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diff --git a/30272-h/30272-h.htm b/30272-h/30272-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a84dd42 --- /dev/null +++ b/30272-h/30272-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2769 @@ +<!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=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Very Short Stories and Verses for Children, by Mrs. W. K. Clifford. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1 { text-align: center; line-height: 1.5; clear: both; } + + h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { text-align: center; clear: both; } + + p.title { text-align: center; text-indent: 0; + font-weight: bold; + line-height: 1.4; margin-bottom: 3em; } + +.serif {font-family:"Old English Text MT","Times New Roman",Georgia,Serif} + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .author {text-align: right; margin-right: 5%; font-variant: small-caps;} + +dd, li {margin-top: 0.50em; margin-bottom: 0; + line-height: 1.2em; /* a bit closer than p's */} + +ul { list-style-type: none; + position: relative; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +.lsoff { list-style-type: none; } + +span.tocright { /* use absolute positioning to move page# right */ + position: absolute; right: 10%;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30272 ***</div> + +<h1>VERY SHORT STORIES</h1> + +<h2>MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD</h2> + +<p class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image001.jpg" width="400" height="600" alt="(cover)" title="" /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="figcenter" style="width: 470px;"> +<a name="Illustration_Apple_Blossom_I_am_waiting_are_you_here" id="Illustration_Apple_Blossom_I_am_waiting_are_you_here"></a> +<img src="images/image002.jpg" width="470" height="600" alt=""Apple Blossom, I am waiting; are you here?" P. 14" +title=""Apple Blossom, I am waiting; are you here?" P. 14" /> +<span class="caption">"Apple Blossom, I am waiting; are you here?" + <i>P</i>. <a href="#Page_14">14</a> +</span> +</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h1>VERY SHORT STORIES<br /> +<small>AND</small><br /> +VERSES FOR CHILDREN.<br /> +<br /></h1> + +<p class="title"><small>BY</small><br /><br /> + +<big>MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD,</big><br /> + +<span class="smcap"><small>Author of "Anyhow Stories," &c.</small></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>With Illustrations by Edith Campbell.</i><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +LONDON:<br /> +WALTER SCOTT, 24 WARWICK LANE,<br /> +<small>PATERNOSTER ROW.</small><br /> +1886.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Preface" id="Preface"></a><span class="serif">Preface.</span></h2> + + +<p>These stories, with the exception of the first +one, are reprinted from two little books—"Children +Busy," etc., and "Under Mother's +Wing." They were then only signed with my +initials. Some of the verses appear now for the +first time.</p> + +<p class="author">L. C.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><i>TO YOU—AND ETHEL AND ALICE</i></h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<ul> +<li> <span class="tocright"><small>PAGE</small></span></li> + +<li>MASTER WILLIE <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></span></li> + +<li>SWINGING <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></span></li> + +<li>THE WOODEN DOLL <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></span></li> + +<li>WATCHING <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></span></li> + +<li>THE LIGHT ON THE HILLS <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></span></li> + +<li>WRITING A BOOK <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></span></li> + +<li>THE RABBIT <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></span></li> + +<li>THE SANDY CAT <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></span></li> + +<li>ON THE WAY TO THE SUN <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></span></li> + +<li>IN THE MOONLIGHT <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></span></li> + +<li>THE POOR LITTLE DOLL <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></span></li> + +<li>THE VIOLETS <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></span></li> + +<li>THE FIDDLER <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></span></li> + +<li>THE BROKEN HORSE <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></span></li> + +<li>THE RAINBOW-MAKER <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></span></li> + +<li>OVER THE PORRIDGE <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></span></li> + +<li>A-COMING DOWN THE STREET <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></span></li> + +<li>THE PROUD BOY <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></span></li> + +<li>SEEKING THE VIOLETS <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></span></li> + +<li>TOMMY'S STOCKINGS <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></span></li> + +<li>MIDSUMMER-NIGHT <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></span></li> + +<li>THE LITTLE MAID <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></span></li> + +<li>WAR <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></span></li> + +<li>PEACE <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></span></li> + +<li>MY LITTLE BROTHER <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></span></li> + +<li>THE KITE <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></span></li> + +<li>THE TINKER'S MARRIAGE <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></span></li> + +<li>THE CHILDREN AND THE GARLAND <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></span></li> + +<li>ROUND THE TEA-TABLE <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></span></li> + +<li>TOMMY <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></span></li> + +<li>THE SWALLOWS <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></span></li> + +<li>A FIRST LOVE-MAKING <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></span></li> + +<li>SMUT <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></span></li> + +<li>SEE-SAW <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></span></li> + +<li>THE BAD GIRL <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></span></li> + +<li>MORNING TIME <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></span></li> + +<li>THE PINK PARASOL <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></span></li> + +<li>THE SISTERS <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></span></li> + +<li>THE WHITE RABBITS <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></span></li> + +<li>THE WOODEN HORSE <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></span></li> + +<li>THE DUCK POND <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></span></li> + +<li>THE LITTLE MAID <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></span></li> + +<li>THE DONKEY ON WHEELS <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></span></li> + +<li>COCK-A-DOODLE <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></span></li> + +<li>THE BOY AND LITTLE GREAT LADY <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></span></li> + +<li>GOOD-DAY, GENTLE FOLK <span class="tocright"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></span></li> +</ul> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MASTER_WILLIE" id="MASTER_WILLIE"></a>MASTER WILLIE.</h2> + + +<p>There was once a little boy called Willie. I +never knew his other name, and as he lived +far off behind the mountain, we cannot go to inquire. +He had fair hair and blue eyes, and there was something +in his face that, when you had looked at him, +made you feel quite happy and rested, and think +of all the things you meant to do by-and-by when +you were wiser and stronger. He lived all alone +with the tall aunt, who was very rich, in the big +house at the end of the village. Every morning he +went down the street with his little goat under his +arm, and the village folk looked after him and +said, "There goes Master Willie."</p> + +<p>The tall aunt had a very long neck; on the top of +it was her head, on the top of her head she wore a +white cap. Willie used often to look up at her and +think that the cap was like snow upon the mountain. +She was very fond of Willie, but she had lived a +great many years and was always sitting still to think +them over, and she had forgotten all the games she +used to know, all the stories she had read +when she was little, and when Willie asked her +about them, would say, "No, dear, no, I can't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +remember; go to the woods and play." Sometimes +she would take his face between her two hands and +look at him well while Willie felt quite sure that she +was not thinking of him, but of someone else he did +not know, and then she would kiss him, and turn +away quickly, saying, "Go to the woods, dear; it +is no good staying with an old woman." Then he, +knowing that she wanted to be alone, would pick +up his goat and hurry away.</p> + +<p>He had had a dear little sister, called Apple-blossom, +but a strange thing had happened to her. +One day she over-wound her very big doll that +talked and walked, and the consequence was quite +terrible. No sooner was the winding-up key out +of the doll's side than it blinked its eyes, talked +very fast, made faces, took Apple-blossom by the +hand, saying, "I am not your doll any longer, but you +are my little girl," and led her right away no one +could tell whither, and no one was able to follow. +The tall aunt and Willie only knew that she had +gone to be the doll's little girl in some strange +place, where dolls were stronger and more +important than human beings.</p> + +<p>After Apple-blossom left him, Willie had only his +goat to play with; it was a poor little thing with no +horns, no tail and hardly any hair, but still he +loved it dearly, and put it under his arm every +morning while he went along the street.</p> + +<p>"It is only made of painted wood and a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +hair, Master Willie," said the blacksmith's wife one +day. "Why should you care for it; it is not even +alive."</p> + +<p>"But if it were alive, anyone could love it."</p> + +<p>"And living hands made it," the miller's wife +said. "I wonder what strange hands they were;—take +care of it for the sake of them, little master."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dame, I will," he answered gratefully, and +he went on his way thinking of the hands, wondering +what tasks had been set them to do since they +fashioned the little goat. He stayed all day in the +woods helping the children to gather nuts and +blackberries. In the afternoon he watched them +go home with their aprons full; he looked after +them longingly as they went on their way singing. +If he had had a father and mother, or brothers +and sisters, to whom he could have carried home +nuts and blackberries, how merry he would have +been. Sometimes he told the children how happy +they were to live in a cottage with the door open all +day, and the sweet breeze blowing in, and the cocks +and hens strutting about outside, and the pigs +grunting in the styes at the end of the garden; to +see the mother scrubbing and washing, to know +that the father was working in the fields, and to +run about and help and play, and be cuffed and +kissed, just as it happened. Then they would +answer, "But you have the tall lady for your aunt, +and the big house to live in, and the grand carriage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +to drive in, while we are poor, and sometimes have +little to eat and drink; mother often tells us how +fine it must be to be you."</p> + +<p>"But the food that you eat is sweet because you +are very hungry," he answered them, "and no one +sorrows in your house. As for the grand carriage, +it is better to have a carriage if your heart is +heavy, but when it is light, then you can run swiftly +on your own two legs." Ah, poor Willie, how lonely +he was, and yet the tall aunt loved him dearly. +On hot drowsy days he had many a good sleep with +his head resting against her high thin shoulders, +and her arms about him.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, clasping his goat as usual, he +sat down by the pond. All the children had gone +home, so he was quite alone, but he was glad to +look at the pond and think. There were so many +strange things in the world, it seemed as if he +would never have done thinking about them, not if +he lived to be a hundred.</p> + +<p>He rested his elbows on his knees and sat +staring at the pond. Overhead the trees +were whispering; behind him, in and out of +their holes the rabbits whisked; far off he could +hear the twitter of a swallow; the foxglove was +dead, the bracken was turning brown, the cones +from the fir trees were lying on the ground. +As he watched, a strange thing happened. Slowly +and slowly the pond lengthened out and out,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +stretching away and away until it became a river—a +long river that went on and on, right down +the woods, past the great black firs, past the little +cottage that was a ruin and only lived in now and +then by a stray gipsy or a tired tramp, past the +setting sun, till it dipped into space beyond. +Then many little boats came sailing towards +Willie, and one stopped quite close to where +he sat, just as if it were waiting for him. He +looked at it well; it had a snow-white sail and +a little man with a drawn-sword for a figure-head. +A voice that seemed to come from nowhere +asked—</p> + +<p>"Are you ready, Willie?" Just as if he understood +he answered back—</p> + +<p>"Not yet,—not quite, dear Queen, but I shall be +soon. I should like to wait a little longer."