. Then he filled the +lamp with oil. Then the engineer struck a match +and lighted the lamp and closed the little door +in front of it. And all the time the light kept +saying:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I’m the headlight shining bright</span><br /> + Like a sunbeam through the night.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Now when the engine saw the great golden path +of brightness streaming out ahead of him, he said +eagerly:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Now I have water,</span><br /> + Now I have coal,<br /> + Now I am oiled,<br /> + Now I have sand,<br /> + Now I make light,<br /> + Now do I know<br /> + How I should go?”</p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i177.png" width="500" height="367" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>And the engineer said, “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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Now is the time,</span><br /> + Now is the time.<br /> + Steady, steady,<br /> + Now you are ready.</p> +</div> + +<p>Blow whistle, ring bell, puff smoke, hiss steam, sprinkle +sand, shine light, turn wheels!</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 5.5em;"> +’Tis time to be ringing and singing the song,<br /> +The humming song of the engine coming,<br /> +The clear, near song of the engine here,<br /> +The knowing song of the engine going.”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +Then whistle blew, bell rang, smoke puffed, steam +hissed, sand sprinkled, light shone and wheels +turned like this: (Eventually the children can do +this together, each performing his chosen part.)</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Toot-toot, ding-a-ding, puff-puff,</span><br /> + Szszszszsz, drip-drip, chug-chug.”</p> +</div> + +<p>(After a moment stop the children)</p> + +<p>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 <em>really</em> 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.</p> + +<p>(Begin very softly rising to a climax with “I’m +here” and gradually dying to a faint whisper)</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 4em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em; font-size: .9em;">“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 1em;">I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 1.1em;">I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 1.2em;">I’m Coming, I’m Coming, I’m Coming, I’m Coming.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> + <span style="font-size: 1.3em;">I’M HERE, I’M HERE, I’M HERE, I’M HERE,</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 1.3em;">I’M HERE, I’M HERE, I’M HERE, I’M HERE.</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 1.2em;">I’m Going, I’m Going, I’m Going, I’m Going,</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 1.1em;">I’m going, I’m going, I’m going, I’m going,</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 1em;">I’m going, I’m going, I’m going, I’m going,</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: .9em;">I’m going, I’m going, I’m going, I’m going.”</span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE FOG BOAT STORY</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +The refrains must be intoned if not sung to get +the proper effect. Most of the informational parts +of the original story have been cut out. The story +grew out of questions asked before breakfast on foggy +days, and was originally told to the sound of the distant +fog horns.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE FOG BOAT STORY</h2> + + +<p>Early, early one morning, all the fog boats were +talking. This is the way they were going:</p> + +<p>“Toot, toot, toot, too-oot, to-oo-oot!” (on many +different keys.)</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i184.png" width="500" height="374" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Way down at the wharf a big steamer was being +pulled out into the river. The furnaces were all +going for the stokers were down in the hole shoveling +coal, down in the hole shoveling coal, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +shoveling coal, and a lot of black smoke was +coming out of the smoke stack. And the engines +were working, chug, chug, chug. And all the +baggage and freight had been put down in the +hold. And all the food had been put on the ice. +And all the passengers were on board and the +gang-plank had been pulled up. And this is what +the big steamer was saying:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i185a.jpg" width="500" height="100" alt="music score" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;"> +[<a href="music/185a.mid">Listen</a>] +[<a href="music/185a.pdf">PDF</a>]</p> + +<p>And do you know what was making the steamer +move? What was pulling her out into the river? +It was a little tug boat and the tug boat had hold +of one end of a big rope and the other end of +the rope was tied fast to the steamer. And the +little tug boat was puffing and chucking and working +away as hard as he could and calling out:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/i185b.jpg" width="600" height="98" alt="music score" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;"> +[<a href="music/185b.mid">Listen</a>] +[<a href="music/185b.pdf">PDF</a>]</p> + +<p>And do you know why the tug boat and the +steamer were talking like this? It is because they +were afraid they might bump into some other ship +in the fog for they can’t see in the fog. You know +how white and thick the fog can be.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +So the old steamer and the little tug boat both +kept tooting until they were way out in the middle +of the river.</p> + +<p>“Toot, toot, I’m moving.” “Tootootootootoot, +I’m awful smart.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i186.png" width="500" height="317" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Now when they were way out in the middle of +the river, the little tug boat dropped the rope from +the big steamer and turned around. As it puffed +away it called out:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Too-too-too-tootoot, I’m going home</span><br /> + Too-too-too-tootoot, I’m awful smart.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Then the big steamer moved slowly down the +river towards the great ocean calling through the +fog:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Toot, toot, I’m moving.”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now down on the right so close that it almost +bumped, there went a flat boat. This boat was +saying:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/i187a.jpg" width="600" height="104" alt="music score" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;"> +[<a href="music/187a.mid">Listen</a>] +[<a href="music/187a.pdf">PDF</a>]</p> + +<p>And that was a coal barge. And then down on +the left so close that it almost bumped on the other +side they heard another boat saying:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/i187b.jpg" width="450" height="97" alt="music score" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;"> +[<a href="music/187b.mid">Listen</a>] +[<a href="music/187b.pdf">PDF</a>]</p> + + +<p>And that was a ferry boat! Then off on the right +they heard a great big deep voice. This is what it +said:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i188a.jpg" width="500" height="108" alt="music score" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;"> +[<a href="music/188a.mid">Listen</a>] +[<a href="music/188a.pdf">PDF</a>]</p> + +<p>And that was a war boat! And every time the old +steamer answered:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Toot, toot, I’m moving.”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>Once off on the left the passengers could hear +this:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Ding——g! dong——g!</span><br /> + Hear my song——g!<br /> + Ding——g! dong——g!”</p> +</div> + +<p>And what bell do you think that was way out +there? A bell buoy rocking on the water! Every +time the wave went up it said, “ding” and every +time the wave went down it said, “dong.”</p> + +<p>By this time the old steamer was out of the harbor +way out in the open sea. The pilot came +down from the captain’s deck; he climbed down +the rope ladder to the little pilot boat that was +tied close to the big steamer. Then the little pilot +boat pushed away into the fog calling:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i188b.jpg" width="500" height="109" alt="music score" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;"> +[<a href="music/188b.mid">Listen</a>] +[<a href="music/188b.pdf">PDF</a>]</p> + + +<p>And again the big steamer answered:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Toot, toot, I’m moving.”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>Then way off on the left so far away it could +barely hear it, it heard:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i189.jpg" width="500" height="102" alt="music score" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="center" style="margin-top: -.7em;"> +[<a href="music/189.mid">Listen</a>] +[<a href="music/189.pdf">PDF</a>]</p> + + +<p>And that was a sail boat! Then way off on the +right so far away it could barely hear it, it heard</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Toot, toot, I’m moving”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>and that was another steamer.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i189.png" width="500" height="373" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>And again the big steamer answered:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Toot, toot, I’m moving.”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>And so the old steamer went out into the fog +calling, calling so that no boat would hit it. And +all the other boats that passed it, they went calling, +calling too.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This story is a slight extension of the children’s +own experience. It is purposely limited to the tools +they themselves handle familiarly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> +<h2>HAMMER AND SAW AND PLANE</h2> + + +<p>Once there was a carpenter. He had built himself +a fine new house. And now it was all done. +The walls, the floors and the roof were done. The +stairs were done. The windows and doors were +done. And the carpenter had moved into his new +house.</p> + +<p>In his house he had a stove and he had electric +lights. He had beds and chairs and bureaus and +bookcases. He had everything except a table to +eat off of. He still had to stand up when he ate +his meals!</p> + +<p>So the carpenter thought he would make him +a table. But he had no lumber left. So off he +went to the lumber mill. At the lumber mill he +saw lots and lots of lumber piled in the yard. The +carpenter told the man at the lumber mill just +how much lumber he wanted and just how long +he wanted it and how broad he wanted it and how +thick he wanted it.</p> + +<p>So the man at the lumber mill put all this lumber,—just +what the carpenter had ordered,—on a +wagon and sent it out to the carpenter’s house.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +And then the carpenter began. He said to himself, +“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:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i195.png" width="500" height="369" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Zzzu,” went the saw,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Zzzu, zzzu, zzzu.”</span><br /> + The sawdust flew<br /> + The saw ripped through<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -4em;">Down dropped the board sawed right in two.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>And then the carpenter took another board and +he measured this just the same length. Then he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +put this board on the sawhorse and he took the +saw and began to saw:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Zzzu,” went the saw,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Zzzu, zzzu, zzzu.”</span><br /> + The sawdust flew<br /> + The saw ripped through<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -4em;">Down dropped the board sawed right in two.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>And then the carpenter took still another board +and “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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 11em;"> +The plane he guides<br /> +The plane it glides<br /> +It smooths, it slides<br /> +All over the sides.</p></div> + +<p>And when this board is all smooth, the carpenter +takes it out of the vise and puts in another board. +Then he takes his plane.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 11em;"> +The plane he guides<br /> +The plane it glides<br /> +It smooths, it slides<br /> +All over the sides.</p> +</div> + +<p>And then the carpenter takes still another board +and he guides and slides the plane until this board +too is all smooth. And he does this until all the +boards that are going to make the top and the +legs and the braces are all smooth. And underneath +his bench there is a pile of shavings.</p> + +<p>And then the carpenter he says to himself, “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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +The hammer it gives a swinging pound.<br /> +The nail it gives a ringing sound.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bing! bang! bing! bing!</span><br /> +And the boards are tight together!</p> +</div> + +<p>And then the carpenter takes another piece of +the top and puts it beside the other two and he +takes another nail and then he swings his hammer +again.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +The hammer it gives a swinging pound.<br /> +The nail it gives a ringing sound.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bing! bang! bing! bing!</span><br /> +And the boards are tight together!</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +And then the carpenter takes one piece that is +going to be a leg and he holds it so it stands right +out from the top, and he takes another nail and +he nails the leg to the top. Bing! bang! bing! +bing! He does this with the other three legs of +his table. And then he has four strong legs and +the top of his table all nailed together.</p> + +<p>Then the carpenter he says to himself, “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!</p> + +<p>So the carpenter lifts his table out into the middle +of his room and he puts a chair beside it. +When he sits down he is smiling all over. For +the table is just the right size and just the right +height and it is strong and good to look at. The +carpenter is so glad to have a table to eat off of +that he says to himself:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> + “Now isn’t it grand?<br /> + I won’t have to stand<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">While eating my dinner again!</span><br /> + For now I am able<br /> + To sit at the table<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I made with saw, hammer and plane!”</span></p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE ELEPHANT</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This was written with the help of eight-year-old +children who were trying to make everything sound +“heavy” and “slow.