</p> + +<p>"No, no, come now, dear child; they are all +waiting for you." So he got up and stepped into +the boat, and it put out before he had even time to +sit down. He looked at the rushes as the boat cut +its way through them; he saw the hearts of the +lilies as they lay spread open on their great wide +leaves; he went on and on beneath the crimson +sky towards the setting sun, until he slipped into +space with the river.</p> + +<p>He saw land at last far on a-head, and as he +drew near it he understood whither the boat was +bound. All along the shore there were hundreds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +and hundreds of dolls crowding down to the +water's edge, looking as if they had expected +him. They stared at him with their shining +round eyes; but he just clasped his little goat +tighter and closer, and sailed on nearer and nearer +to the land. The dolls did not move; they stood +still, smiling at him with their painted lips, then +suddenly they opened their painted mouths and +put out their painted tongues at him; but still he +was not afraid. He clasped the goat yet a little +closer, and called out, "Apple-blossom, I am +waiting; are you here?" Just as he had expected, +he heard Apple-blossom's voice answering from +the back of the toy-town—</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear brother, I am coming." So he +drew close to the shore, and waited for her. He +saw her a long way off, and waved his hand.</p> + +<p>"I have come to fetch you," he said.</p> + +<p>"But I cannot go with you unless I am bought," +she answered, sadly, "for now there is a wire spring +inside me; and look at my arms, dear brother;" +and pulling up her pink muslin sleeves, she showed +him that they were stuffed with sawdust. "Go +home, and bring the money to pay for me," she +cried, "and then I can come home again." But +the dolls had crowded up behind, so that he might +not turn his boat round. "Straight on," cried +Apple-blossom, in despair; "what does it matter +whether you go backwards or forwards if you only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +keep straight when you live in a world that is +round?"</p> + +<p>So he sailed on once more beneath the sky that +was getting grey, through all the shadows that +gathered round, beneath the pale moon, and the +little stars that came out one by one and watched +him from the sky.</p> + +<p>I saw him coming towards the land of story-books. +That was how I knew about him, dear +children. He was very tired and had fallen asleep, +but the boat stopped quite naturally, as if it knew +that I had been waiting for him. I stooped, and +kissed his eyes, and looked at his little pale face, +and lifting him softly in my arms, put him into this +book to rest. That is how he came to be here for +you to know. But in the toy-land Apple-blossom +waits with the wire spring in her breast and the +sawdust in her limbs; and at home, in the big +house at the end of the village, the tall aunt +weeps and wails and wonders if she will ever see +again the children she loves so well.</p> + +<p>She will not wait very long, dear children. I +know how it will all be. When it is quite dark to-night, +and she is sitting in the leather chair with the +high back, her head on one side, and her poor long +neck aching, quite suddenly she will hear two voices +shouting for joy. She will start up and listen, +wondering how long she has been sleeping, and +then she will call out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Oh, my darlings, is it you?" And they will +answer back—</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is us, we have come, we have come!" and +before her will stand Willie and Apple-blossom. For +the big doll will have run down, and the wire spring +and the sawdust will have vanished, and Apple-blossom +will be the doll's little girl no more. Then +the tall aunt will look at them both and kiss them; +and she will kiss the poor little goat too, wondering +if it is possible to buy him a new tail. But though +she will say little, her heart will sing for joy. Ah, +children, there is no song that is sung by bird or +bee, or that ever burst from the happiest lips, that +is half so sweet as the song we sometimes sing in +our hearts—a song that is learnt by love, and sang +only to those who love us.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SWINGING" id="SWINGING"></a>SWINGING.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">I.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Swing, swing, swing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the drowsy afternoon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swing, swing, swing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up I go to meet the moon.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swing, swing, swing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can see as I go high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far along the crimson sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can see as I come down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tops of houses in the town;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">High and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fast and slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swing, swing, swing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">II.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Swing, swing, swing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See! the sun is gone away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swing, swing, swing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone to make a bright new day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swing, swing, swing.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can see as up I go<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The poplars waving to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can see as I come down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lights are twinkling in the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">High and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fast and slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swing, swing, swing.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WOODEN_DOLL" id="THE_WOODEN_DOLL"></a>THE WOODEN DOLL.</h2> + + +<p>The wooden doll had no peace. My dears, if +ever you are a doll, hope to be a rag doll, or +a wax doll, or a doll full of sawdust apt to ooze out, +or a china doll easy to break—anything in the world +rather than a good strong wooden doll with a +painted head and movable joints, for that is indeed +a sad thing to be. Many a time the poor wooden +doll wished it were a tin train, or a box of soldiers, +or a woolly lamb, or anything on earth rather than +what it was. It never had any peace; it was taken +up and put down at all manners of odd moments, +made to go to bed when the children went to bed, +to get up when they got up, be bathed when they +were bathed, dressed when they were dressed, +taken out in all weathers, stuffed into their satchels +when they went to school, left about in corners, +dropped on stairs, forgotten, neglected, bumped, +banged, broken, glued together,—anything and +everything it suffered, until many a time it said +sadly enough to its poor little self, "I might as well +be a human being at once and be done with it!" +And then it fell to thinking about human beings; +what strange creatures they were, always going +about, though none carried them save when they +were very little; always sleeping and waking, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +eating and drinking, and laughing and crying, and +talking and walking, and doing this and that and +the other, never resting for long together, or seeming +as if they could be still for even a single day. +"They are always making a noise," thought the +wooden doll; "they are always talking and +walking about, always moving things and doing +things, building up and pulling down, and making +and unmaking for ever and for ever, and never are +they quiet. It is lucky that we are not all human +beings, or the world would be worn out in no time, +and there would not be a corner left in which to +rest a poor doll's head."</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="WATCHING" id="WATCHING"></a>WATCHING.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dear father's ship is very near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll blow him kisses, baby dear,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He may come home to-day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A happy wind that journeys south<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems just to linger round my mouth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then bear a kiss away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, baby, I will hold you—so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll watch the waves that outward go,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And call, "Come back to-day!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For father's heart seems always near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who can tell but he may hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or know the words we say?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All round and up the cottage wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The honeysuckle's grown so tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It sees above the gate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flowers came hurrying up so sweet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We told the little seeds they'd meet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dear father,—and they wait.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We first shall see a speck of white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far, far away, there where the light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Has swept the morning dim;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So silent will his coming seem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twill be like waking from a dream<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To wave our hands to him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then, and then he'll hoist you high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swiftly pass the people by,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Just stopping here and there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To shake the neighbours by the hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tell them of the southern land,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And ask them how they fare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He is not very far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For mother said he'd come to-day—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We knew it by her face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She caught you up and kissed you so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now she's busy to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sings about the place.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LIGHT_ON_THE_HILLS" id="THE_LIGHT_ON_THE_HILLS"></a>THE LIGHT ON THE HILLS.</h2> + + +<p>"I want to work at my picture," he said, and +went into the field. The little sister went +too, and stood by him watching while he painted.</p> + +<p>"The trees are not quite straight," she said, +presently, "and oh, dear brother, the sky is not blue +enough."</p> + +<p>"It will all come right soon," he answered. +"Will it be of any good?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," she said, wondering that he should +even ask, "it will make people happy to look at it. +They will feel as if they were in the field."</p> + +<p>"If I do it badly, will it make them unhappy?"</p> + +<p>"Not if you do your very best," she answered; +"for they will know how hard you have tried. Look +up," she said suddenly, "look up at the light upon +the hills," and they stood together looking at all +he was trying to paint, at the trees and the field, +at the deep shadows and the hills beyond, and +the light that rested upon them.</p> + +<p>"It is a beautiful world," the girl said. "It is a +great honour to make things for it."</p> + +<p>"It is a beautiful world," the boy echoed sadly. +"It is a sin to disgrace it with things that are +badly done."</p> + +<p>"But you will do things well?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I get so tired," he said, "and long to leave off +so much. What do you do when you want to do +your best,—your very, very best?" he asked, +suddenly.</p> + +<p>"I think that I am doing it for the people I +love," she answered. "It makes you very strong +if you think of them; you can bear pain, and walk +far, and do all manner of things, and you don't get +tired so soon."</p> + +<p>He thought for a moment. "Then I shall paint +my picture for you," he said; "I shall think of you +all the time I am doing it."</p> + +<p>Once more they looked at the hills that seemed +to rise up out of the deep shadows into the light, +and then together they went home.</p> + +<p>Soon afterwards a great sorrow came to the boy. +While the little sister slept, she wandered into +another world, and journeyed on so far that she lost +the clue to earth, and came back no more. The +boy painted many pictures before he saw the field +again, but in the long hours, as he sat and worked, +there came to him a strange power that answered +more and more truly to the longing in his heart—the +longing to put into the world something of +which he was not ashamed, something which should +make it, if only in the person of its meanest, +humblest citizen, a little happier or better.</p> + +<p>At last, when he knew that his eye was true and +his touch sure, he took up the picture he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +promised to paint for the dear sister, and worked +at it until he was finished.</p> + +<p>"This is better than all he has done before," the +beholders said. "It is surely beautiful, for it makes +one happy to look at it."</p> + +<p>"And yet my heart ached as I did it," the boy +said, as he went back to the field. "I thought of +her all the time I worked,—it was sorrow that gave +me power." It seemed as if a soft voice, that spoke +only to his heart, answered back—</p> + +<p>"Not sorrow but love, and perfect love has all +things in its gift, and of it are all things born save +happiness, and though that may be born too——"</p> + +<p>"How does one find happiness?" interrupted +the boy.</p> + +<p>"It is a strange chase," the answer seemed to +be; "to find it for one's own self, one must seek it +for others. We all throw the ball for each other."</p> + +<p>"But it is so difficult to seize."</p> + +<p>"Perfect love helps one to live without happiness," +his own heart answered to himself; "and +above all things it helps one to work and to wait."</p> + +<p>"But if it gives one happiness too?" he asked +eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, then it is called Heaven."</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="WRITING_A_BOOK" id="WRITING_A_BOOK"></a>WRITING A BOOK.</h2> + + +<p>"Let us write a book," they said; "but what +shall it be about?"</p> + +<p>"A fairy story," said the elder sister.</p> + +<p>"A book about kings and queens," said the +other.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said the brother, "let's write about +animals."</p> + +<p>"We will write about them all," they cried +together. So they put the paper, and pens, and +ink ready. The elder sister took up a fairy story +and looked at it, and put it down again.</p> + +<p>"I have never known any fairies," she said, +"except in books; but, of course, it would not do +to put one book inside another—anyone could do +that."</p> + +<p>"I shall not begin to-day," the little one said, +"for I must know a few kings and queens before I +write about them, or I may say something foolish."</p> + +<p>"I shall write about the pig, and the pony, and +the white rabbit," said the brother; "but first I +must think a bit. It would never do to write a +book without thinking."</p> + +<p>Then the elder sister took up the fairy story +again, to see how many things were left out, for +those, she thought, would do to go into her book.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +The little one said to herself, "Really, it is no good +thinking about kings and queens until I have known +some, so I must wait;" and while the brother was +considering about the pig, and the pony, and the +white rabbit, he fell asleep.</p> + +<p>So the book is not written yet, but when it is we +shall know a great deal.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_RABBIT" id="THE_RABBIT"></a>THE RABBIT.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The moon is shining o'er the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A little breeze is blowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The radish leaves are crisp and green,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lettuces are growing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The owl is in the ivy-bush,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With both his eyes a-winking;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rabbit shakes his little tail,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sits him down a-thinking—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh! where are all the dormice gone?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And are the frogs a-wooing?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will no one come to play with me?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What are they all a-doing?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Poor little rabbit, all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Don't let the master meet you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'll shoot you with his little gun,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And merrily he'll eat you!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_SANDY_CAT" id="THE_SANDY_CAT"></a>THE SANDY CAT.</h2> + + +<p>The sandy cat sat by the kitchen fire. Yesterday +it had had no supper; this morning +everyone had forgotten it. All night it had caught +no mice; all day as yet it had tasted no milk. A +little grey mouse, a saucerful of milk, a few fish or +chicken bones, would have satisfied it; but no grey +mouse, with its soft stringy tail behind it, ran across +the floor; no milk was near, no chicken bones, no +fish, no anything. The serving-maid had been +washing clothes, and was hanging them out to dry. +The children had loitered on their way to school, +and were wondering what the master would say to +them. The father had gone to the fair to help a +neighbour to choose a horse. The mother sat +making a patchwork quilt. No one thought of the +sandy cat; it sat by the fire alone and hungry.</p> + +<p>At last the clothes were all a-drying, the children +had been scolded, and sat learning a lesson for the +morrow. The father came from the fair, and the +patchwork quilt was put away. The serving-maid +put on a white apron with a frill, and a clean cap, +then taking the sandy cat in her arms, said, +"Pussy, shall we go into the garden?" So they +went and walked up and down, up and down the +pathway, till at last they stopped before a rose tree;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +the serving-maid held up the cat to smell the roses, +but with one long bound it leaped from her arms +and away—away—away.</p> + +<p>Whither?</p> + +<p>Ah, dear children, I cannot tell, for I was not +there to see; but if ever you are a sandy cat +you will know that it is a terrible thing to be +asked to smell roses when you are longing for a +saucerful of milk and a grey mouse with a soft +stringy tail.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ON_THE_WAY_TO_THE_SUN" id="ON_THE_WAY_TO_THE_SUN"></a>ON THE WAY TO THE SUN.</h2> + + +<p>He had journeyed a long way, and was very +tired. It seemed like a dream when he +stood up after a sleep in the field, and looked over +the wall, and saw the garden, and the flowers, and +the children playing all about. He looked at the +long road behind him, at the dark wood and the +barren hills; it was the world to which he +belonged. He looked at the garden before him, at +the big house, and the terrace, and the steps that +led down to the smooth lawn—it was the world +which belonged to the children.</p> + +<p>"Poor boy," said the elder child, "I will get you +something to eat."</p> + +<p>"But where did he come from?" the gardener +asked.</p> + +<p>"We do not know," the child answered; "but he +is very hungry, and mother says we may give him +some food."</p> + +<p>"I will take him some milk," said the little one; +in one hand she carried a mug and with the other +she pulled along her little broken cart.</p> + +<p>"But what is he called?" asked the gardener.</p> + +<p>"We do not know," the little one answered; +"but he is very thirsty, and mother says we may +give him some milk."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where is he going?" asked the gardener.</p> + +<p>"We do not know," the children said; "but he +is very tired."</p> + +<p>When the boy had rested well, he got up saying, +"I must not stay any longer," and turned to go on +his way.</p> + +<p>"What have you to do?" the children asked.</p> + +<p>"I am one of the crew, and must help to make +the world go round," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Why do we not help too?"</p> + +<p>"You are the passengers."</p> + +<p>"How far have you to go?" they asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a long way!" he answered. "On and on +until I can touch the sun."</p> + +<p>"Will you really touch it?" they said, +awestruck.</p> + +<p>"I dare say I shall tire long before I get there," +he answered sadly. "Perhaps without knowing it, +though, I shall reach it in my sleep," he added. +But they hardly heard the last words, for he was +already far off.</p> + +<p>"Why did you talk to him?" the gardener said. +"He is just a working boy."</p> + +<p>"And we do nothing! It was very good of him +to notice us," they said, humbly.</p> + +<p>"Good!" said the gardener in despair. "Why, +between you and him there is a great difference."</p> + +<p>"There was only a wall," they answered. +"Who set it up?" they asked curiously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, the builders, of course. Men set it up."</p> + +<p>"And who will pull it down?"</p> + +<p>"It will not want any pulling down," the man +answered grimly. "Time will do that."</p> + +<p>As the children went back to their play, they +looked up at the light towards which the boy was +journeying.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we too shall reach it some day," they +said.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IN_THE_MOONLIGHT" id="IN_THE_MOONLIGHT"></a>IN THE MOONLIGHT.</h2> + + +<p>He picked a buttercup, and held it up to her +chin. "Do you like butter?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Butter!" she exclaimed. "They are not made +into butter. They are made into crowns for the +Queen; she has a new one every morning."</p> + +<p>"I'll make you a crown," he said. "You shall +wear it to-night."</p> + +<p>"But where will my throne be?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"It shall be on the middle step of the stile by +the corn-field."</p> + +<p>So when the moon rose I went out to see.</p> + +<p>He wore a red jacket and his cap with the +feather in it. Round her head there was a wreath +of buttercups; it was not much like a crown. On +one side of the wreath there were some daisies, +and on the other was a little bunch of blackberry-blossom.</p> + +<p>"Come and dance in the moonlight," he said; +so she climbed up and over the stile, and stood in +the corn-field holding out her two hands to him. +He took them in his, and then they danced round +and round all down the pathway, while the wheat +nodded wisely on either side, and the poppies +awoke and wondered. On they went, on and on +through the corn-field towards the broad green<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +meadows stretching far into the distance. On and +on, he shouting for joy, and she laughing out so +merrily that the sound travelled to the edge of the +wood, and the thrushes heard, and dreamed of +Spring. On they went, on and on, and round and +round, he in his red jacket, and she with the wild +flowers dropping one by one from her wreath. On +and on in the moonlight, on and on till they had +danced all down the corn-field, till they had crossed +the green meadows, till they were hidden in the +mist beyond.</p> + +<p>That is all I know; but I think that in the far far +off somewhere, where the moon is shining, he and +she still dance along a corn-field, he in his red +jacket, and she with the wild flowers dropping from +her hair.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_POOR_LITTLE_DOLL" id="THE_POOR_LITTLE_DOLL"></a>THE POOR LITTLE DOLL.</h2> + + +<p>It was a plain little doll that had been bought +for sixpence at a stall in the market-place. It +had scanty hair and a weak composition face, a +calico body and foolish feet that always turned +inwards instead of outwards, and from which the +sawdust now and then oozed. Yet in its glass eyes +there was an expression of amusement; they +seemed to be looking not at you but through you, +and the pursed-up red lips were always smiling at +what the glass eyes saw.</p> + +<p>"Well, you <i>are</i> a doll," the boy said, looking up +from his French exercise. "And what are you +staring at me for—is there anything behind?" he +asked, looking over his shoulder. The doll made +no answer. "And whatever are you smiling for?" +he asked; "I believe you are always smiling. I +believe you'd go on if I didn't do my exercise till +next year, or if the cat died, or the monument +tumbled down." But still the doll smiled in silence, +and the boy went on with his exercise. Presently +he looked up again and yawned. "I think I'll go +for a stroll," he said, and put his book by. "I +know what I'll do," he said, suddenly; "I'll take +that doll and hang it up to the apple tree to scare +away the sparrows." And calling out, "Sis, I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +taken your doll; I'm going to make a scarecrow of +it," he went off to the garden.</p> + +<p>His sister rushed after him, crying out, "Oh, my +poor doll! oh, my dear little doll! What are you +doing to it, you naughty boy?"</p> + +<p>"It's so ugly," he said.</p> + +<p>"No, it is not ugly," she cried.</p> + +<p>"And it's so stupid,—it never does anything but +smile,—it can't even grow,—it never gets any +bigger."</p> + +<p>"Poor darling doll," Sis said, as she got it once +more safely into her arms, "of course you can't +grow, but it is not your fault, they did not make any +tucks in you to let out."</p> + +<p>"And it's so unfeeling. It went smiling away +like anything when I could not do my French."</p> + +<p>"It has no heart. Of course it can't feel."</p> + +<p>"Why hasn't it got a heart?"</p> + +<p>"Because it isn't alive. You ought to be sorry +for it, and very, very kind to it, poor thing."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it always smiling for?"</p> + +<p>"Because it is so good," answered Sis, bursting +into tears. "It is never bad-tempered; it never +complains, and it never did anything unkind," and, +kissing it tenderly, "you are always good and +sweet," she said, "and always look smiling, though +you must be very unhappy at not being alive."</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_VIOLETS" id="THE_VIOLETS"></a>THE VIOLETS.</h2> + + +<p>The sun came out and shone down on the +leafless trees that cast hardly any shadows +on the pathway through the woods.</p> + +<p>"Surely the Spring is coming," the birds said; +"it must be time to wake the flowers."</p> + +<p>The thrush, and the lark, and the linnet sang +sweetly. A robin flew up from the snow, and +perched upon a branch; a little ragged boy at the +end of the wood stopped and listened.