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE ELEPHANT</h2> + + +<p>The little boy had never before been to the Zoo. +He walked up close to the high iron fence. On +the other side he saw a huge wrinkled grey lump +slowly sway to one side and then slowly sway back +to the other. And as it swayed from side to side +its great long wrinkled trunk swung slowly too. +The little boy followed the trunk with his eye up +to the huge head of the great wrinkled grey lump. +There were enormous torn worn flapping ears. +And there, too, embedded like jewels in a leather +wall sparkled two little eyes. These eyes were +fastened on the little boy. They seemed to shine +in the dull wrinkled skin. Slowly the huge mass +began to move. Slowly one heavy padded foot +came up and then went down with a soft thud. +Then came another soft thud and another and another. +Suddenly the monstrous trunk waved, +curled, lifted, stretched and stretched, until its soft +pink end was thrust through the high iron fence +and the little boy could look up into the fleshy +yawning red mouth. The little boy drew back +from the high iron fence. The end of the trunk +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +wiggled and wriggled around feeling its way up +and down a rod of the fence; the great body +swayed from one heavy foot to the other; and all +the time the bright little eyes were fastened on +the boy.</p> + +<p>The little boy looked and looked and looked +again. He could hardly believe his eyes. +“Whew!” he said at last, “so that’s an elephant!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +The classifications and most of the expressions were +suggested by a child.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> +<h2>HOW THE ANIMALS MOVE</h2> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +The lion, he has paws with claws,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The horse, he walks on hooves,</span><br /> +The worm, he lies right on the ground<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wriggles when he moves!</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +The seal, he moves with swimming feet,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The moth, has wings like a sail,</span><br /> +The fly he clings; the bird he wings,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The monkey swings by his tail!</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 11em;"> + But boys and girls<br /> + With feet and hands<br /> + Can walk and run<br /> + And swim and stand!</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE SEA-GULL</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +All the material and most of the expressions are +taken from a story by a six-year-old. It was put into +rhythm because the children wished “the words to +go like the waves.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SEA-GULL</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +Feel the waves go rocking, rocking,<br /> + Feel them roll and roll and roll.<br /> +On the top there sits a sea-gull<br /> + And he’s rocking with the waves.<br /> +Now ’tis evening and he’s weary<br /> + So he’s resting on the waves.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +When he woke in early morning<br /> + Like a flash he spied a fish.<br /> +Quick he flew and quickly diving<br /> + Snapped the fish and ate him straight.<br /> +Then he screamed for he was happy.<br /> + Then he spied another fish<br /> +Quick he flew and quickly diving<br /> + Snapped the fish and ate him straight.<br /> +So he played while shone the sunshine,<br /> + Catching fish and screaming hoarse<br /> +Till he was quite out of hunger,<br /> + And would rest him on the waves.<br /> +Once he flapped and flapped his great wings,<br /> + Soaring like an aeroplane.<br /> +Down below him lay the ocean<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> + Like a wrinkled crinkly thing,<br /> +And giant steamers looked like toy ones<br /> + Slowly moving on the waves.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +Now the moonshine’s making silver<br /> + All the tossing, rocking waves.<br /> +And the sea-gull looks like silver<br /> + And his great wings look like silver<br /> + Pressing close his silver side,<br /> +And his sharp beak looks like silver<br /> + Tucked beneath his silver wings.<br /> +For beneath the silver moonlight<br /> + See, the sea-gull’s gone to sleep.<br /> +Rocking, rocking on the water,<br /> +Sleeping, sleeping on the waves,<br /> +Rocking—sleeping—sleeping—rocking,<br /> +Fast asleep upon the waves.</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +It has seemed appropriate to let the children realize +the incessant quality of farm work before that of the +factory.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE FARMER TRIES TO SLEEP</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">The farmer woke up in the morning</span><br /> + And sleepy as sleepy was he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He turned in his bed and he grouchily said:</span><br /> + “Today I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Today I will sleep! Let me be!”</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Now Puss in the corner she heard</span><br /> + She heard what the farmer had said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">She ran to the barn and she mewed in alarm;</span><br /> + “The farmer will sleep in his bed, in his bed!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Today he will sleep in his bed!”</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Then Horse in the stable looked up,</span><br /> + He whinneyed and shook his old head;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">“Shall I stand here all day without any hay?</span><br /> + Whey-ey-ey! Farmer, come feed me!” he said, so he said,<br /> + “Whey-ey-ey! Farmer, come feed me!” he said.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">But the farmer he tight closed his eyes</span><br /> + For sleepy as sleepy was he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He turned in his bed and he angrily said:</span><br /> + “Horse, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Horse, I will sleep! Let me be!”</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Down under the barn in the dirt</span><br /> + Pig heard what the Pussy cat mewed.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">“Can he give me the scraps when he’s taking his naps?</span><br /> + Wee-ee, Farmer, come give me my food, oh, my food!<br /> + Wee-ee, Farmer, come give me my food!”</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">But the farmer he tight closed his ears</span><br /> + For sleepy as sleepy was he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He turned in his bed and he sulkily said:</span><br /> + “Pig, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Pig, I will sleep! Let me be!”</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Now Rooster with Chickens and Hen</span><br /> + Had been crowing since early that morn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And he crowed when he heard this terrible word:</span><br /> + “Cock-a-doo! Farmer, give us our corn, us our corn!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Cock-a-doo! Farmer, give us our corn.”</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">But the farmer he pulled up the covers</span><br /> + For sleepy as sleepy was he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He turned in his bed and crossly he said:</span><br /> + “Cock, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Cock, I will sleep! Let me be!”</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Cow heard in the pasture and lowed;</span><br /> + “My cud no longer I chew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I stand by the gate and I wait and I wait,</span><br /> + Oh, Farmer, come milk me! Moo-oo, moo-oo!<br /> + Oh, Farmer, come milk me, moo-oo!”</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">But the farmer got under the covers,</span><br /> + For sleepy as sleepy was he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He turned in his bed and fiercely he said,</span><br /> + “Cow, I will sleep! Let me be, let me be!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Cow, I will sleep! Let me be!”</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Then Horse he broke from the stable,</span><br /> + And Pig he broke from the pen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And Cow jumped the fence though she hadn’t much sense,</span><br /> + And Cock called Chickens and Hen, and Hen,<br /> + He called to Chickens and Hen.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Then up to the farm house door</span><br /> + All followed the Pussy who knew.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Horse whinneyed, Cock crowed, Pig grunted, Cow lowed;</span><br /> + “Get up, Farmer! Whey, cock-a-doo, wee-wee-wee, mooo!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .4em;">Whey, cock-a-doo, wee-wee-wee, moooo!”</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">The farmer down under the covers,</span><br /> + He heard and he groaned and he sighed.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">He wearily rose and he put on his clothes;</span><br /> + “They need me, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he cried,<br /> + “They need me, I’m coming,” he cried.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">“I’ll feed Horse, Chickens and Pig,</span><br /> + I’ll milk old Cow,” said he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">“And when this is done, my work’s just begun,</span><br /> + Today I must work, so I see, so I see!<br /> + Today I must work, so I see!”</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">So he fed Horse, Chickens and Pig</span><br /> + And afterwards milked old Cow.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">For Farmer must work, he never can shirk!</span><br /> + Today he is working, right now, right now!<br /> + Today he is working right now!</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS!</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +All the essential points in this story were taken from +the story of a four-year-old’s about a horse. He +enjoyed the nonsense in telling it. Some of the four-year-old +groups have appreciated the humor; some +five-year-olds have not. Instead they have seemed +confused.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> +<h2>WONDERFUL-COW-THAT-NEVER-WAS!</h2> + + +<p>Once there was a wonderful cow,—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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Oh, my baby, baby calf,</span><br /> + Your mother kindly begs,<br /> + Please, <em>please</em> get off your head<br /> + And stand upon your legs!”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +But the baby calf only mooed. And it smiled +when it mooed which the old cow thought queer +too. None of her other babies had smiled. Then +the calf said:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I’m a wonderful calf,</span><br /> + And it makes me laugh<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Such wonderful things can I do!</span><br /> + I stand on my head<br /> + Whenever I’m fed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And smile whenever I moo,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I smile whenever I moo!”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>“Dear me!” thought the old mother cow. “I +never saw or heard anything like this!”</p> + +<p>But this was only the beginning. The baby calf +kept on doing strange and wonderful things till +at last everyone called her Wonderful-calf-that-never-was! +And many people used to come to see +her stand on her head whenever she was fed. She +did other queer things too! Once she pulled off +the ear of another calf! And all she said was: +“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.</p> + +<p>At last it was June again and she was a year old. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +Her horns had begun to grow. The old cow, her +mother, had another baby. This new baby calf +was just like other calves and not wonderful at +all. The old cow was glad for Wonderful-cow-that-never-was +worried her very much. For +everything about her was queer. One day the calf +who had lost the ear,—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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I’m a wonderful cow</span><br /> + And I don’t know how<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Such wonderful things I do!</span><br /> + If I break my tail,<br /> + I never fail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">To glue with a grasshopper’s goo,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I glue with a grasshopper’s goo!”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>And so she did. She got a grasshopper to give +her some sticky stuff and she smeared it on the +two ends of her broken tail and stuck them together. +“And now it’s as good as new,” she said, +“and now it’s as good as new!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +Her horns grew and grew. She was very proud +of them and was always trying to hook some one +or gore another cow with them. But one day she +went to the edge of the lake when it was very still. +It wasn’t wavy at all. And as she leaned over +to drink, she saw herself in the water. My mercy! +but she was shocked!</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>The old mother cow was giving her new baby +some milk. It made her cross to hear Wonderful-cow-that-never-was +having krink-kranks over her +horns. “Horns grow the way they grow!” she remarked +crossly. “So what are you going to do +about it?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“What have you done now?” gasped the old +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +mother cow. “I never saw horns curled so +crumply!”</p> + +<p>The young cow smiled and said:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I’m a wonderful cow</span><br /> + And I don’t know how<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Such wonderful things I do!</span><br /> + I curl my horn<br /> + On the cob of a corn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And smile whenever I chew,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">I smile whenever I chew!”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>“And here is the corn cob I curled them on,” she +said, opening her mouth. And sure enough, there +was the corn cob!</p> + +<p>Now Wonderful-cow-that-never-was got queerer +and queerer until the farmer thought her a +little <em>too</em> queer. She was very proud of her +crumpled horns and tried to hook everyone on +them. Once she tore the farmer’s coat trying to +hook him. And once she <em>did</em> toss him up. She +watched him in the air and all she said was “He’s +up now, but he’ll come down some time.” And +bang! So he did!</p> + +<p>Finally one terrible day, they tied her tight and +cut off her horns. She was never the same afterwards. +She couldn’t hook any more. “I don’t +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +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!</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> + She’s a wonderful cow,<br /> + And anyhow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">She does a wonderful thing!</span><br /> + She wallows in mud,<br /> + She chews her cud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And has a baby in Spring!</span></p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This story was worked out with a five-year-old boy. +It is the result of his own summer experiences on a +lake.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> +<h2>THINGS THAT LOVED THE LAKE</h2> + + +<p>Once there was a little lake. And many things +loved the little lake for its water was clear and +smooth and blue when it was sunshiny, and dark +and wavy and cross-looking when it was rainy. +Now one of the things that loved the little lake +was a little fish. He was a slippery shiny little +fish all covered with slippery shiny scales. He +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +lived in the shadow of a big rock near a deep, +dark, cool pool. And when his wide-open shiny +eye saw a little fly fall on the top of the water, he +would flip his slippery, shiny tail and wave his +slippery, shiny fins and dart out and up and—snap! +he’d have the fly inside him! Then like a shiny +streak he’d quietly slip back to the cool, deep, +dark pool.