</p> + +<p>"Surely the Spring is coming," he too said; +"and mother will get well."</p> + +<p>The flowers that all through the Winter had +been sleeping in the ground heard the birds, but +they were drowsy, and longed to sleep on. At last +the snowdrops came up and looked shiveringly +about; and a primrose leaf peeped through the +ground, and died of cold. Then some violets +opened their blue eyes, and, hidden beneath the +tangle of the wood, listened to the twittering of the +birds. The little ragged boy came by; he saw +the tender flowers, and, stooping down, gathered +them one by one, and put them into a wicker +basket that hung upon his arm.</p> + +<p>"Dear flowers," he said, with a sigh, as if loth +to pick them, "you will buy poor mother some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +breakfast," and, tying them up into little bunches, +he carried them to the town. All the morning he +stood by the road-side, offering his flowers to the +passers-by, but no one took any notice of him; and +his face grew sad and troubled. "Poor mother!" +he said, longingly; and the flowers heard him, and +sighed.</p> + +<p>"Those violets are very sweet," a lady said as +she passed; the boy ran after her.</p> + +<p>"Only a penny," he said, "just one penny, for +mother is at home." Then the lady bought them, +and carried them to the beautiful house in which +she lived, and gave them some water, touching +them so softly that the poor violets forgot to long +for the woods, and looked gratefully up into her +face.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said the boy, "see, I have brought +some bread for your breakfast. The violets sent +it to you," and he put the little loaf down before +her.</p> + +<p>The birds knew nothing of all this, and went on +singing till the ground was covered with flowers, +till the leaves had hidden the brown branches of +the trees, and the pathway through the woods was +all shade, save for the sunshine that flecked it with +light.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_FIDDLER" id="THE_FIDDLER"></a>THE FIDDLER.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The fiddler played upon his fiddle<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All through that leafy June,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He always played hey-diddle-diddle,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And played it out of tune.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And down the hill the children came,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And down the valley too:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never heard the fiddler's name,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So cannot tell it you.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hey-diddle-diddle, diddle-diddle-dee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On—on they came, and when they heard<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That tune so swift and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They did not say a single word,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But shuffled with their feet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then round they went, and round and round,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All to that cracked old fiddle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still was heard the magic sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hey-diddle-diddle-diddle,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hey-diddle-diddle, diddle-diddle-dee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_BROKEN_HORSE" id="THE_BROKEN_HORSE"></a>THE BROKEN HORSE.</h2> + + +<p>They were all very sad, and the girl in the pink +frock was crying bitterly, for they had been +to the woods, and on the way home the wooden +horse had fallen over on one side and broken off +his head.</p> + +<p>"Don't cry so, pray don't cry so," the little one +said, as she knelt down in front of her sister, +and tried to kiss her.</p> + +<p>"And oh, sister," said the brother, "it would +have been far worse if he had lost his tail too. +Besides, perhaps he does not mind much; it is not +as if he were alive."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," sobbed the tall girl. "But when you +are as old as I am you will know that it is a +terrible thing to lose your head, even if it is only +wooden."</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_RAINBOW-MAKER" id="THE_RAINBOW-MAKER"></a>THE RAINBOW-MAKER.</h2> + + +<p>The children stood under an archway. Behind +them was the blue sky; in front of them the +clear, still lake that wandered and wound about the +garden; above their heads the leaves of a tree +whispered and told strange stories to the breeze.</p> + +<p>"Poor tree! it is sighing for the blossoms the +wind has carried away," they said to each other, +and they looked back at the garden. "And, poor +flowers, too," they said, "all your bright colours +are gone, and your petals lie scattered on the +ground; to-morrow they will be dead." "Ah, no," +the flowers sighed, "the rainbow-maker will gather +them up, and once more they will see the sun." +Before the children could answer, a tall fair maiden +came down the pathway. They could see her plainly +in the twilight. Her eyes were dim with gathering +tears, but on her lips there was a smile that came +and went and flickered round her mouth. All +down her back hung her pale golden hair; round +her neck was a kerchief of many colours; her dress +was soft and white, and her snowy apron was +gathered up in one hand. She looked neither to +the right nor to the left. She did not utter a single +word; and the children could hear no sound of her +footstep, no rustling from her dress. She stooped,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +and picking up the fading petals, looked at them +tenderly for a moment, while the tears fell slowly +down her cheeks; but the smile hovered round her +mouth; for she knew that they would shine again +in the sight of their beloved sun. When her apron +was quite full, she turned round and left the garden. +Hand-in-hand the children followed. She went +slowly on by the side of the lake, far, far away +across the meadows and up the farthest hill, until +at last she found her home behind a cloud just +opposite the sun. There she sat all through +the summer days making rainbows. When the +children had watched her for a long long time, they +went softly back to their own home. The rainbow-maker +had not even seen them.</p> + +<p>"Mother," they said one day, "we know now +where the colours go from the flowers. See, they +are there," and as they spoke they thought of the +maiden sitting silently at work in her cloud-home. +They knew that she was weeping at sending forth +her most beautiful one, and yet smiling as she +watched the soft archway she had made. "See, they +are all there, dear mother," the children repeated, +looking at the falling rain and the shining sun, and +pointing to the rainbow that spanned the river.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="OVER_THE_PORRIDGE" id="OVER_THE_PORRIDGE"></a>OVER THE PORRIDGE.</h2> + + +<p>They sat down to eat their porridge. The +naughty little girl turned her back upon her +sister, and put a large spoonful into her mouth.</p> + +<p>"Oh—oh—oh!" she cried, "I have burnt my +tongue."</p> + +<p>"Eat it slowly," said the good little sister. <i>She</i> +took up her porridge carefully, and after blowing it +very gently, and waiting for a minute or two while +it cooled, ate it, and found it very nice.</p> + +<p>"I shall not eat mine until it is quite cold," said +Totsey, getting cross.</p> + +<p>"Then it will be nasty," said the good little +sister, still going on with her own porridge.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear," said Totsey, "if I eat it too hot it +burns me, and if I eat it too cold it's nasty. What +shall I do?"</p> + +<p>"Take it as I do mine," said the good little sister. +"It is the right way."</p> + +<p>"There are two wrong ways and only one right +way; it isn't fair," sighed the naughty little girl. +"And, oh! my porridge is so nasty." Then she +asked, "Did you ever eat your porridge too hot +and burn your tongue?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered the good little sister; "I never +ate my porridge too hot and burnt my tongue."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Did you ever eat your porridge when it was +quite cold and very nasty?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered the good little sister again; "I +never ate my porridge when it was quite cold and +very nasty."</p> + +<p>"Well, I have," said Totsey; "and so I know +about two things that you do not know about." +And the naughty little sister got up and walked +away, and the good little sister sat still and thought +about many things.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A-COMING_DOWN_THE_STREET" id="A-COMING_DOWN_THE_STREET"></a>A-COMING DOWN THE STREET.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">I.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The baby she has golden hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her cheeks are like a rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she sits fastened in her chair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A-counting of her toes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mother she stands by the door,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all the place is neat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She says, "When it is half-past four,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He'll come along the street."<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And O! in all this happy world<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There's not a sight so sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As 'tis to see the master, dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-coming down the street.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A-coming O! a-coming O!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-coming down the street.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">II.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The baby's sister toddles round,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sings a little song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every word and every sound<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Says, "Father won't be long."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when he comes we'll laugh for glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And then his bonnie face,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +<span class="i0">However dark the day may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Makes sunshine in the place.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And O! in all this happy world<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There's not a sight so sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As 'tis to see the master, dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-coming down the street,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A-coming O! a-coming O!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-coming down the street.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_PROUD_BOY" id="THE_PROUD_BOY"></a>THE PROUD BOY.</h2> + + +<p>There was once a very proud boy. He +always walked through the village with his +eyes turned down and his hands in his pockets. +The boys used to stare at him, and say nothing; +and when he was out of sight, they breathed freely. +So the proud boy was lonely, and would have had +no friends out of doors if it had not been for two +stray dogs, the green trees, and a flock of geese +upon the common.</p> + +<p>One day, just by the weaver's cottage, he met +the tailor's son. Now the tailor's son made more +noise than any other boy in the village, and when +he had done anything wrong he stuck to it, and +said he didn't care; so the neighbours thought +that he was very brave, and would do wonders +when he came to be a man, and some of them +hoped he would be a great traveller, and stay long +in distant lands. When the tailor's son saw the +proud boy he danced in front of him, and made +faces, and provoked him sorely, until, at last, the +proud boy turned round and suddenly boxed the +ears of the tailor's son, and threw his hat into the +road. The tailor's son was surprised, and, without +waiting to pick up his hat, ran away, and sitting +down in the carpenter's yard, cried bitterly. After<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +a few minutes, the proud boy came to him and +returned him his hat, saying politely—</p> + +<p>"There is no dust on it; you deserved to have +your ears boxed, but I am sorry I was so rude as +to throw your hat on to the road."</p> + +<p>"I thought you were proud," said the tailor's +son, astonished; "I didn't think you'd say that—I +wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you are not proud?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am not."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that makes a difference," said the proud +boy, still more politely. "When you are proud, +and have done a foolish thing, you make a point of +owning it."</p> + +<p>"But it takes a lot of courage," said the tailor's +son.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, no," answered the proud boy; "it only +takes a lot of cowardice not to;" and then turning +his eyes down again, he softly walked away.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SEEKING_THE_VIOLETS" id="SEEKING_THE_VIOLETS"></a>SEEKING THE VIOLETS.</h2> + + +<p>All the wood had been blue with violets, but +now they were nearly gone. The birds sang +louder and louder to keep them and to call them +back, but soon there was not a violet left in all +the wood from end to end. The snowdrops died, +and the primrose faded, the cowslips and blue-bells +vanished, the thorn grew white with blossom, +the wild honeysuckle filled the wood with its +fragrance, and soon the fruit began to ripen.</p> + +<p>The blackbirds and the swallows and the chaffinches, +and all the birds they knew, gathered round +the garden trees and bushes, and forgot the woods, +until suddenly one day they espied a little child. +She was sitting on a chair under a tree; she had a +little table before her and a pink ribbon round her +hat; she was eating fruit with a large silver spoon. +The birds were afraid, and held aloof until a +sparrow chirped and the child looked up, and +when they saw how blue her eyes were, they sang +out bravely and fluttered round her, thinking that +she had brought them news from the violets. But +she never looked up again, though the birds +crowded on to the branch above her, and perched +upon the table, and rubbed their little beaks against +her plate. She just held on her hat with one hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +and with the other went on taking up fruit with a +silver spoon.</p> + +<p>"Ah, dear child," a swallow twittered, "perhaps +you do not know what is written in your eyes; so +many of us carry secrets that we ourselves know +last of all."</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TOMMYS_STOCKINGS" id="TOMMYS_STOCKINGS"></a>TOMMY'S STOCKINGS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Two little maids went out one day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And really it was shocking!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They met poor Tommy on the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With holes in either stocking.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They sat down on a low stone seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And to and fro kept rocking,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While they knitted, swift and neat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each of them a stocking.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And sweet they sang a little song,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The dickie-birds kept mocking;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Tommy wished that all day long<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They'd sit and knit a stocking.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MIDSUMMER-NIGHT" id="MIDSUMMER-NIGHT"></a>MIDSUMMER-NIGHT.</h2> + + +<p>The children were very much puzzled what to +do, for it was Midsummer-night, and they +knew that there was a dream belonging to it; but +how to come across it they could not tell. They +knew that the dream had something to do with +fairies, a queen, and all manner of lovely things; +but that was all. At first they thought they would +sit up with the doors and windows open, and the +dog on the steps ready to bark if he saw anything +unusual. Then they felt sure that they could not +dream while they were wide-awake, so three of +them went to bed, and one dozed in a corner of the +porch, with her clothes on. Presently the dog +barked, and two children in their night-gowns ran +out to see, and one took off her night-cap and looked +out of window; but it was only old Nurse coming +back from a long gossip with the village blacksmith's +wife and mother-in-law. So the dog looked +foolish, and Nurse was angry, and put them all to +bed without any more ado.</p> + +<p>"Oh," they cried, "but the fairies, and the queen, +and the flowers! What shall we do to see them?"</p> + +<p>"Go to sleep," said Nurse, "and the dream may +come to you;—you can't go to a dream," she +added, for you see she was just a peasant woman,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +and had never travelled far, or into any land but +her own.</p> + +<p>So the children shut their eyes tightly and went +to sleep, and I think that they saw something, for +their eyes were very bright next morning, and one of +them whispered to me, softly, "The queen wore a +wreath of flowers last night, dear mother, and, oh, +she was very beautiful."</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LITTLE_MAID" id="THE_LITTLE_MAID"></a>THE LITTLE MAID.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A little maid went to market,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She went into the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the things she had to buy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She carefully wrote down.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The coffee, sugar, tea, and rice—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The currant cake for tea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then she had to reckon up,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And see how much they'd be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She sat her down as she came back,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She sat her down to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What they had cost—the currant cake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The coffee, and the tea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She could not make her money right,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And yet, how she did try!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She could not make her money right,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And oh! how she did cry.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She's counting still, my dears, my dears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She's counting day and night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But though she counts for years and years,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She'll never make it right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She'll never make it right—right—right,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Oh! never any more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though she sits counting—count—count—count,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till she is ninety-four.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="WAR" id="WAR"></a>WAR.</h2> + + +<p>"I don't like you," said he, in a rage.</p> + +<p>"You are a naughty boy," said she, +crossly.</p> + +<p>"I shall never speak to you again."</p> + +<p>"I shall never play with you any more."</p> + +<p>"I don't care."</p> + +<p>"And I don't care."</p> + +<p>"I shall tell of you."</p> + +<p>"All right. I shall tell of you."</p> + +<p>"Nasty mean thing to threaten."</p> + +<p>"You threatened first."</p> + +<p>"Nasty, disagreeable thing."</p> + +<p>"Ugly, unkind boy." Then they turned back to +back, and stood sulking. He put his hands into his +pockets, and she sucked her finger.</p> + +<p>"That's the worst of a girl," thought he; "I +shan't give in."</p> + +<p>"I can't bear boys," thought she; "and I won't +make it up to-day."</p> + +<p>"We might have had good fun all this afternoon +if she hadn't been so silly," he thought presently.</p> + +<p>"It would have been so nice if he hadn't been +disagreeable," she thought after a bit. Then he +began to fidget and to kick the floor a little with +one foot, and she began to cry and to wipe her +tears away very softly and quickly, so that he might +not see them.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PEACE" id="PEACE"></a>PEACE.</h2> + + +<p>He looked over his shoulder quickly. She +saw him, and turned still more quickly +away. "I shall go and take a long walk in the +woods," he said.</p> + +<p>"You don't know where the rabbit-holes are," +she answered.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do; I found them out the other day."</p> + +<p>"I shall go out with Mary."</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>"And I shall never go into the woods with you +any more."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I don't care," he said. Then she +broke down and sobbed.</p> + +<p>"You are a very unkind boy."</p> + +<p>"It's all your fault."</p> + +<p>"No, it's all yours. You began."</p> + +<p>"No, you began."</p> + +<p>"You don't like me now," she sobbed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do."</p> + +<p>"You said I was a nasty, disagreeable thing."</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't mean it if I did. You said I was +an ugly, unkind boy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I didn't mean it," she said.</p> + +<p>"You know I'm very fond of you."</p> + +<p>"So am I of you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All right, then, let's make it up." So he turned +round quickly and she turned round slowly, and he +put his arms round her waist, and she put her +hands up on to his shoulders, and they kissed each +other, and hugged each other, and rubbed noses, +and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Shall we go to the woods?" she asked, doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Yes, come along."</p> + +<p>"You said you'd go without me," she pouted.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I shouldn't have liked it a bit."</p> + +<p>"And I should have been so unhappy," she said.</p> + +<p>"And now we just will have a game," he answered, +as hand-in-hand they went off as fast as +they could scamper.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MY_LITTLE_BROTHER" id="MY_LITTLE_BROTHER"></a>MY LITTLE BROTHER.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My baby brother's fat, as fat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As any boy can be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he is just the sweetest duck<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That ever you did see.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I count the dimples in his hands<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A dozen times a-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And often wonder when he coos<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What he would like to say.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I comb the down upon his head—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He hasn't any hair,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It must be cold without, and yet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He never seems to care.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is so nice to see him kick,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He has such pretty feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think if we might eat him up<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It would be quite a treat.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_KITE" id="THE_KITE"></a>THE KITE.</h2> + + +<p>It was the most tiresome kite in the world, +always wagging its tail, shaking its ears, +breaking its string, sitting down on the tops of +houses, getting stuck in trees, entangled in hedges, +flopping down on ponds, or lying flat on the grass, +and refusing to rise higher than a yard from the +ground.</p> + +<p>I have often sat and thought about that kite, and +wondered who its father and mother were. Perhaps +they were very poor people, just made of +newspaper and little bits of common string knotted +together, obliged to fly day and night for a living, +and never able to give any time to their children or +to bring them up properly. It was pretty, for it +had a snow-white face, and pink and white ears; +and, with these, no one, let alone a kite, could help +being pretty. But though the kite was pretty, it +was not good, and it did not prosper; it came to a +bad end, oh! a terrible end indeed. It stuck itself +on a roof one day, a common red roof with a +broken chimney and three tiles missing. It stuck +itself there, and it would not move; the children +tugged and pulled and coaxed and cried, but still it +would not move. At last they fetched a ladder, +and had nearly reached it when suddenly the kite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +started and flew away—right away over the field +and over the heath, and over the far far woods, and +it never came back again—never—never.</p> + +<p>Dear, that is all. But I think sometimes that +perhaps beyond the dark pines and the roaring sea +the kite is flying still, on and on, farther and farther +away, for ever and for ever.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_TINKERS_MARRIAGE" id="THE_TINKERS_MARRIAGE"></a>THE TINKER'S MARRIAGE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Two beaux and a belle, a goat and a carriage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They all set off to the tinker's marriage.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two three-cornered hats, and one with a feather,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They looked very fine in the sweet summer weather.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the carriage turned over, the poor goat shied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little belle laughed, the silly beaux cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tinker fumed, "Oh, why do they tarry?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And why don't they come to see me marry?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall throw my bride right into the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If they are not here by half-past three."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the belle was laughing, "Oh, what shall we do!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the beaux were crying, "Bee-bee-bee-boo."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CHILDREN_AND_THE_GARLAND" id="THE_CHILDREN_AND_THE_GARLAND"></a>THE CHILDREN AND THE GARLAND.</h2> + + +<p>"To-morrow is May-day," the children said; +"the birds must call us very early, and we +will go to the woods and make a garland." And in +the morning, long before the sun had looked over the +tops of the houses into the village street, they were +far away in the woods.