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i228.png" width="500" height="397" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Another thing that loved the little lake was a +spotted green frog. He too lived near the big +rock. He would squat like a lump on the top in +the sun, blinking his bright little eyes. Then +splash! jump he would go, plump into the water. +He’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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>Now another thing that loved the little lake +was a beautiful wild duck. The wild duck had +beautiful green and brown feathers and on his +head he had a little green top-knot. Every year +he flew north from the warm south where he had +been spending the winter. High up in the air he +flew, leading many other beautiful wild ducks. +He flew with his head stretched out and his feet +tucked up close to his body and his strong wings +flapping, flapping, flapping like great fans. And +as he flew way up in the air his keen eye would see +the little lake glistening down below. “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!</p> + +<p>But not the slippery shiny fish, not the spotted +green frog, not the beautiful wild duck loves +the lake as much as some one else does. I +don’t believe any one else loves the little lake as +much as does the little summer boy! Sometimes +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +the little summer boy goes rowing on top of the +lake. He leans way forward and stretches his +oars way back, then he puts them into the water +and pulls as hard as ever he can—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, <em>very</em> noisy, and +very, <em>very</em>, VERY enormous! And the spotted green +frog too gets out of the way when the little boy +comes racketing into the water. He hops, hops +under the rocks into a safe little cave and from +there he watches and blinks his bright little eyes. +But he never croaks then! The little summer boy +knows the green frog is there and sometimes he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +peeks at him and thinks “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.</p> + +<p>But the beautiful wild duck, he never saw the +little summer boy. For long before the boy came +to the little lake, the duck had left the lake far +behind. Early one morning in Spring he flapped +his strong wings and tucked his wet webbed feet +up close to his body and stretched out his long neck +and calling “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!</p> + +<p>It is too bad that the fish and the frog are scared +away when the summer boy goes in bathing. But +it is only for a little while anyway. For the little +summer boy’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!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">In the lake they play,</span><br /> + The spotted green frog<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And the slippery shiny fish.</span><br /> + They frisk and they whisk,<br /> + And they dip and they flip.<br /> + And the water it glimmers,<br /> + It ripples and twinkles<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">When the frog and the fishes play.</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">In the lake they play,</span><br /> + The beautiful duck<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And the rackety summer boy.</span><br /> + When the wild duck swims<br /> + The water it skims.<br /> + But the boy with a shout<br /> + He plumps in, he jumps out.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And the little lake shakes with his play.</span></p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>HOW THE SINGING WATER</strong></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>GOT TO THE TUB</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +In this story I have tried to make the refrains carry +the essential points in the content. I have tried, +however, to subordinate the information to the pattern. +This story came in response to direct questions +during baths.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> +<h2>HOW THE SINGING WATER GOT TO THE TUB</h2> + + +<p>Once there was a little singing stream of water. +It sang whatever it did. And it did many things +from the time it bubbled up in the far-away hills +to the time it splashed into the dirty little boy’s +tub. It began as a little spring of water. Then +the water was as cool as cool could be for it came +up from the deep cool earth all hidden away from +the sun. It came up into a little hollow scooped +out of the earth and in the hollow were little +pebbles. Right up through the pebbles, bubbling +and gurgling it came. And what do you suppose +the water did when the little hollow was all full? +It did just what water always does, it tried to find +a way to run down hill! One side of the little +hollow was lower than the others and here the +water spilled over and trickled down. And this +is the song the water sang then:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I bubble up so cool</span><br /> + Into the pebbly pool.<br /> + Over the edge I spill<br /> + And gallop down the hill!”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +So the water became a little stream and began +its long journey to the little boy’s tub. And always +it wanted to run down—always down, and as +it ran, it tinkled this song:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I sing, I run,</span><br /> + In the shade, in the sun,<br /> + It’s always fun<br /> + To sing and to run.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Sometimes it pushed under twigs and leaves; +sometimes it made a big noise tumbling over the +roots of trees; sometimes it flowed all quiet and +slow through long grasses in a meadow. Once +it came to the edge of a pretty big rock and over it +went, splashing and crashing and dashing and +making a fine, fine spray.</p> + +<p>It sang to the little birds that took their baths +in the spray. And the little birds ruffled their +feathers to get dry and sang back to the little +brook. “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:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I sing, I run,</span><br /> + In the shade, in the sun,<br /> + It’s always fun<br /> + To sing and to run.”</p> +</div> + +<p>But to the fish in the big dark pool under the +rocks it sang so softly, so quietly, that only the +fishes heard.</p> + +<p>Now all the time that the little brook kept running +down hill, it kept getting bigger. For every +once in a while it would be joined by another little +brook coming from another hillside spring. And, +of course, the two of them were twice as large as +each had been alone. This kept happening until +the stream was a small river,—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.</p> + +<p>At last the river was strong enough to carry +great gliding boats, with deep deep voices. +“Toot,” said the boats, “tootoot-tooooooooot!”</p> + +<p>And now the song of the river was low and slow +as it answered the song of the boats:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I grow and I flow</span><br /> + As I carry the boats,<br /> + As I carry the boats of men.”</p> +</div> + +<p>After the little river had been running down +hill for ever so long, it came to a place where the +banks went up very high and steep on each side +of it. Here something strange happened. The +little river was stopped by an enormous wall. The +wall was made of stone and cement and it stretched +right across the river from one bank to the other. +The little river couldn’t get through the wall, so +it just filled up behind it. It filled and filled until +it found that it had spread out into a real little +lake. Only the people who walked around it +called it a reservoir!</p> + +<p>Now in the wall was just one opening down +near the bottom. And what do you suppose that +led to? A pipe! But the pipe was so big that +an elephant could have walked down it swinging +his trunk! Only, of course, there wasn’t any elephant +there.</p> + +<p>Now the little river didn’t like to have his race +down hill stopped. So he began muttering to +himself:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“What shall I do, oh, what shall I do?</span><br /> + Here’s a big dam and I can’t get through!<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> + Behind the dam I fill and fill<br /> + But I want to go running and running down hill!<br /> + If the pipe at the bottom will let me through<br /> + I’ll run through the pipe! That’s what I’ll do!”</p> +</div> + +<p>So he rushed into the pipe as fast as he could +for there he found he could run down hill again! +He ran and he ran for miles and miles. Above +him he knew there were green fields and trees and +cows and horses. These were the things he had +sung to before he rushed into the pipe. Then +after a long time he knew he was under something +different. He could feel thousands of feet scurrying +this way and that; he could feel thousands of +horses pulling carriages and wagons and trucks; +he could feel cars, subways, engines;—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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 6em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Way under the street, street, street,</span><br /> + I feel the feet, feet, feet.<br /> + I feel their beat, beat, beat,<br /> + Above on the street, street, street.”</p> +</div> + +<p>And then again something queer happened. +Every once in a while a pipe would go off from +the big pipe. Now one of these pipes turned into +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +a certain street and then a still smaller pipe turned +off into a certain house and a still smaller pipe +went right up between the walls of the house. And +in this house there lived the dirty little boy.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i241.png" width="500" height="407" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The water flowed into the street pipe and then +it flowed into the house pipe and then,—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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +In the bath-room was the dirty little boy. His +face was dirty, his hands were dirty, his feet were +dirty and his knees—oh! his knees were very, very +dirty. This very dirty little boy went over to the +faucet and slowly turned it. Out came the water +splashing, and crashing and dashing.</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 6em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I run from the hill,—down, down, down,</span><br /> + Under the streets of the town, town, town,<br /> + Then in the pipe, up, up, up,<br /> + I tumble right into your tub, tub, tub.”</p> +</div> + +<p>And the dirty little boy laughed and jumped into +the Singing Water!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE CHILDREN’S NEW DRESSES</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +An old pattern with new content. The steps in the +process were originally dug out by a child of six +through his own questions.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CHILDREN’S NEW DRESSES</h2> + + +<p>Once there was a small town. In the small town +were many houses and in the houses were many +people. In one of these houses there lived a +mother with a great many children. One night +after the children were all in bed and the mother +was sitting by the fire, a brick fell down the chimney. +Then another came bumping and rattling +down. Now outside there was a great wind +blowing. It whistled down the chimney and up +flamed the fire. The sparks flew into the hole +where the bricks had fallen out. The first thing +the mother knew the house was all on fire. Still +the great wind roared. The house next door +caught fire, then the next, then the next, then the +next, until half the little town was burning. The +mother with the many children and many other +frightened people ran to the part of the town behind +the great wind. And there they stayed until +the wind died down and they could put the fire +out.</p> + +<p>Now many of these people’s clothes had burned +with their houses. The many children who had +gone to bed before the fire began had nothing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +to wear except their nightclothes. The mother +went to the store. That too was burned! But she +found the storekeeper and said:—“Storekeeper, +sell me some dresses for my children for their +dresses have been burned and they have nothing +to wear.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i247.png" width="500" height="366" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +for her children’s dresses have burned up and they +have nothing to wear.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +dresses have burned up and they have nothing to +wear.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i249.png" width="500" height="370" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>So the planter went to the negroes and he said:—“Pick +me the cotton from the hot low lands that +I may send it to the weaver in his mill in the hills +that he may weave the cloth to send to the clothier +in the many-fingered factory in the middle of the +great city to make dresses to send to the storekeeper +in the small town to sell to the mother; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +for her children’s dresses have burned up and they +have nothing to wear.”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>Now the sun heard the song of the negroes of the +south. And he began to shine. And he kept on +shining on the hot low lands. And when the cotton +bolls on the hot low lands felt the sun shine and +shine and shine, they burst wide open. Then the +negroes picked the cotton, the planter shipped it, +the weaver wove it, the clothier made it into dresses, +and the storekeeper sold them to the mother.</p> + +<p>So at last the many children took off their nightclothes +and put on their new dresses. And so +they were all happy again!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>OLD DAN GETS THE COAL</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +The occupations of the city horse are always absorbing +to the school children. They have many tales about +various “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.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> +<h2>OLD DAN GETS THE COAL</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Old Dan, he lives in a stable, he does,<br /> +He sleeps in a stable stall.<br /> +Old Dan, he eats in the stable, he does,<br /> +He eats the hay from the manger, he does,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">He pulls the hay</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he chews the hay</span><br /> +When he eats in his stable stall.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Old Dan, he leaves the stable, he does,<br /> +He pulls the wagon behind.<br /> +Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does,<br /> +He trots with the wagon all empty, he does;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wagon, it clatters,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The mud, it all spatters</span><br /> +Old Dan with the wagon behind.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Old Dan, he trots to the dock, he does,<br /> +He trots to the coal barge dock.<br /> +Old Dan, he stands by the barge, he does,<br /> +He stands and the big crane creaks, it does.