</p> + +<p>"I will give them some roses as they come +back," the gardener said. "They shall put them +among the spring flowers, as a swallow among the +thrushes, to show that summer is on its way."</p> + +<p>When the children had made their garland and a +posy for each one of them, they went singing all +down the village street, over the grey stone bridge, +beyond the hayricks, and past the houses on the +hill-side.</p> + +<p>In one of the houses there was a pale little child +with a sad, thin face. "Mother," he said, "here +are some children with a garland. Will it be +summer when they have gone by?" He called +after them as they went on, "Come back, oh, +come back again!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we will come back," they answered, but +they went on their way singing. All through the +day he waited for them, but they did not come; +and at last, when it was evening, the mother took<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +him up into her arms to carry him to his bed. +Suddenly he heard the children singing in the +distance. "Oh, mother," he exclaimed, "they are +coming;" and he watched till they came up the +hill again and stood before him. "But where is +your garland?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"We gave it to lame Mary, the postman's wife, +for she is always longing to see the fields," they +answered; "but these roses are for you, dear little +boy; they are all for you," and putting them into +his hands they went back to the village.</p> + +<p>"You are very tired," the child said to the roses; +"all your leaves are drooping. Poor roses, perhaps +you are lonely away from the garden; but you shall +sleep near me, and there is a star rising up in the +sky; it will watch us all through the night." Then +the child nestled down in his white bed—he and +his little warm heart, in which there was love for all +things. While he slept the roses looked at his pale +little face and sighed, and presently they stole +softly on to his cheeks and rested there. The +children saw them still there when the summer was +over; when the garland was quite dead, and lame +Mary longed for the fields no more.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ROUND_THE_TEA-TABLE" id="ROUND_THE_TEA-TABLE"></a>ROUND THE TEA-TABLE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A nice little party we're seated at tea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The dollies all seem very glad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save the poor little thing who is leaning on me;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I fear that she feels rather bad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor limp little thing! she wants a back-bone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She's only just made up of rag.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's little Miss Prim sitting up all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the Japanese looks like a wag.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now what shall we talk of, my own dollies fair?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And what shall we give you for tea?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That queer little thing with the short frizzy hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Why does he keep looking at me?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My sister and I we will sing you a song<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before we get up from the table;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It shall not be sad, and it shall not be long—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We'll sing it as well as we're able.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i6">SONG.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The darkness is stealing all over the place,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The flowers are weeping for sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The daisy is hiding its little round face,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sun has gone seeking to-morrow.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So while you are seated all round the tea-table,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Please join in the chorus as well as you're able;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! sing! sing away for your life.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6 smcap">Chorus.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">It's time to cut off the dicky birds' noses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Time to cut off the dicky birds' noses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's time to cut off the dicky birds' noses,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So bring me the carving-knife.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The darkness is hiding the birds on the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The thrushes are weary of singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A strange little rumour is borne on the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Summer the swallows are bringing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So while you are seated all round the tea-table,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Please join in the chorus as well as you're able;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! sing! sing away for your life.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6 smcap">Chorus.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">It's time to cut off the dicky birds' noses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Time to cut off the dicky birds' noses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's time to cut off the dicky birds' noses,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So bring me the carving-knife.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Summer is stealing all over the place,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wind is all scented with roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dear little birds are all flying a race,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On purpose to give us their noses.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So while you are seated all round the tea-table,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Please join in the chorus as well as you're able;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! sing! sing away for your life.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i6 smcap">Chorus.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">It's time to cut off the dicky birds' noses<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Time to cut off the dicky birds' noses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's time to cut off the dicky birds' noses,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So bring me the carving-knife.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TOMMY" id="TOMMY"></a>TOMMY.</h2> + + +<p>Tommy was sitting on the bench near the +end of the lane. By his side was a basin +tied up in a cotton handkerchief; in the buttonhole +of his coat there was a sprig of sweet-william. +The girls from the big house came and stood still +in front of him, staring at him rudely, but he did +not speak.</p> + +<p>"Tommy, are you tired?" they asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Tommy answered, crossly, "I'm very +tired, and father's working in the fields, and I have +got to take him his dinner before I go to the fair."</p> + +<p>"Why don't the servants take it?"</p> + +<p>"Servants!" said Tommy scornfully; "we've no +servants. We are not rich people!"</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you like to be rich?" the eldest +sister asked, while the two little ones walked slowly +round Tommy, looking at the feather in his hat; +he had put it there so that he might look smart +when he went on to the village.</p> + +<p>"No, it's too expensive," said Tommy, shaking +his head; "rich people have to buy such a lot of +things, and to wear fine clothes, and they can't have +dinner in the fields."</p> + +<p>"My father has his dinner in a room," said the +girl.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's because he's rich," answered Tommy, +"and people would talk if he didn't; rich people +can't do as they like, as poor can."</p> + +<p>"And my father lives in a big house," the girl +went on, for she was vulgar, and liked to boast.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and it takes up a lot of room; my father's +got the whole world to live in if he likes; that's +better than a house."</p> + +<p>"But my father doesn't work," said the girl, +scornfully.</p> + +<p>"Mine does," said Tommy, proudly. "Rich +people can't work," he went on, "so they are +obliged to get the poor folk to do it. Why, we +have made everything in the world. Oh! it's a +fine thing to be poor."</p> + +<p>"But suppose all the rich folk died, what would +the poor folk do?"</p> + +<p>"But suppose all the poor folk died," cried +Tommy, "what would the rich folk do? They can +sit in carriages, but can't build them, and eat +dinners, but can't cook them." And he got up and +went his way. "Poor folk ought to be very kind +to rich folk, for it's hard to be the like of them," +he said to himself as he went along.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_SWALLOWS" id="THE_SWALLOWS"></a>THE SWALLOWS.</h2> + + +<p>There were some children in the north looking +at the swallows flying south. "Why are +they going away?" the little one asked.</p> + +<p>"The summer is over," the elder sister answered, +"and if they stayed here they would be starved and +die of cold, and so, when the summer goes, they +journey south."</p> + +<p>"Our mother and sisters are in the south," the +little one said, as they looked after the birds. +"Dear little swallows, tell mother that we are +watching for her!" But they were already flying +over the sea. The chilly winds tried to follow, but +the swallows flew so swiftly they were not overtaken; +they went on, with the summer always +before them. They were tired many a time; once +they stayed to rest upon the French coast, and +once, in the Bay of Biscay, they clung to the rigging +of a ship all through the night, but in the morning +they went on again.</p> + +<p>Far away in the south, two English children were +looking from the turret window of an old castle.</p> + +<p>"Here are the swallows," they said; "perhaps +they have come from England. Dear swallows, +have you brought us a message?" they asked.</p> + +<p>"It was very cold, we had no time for messages;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +and we must not lose the track of summer," the +swallows twittered, and they flew on till they +reached the African shore.</p> + +<p>"Poor little swallows," said the English children, +as they watched the ship come into port that was +to take them back to their own land; "they have +to chase the summer and the sun, but we do not +mind whether it is summer or winter, for if we only +keep our hearts warm, the rest does not matter."</p> + +<p>"It is very good of the swallows to come to us," +the elder sister said, in the next spring, when she +heard their first soft twitter beneath the eaves, "for +the summer is in many places, and we are so far +from the south."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is very good of them to come," the +children answered; "dear little swallows, perhaps +they love us!"</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_FIRST_LOVE-MAKING" id="A_FIRST_LOVE-MAKING"></a>A FIRST LOVE-MAKING.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A land there is beyond the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That I have never seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Johnny says he'll take me there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I shall be a queen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'll build for me a palace there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Its roof will be of thatch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it will have a little porch<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And everything to match.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And he'll give me a garden-green,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he'll give me a crown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of flowers that love the wood and field<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And never grow in town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we shall be so happy there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And never, never part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I shall be the grandest queen—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The queen of Johnny's heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, Johnny, man your little boat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To sail across the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's only room for king and queen—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For Johnny and for me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, Johnny dear, I'm not afraid<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of any wind or tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I am always safe, my dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If you are by my side.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SMUT" id="SMUT"></a>SMUT.</h2> + + +<p>Now, this story is quite true. Once upon a +time there was a cat called Mr. Puff; he +lived in a grand house, quite close to the Turkish +Embassy. A lord and a lady and several servants +lived with Mr. Puff; he was very kind to them, +letting them do in all things as they liked, and +never sending them away or keeping the house to +himself. One day Mr. Puff, being out in the rain, +found a poor little kitten, covered with mud, and +crying bitterly: so Mr. Puff took the kitten between +his teeth, carried it home, and set it down on the +drawing-room hearth-rug. The lord and the lady +had the kitten washed, and gave it food, and called +it Smut. Then Smut went and sat him down on +the lord's writing-table.</p> + +<p>When Smut grew to be a cat, but before he was +yet a large one, the lord and the lady thought +awhile, and spoke, "We have a dear friend," they +said, "and he is catless; therefore, if Mr. Puff will +agree, we will take Smut to him as a present." +And Mr. Puff agreed. So Smut was put into a +birdcage, for there was nothing else to serve him +for a travelling carriage, and taken to the dear +friend's house. The dear friend had a little girl +with golden hair, and when she saw Smut, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +cried out for joy, and said, "Never before did I see +a dicky-bird with a furry coat, a long tail, and little +white teeth." But Smut shook his head, as if to +say, "I am not a dicky-bird, sweet maid, but only +a four-legged cat;" then they opened the birdcage +door, and he walked out, waving his tail.</p> + +<p>Now, when Smut grew up, his gravity and dignity +made all who knew his history wonder, and few +could believe that he had once been a dirty kitten, +covered with mud, glad to accept the charity of Mr. +Puff. When a year had gone, or perhaps even a +longer time, there was a great war in Turkey, and +terrible battles were fought. Then Smut looked +very anxious, and went quite bald, and his coat fell +off in little patches; but none could tell why. At +last he died, and the little girl wept sorely, and all +who had known him grieved and lamented.</p> + +<p>And when Smut had been sleeping only a little +while beneath the lilac tree, accident revealed +that, instead of a lowly foundling, he had been of +high degree, for the little vagrant Mr. Puff had +found was no less a person than the Turkish +Ambassador's coachman's wife's cat's kitten.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SEE-SAW" id="SEE-SAW"></a>SEE-SAW.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Get into the boat and away to the west,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">See-saw! see-saw!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For they've cut down the tree with the poor linnet's nest,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">See-saw! see-saw!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bulrushes nod and the water-lilies sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">See-saw! see-saw!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all of us know the sad reason why,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">See-saw! see-saw!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">For, oh! the tree—the tree's cut down,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And every one of its leaves are brown;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in the field the children play,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the little linnet has flown away:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_BAD_GIRL" id="THE_BAD_GIRL"></a>THE BAD GIRL.</h2> + + +<p>She was always called the bad girl, for she had +once, when she was very little, put out her +tongue at the postman. She lived alone with her +grandmother and her three brothers in the cottage +beyond the field, and the girls in the village took no +notice of her. The bad girl did not mind this, for +she was always thinking of the cuckoo clock. The +clock stood in one corner of the cottage, and every +hour a door opened at the top of its face, and a +little cuckoo came out and called its name just the +same number of times that the clock ought to have +struck, and called it so loudly and in so much haste +that the clock was afraid to strike at all. The bad +girl was always wondering whether it was worse for +the clock to have a cupboard in its forehead, and a +bird that was always hopping in and out, or for the +poor cuckoo to spend so much time in a dark little +prison. "If it could only get away to the woods," +she said to herself, "who knows but its voice might +grow sweet, and even life itself might come to it!" +She thought of the clock so much that her grandmother +used to say—</p> + +<p>"Ah, lassie, if you would only think of me sometimes!" +But the bad girl would answer—</p> + +<p>"You are not in prison, granny dear, and you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +have not even a bee in your bonnet, let alone a bird +in your head. Why should I think of you?"</p> + +<p>One day, close by the farm, she saw the big girls +from the school gathering flowers.</p> + +<p>"Give me one," she said; "perhaps the cuckoo +would like it." But they all cried, "No, no!" and +tried to frighten her away. "They are for the +little one's birthday. To-morrow she will be seven +years old," they said, "and she is to have a crown +of flowers and a cake, and all the afternoon we shall +play merry games with her."</p> + +<p>"Is she unhappy, that you are taking so much +trouble for her?" asked the bad girl.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; she is very happy: but it will be her +birthday, and we want to make her happier."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because we love her," said one;</p> + +<p>"Because she is so little," said another;</p> + +<p>"Because she is alive," said a third.</p> + +<p>"Are all things that live to be loved and cared +for?" the bad girl asked, but they were too busy to +listen, so she went on her way thinking; and it +seemed as if all things round—the birds, and bees, +and the rustling leaves, and the little tender wild +flowers, half hidden in the grass—answered, as she +went along—</p> + +<p>"Yes, they are all to be cared for and made +happier, if it be possible."</p> + +<p>"The cuckoo clock is not alive," she thought.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +"Oh, no; it is not alive," the trees answered; +"but many things that do not live have voices, +and many others are just sign-posts, pointing the +way."</p> + +<p>"The way! The way to what, and where?"</p> + +<p>"We find out for ourselves;—we must all find +out for ourselves," the trees sighed and whispered +to each other.</p> + +<p>As the bad girl entered the cottage, the cuckoo +called out its name eleven times, but she did not +even look up. She walked straight across to the +chair by the fireside, and kneeling down, kissed her +granny's hands.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MORNING_TIME" id="MORNING_TIME"></a>MORNING TIME.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">I.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Awake, my pet!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What! slumbering yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the day's so warm and bright?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The flowers that wept<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before they slept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the darkness of yesternight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have listened long<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the lark's wild song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And awoke with the morning light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">II.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Again and again<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the window-pane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The jasmine flowers kept peeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in at the door,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And along the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunny rays came creeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So I opened wide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sash, and tried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tell them you were sleeping.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">III.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Awake, my dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The winter drear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has fled with all things dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But quickly by<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spring will fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon the birds will weary.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Awake while yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dew is wet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And day is young, my deary.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_PINK_PARASOL" id="THE_PINK_PARASOL"></a>THE PINK PARASOL.</h2> + + +<p>The pink parasol had tender whalebone ribs +and a slender stick of cherry-wood. It lived +with the wilful child in the white-house, just beyond +the third milestone. All about the trees were +green, and the flowers grew tall; in the pond +behind the willows the ducks swam round and +round and dipped their heads beneath the water.</p> + +<p>Every bird and bee, every leaf and flower, loved +the child and the pink parasol as they wandered in +the garden together, listening to the birds and +seeking the shady spots to rest in, or walking up +and down the long trim pathway in the sunshine. +Yet the child tired of it all, and before the summer +was over, was always standing by the gate, watching +the straight white road that stretched across +the plain.</p> + +<p>"If I might but see the city, with the busy streets +and the eager crowds," he was always saying to +himself.</p> + +<p>Then all that lived in the garden knew that the +child would not be with them long. At last the +day came when he flung down the pink parasol, +and, without even one last look at the garden, ran +out at the gate.</p> + +<p>The flowers died, and the swallows journeyed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +south; the trees stretched higher and higher, to +see the child come back across the plain, +but he never came. "Ah, dear child!" they +sighed many a time, "why are you staying? and +are your eyes as blue as ever; or have the sad +tears dimmed them? and is your hair golden still? +and your voice, is it like the singing of the birds? +And your heart—oh! my dear, my dear, what is in +your heart now, that once was so full of summer +and the sun?"</p> + +<p>The pink parasol lay on the pathway, where the +child left it, spoilt by the rain, and splashed by the +gravel, faded and forgotten. At last, a gipsy lad, +with dark eyes, a freckled face, and little gold rings +in his ears, came by; he picked up the pink +parasol, hid it under his coat, and carried it to the +gipsy tent. There it stayed till one day the cherry-wood +stick was broken into three pieces, and the +pink parasol was put on the fire to make the water +boil for the gipsy's tea.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_SISTERS" id="THE_SISTERS"></a>THE SISTERS.</h2> + + +<p>The little sisters went into the room to play at +ball.</p> + +<p>"We must be careful not to wake the white +cat," the tall one said, softly.</p> + +<p>"Or to spoil the roses," the fat one whispered; +"but throw high, dear sister, or we shall never hit +the ceiling."</p> + +<p>"You dear children," thought the white cat, +"why do you come to play here at all? Only just +round the corner are the shady trees, and the birds +singing on the branches, and the sunshine is +flecking the pathway. Who knows but what, out +there, your ball might touch the sky? Here you +will only disturb me, and perhaps spoil the roses; +and at best you can but hit the ceiling!"</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WHITE_RABBITS" id="THE_WHITE_RABBITS"></a>THE WHITE RABBITS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All the white rabbits but two, my dears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All the white rabbits but two,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away they all sailed in a cockle-shell boat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Painted a beautiful blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All the white rabbits so snowy and sleek,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Away they went down to the shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little they thought, so happy and meek,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They'd never come up from it more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, the white rabbits they wept and they sobbed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till the boat it shook up in the sails;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, the white rabbits they sobbed and they shook<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From their poor loppy ears to their tails.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Away they all sailed to a desolate land<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where never a lettuce-leaf grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the white rabbits but two, my dears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All the white rabbits but two.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WOODEN_HORSE" id="THE_WOODEN_HORSE"></a>THE WOODEN HORSE.</h2> + + +<p>"Come and have a ride," the big brother said.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," the little one answered; +"the horse's mouth is wide open."</p> + +<p>"But it's only wooden. That is the best of a +horse that isn't real. If his mouth is ever so wide +open, he cannot shut it. So come," and the big +brother lifted the little one up, and dragged him +about.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do stop!" the little one cried out in terror; +"does the horse make that noise along the floor?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And is it a real noise?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," the big brother answered.