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Up! into the chute,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bang! out of the chute</span><br /> +Comes the coal at the coal barge dock!</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Old Dan, he pulls the load, he does,<br /> +He pulls the heavy load.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +Old Dan he pulls the coal, he does,<br /> +He slowly pulls the heavy coal.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wagon thumps,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">It bumps, it clumps</span><br /> +When old Dan pulls the load.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Old Dan, he stands by the house, he does,<br /> +And the coal rattles out behind.<br /> +Old Dan stands still by the house, he does,<br /> +He stands and the slippery coal, so it does<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Goes rattlety klang!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Zippy kabang!</span><br /> +As it slides from the wagon behind!</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Old Dan, he then leaves the house, so he does,<br /> +A-pulling the wagon behind.<br /> +Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does,<br /> +He trots with the wagon all empty, he does.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wagon it clatters,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The mud it all spatters</span><br /> +Old Dan with the wagon behind.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Old Dan, comes home to his stable, he does,<br /> +Home to his stable stall.<br /> +He finds the hay in the stable, he does,<br /> +He eats the hay from the manger, he does,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">He pulls the hay,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">He chews the hay,</span><br /> +Then he sleeps in his stable stall.</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE SUBWAY CAR</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +The relationship which this story aims to clarify is +the social significance of the subway car—its construction +and the need it answers to. Children have enjoyed +the verse better, I think, than any other in the book.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SUBWAY CAR</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 2em;"> +The surface car is a poky car,<br /> +It stops ’most every minute.<br /> +At every corner someone gets out<br /> +And someone else gets in it.<br /> +It stops for a lady, an auto, a hoss,<br /> +For any old thing that wants to cross,<br /> +This poky old, stupid old, silly old, timid old, lumbering surface car.</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i258.png" width="500" height="457" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 2em;"> +Up on high against the sky<br /> +The elevated train goes by.<br /> +Above it soars, above it roars<br /> +On level with the second floors<br /> +Of dirty houses, dirty stores<br /> +Who have to see, who have to hear<br /> +This noisy ugly monster near.<br /> +And as it passes hear it yell,<br /> +“I’m the deafening, deadening, thunderous, hideous,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;">competent, elegant el.”</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 2em;"> +Under the ground like a mole in a hole,<br /> +I tear through the white tiled tunnel,<br /> +With my wire brush on the rail I rush<br /> +From station to lighted station.<br /> +Levers pull, the doors fly ope’,<br /> +People press against the rope.<br /> +And some are stout and some are thin<br /> +And some get out and some get in.<br /> +Again I go. Beginning slow<br /> +I race, I chase at a terrible pace,<br /> +I flash and I dash with never a crash,<br /> +I hurry, I scurry with never a flurry.<br /> +I tear along, flare along, singing my lightning song,<br /> +“I’m the rushing, speeding, racing, fleeting, rapid subway car.”</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SUBWAY CAR</h2> + + +<p>Whew-ee-ee-ee-ew-ew went the siren whistle. +And all the men and all the women hurried +toward the factory. For that meant it was time +to begin work. Each man and each woman went +to his particular machine. The steam was up; +the belts were moving; the wheels were whirring; +the piston rods were shooting back and forth. And +one man made a piece of wheel, and one man made +a part of a brake, and one man made a belt, and +one man made a leather strap, and one man made +a door, and one man made some straw-covered +seats, and one man made a window-frame, and +one man made a little wire brush. And then some +other men took all these things and began putting +them together. And when the car was finished +some other men came and painted it, and on the +side they painted the number 793.</p> + +<p>The car stood on the siding wondering what he +was for and what he was to do. Suddenly he heard +another car come bumping and screeching down +the track. Before the new car could think what +was happening,—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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>And “go ahead” he did, though No. 793 thought +he would be wrenched to pieces.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The dilapidated old thing behind simply +screamed with delight as he jounced over a switch.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>With this he gave a vicious pull. Freshie +thought it would probably loosen every carefully +fastened bolt in his whole structure.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +you feel the juice go through you—just wait—that’s +all I say.”</p> + +<p>“What is juice?” groaned No. 793.</p> + +<p>But he could get no answer except “Just wait, +you will find out soon enough.”</p> + +<p>In another minute he had found out. He felt +his door pulled open and a heavy tread come +clump, clump, clump down the whole length of +him to the little closet room at the end. There +he felt levers pulled and switches turned. Suddenly +the little wire brush underneath him +dropped until it touched the third rail. Z-z-zr-zr-zr-zz-zz—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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“In the sun?” snarled his old companion. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +“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.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” whimpered No. 793.</p> + +<p>But he needed no answer. Ahead of him he +could see the track sliding down into a deep hole. +The earth closed over him in a queer rounded +arch, all lined with shiny white tiles. At the same +moment the lights all up and down his own ceiling +flashed on. He noticed then that he had a +red lantern on his front. He could tell it by the +red, glinting reflections it threw on the tiles as +he tore along. Ahead he could see a great cluster +of lights which seemed to be rushing towards him. +Of course he was really rushing towards them, +but he was so excited he got all mixed in his ideas.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“People!” screamed No. 793, “I don’t see any. +What do we do with them in this hole anyway?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +Even as he spoke he felt the man in the little +closet room in his front turn something. His wire +brush lifted and all his strength seemed to ooze +away. Then something clutched his wheels. He +screeched,—yes, he really screeched, and then he +stood still, close to the station platform. The station +looked big to No. 793 and very brilliantly +lighted. It was jammed with people who stood +pressed against ropes in long rows.</p> + +<p>A man on his own platform pulled down a +handle and then another. He felt his end doors +and then his center doors fly open. Then tramp, +tramp, tramp, tramp—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!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS</strong></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em; margin-top: 1.7em;"><strong>MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 6em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This first story is an attempt to let a child discover +the significance of his everyday environment,—of +subways and elevated railways. Here there is no +content new to the city child. But the relationship +to congestion he has not always seen for himself. In +the second story the lay-out of New York on a +crowded island is discovered. Again the content is +old but its significance may be new. Both these stories +verge on the informational.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> +<h2>BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS<br /> +MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +Many little boys and girls<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With fathers and with mothers,</span><br /> +Many little boys and girls<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With sisters and with brothers,</span><br /> +Many little boys and girls<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">They come from far away.</span><br /> +They sail and sail to big New York,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there they land and stay!</span><br /> +And you would never, never guess<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When they grow big and tall,</span><br /> +That they had come from far away<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When they were wee and small!</span></p> +</div> + +<p>One of the little boys who sailed and sailed until +he came to big New York was named Boris. He +came as the others did, with his father and his +mother and his sisters and his brothers. He came +from a wide green country called Russia. In that +country he had never seen a city, never seen +wharves with ocean steamers and ferry boats and +tug boats and barges,—never seen a street so +crowded you could hardly get through, had never +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +seen great high buildings reaching up, up, up +to the clouds, he thought. And he had never heard +a city, never heard the noise of elevated trains and +surface cars and automobiles and the many, many +hurrying feet. He often thought of the wide green +country he had left behind, and he used to talk +about it to his mother in a funny language you +wouldn’t understand. For Boris and his family +still spoke Russian. But Boris was nine years old +and he loved new things as well as old. So he +grew to love this crowded noisy new home of his +as well as the still wide country he had left.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i269.png" width="500" height="364" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Now Boris had been in New York quite a while. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +But he hadn’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!”</p> + +<p>“All right,” she answered, “be careful you don’t +get run over by one of those queer wagons that +run without horses!”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>So Boris went out on the street. He walked +to the corner and waited to go across.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 4em;"> +Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br /> +Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;<br /> +Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p> +</div> + +<p>He waited another minute.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 4em;"> +Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br /> +Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;<br /> +Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p> +</div> + +<p>He stood there a long while watching this +stream of autos and horses and trucks go by and +he thought:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Dear me! dear me!</span><br /> + What shall I do?<br /> + The’re so many things,<br /> + I’ll never get through!”</p> +</div> + +<p>Just then all the autos and the horses and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +trucks stopped. They stood still right in front of +him. And Boris saw that the big man standing +in the middle of the street had put up his hand to +stop them. So he scampered across. Boris didn’t +know that the big man was the traffic policeman!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i271.png" width="500" height="367" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Now Boris scampered down the block to the +next street. There he waited to go across.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 4em;"> +Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br /> +Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;<br /> +Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p> +</div> + +<p>He stood there a long time watching the autos +and horses and trucks go by. And he thought:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Dear me! dear me!</span><br /> + What shall I do?<br /> + The’re so many things,<br /> + I’ll never get through!”</p> +</div> + +<p>Boris looked at the big policeman who stood in +the middle of <em>this</em> street. After a while the big +policeman raised his hand and all the autos and +horses and trucks stopped and Boris scampered +across and ran down the block to the next street +crossing. And there the same thing happened +again.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 4em;"> +Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br /> +Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;<br /> +Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p> +</div> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Dear me! dear me!</span><br /> + What can they do?<br /> + The’re so many things,<br /> + They’ll never get through!”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +Then he noticed a big hole in the sidewalk. +Down the hole went some steps and down the steps +hurried lots and lots of people. “I wonder what +this is?” thought Boris and down the steps he ran.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i273.png" width="500" height="430" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>At the bottom of the steps there was a big room +all lined with white tile and all lighted with electric +lights. On the side was the funniest little +house with a little window in it and a man looking +through the window. Boris watched carefully for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +he didn’t understand. Everyone went up to the +window and gave the man 5 cents and the man +handed out a little piece of blue paper.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Just then he heard a most terrible noise:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!<br /> +Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!</p> +</div> + +<p>and down the tunnel came a train of cars. “Yi-i-i-i—sh-sh-sh-sh!” +screamed the cars and stopped +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +right in front of Boris. And then what do you +suppose happened? The doors in the car right +in front of him flew open. Everyone stepped in. +So did Boris.</p> + +<p>It was the front car. He walked to the front +and sat down where he could look out on the +tracks. He could also look into the funny little +box room and see the man who pulled the levers +and made the car go and stop. In a moment they +started:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!<br /> +How fast! How fast!</p> +</div> + +<p>Then “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.</p> + +<p>Boris was very happy. He sat quite still watching +out of the window and saying with the car; +rackety, clackety, klang, klong; rackety, clackety, +klang, klong! “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!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +At last he thought he would get out. So the +next time the man put the brakes on and the train +yelled “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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“I like the grass,</span><br /> + I like the trees,<br /> + I like the sky,<br /> + I like the breeze!<br /> + I touch the grass,<br /> + I touch the trees,<br /> + Let me play in the Park,<br /> + Oh, please! oh, please!”</p> +</div> + +<p>So he ran all round and played in the Park.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he thought it was time to go home. +He looked for the hole in the sidewalk but he +couldn’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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +thought. He knew he must walk south for he had +noticed which way the sun was when he went into +the hole in the sidewalk. And now he noticed +again where it was and so he could tell which way +was south.</p> + +<p>So Boris went out on the street. He walked to +the corner and waited to go across.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 4em;"> +Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br /> +Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse,<br /> +Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p> +</div> + +<p>He waited another minute.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 4em;"> +Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto;<br /> +Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse;<br /> +Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.</p> +</div> + +<p>He stood there a long time watching the stream +of autos and horses and trucks go by. And he +thought; “I’ll never get home if I have to go as +slowly as this.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Dear me! dear me!</span><br /> + What shall I do?<br /> + The’re so many things<br /> + I’ll never get through!”</p> +</div> + +<p>And for all he was so smart he was a very little boy +and he began to cry for his legs were tired and +he was a little frightened, too.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +Just then what do you suppose he saw? Down +the street way up in the air on a kind of trestle, +he saw a train of cars tearing by. “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:</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +he reached them. He could see bridges before +they tore under them; he could look down and +see the horses and the autos and the trucks. He +smiled as he saw how slowly they had to go while +he was racing along above them.</p> + +<p>So Boris was quite happy and sat very still and +watched out of the window. Suddenly he heard +the conductor call “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.</p> + +<p>“Well,” called his mother. “You’ve been gone +a long time! What did you see on the streets?”</p> + +<p>Boris smiled. “I haven’t been <em>on</em> the streets +much mother.”</p> + +<p>His mother was surprised. “Where have you +been if you haven’t been on the streets?” she asked.</p> + +<p>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 <em>under</em> the +streets and I went out on that. And I found a wonderful +train <em>over</em> the streets and I came home on +that!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +“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:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Now out on the streets</span><br /> + There everything meets<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And they’re all in a hurry to go.</span><br /> + But what can they do<br /> + For they can’t get through<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">And all are so terribly slow?</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“But under the street</span><br /> + Where nothing can meet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">The subway goes rackety, klack!</span><br /> + It can dash and can race,<br /> + It can flash and can chase,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">For there’s nothing ahead on the track.</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> + <span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“And over the street</span><br /> + Where nothing can meet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">Is a wonderful train indeed!</span><br /> + High up the stair<br /> + Way up in the air<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -1em;">It goes at remarkable speed.”</span></p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> +<h2>BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK</h2> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 1</strong></span></p> + +<p>One morning when Boris was eating his breakfast, +he suddenly thought of the wide green country +around his old home in Russia. I don’t know +what made him think of it. He just did! +“Mother,” he said, “I want to see some grass.”</p> + +<p>His mother smiled. “Want to go to the Park, +Boris?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll go out of New York!” cried Boris. +“If I walk far enough I’ll surely find grass, +won’t I?”</p> + +<p>“You can try,” answered his mother. Boris +was now much bigger than when he came to New +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +York and could talk quite a little English too. So +his mother let him walk over the city alone. Boris +clapped his hands! For though he was much bigger, +he was still a little boy, you know!</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>So east he went. East he went until he came +to his house. But he did not stop. He went right +by it. “How many houses there are” he thought. +“How many people there must be!” And still he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +walked east. And still the houses were set close +together street after street. After a while he saw +something that made him run again. The city +came to an end! And there was another big river! +This edge too was all docks,—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!”</p> + +<p>Now this puzzled him so that he thought he +must ask somebody about it. Close to him was a +big dock and at the dock was a flat barge. A lot +of men were unloading coal from her. He walked +up to one. “Please,” he said, “what river is this?”</p> + +<p>The man stopped his work for a minute. “It’s +the East River of course. Where do you come +from, boy?”</p> + +<p>“From Russia,” said Boris, “so you see I didn’t +know. And please, is the other river the West +River then?”</p> + +<p>“What other river, boy? What are you talking +about?”</p> + +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +“If you keep walking west you <em>do</em> come to another +river. I know you do! For I’ve done it. +And it’s a bigger river than this, too!”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>The man laughed louder than ever. “It’s a +funny thing, boy, that we call it the North River. +But you are right: it <em>is</em> 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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Boris, he went out to walk<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find the country wide.</span><br /> +And he walked west and west he walked<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">But found the Hudson wide!</span><br /> +And so he turned himself about<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And walked the other way</span><br /> +And he walked east and east he walked<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there East River lay!</span></p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 2</strong></span></p> + +<p>The next morning at breakfast, Boris suddenly +thought again of the wide green country around +his old home in Russia. I don’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.</p> + +<p>“All right,” answered his mother. “But I’m +afraid you’ll have to walk a long way to find grass +everywhere!”</p> + +<p>Out on the street he began to walk north. Then +he remembered what a long long ride north in +the subway he had had the other day. “I’d better +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +take something if I want to get to the country +wide,” he thought.</p> + +<p>So Boris went down to the subway and took the +train. He rode for ever and ever so long. He +kept wondering if there were still houses above +him or if it was all grass,—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 <em>another river</em>! “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!”</p> + +<p>So again Boris went down to the subway and +took a train going south. He stayed on it so long +that he thought he must surely be way out in the +country wide under grass, grass, everywhere. “I +guess I’ll go up and see,” he thought.</p> + +<p>So up he went at the next station. But when he +came up he found himself on a street. There were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +high buildings all around him. He began to walk +south. The farther he walked, the higher the +buildings he found. At last he came to a place +where the buildings reached up, up, up,—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.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i288.png" width="500" height="365" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +But when he got to the trees he saw that the city +came to an end again. And what a wonderful end +it was too! All around him was water,—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.</p> + +<p>But what river was that out in front of him? +Then suddenly Boris remembered. That was New +York Harbor! This was where he had landed +when he had come in the giant steamer from Russia! +Out there was Ellis Island where he had +stayed with his father and his mother and his sisters +and his brothers until they had been looked at! +He thought he could see Ellis Island from where +he stood. But there were so many islands he +couldn’t be sure. But he <em>could</em> see the Statue of +Liberty, that enormous woman holding a torch +in her hand. He was sure of that. And he could +see the boats everywhere all over the harbor. +Boris stood there some time just staring and listening +and staring. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +When Boris he went out again<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find the country wide</span><br /> +And he went north and north he went<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Harlem River’s side.</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Again he turned himself about<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And went the other way</span><br /> +And he went south and south he went<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there the harbor lay!</span></p> +</div> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 3</strong></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly Boris remembered what he had come +for. He was looking for the wide green country, +for a place where grass grew everywhere. “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.</p> + +<p>Then he looked to the west, to the Hudson +River. “No bridges there!” he said. “It’s too +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +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!</p> + +<p>Now Boris walked along thinking hard about +all this water all around New York. Just then he +noticed a lot of people coming up out of a hole in +the sidewalk. “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.</p> + +<p>“What are the Hudson Tubes and where do +they take you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>The woman laughed. “They take you to New +Jersey, of course,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Is that over there?” Boris asked, pointing +across the Hudson. “And do they really go under +the Hudson River?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +a wide green country where there is grass everywhere. +But every way I walk in New York I +come to water. I know because I’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 <em>was</em> 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.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know the Parks,” said Boris, “but that +isn’t quite what I mean!”</p> + +<p>The woman smiled again. “There <em>is</em> 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?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Boris, “I couldn’t, you see. Because +what do you think New York is?”</p> + +<p>“What do I think New York is, Boris? Why, +it’s the biggest city in the world!”</p> + +<p>“That’s not what I mean. What do you think +it <em>is</em>? What is it built on I mean?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +“What is it built on? On good sound rock I +suppose!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>And Boris who remembered the bridges and the +ferry boats and the “tubes” thought so too!</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +Boris, he went out to walk<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find the country wide</span><br /> +And he walked west and west he walked<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he found the Hudson wide!</span><br /> +And so he turned himself about<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And walked the other way</span><br /> +And he walked east and east he walked<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there East River lay!</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +But Boris he went out again<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find the country wide</span><br /> +And he went north and north he went<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Harlem River’s side.</span><br /> +Again he turned himself about<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And went the other way</span><br /> +And he went south and south he went<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there the harbor lay!</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +Then Boris scratched his head and thought:<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Whatever way I go</span><br /> +There’s always water at the end<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever way I go!</span><br /> +New York must be an island<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">An island it must be</span><br /> +So many people all shut in<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">By rivers and by sea!</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +They’ve bridges and they’ve ferry boats<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the top to go;</span><br /> +They’ve subways and they’ve Hudson tubes<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To burrow down below</span><br /> +To get things in, to get things out<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">How busy they must be!</span><br /> +In that enormous big New York<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">On rivers and on sea!”</span></p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>SPEED</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This story is a definite attempt to make the child +aware of a new relationship in his familiar environment.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;">The verse is for the older children. The story has +lent itself well to dramatization.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> +<h2>SPEED</h2> + + +<p>Once there was a big beautiful white ox. His +back was broad, his horns were long and his eyes +were large and gentle. He went slowly sauntering +down the road one sunshiny summer day. As he +walked along he swung from side to side carefully +putting down his small feet. And this is +what he thought:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Just then he heard something tearing along the +road behind him. “Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, +clopperty.” In a moment up dashed a big, +black horse.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>Just then he heard a strange humming overhead. +He glanced up. The sound came from a wire +taut and vibrating. Then he heard fast turning +wheels coming “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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +a trail of dirty smoke behind him. The poor trolley +car thought of what he had heard.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i301.png" width="500" height="373" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Now the engine raced down to the freight depot +which was near the great shipping docks. As he +waited to be loaded he thought:</p> + +<p>“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——”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +Just here he was interrupted by the deep booming +voice of a freight steamer lying alongside the +wharf. “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 <em>can</em> +go, you never get trusted if they can possibly trust +me, now do you? Did you ever think why men use +river steamers instead of you? Did you ever think +why men cut the great Panama Canal so that sea +could flow into sea? Well, it’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!”</p> + +<p>This long speech made the old steamer quite +hoarse so he cleared his throat with a long +“Toooot” and sank into silence.</p> + +<p>“Of course, what he says is true,” thought the +engine. “At the same time it is equally true that +<em>on land</em> I <em>do</em> serve everyone, I go everywhere——”</p> + +<p>Just here he was interrupted again by a most unexpected +noise. It sounded half like a steel giggle, +half like a brass hiccough. It made the engine uneasy. +He was sure someone was laughing at him. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> +Majestically he turned his headlight till it lighted +up a funny little automobile who was laughing +and laughing and shaking frantically like this and +going “zzzzz.”</p> + +<p>“You silly little road beetle,” shouted the great +engine, “what on earth’s the matter with you?”</p> + +<p>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 <em>on land</em>, 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.</p> + +<p>The engine slowly turned back his headlight till +the light shone full on his shiny rails. He thought +of what he had heard. “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.”</p> + +<p>Now the automobile went jouncing and bouncing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +up the rough road puffing merrily and thinking, +“I’m mightily pleased with myself. Look at +the way I climb this hill. There’s nothing really +so wonderful as I——”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>And the great aeroplane wheeled and rose like a +giant bird. The automobile watched him, too +humbled to speak. Up, up, up, went the aeroplane—up, +up, up ’til it was out of sight.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> +<h2>SPEED</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -2em;">The hounds they speed with hanging tongues;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -2em;">The deer they speed with bursting lungs;</span><br /> + Foxes hurry,<br /> + Field mice scurry.<br /> + Eagles fly<br /> + Swift, through the sky,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -2em;">And man, his face all wrinkled with worry,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -2em;">Goes speeding by tho’ he couldn’t tell why!</span><br /> + But a little wild hare<br /> + He pauses to stare<br /> + At the daisies and baby and me<br /> + Just sitting,—not trying to go anywhere,<br /> + Just sitting and playing with never a care<br /> + In the shade of a great elm tree.<br /> + And the daisies they laugh<br /> + As they hear the world pass,<br /> + What is speed to the growing flowers?<br /> + And my baby laughs<br /> + As he sits in the grass,<br /> + We all laugh through the sunshiny hours,—<br /> + Through the long, dear sunshiny hours!<br /> + For flowers and babies<br /> + And I still know<br /> + ’Tis fun to be happy,<br /> + ’Tis fun to go slow,<br /> + ’Tis fun to take time to live and to grow.</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>FIVE LITTLE BABIES</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This story was originally written because the +children thought a negro was dirty. The songs are +authentic. They have been enjoyed by children as +young as four years old.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> +<h2>FIVE LITTLE BABIES</h2> + + +<p>This is going to be a story about some little +babies,—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.</p> + +<p>One little baby was all yellow. He just came +that way. His eyes were black and slanted up in +his little face. His hair was black and straight. +He wore gay little silk coats and gay little silk +trousers with flowers and figures sewed all over +them. When he looked up he saw his father’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.</p> + +<p>But long before he was old enough to notice any +of these things he knew his mother loved her little +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +yellow baby with slanting black eyes. And he +loved to have her take him in her arms and sing +to him, saying:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Chu Sir Tsun Ching Min. Tsoun Sun</span><br /> + Gi Gi. Koo Yin Fee Min Kwei<br /> + Hua Shiang Lee Pan Run Yin.<br /> + Fon Chin Yoa Sir. Loo Yi To<br /> + Choa Yeo Liang Sung. Tsun Tze<br /> + Doo Soo Soo Wei Gun. Tsin Tsin.”</p> +</div> + +<p>For all this happened in China and he was a little +Chinese Baby.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Another little baby was all brown. He just +came that way. His eyes were black and his hair +was black. He wore pretty colored silk shawls +and little silk dresses. And when he looked up +he saw his father’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.</p> + +<p>But long before he was old enough to notice +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +any of these things, he knew his mother loved her +little brown baby with black eyes. And he loved +to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, +saying:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Arecoco Jarecoco, Jungle parkie bare,</span><br /> + Marabata cunecomunga dumrecarto sare,<br /> + Hillee milee puneah jara de naddeah,<br /> + Arecoco Jarecoco Jungle parkie bare.”</p> +</div> + +<p>For all this happened in India and he was a little +Indian baby.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Now another little baby was all black. He just +came that way. His eyes were black and his hair +was black and curled in tight kinky curls all over +his little head. And this little baby didn’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.</p> + +<p>But long before he was old enough to notice +any of these things, he knew his mother loved her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +little black baby with kinky black hair. And he +loved to have her take him in her arms and sing +to him, saying,</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“O túla, mntwána, O túla,</span><br /> + Unyóko akamúko,<br /> + Uséle ezintabéni,<br /> + Uhlú shwa izigwégwe,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Iwá.</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> + O túla, mntwána, O túla,<br /> + Unyóko w-zezobúya,<br /> + Akupatéle ínto enhlé,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Iwá.”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>For all this happened in Africa and he was a little +negro baby.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Still another little baby,—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.</p> + +<p>But long before he was old enough to notice any +of these things he knew his mother loved her little +red baby that she carried on her back, and he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +loved to have her take him out of his basket bed +and rock him in her arms and sing to him, saying:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Cheda-e</span><br /> +Nakahu-kalu<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be-be!</span><br /> +Nakahu-kalu<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be-be!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">E-Be-be!”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>For all this happened in America long, long ago, +and he was a little Indian baby.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The last little baby, and he makes five, was all +white. He just came so too. His eyes were blue +and his hair was gold and he looked like a little +baby you know. And he wore dear little white +dresses and little knitted shoes. When he looked +up he saw his father’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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +long before he was old enough to notice any of +these things he knew his mother loved her little +white baby with blue eyes and golden hair. And +it tells that he loved to have her rock him in her +arms and sing to him this song:</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 7em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Listen, wee baby,</span><br /> + I’d sing you a song;<br /> + The arms of the mothers<br /> + Are tender and strong,<br /> + The arms of the mothers<br /> + Where babies belong!<br /> + Brown mothers and yellow<br /> + And black and red too,<br /> + They love their babies<br /> + As I, dear, love you,—<br /> + My little white blossom<br /> + With wide eyes of blue!<br /> + And your wee golden head,<br /> + I do love it, I do!<br /> + And your feet and your hands<br /> + I love you there too!<br /> + And my love makes me sing to you<br /> + Sing to you songs,<br /> + Lying hushed in my arms<br /> + Where a baby belongs!”</p> +</div> + +<p>For all this is happening in your own country +every day and he is a little American baby. Perhaps +you know his father,—perhaps you know the +baby,—perhaps, oh, perhaps, you have heard his +mother sing!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This story made a special appeal to the school children +because the school building was originally a +stable in MacDougal Alley. They had even witnessed +this evolution from stable to garage. The +children have seemed to enjoy the rhythmic language +without any sense of strangeness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> +<h2>ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p> +Once the barn was full of hay,<br /> +Now ’tis there no more.<br /> +I wonder why the hay has left the barn?</p> + +<p> +The old horse stood in the stall all day.<br /> +He wanted to be on the streets.<br /> +He was strong, was this old horse.<br /> +He was wise, was this old horse.<br /> +And he was brave as well.<br /> +And he was proud, oh, very proud to be strong and wise and brave!<br /> +He wanted to be on the streets,<br /> +And he wondered what was wrong<br /> +That now for ten long days<br /> +No one had to come harness him up.<br /> +Old Tom, the aged driver, seemed to have gone away,<br /> +And only the stable boy had given him water and oats,<br /> +And poked him hay from the loft above.<br /> +And as the old horse thought of this<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +He reached up high with his quivering nose,<br /> +And pushing his lips far back on his teeth,<br /> +Pulled down a mouthful of hay.<br /> +But as he stood chewing the hay<br /> +Again he wondered and wondered again<br /> +Why nobody needed him,<br /> +Why nobody wished to drive.</p> + +<p> +For almost every day<br /> +Old Tom would harness him up<br /> +To a dear little, neat little, sweet little carriage<br /> +And down the alley they’d go and around to the front of the house.<br /> +And there he’d stand and wait, this dear, this steady old horse,<br /> +Flicking the flies with his tail,<br /> +Till the door of the house would open wide<br /> +And out would come his mistress dear with the baby in her arms,<br /> +And running along beside<br /> +Would come her little boy, the little boy he loved so well,<br /> +Who gave him sugar from his hand and patted his nose and neck.<br /> +And into the carriage they all would get,<br /> +His mistress and baby and little boy.<br /> +And Tom would tighten the reins a bit<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +And off down the street they’d go,<br /> +Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clop.<br /> +When he was out on the streets,—<br /> +This dear old, steady old horse,—<br /> +He knew just what to do, when to go and when to stand still.<br /> +And when with clang! clang! clang!<br /> +Fire engines shrieked down the street<br /> +He’d stand as still as a rock<br /> +So his mistress and her baby were never frightened a bit!<br /> +And the little boy laughed and watched and laughed!<br /> +And when the great policeman, so big in the middle of the street,<br /> +Held up his hand,<br /> +The old horse stopped<br /> +But watched him close<br /> +For the first wave of the hand that would tell him to go ahead.<br /> +Always the first to stop,<br /> +Always the first to go,<br /> +The old horse loved the streets.</p> + +<p> +Now he wanted the streets.<br /> +And while he stood and chewed his hay and wondered what was wrong,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +Suddenly there came a rumble<br /> +Of noises all a-jumble,<br /> +A quaking and a shaking<br /> +A terrifying tremble<br /> +Making the old horse quiver and stand still!<br /> +It came from the alley,<br /> +His own peaceful alley<br /> +Where he knew every horse, every coach, every wagon!<br /> +Bump, thump, like a lump of lead jolting,<br /> +Bang, whang, like a steam engine bolting,<br /> +Down it came crashing<br /> +Down it came smashing,<br /> +Till it stopped with a snort at his own stable door!<br /> +The old horse pulled at his halter<br /> +And strained to look round at the door.<br /> +Out of the tail of his eye he could see<br /> +The doors, the doors to his very own barn,<br /> +Swing wide under the crane where they hoistedthe hay.<br /> +And there in the alley, oh what did he see<br /> +This old horse with his terrified eye?<br /> +A monster all shiny and black<br /> +With great headlights stuck way out in front,<br /> +With brass things that grated and groaned<br /> +As the driver pulled this thing and that.<br /> +And there on the back of this monster<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +Sat old Tom<br /> +Who had driven him now for fifteen long years.<br /> +And out of the mouth of the monster, as there opened a neat little door,<br /> +Stepped his mistress dear<br /> +With her eager little boy and the baby in her arms.<br /> +And the poor horse trembled to see those that he loved so well<br /> +So near this terrible monster.<br /> +“’Twill eat them all!” he thought.<br /> +And for the first time in all his brave and prudent life<br /> +The old horse was frightened.<br /> +He raised his head,<br /> +He spread his nostrils,<br /> +He neighed with all his strength.<br /> +His mistress dear<br /> +Would surely hear,<br /> +Would hear and understand!<br /> +He wanted to save her, save the boy and save the little baby<br /> +From this terrible ugly beast<br /> +Snorting there so near!<br /> +And his mistress dear, she heard.<br /> +But did she understand?<br /> +She came and laid her hand upon his quivering side.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> +“Poor dear old horse,” she said,<br /> +“Your day is gone and you must go!”<br /> +What could she mean?<br /> +What could she mean?<br /> +What could she mean?<br /> +“You have been strong; but not so strong as is our new machine!<br /> +You have been brave; but see this thing, this thing can know no fear!<br /> +You have been wise; but this machine is like a part of Tom.<br /> +He pulls a lever, turns a wheel and this machine obeys!<br /> +Poor dear old horse<br /> +Your day is gone<br /> +And now you too must go!”<br /> +So that was what she meant!<br /> +So that was what she meant!<br /> +So that was what she meant!</p> + +<p> +The old horse heard but how could he understand?<br /> +How could he know that she had said<br /> +They wanted him no longer?<br /> +How could he know that this big monster, this new automobile<br /> +Was going to do his work for them<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +And do it better than he!<br /> +He knew that something was wrong.<br /> +He was puzzled and sad and frightened.<br /> +With head drooped low and feet that dragged<br /> +He let old Tom untie his rope<br /> +And lead him from the stall.<br /> +For one short moment as he passed the shiny automobile<br /> +He straightened his head and widened his nostrils<br /> +And snorted and snorted again.<br /> +But there within the monster, lying safe upon a seat,<br /> +He saw the little baby<br /> +Laughing and all alone.<br /> +And the old horse was puzzled, was puzzled and frightened too.<br /> +Then old Tom pulled him gently through the wide swinging doors<br /> +And led him down the alley.<br /> +Past the stables with other horses,<br /> +Past the grooms and stable boys,<br /> +Down the alley he knew so well<br /> +Went the old horse for the last time.<br /> +For he never came back again.<br /> +They had no need of him; they liked their auto better!<br /> +Down the alley he slowly went<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +And as he turned into the street below<br /> +One last long look he gave to the stable at the end,<br /> +One last long look at his mistress dear with the baby in her arms,<br /> +One last long look at the little boy waving and calling: “Goodbye, goodbye”.<br /> +One last long look, and then he was gone!</p> + +<p> +Once the barn was full of hay:<br /> +Now ’tis there no more.<br /> +I wonder why the hay has left the barn?</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE WIND</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This story is composed entirely of observations on +the wind dictated by a six-year-old and a seven-year-old +class. Every phrase (except the one word “toss”) +is theirs. The ordering only is mine.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE WIND</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 6em;"> +In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing,<br /> +But in a winter storm it growls and roars.</p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i326.png" width="500" height="380" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Sometimes the wind goes oo-oo-oo-oo-oo! It +sounds like water running. It makes a singing +sound. It blows through the grass. It blows +against the tree and the tree bows over and bends +way down. It whistles in the leaves and makes +a rustling sound. The tree shakes, the branches +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +and leaves all rustle. The wind knocks the leaves +off the trees and tosses them up in the air. Then +it blows them straight in to the window and drags +them around on the floor. It makes the leaves +whirl and twirl.</p> + +<p>And sometimes the wind is frisky. It whisks +around the corners. It comes blowing down the +street. It blows the papers round and round on +the ground. It tears them and rares them, then +up, it takes them sailing. It sweeps around the +house, blowing and puffing. It blows the wash +up. It blows the chickens off the trees. It makes +the nuts come rattling down. It turns the windmill +and makes the fire burn. It blows out the +matches, it blows out the candles, it blows out the +gas lights. It hits the people on the street. Some +it keeps back from walking and some it pushes +forward. It unbuttons the coat of a little girl, it +unbuttons her leggings too and the little girl feels +all chilly in the frisky wind. It blows up her +skirt. It pulls off her hat and blows through her +hair till she feels all chilly on her head too. Puff! +it goes, puff! puff! Then off go other hats spinning +down the street. It gets under umbrellas and +turns them inside out. The frisky wind blows +harder and harder. The houses shake. The windows +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> +rattle. And the people on the street are +whirling and twirling like the leaves.</p> + +<p>Sometimes there is a storm. The wind roars +over the ocean and makes the waves bigger than +the ships. The waves go up and down, and up +and down, and the ship goes rocking and rocking, +this way and that way, this way and that way, to +the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, back +and forth and back and forth. A boat gets tossed +on the sea. The sails are all torn to pieces by +the storm. The masts get broken off and fall down +on the ship. The ship just rocks and rocks. Then +pretty soon it bumps into a rock and is wrecked +and sinks. And all the men get drowned.</p> + +<p>The wind growls and roars over the mountain. +There is thunder and lightning. The thunder +says, “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.</p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 6em;"> +In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing,<br /> +But in a winter storm it growls and roars.</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE LEAF STORY</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +All the content and many of the expressions +were taken from stories on dried leaves dictated by +a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE LEAF STORY</h2> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i332.png" width="500" height="375" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 3em;"> +I want to fly up in the air!<br /> +If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet<br /> +And the wind blows<br /> +Perhaps I’ll fly up in the air!<br /> +Listen!<br /> +Something stirs in the dried leaves,<br /> +The tree bends, the tree bows,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> +The wind sweeps through the brown leaves.<br /> +The brown leaves crackle and rattle and dance,<br /> +They rustle and murmur and pull at the bough,<br /> +They shiver, they quiver till they pull themselves loose<br /> +And are free.<br /> +Up, up they fly!<br /> +Little brown specks in the sky.<br /> +They twist and they spin,<br /> +They whirl and they twirl,<br /> +They teeter, they turn somersaults in the air.<br /> +Then for a moment the wind holds its breath.<br /> +Down, down, down float the leaves,<br /> +Still turning and twisting,<br /> +Still twirling and whirling,<br /> +The brown leaves float to the earth.<br /> +Puff! goes the wind,<br /> +Up they fly again<br /> +With a little soft rustling laugh.<br /> +Then down they float.<br /> +Down, down, down.<br /> +On the ground the leaves go as if walking or running.<br /> +They go and then they stop.<br /> +They scurry along,<br /> +Still twisting and turning,<br /> +Still twirling and whirling,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> +They hurry along,<br /> +With a soft little rustle<br /> +They tumble, they roll and they roll.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 3em;"> +I want to fly up in the air!<br /> +If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet<br /> +And the wind blows,<br /> +Perhaps I’ll fly up in the air.</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p> +<h2>A LOCOMOTIVE</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +In the daytime, what am I?<br /> +In the hubbub, what am I?<br /> +A mass of iron and of steel,<br /> +Of boiler, piston, throttle, wheel,<br /> +A monster smoking up the sky,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">A locomotive!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">That am I!</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +In the darkness, what am I?<br /> +In the stillness, what am I?<br /> +Streak of light across the sky,<br /> +A clanging bell, a shriek, a cry,<br /> +A fiery demon rushing by,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">A locomotive</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">That am I!</span></p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i336.png" width="500" height="372" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p> +<h2>MOON MOON</h2> + +<p class="center">(<em>To the tune of “Du, du, liegst mir im herzen.</em>”)</p> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +Moon, moon,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shiny and silver,</span><br /> +Moon, moon,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Silver and white;</span><br /> +Moon, moon,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whisper to children</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Sleep through the silvery night.”</span><br /> +There, there, there, there,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep through the silvery night.</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +Sun, sun,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shiny and golden,</span><br /> +Sun, sun,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden and gay;</span><br /> +Sun, sun,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shout to the children</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Wake to the sunshiny day!”</span><br /> +There, there, there, there,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wake to the sunshiny day.</span></p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> +<h2>AUTOMOBILE SONG</h2> + + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +A-rolling, bowling, fast or slow,<br /> +A-racing, chasing, off we go.<br /> +The jolly automobile<br /> +Whizzes along with flying wheel.<br /> +We go chug, chug-chug, chug-up!<br /> +Then we go s-l-i-d-i-n-g down.<br /> +We go scooting over the hills,<br /> +We go tooting back to town.</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>SILLY WILL</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +In this story I have used a device to tie together +many isolated familiar facts. I have never found +that six-year-old children did not readily discriminate +the actual from the imaginary.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p> +<h2>SILLY WILL</h2> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 1</strong></span></p> + +<p>Once there was a little boy. Now he was a +very silly little boy, so silly that he was called +Silly Will. He had an idea that he was tremendously +smart and that he could quite well get along +by himself in this world. This foolish idea made +him do and say all sorts of silly things which led +to all sorts of terrible happenings as this story +will show.</p> + +<p>One day he went out walking. He walked down +the road until he met a little girl. The little girl +was crying.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with you?” asked Silly Will.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>The little girl looked after him with astonishment. +“I just wish no cow would ever give that +silly boy anything!” she thought.</p> + +<p>Before long he met an old woman. The old +woman was crying too.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with you?” asked Silly Will.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>Then before long Silly Will met a man. The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> +man was sitting beside the road with his face in +his hands.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with you?” asked Silly Will.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> +smart, for he <em>didn’t</em> understand. Silly people +never <em>do</em> understand!</p> + +<p>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 +<em>did</em> leave Silly Will. Not only the cow and +the sheep and the horse but all the animal kingdom! +He was sound asleep in his flannel nightgown +snuggled under warm wool blankets. Suddenly +he felt a jerk. What was happening? He +sat up in bed just in time to see his blankets whisk +off him and disappear. He looked down. His +night shirt was gone! He heard a faint sound +almost like the bleating of the old woman’s sheep. +“Ba-ba-a-a I take back my wool!”</p> + +<p>Then he was aware that something queer had +happened to his mattress. It was just an empty +bag of ticking. He heard a faint sound almost +like the neighing of the man’s horse who had died. +“Whey-ey-ey, I take back my hair!”</p> + +<p>He reached for his pillow. It too was an empty +sack.</p> + +<p>“Hh-ss-s-hh” hissed a faint sound almost like a +goose. “I take back my feathers!”</p> + +<p>“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” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> +said some faint voices. “I take back my fat!”</p> + +<p>By this time Silly Will was thoroughly frightened +and shivering with cold besides.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>But he did find some cotton stockings and some +old overalls. These he put on relieved to find they +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> +had metal buttons. Then poor Silly Will +crawled back to bed wearing his cotton clothes and +waited for morning to come. He didn’t sleep much +for the wire spring cut into him. He was cold, too.</p> + +<p>As soon as it was light he hunted around for +more clothes. He found some straw bed-room slippers. +His rubbers too were there and he put them +on over his slippers. Then he ran downstairs to +get something to eat.</p> + +<p>“Anyway,” he thought, “those old animals can’t +get me when it comes to eating. I never did care +much about meat.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But the butter had gone too! He opened the +bread box. The bread was still there! He almost +wept from relief. By hunting around he found a +good deal to eat. Cocoa made with water instead +of milk was pretty good. Then there were crackers +and apples. His oatmeal wasn’t very good without +milk or butter. But he ate it. He knew he +would have plenty of vegetables and fruits and +cereals.</p> + +<p>And the day was warm enough so that he didn’t +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> +mind his cotton clothes. But his feet did hurt +him. He wondered about wooden shoes and +thought he would try to make some.</p> + +<p>He was a little worried too about his bed. He +hunted around in the house until he found two +cotton comforters. One he put under his sheet in +place of his mattress and one on top in place of his +blankets. So, on the whole, he thought, he could +manage to get along.</p> + +<p>Poor little Silly Will! He had never before +thought how much the animals did for him. Once +in a while he would think of the little girl and the +old woman and the man he had met that afternoon. +But not for long. And he never remembered +that some time winter would come. But long +before that time came, Silly Will had got himself +into still more trouble. For even now he didn’t +understand!</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 2</strong></span></p> + +<p>From this time on nothing went well with Silly +Will. When he had eaten the vegetables he had in +the house he walked over to a gardener who lived +nearby. He wanted to get potatoes and other supplies +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> +for the winter. To his horror he found everything +drooping and wilted and withered. “What’s +the matter with the vegetables, gardener?” asked +Silly Will.</p> + +<p>“A frost,” sighed the gardener. “It’s killed all +the potatoes. I hope you weren’t depending on +them?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 +<em>did</em> leave Silly Will,—not only the potatoes and the +trees but the whole vegetable kingdom.</p> + +<p>He was asleep all curled up to keep warm in his +cotton clothes. Suddenly he felt the comforter and +sheet under him jerk away and he was left lying +on the wire spring. At the same time the comforter +and sheet over him disappeared. So did +his nightshirt. Then bang! His wooden bed was +gone. The house began to creak and rock. He +jumped up and tore down stairs. He just got outside +the front door when the whole house collapsed.</p> + +<p>The moon was shining. Silly Will could see +quite plainly. There stood the brick chimneys rising +out of a pile of plaster dumped on top of the +concrete foundations. There was the slate roof +and the broken window of glass. The air was full +of a sound like the violent trembling of many +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> +leaves. It sounded for all the world as if it said, +“I take back my wood!”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>Silly Will was thoroughly terrified now.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> +Again it sounded like the wind rustling a thousand +leaves. “The vegetable kingdom has left +him,” it seemed to say.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Slowly he put out his hand. Surely that was a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> +linen sheet! Surely that was a woolen blanket. +Surely he had on his flannel nightgown. He sat +straight up. Surely this was his own bed: this was +his own room: this was his own house. He could +scarcely believe his eyes. He gave a great shout.</p> + +<p>“Moo-oo-oo,” answered a cow under a tree outside +his window. And the leaves of the tree rustled +at him too.</p> + +<p>“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!</p> + +<p>“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!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>EBEN’S COWS</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +This story attempts to make an industrial process +a background for real adventure.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span></p> +<h2>EBEN’S COWS</h2> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 1</strong></span></p> + +<p>Eben was looking at the cows. And the cows +were looking at Eben. What Eben saw was +twenty-six pairs of large gentle eyes, twenty-six +mouths chewing with a queer sidewise motion, +twenty-six fine fat cattle, some red, some white, +some black, some red and white, and some black +and white, all in a bright green meadow. What +the cows saw, held by his mother on the rail fence, +was a fat baby with a shining face and waving +arms. What Eben heard was the heavy squashy +footsteps of the slow-moving cows as they lumbered +toward the little figure on the fence. What the +cows heard was a high, excited little voice saying +a real word for the first time in its life, “Cow! cow! +oh, cow! oh, cow!” And so with his first word +began Eben’s life-long friendship with the cows.</p> + +<p>Eben Brewster lived in a little white farm-house +with green blinds. The cows lived in a great long +red barn, which was connected with the little white +farm-house by a wagon-shed and tool-house. High +up on the great red barn was printed GREEN +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> +MOUNTAIN FARM. Long before Eben knew +how to read he knew what those big letters said, +and he knew that the lovely rolling hills that +ringed the farm around, were called the Green +Mountains. In front of both house and barn +stretched the bright green meadows where day +after day fed the twenty-six cows. In a neighboring +meadow played the long-legged calves. For +at Green Mountain Farm there were always many +calves. In the summer they usually had fifteen +or twenty calves a few months old. For every cow +of course had her baby once a year. The little +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> +bull calves they sold; but the little cow calves +they raised.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i357.png" width="500" height="403" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>When Eben was three years old he made friends +with the calves his own way. He wiggled through +the bars of the gate into their pasture. The calves +stared at him; they sniffed at him. Then they came +a little closer. They stared at him again. They +sniffed at him again. Then they came closer still. +Then one little black and white thing came right +up to him and licked his face and hands. And +three-year-old Eben liked the feel of the soft nose +and the rough tongue and he liked the sweet cow +smell.</p> + +<p>So it came about that Eben played regularly +with the calves. It always amused his father +Andrew to watch them together. “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!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> +Real little sister or Nancy, as she was called, +grew apace. To her Eben was always wonderful. +At six years he seemed equal to about anything. +It did not surprise her at all one day to hear her +father say, “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.</p> + +<p>From the day he began driving home the cows +alone Eben took a real share in the work at the +farm. He put the cows’ heads into the stanchions +when each one lumbered into her stall. He fed +them hay and ensilage through the long winter +months when the meadows were white with snow. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> +He put the cans to catch the cream and the +skimmed milk when his father turned the separator. +He took the separator apart and carried +it up to his mother to be washed. Nancy helped +and talked. Only she really talked more than she +helped!</p> + +<p>Eben’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.”</p> + +<p>There came a very exciting day at Green +Mountain Farm. For twenty years Andrew +Brewster and his men had milked his cows morning +and evening. His hands were hard from the +practice. The children loved to watch him milk. +With every pull of his strong hands he made a +fine white stream of milk shoot into the pail, squirt, +squirt, squirt. Eben had often tried, but pull as +he would, he could only get out a few drops. And +even as Andrew Brewster had milked his cows +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> +morning and evening until his hands were horny, +so had his father done before him. Yes, and his +father’s father, too. For three generations of +Brewsters had hardened their hands milking cows +on Green Mountain Farm. Then there came this +exciting day, and a new way of milking began at +the big red barn.</p> + +<p>A milking machine was put in. It ran by a wonderful +little puffing gasolene engine. It milked +two cows at once. And it milked all twenty-six +of them in twenty minutes. Andrew Brewster +could manage the whole herd alone with what +help Eben could give him. It was a great day for +him. It was a great day for Eben and Nancy too.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><strong>Part 2</strong></span></p> + +<p>There came another day which was even more +exciting for the two children than when the milking +machine was put into the big red barn. This +story is really about that day. Eben was then ten +years old and Nancy seven. Their father and +mother had gone for the day to a county fair. The +two children were to be alone all day, which made +up for not going to the fair. The children had +long since eaten the cold dinner their mother had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> +left for them. They had done all their chores +too. Nancy had gathered the eggs and Eben had +chopped the kindling and brought in the wood. +They had fed the baby chickens and given them +water. Then they had gone to the woods for an +afternoon climb over the big rocks and a wade in +the brook. Now they were waiting for their father +and mother to come back. They had been waiting +for a long time, for it was seven o’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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Go ahead,” answered Eben. “But we’re not the +ones I’m worrying about—nor Father and Mother +either. It’s those poor cows.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> +The two children peered into the big dark barn. +The unmistakable cow smell came to them strong +in the dark. Stretching down the whole length +was stall after stall, each holding an impatient +cow. The children could see the restless hind feet +moving and stamping; they could see the flicking +of many tails; they could feel the cows pulling +at the stanchions. On the other side were the stalls +of the Little Sisters. They too were moving about +wildly. Over above it all rose the deafening sound +of the plaintive lowings. By the door stood the +gasolene engine. It was attached to a pipe which +ran the whole length of the great barn above the +cows’ stalls. Eben’s eyes followed this pipe until +it was lost in the dark.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> +skimmed milk. “There, Little Sisters, poor, +hungry Little Sisters,” said Nancy, as she watched +their eager pink tongues.</p> + +<p>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 <em>never</em> 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!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span></p> +<p class="ralign2" style="font-size: 1.3em;"><strong>THE SKY SCRAPER</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 10em; margin-right: 10em;"> +The story tries to assemble into a related form +many facts well-known to seven-year-olds and to +present the whole as a modern industrial process.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i369.png" width="500" height="348" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SKY SCRAPER</h2> + + +<p>Once in an enormous city, men built an enormous +building. Deep they built it, deep into the +ground; high they built it, high into the air. Now +that it is finished the men who walk about its feet +forget how deep into the ground it reaches. But +they can never forget how high into the blue it +soars. Their necks ache when they throw back +their heads to see to the top. For, of all the buildings +in the world, this sky scraper is the highest.</p> + +<p>The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great +city. From its top one can see the city, one can +hear the city, one can smell the city—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.</p> + +<p>The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> +city. But from its top in the blue, blue sky one +can see all over the land. Landward the fields +spread out like a map till they are lost in the mist +and smoke. Seaward lies the vast, the tremendous +stretch of the sea, the wrinkled, the crinkled, the +far-away sea that stretches to touch the sky.</p> + +<p>Now this soaring sky scraper is the work of men—of +many, many men. Its lofty lacy tower was +first thought of by the architect. With closed eyes +he saw it, and with his well-trained fingers quickly +he drew its outline. Then at his office many men +with T squares and with compasses, sitting at high +long tables, with green-shaded lamps, worked far +into the nights till all the plans were ready.</p> + +<p>Then the sky scraper began to grow. The first +men brought mighty steam shovels. One hundred +feet into the earth they burrowed. The gigantic +mouths of the steam shovels gnawed at the rock +and the clay. Huge hulks they clutched from this +underworld, heaved up with enormous derricks +and crashed out on the upper land. Deep they +dug, deep into the ground till they found the firm +bed-rock. With a network of steel they filled this +terrific hole. Into the rasping, revolving mixers +they poured tons of sand and cement and gravel +which steadily flowed in a sluggish stream to +strengthen the steel supports.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> +At last,—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.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i372.png" width="500" height="456" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The riveter screamed and shrieked and shrilled. +It pierced the air of the narrow streets. On the +nearby buildings it vibrated, echoed. The sky +scraper seemed alive and thrilled by the quivering, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> +throbbing, shrieking shrill,—by the song of +the riveter. Story by story the sky scraper grew, +a monstrous outline against the sky. And ever and +ever as it grew, hissed the rivet and screamed the +drill.</p> + +<p>At length the sky scraper soared sixty dizzy +stories high. Then swiftly came the stone masons +and encased the giant steel frame. Swiftly in its +center, men reared the plunging elevators. Swiftly +worked the electrician, the plumber, the carpenter. +All workmen were called and all workmen +came. The world listened to the call of this sky +scraper standing in the heart of the great city. +From the mines of Minnesota to the swamps of +Louisiana came goods to serve its need. Long, +long ago, in olden days, the churches grew slowly +bit by bit, as one man carved a door post here and +another fitted a window there, each planning his +own part. Not so with the sky scraper. It grew +in haste. Its parts were made in factories scattered +the country over. Each factory was ready with a +part, and the railroad was ready swift to bring +them to its feet. The sky scraper grew in haste. +For it the many worked as one.</p> + +<p>Planned by those who command and reared by +those who obey, in an enormous city men built this +enormous building. Deep they built it, deep into +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> +the ground; high they built it, high into the air. +And now they use this building built by them. +The sky scraper houses an army of ten thousand +men. All day they clamber up and down its core +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> +like insects in a giant tree. They buzz and buzz, +and then go home.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 396px;"> +<img src="images/i374.png" width="396" height="500" alt="image" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>But there with the shadowy silent streets at its +feet stands the lofty sky scraper. On its head there +glows a monstrous light. The rays pierce through +the fogs. And when the storm is screaming wild, +the light struggles through to the frightened boats +tossing on the mountain waves. The storm howls +and beats on the sides of the lofty lacy tower with +the shining light on top. The storms beat on its +side, the tower leans in the wind, the tower of +steel and of stone leans and leans a full two feet. +Then when the blast is past, this tower of steel +and of stone swings back to straightness again.</p> + +<p>And so in the enormous city men built this enormous +building. Deep they built it, deep into the +ground; high, they built it, high into the air. Now +that it is finished, the men who walk about its feet +forget how deep into the ground it reaches. But +they can never forget how high into the blue it +soars. Their necks ache when they throw back +their heads to see to the top. For of all the buildings +in the world this sky scraper is the highest.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><strong>END</strong></p> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> For a clear exposition of this field of literature for children +see “Literature in the Elementary School,” by Porter Lander MacClintock, +University of Chicago Press, 1907.</p></div> + + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> +<em>At this point the teacher might ask, “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.</em></p></div> + + +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Here and Now Story Book, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERE AND NOW STORY BOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 27075-h.htm or 27075-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/0/7/27075/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Anne Storer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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