</p> + +<p>"But I thought only real things could make real +things," the little one said; "where does the +imitation horse end and the real sound begin?"</p> + +<p>At this the big brother stood still for a few +minutes.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking about real and imitation things," +he said presently. "It's very difficult to tell which +is which sometimes. You see they get so close +together that the one often grows into the other, +and some imitated things become real and some +real ones become imitation as they go on. But I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +should say that you are a real coward for not +having a ride."</p> + +<p>"No, I am not," the little one laughed; and, +getting astride the wooden horse, he sat up bravely. +"Oh, Jack, dear," he said to his brother, "we will +always be glad that we are real boys, or we too +might have been made with mouths we were never +able to shut!"</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_DUCK_POND" id="THE_DUCK_POND"></a>THE DUCK POND.</h2> + + +<p>So little Bridget took the baby on her right arm +and a jug in her left hand, and went to the +farm to get the milk. On her way she went by the +garden-gate of a large house that stood close to the +farm, and she told the baby a story:—</p> + +<p>"Last summer," she said, "a little girl, bigger +than you, for she was just able to walk, came to +stay in that house—she and her father and mother. +All about the road just here, the ducks and the +chickens from the farm, and an old turkey, used to +walk about all the day long, but the poor little +ducks were very unhappy, for they had no pond to +swim about in, only that narrow ditch through +which the streamlet is flowing. When the little +girl's father saw this, he took a spade, and worked +and worked very hard, and out of the ditch and the +streamlet he made a little pond for the ducks, and +they swam about and were very happy all through +the summer days. Every morning I used to stand +and watch, and presently the garden-gate would +open, and then the father would come out, leading +the little girl by the hand, and the mother brought +a large plateful of bits of broken bread. The little +girl used to throw the bread to the ducks, and they +ran after it and ate it up quickly, while she laughed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +out with glee, and the father and the mother +laughed too just as merrily. Baby, the father had +blue eyes, and a voice that you seemed to hear with +your heart.</p> + +<p>"The little girl used to feed the chickens too, +and the foolish old turkey that was so fond of her +it would run after her until she screamed and was +afraid. The dear father and the little girl came +out every morning, while the black pigs looked +through the bars of the farm-yard gate and grunted +at them, as if they were glad, and I think the ducks +knew that the father had made the pond, for +they swam round and round it proudly while he +watched them, but when he went away they seemed +tired and sad.</p> + +<p>"The pond is not there now, baby, for a man +came by one day and made it into a ditch again; +and the chickens and the ducks from the farm are +kept in another place.</p> + +<p>"The little girl is far away in her own home, +which the father made for her, and the dear father +lives in his own home too—in the hearts of those +he loved."</p> + +<p>That was the story that Bridget told the baby.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LIL_MAID" id="THE_LIL_MAID"></a>THE LITTLE MAID.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is a sweet maiden asleep by the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her lips are as red as a cherry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roses are resting upon her brown cheeks—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her cheeks that are brown as a berry.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She's tired of building up castles of sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her hands they are gritty and grubby;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her shoes, they are wet, and her legs, they are bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her legs that are sturdy and chubby.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'll wrap a shawl round you, my dear little maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To keep the wind off you completely,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soft I will sing you a lullaby song,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And soon you will slumber most sweetly.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_DONKEY_ON_WHEELS" id="THE_DONKEY_ON_WHEELS"></a>THE DONKEY ON WHEELS.</h2> + + +<p>There was once a poor little donkey on wheels. +It had never wagged its tail, or tossed its head, +or said, "Hee-haw!" or tasted a tender thistle. It +always went about, anywhere that anyone pulled +it, on four wooden wheels, carrying a foolish knight, +who wore a large cocked hat and a long cloak, +because he had no legs. Now, a man who has no +legs, and rides a donkey on wheels, has little cause +for pride; but the knight was haughty, and seldom +remembered his circumstances. So the donkey +suffered sorely, and in many ways.</p> + +<p>One day the donkey and the knight were on the +table in front of the child to whom they both +belonged. She was cutting out a little doll's frock +with a large pair of scissors.</p> + +<p>"Mistress," said the knight, "this donkey tries +my temper. Will you give me some spurs?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, sir knight," the child answered. "You +would hurt the poor donkey; besides, you have no +heels to put them on."</p> + +<p>"Cruel knight!" exclaimed the donkey. "Make +him get off, dear mistress; I will carry him no +longer."</p> + +<p>"Let him stay," said the child, gently; "he has +no legs, and cannot walk."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then why did he want spurs?"</p> + +<p>"Just the way of the world, dear donkey; just +the way of the world."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" sighed the donkey, "some ways are very +trying, especially the world's;" and then it said +no more, but thought of the fields it would never +see, and the thistles it would never taste.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="COCK-A-DOODLE" id="COCK-A-DOODLE"></a>COCK-A-DOODLE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I know a lovely dicky-bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A cock-a-doodle-doo;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My father and my mother<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And my sister know it too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It struts about so gaily,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And it is brave and strong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when it crows, it is a crow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Both very loud and long.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, "Cock-a-doodle-doo," it crows,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And cock-a-doodle won't<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave off its cock-a-doodling,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When mother dear cries "Don't!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_BOY_AND_LITTLE_GREAT_LADY" id="THE_BOY_AND_LITTLE_GREAT_LADY"></a>THE BOY AND LITTLE GREAT LADY.</h2> + + +<p>She was always called the "little great lady," +for she lived in a grand house, and was very +rich. He was a strange boy; the little great +lady never knew whence he came, or whither he +went. She only saw him when the snow lay deep +upon the ground. Then in the early morning he +swept a pathway to the stable in which she had +once kept a white rabbit. When it was quite +finished, she came down the steps in her white +dress and little thin shoes, with bows on them, and +walked slowly along the pathway. It was always +swept so dry she might have worn paper shoes +without getting them wet. At the far end he +always stood waiting till she came, and smiled and +said, "Thank you, little boy," and passed on. Then +he was no more seen till the next snowy morning, +when again he swept the pathway; and again the +little great lady came down the steps in her dainty +shoes, and went on her way to the stable.</p> + +<p>But at last, one morning when the snow lay white +and thick, and she came down the steps as usual, +there was no pathway. The little boy stood leaning +on a spade, his feet buried deep in the snow.</p> + +<p>"Where is your broom? and where is the pathway +to the rabbit house?" she asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The rabbit is dead, and the broom is worn out," +he answered; "and I am tired of making pathways +that lead to empty houses."</p> + +<p>"But why have you done it so long?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"You have bows on your shoes," he said; +"and they are so thin you could not walk over the +snow in them—why, you would catch your death of +cold," he added, scornfully.</p> + +<p>"What would you do if I wore boots?"</p> + +<p>"I should go and learn how to build ships, or +paint pictures, or write books. But I should not +think of you so much," he said.</p> + +<p>The little great lady answered eagerly, "Go and +learn how to do all those things; I will wait till +you come back and tell me what you have done," +and she turned and went into the house.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," the boy said, as he stood watching +for a moment the closed door; "dear little great +lady, good-bye." And he went along the unmade +pathway beyond the empty rabbit house.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="GOOD-DAY_GENTLE_FOLK" id="GOOD-DAY_GENTLE_FOLK"></a>GOOD-DAY, GENTLE FOLK.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, yes, sir and miss, I have been to the town;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It really was pleasant and gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now I must hurry, the sun's going down,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so I will wish you good-day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so I will wish you good-day, gentle folk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so I will wish you good-day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I know a white rabbit just over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's eating a lettuce for tea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a fat speckled duck, with a very large bill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is quacking, "Oh, where can she be?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And two little mice are there, standing quite still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They're all of them waiting for me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For we all love the stars and the little pale moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath them we frolic and play;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My friends have been waiting the whole afternoon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so I will wish you good-day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so I will wish you good-day, gentle folk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so I will wish you good-day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NEW_BOOKS_FOR_CHILDREN" id="NEW_BOOKS_FOR_CHILDREN"></a>NEW BOOKS FOR CHILDREN.</h2> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p class="center">Foolscap 8vo, Paper Boards, price One Shilling each.</p> + +<h3> +<big>VERY SHORT STORIES</big><br /> +<small>AND</small><br /> +VERSES FOR CHILDREN.<br /> +</h3> +<h4>BY MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD,</h4> +<h5><i>Author of "Anyhow Stories," etc.</i><br /> +</h5> +<h4>WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY EDITH CAMPBELL.<br /></h4> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + + + +<h3><big>A NEW NATURAL HISTORY</big><br /> +OF BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES.<br /></h3> + +<h4>BY JOHN K. LEYS, M.A.<br /></h4> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + + + +<h3>LIFE STORIES OF<br /> +<big>FAMOUS CHILDREN.</big><br /> +</h3> +<h4>ADAPTED FROM THE FRENCH.<br /></h4> + +<h5><i>By the Author of "Spenser for Children."</i><br /></h5> + + + +<p class="center"><small><span class="smcap">London</span>: WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.</small></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><span class="serif">The Canterbury Poets.</span></h2> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<h2><small>THE</small><br /> +<big>CHILDREN OF THE POETS:</big><br /> +AN ANTHOLOGY,<br /> +</h2> +<h5><i>From English and American Writers of<br /> +Three Centuries.</i><br /></h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION,<br /></h5> +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> ERIC ROBERTSON, M.A.<br /></h4> + + +<p>This Volume contains contributions by Lord +Tennyson, William Bell Scott, Robert Browning, +James Russell Lowell, George Macdonald, Algernon +Charles Swinburne, Theodore Watts, Austin Dobson, +Hon. Roden Noel, Edmund Gosse, Robert Louis +Stevenson, etc., etc.</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p class="center"> +LONDON:<br /> +<small>WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.<br /></small> +</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_58">58</a>: Corrected typo has'nt to hasn't:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(He has'nt any hair,—).</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_61">61</a>: Added a (probably missing) period:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(They looked very fine in the sweet summer weather.)</span> +</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30272 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |