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+Project Gutenberg's The Story Hour, by Nora A. Smith and Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Story Hour
+
+Author: Nora A. Smith
+        Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+
+Release Date: June, 2004  [EBook #5835]
+This file was first posted on September 11, 2002
+Last Updated: March 10, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY HOUR ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY HOUR
+
+A BOOK FOR THE HOME AND THE KINDERGARTEN
+
+By Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith
+
+
+
+Therefore ear and heart open to the genuine story teller, as flowers
+open to the spring sun and the May rain.
+
+FRIEDRICH FROEBEL
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+INTRODUCTION. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+PREFACE. Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith
+
+THE ORIOLE'S NEST. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+DICKY SMILY'S BIRTHDAY. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+AQUA; OR, THE WATER BABY. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+MOUFFLOU. Adapted from Ouida by Nora A. Smith
+
+BENJY IN BEASTLAND. Adapted from Mrs. Ewing by Kate Douglas Wiggin and
+Nora A. Smith
+
+THE PORCELAIN STOVE. Adapted from Ouida by Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+THE BABES IN THE WOOD. E. S. Smith
+
+THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS. Nora A. Smith
+
+THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY. Nora A. Smith
+
+LITTLE GEORGE WASHINGTON. Part I. Nora A. Smith
+
+GREAT GEORGE WASHINGTON. Part II. Nora A. Smith
+
+THE MAPLE-LEAF AND THE VIOLET. Nora A. Smith
+
+MRS. CHINCHILLA. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+A STORY OF THE FOREST. Nora A. Smith
+
+PICCOLA. Nora A. Smith
+
+THE CHILD AND THE WORLD. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+FROEBEL'S BIRTHDAY. Nora A. Smith
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+Story-telling, like letter-writing, is going out of fashion. There are
+no modern Scheherezades, and the Sultans nowadays have to be amused in
+a different fashion. But, for that matter, a hundred poetic pastimes
+of leisure have fled before the relentless Hurry Demon who governs this
+prosaic nineteenth century. The Wandering Minstrel is gone, and the
+Troubadour, and the Court of Love, and the King's Fool, and the Round
+Table, and with them the Story-Teller.
+
+“Come, tell us a story!” It is the familiar plea of childhood. Unhappy
+he who has not been assailed with it again and again. Thrice miserable
+she who can be consigned to worse than oblivion by the scathing
+criticism, “She doesn't know any stories!” and thrice blessed she who
+is recognized at a glance as a person likely to be full to the brim of
+them.
+
+There are few preliminaries and no formalities when the Person with a
+Story is found. The motherly little sister stands by the side of her
+chair, two or three of the smaller fry perch on the arms, and the baby
+climbs up into her lap (such a person always has a capacious lap), and
+folds his fat hands placidly. Then there is a deep sigh of blissful
+expectation and an expressive silence, which means, “Now we are ready,
+please; and if you would be kind enough to begin it with 'Once upon a
+time,' we should be much obliged; though of course we understand that
+all the stories in the world can't commence that way, delightful as it
+would be.”
+
+The Person with a Story smiles obligingly (at least it is to be hoped
+that she does), and retires into a little corner of her brain, to
+rummage there for something just fitted to the occasion. That same
+little corner is densely populated, if she is a lover of children. In
+it are all sorts of heroic dogs, wonderful monkeys, intelligent cats,
+naughty kittens; virtues masquerading seductively as fairies, and vices
+hiding in imps; birds agreeing and disagreeing in their little nests,
+and inevitable small boys in the act of robbing them; busy bees laying
+up their winter stores, and idle butterflies disgracefully neglecting
+to do the same; and then a troop of lost children, disobedient children,
+and lazy, industrious, generous, or heedless ones, waiting to furnish
+the thrilling climaxes. The Story-Teller selects a hero or heroine
+out of this motley crowd,--all longing to be introduced to Bright-Eye,
+Fine-Ear, Kind-Heart, and Sweet-Lips,--and speedily the drama opens.
+
+Did Rachel ever have such an audience? I trow not. Rachel never had tiny
+hands snuggling into hers in “the very best part of the story,” nor was
+she near enough her hearers to mark the thousand shades of expression
+that chased each other across their faces,--supposing they had any
+expression, which is doubtful. Rachel never saw dimples lurking in the
+ambush of rosy cheeks, and popping in and out in such a distracting
+manner that she felt like punctuating her discourse with kisses! Her
+dull, conventional, grown-up hearers bent a little forward in their
+seats, perhaps, and compelled by her magic power laughed and cried in
+the right places; but their eyes never shone with that starry lustre
+that we see in the eyes of happy children,--a lustre that is dimmed,
+alas, in after years. Their eyes still see visions, but the “shadows
+of the prison house” have fallen about us, and the things which we have
+seen we “now can see no more!”
+
+If you chance to be the Person with a Story, you sit like a queen on her
+throne surrounded by her loyal subjects; or like an unworthy sun with a
+group of flowers turning their faces towards you. Inspired by breathless
+attention, you try ardently to do your very best. It seems to you that
+you could never endure a total failure, and you hardly see how you could
+bear, with any sort of equanimity, even the vacant gaze or restless
+movement that would bespeak a vagrant interest. If you are a novice,
+perhaps the frightful idea crosses your mind, “What if one of
+these children should slip out of the room?” Or, still more tragic
+possibility, suppose they should look you in the eye and remark with the
+terrible candor of infancy, “We do not like this story!” But no; you
+are more fortunate. The tale is told, and you are greeted with sighs of
+satisfaction and with the instantaneous request, “Tell it again!” That
+is the encore of the Story-Teller,--“Tell it again! No, not another
+story; the same one over again, please!” for “what novelty is worth
+that sweet monotony where everything is known, and loved because it is
+known?” No royal accolade could be received with greater gratitude. You
+endeavor to let humility wait upon self-respect; but when you discover
+that the children can scarcely be dragged from your fascinating
+presence, crying like Romeo for death rather than banishment, and that
+the next time you appear they make a wild dash from the upper regions,
+and precipitate themselves upon you with the full impact of their
+several weights “multiplied into their velocity,” you cannot help
+hugging yourself to think the good God has endowed you sufficiently to
+win the love and admiration of such keen observers and merciless little
+critics.
+
+Now this charming little drama takes place in somebody's nursery corner
+at twilight, when you are waiting for “that cheerful tocsin of the
+soul, the dinner-bell,” or around somebody's fireside just before the
+children's bedtime; but the same scene is enacted every few days in the
+presence of the fresh-hearted, childlike kindergartner, of all women the
+likeliest to find the secret of eternal youth. She chooses the story as
+one of the vessels in which she shall carry the truth to her circle
+of little listeners, and you will never hear her say, like the needy
+knife-grinder, “Story? God bless you, I have none to tell, sir!”
+
+If the group chances to be one of bright, well-born, well-bred
+youngsters, the opportunity to inspire and instruct is one of the most
+effective and valuable that can come to any teacher. On the other hand,
+if the circle happens to be one of little ragamuffins, Arabs, scrips and
+scraps of vagrant humanity (sometimes scalawags and sometimes
+angels), born in basements and bred on curbstones, then believe me, my
+countrymen, there is a sight worth seeing, a scene fit for a painter. It
+might be a pleasant satire upon our national hospitality if the artist
+were to call such a picture “Young America,” for comparatively few
+distinctively American faces would be found in his group of portraits.
+
+Make a mental picture, dear reader, of the ring of listening children in
+a San Francisco free kindergarten, for it would be difficult to gather
+so cosmopolitan a company anywhere else: curly yellow hair and rosy
+cheeks ... sleek blonde braids and calm blue eyes ... swarthy faces and
+blue-black curls ... woolly little pows and thick lips ... long, arched
+noses and broad, flat ones. There you will see the fire and passion
+of the Southern races and the self-poise, serenity, and sturdiness of
+Northern nations. Pat is there, with a gleam of humor in his eye ...
+Topsy, all smiles and teeth ... Abraham, trading tops with little
+Isaac, next in line ... Hans and Gretchen, phlegmatic and dependable
+... Francois, never still for an instant ... Christina, rosy, calm, and
+conscientious, and Duncan, canny and prudent as any of his clan.
+
+What an opportunity for amalgamation of races and for laying the
+foundation of American citizenship! for the purely social atmosphere of
+the kindergarten makes it a school of life and experience. Imagine such
+a group hanging breathless upon your words, as you recount the landing
+of the Pilgrims, or try to paint the character of George Washington
+in colors that shall appeal to children whose ancestors have known
+Napoleon, Cromwell, and Bismarck, Peter the Great, Garibaldi, Bruce, and
+Robert Emmett.
+
+To such an audience were the stories in his little book told; and the
+lines that will perhaps seem commonplace to you glow for us with a
+“light that never was on sea or land;” for “the secret of our emotions
+never lies in the bare object, but in its subtle relations to our own
+past.”
+
+As we turn the pages, radiant faces peep between the words; the echo of
+childish laughter rings in our ears and curves our lips with its happy
+memory; there isn't a single round O in all the chapters but serves as
+a tiny picture-frame for an eager child's face! The commas say, “Isn't
+there any more?” the interrogation points ask, “What did the boy do
+then?” the exclamation points cry in ecstasy, “What a beautiful story!”
+ and the periods sigh, “This is all for to-day.”
+
+At this point--where the dog Moufflou returns to his little master--we
+remember that Carlotty Griggs clapped her ebony hands, and shrieked in
+transport, “I KNOWED HE'D come! _I_ KNOWED he'd come!”
+
+Here is the place where we remarked impressively, “A lie, children, is
+the very worst thing in the world!” whereupon Billy interrogated, with
+wide eyes and awed voice, “IS IT WORSE THAN A RAILROAD CROSSING?” And
+there is a sentence in the story of the “Bird's Nest” sacred to the
+memory of Tommy's tear!--Tommy of the callous conscience and the marble
+heart. Tommy's dull eye washed for one brief moment by the salutary
+tear! Truly the humble Story-Teller has not lived in vain. Sing, ye
+morning stars, together, for this is the spot where Tommy cried!
+
+If you would be the Person with a Story, you must not only have one to
+tell, but you must be willing to learn how to tell it, if you wish to
+make it a “rememberable thing” to children. The Story-Teller, unlike the
+poet, is made as well as born, but he is not made of all stuffs nor in
+the twinkling of an eye. In this respect he is very like the Ichneumon
+in the nonsense rhyme:&&
+
+  “There once was an idle Ichneumon
+   Who thought he could learn to play Schumann;
+   But he found, to his pains,
+   It took talent and brains,
+   And neither possessed this Ichneumon.”
+
+To be effective, the story in the kindergarten should always be told,
+never read; for little children need the magnetism of eye and smile as
+well as the gesture which illuminates the strange word and endows it
+with meaning. The story that is told is always a thousand times more
+attractive, real, and personal than anything read from a book.
+
+Well-chosen, graphically told stories can be made of distinct educative
+value in the nursery or kindergarten. They give the child a love
+of reading, develop in him the germ, at least, of a taste for good
+literature, and teach him the art of speech. If they are told in simple,
+graceful, expressive English, they are a direct and valuable object
+lesson in this last direction.
+
+The ear of the child becomes used to refined intonations, and slovenly
+language will grow more and more disagreeable to him. The kindergartner
+cannot be too careful in this matter. By the sweetness of her tone and
+the perfection of her enunciation she not only makes herself a worthy
+model for the children, but she constantly reveals the possibilities of
+language and its inner meaning.
+
+“The very brooding of a voice on a word,” says George Macdonald, “seems
+to hatch something of what is in it.”
+
+Stories help a child to form a standard by which he can live and grow,
+for they are his first introduction into the grand world of the ideal in
+character.
+
+“We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love; And even as these are well and
+wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.”
+
+The child understands his own life better, when he is enabled to compare
+it with other lives; he sees himself and his own possibilities reflected
+in them as in a mirror.
+
+They also aid in the growth of the imaginative faculty, which is
+very early developed in the child, and requires its natural food.
+“Imagination,” says Dr. Seguin, “is more than a decorative attribute
+of leisure; it is a power in the sense that from images perceived and
+stored it sublimes ideals.” “If I were to choose between two great
+calamities for my children,” he goes on to say, “I would rather have
+them unalphabetic than unimaginative.”
+
+There is a great difference of opinion concerning the value of fairy
+stories. The Gradgrinds will not accept them on any basis whatever, but
+they are invariably so fascinating to children that it is certain they
+must serve some good purpose and appeal to some inherent craving in
+child-nature. But here comes in the necessity of discrimination.
+The true meaning of the word “faerie” is spiritual, but many stories
+masquerade under that title which have no claim to it. Some universal
+spiritual truth underlies the really fine old fairy tale; but there
+can be no educative influence in the so-called fairy stories which
+are merely jumbles of impossible incidents, and which not unfrequently
+present dishonesty, deceit, and cruelty in attractive or amusing guise.
+
+When the fairy tale carries us into an exquisite ideal world, where the
+fancy may roam at will, creating new images and seeing truth ever in new
+forms, then it has a pure and lovely influence over children, who are
+natural poets, and live more in the spirit and less in the body than
+we. The fairy tale offers us a broad canvas on which to paint our
+word-pictures. There are no restrictions of time or space; the world
+is ours, and we can roam in it at will; for spirit, there, is ever
+victorious over matter.
+
+“Once upon a time,” saith the Story-Teller, “there was a beautiful
+locust tree, that bent its delicate fans and waved its creamy blossoms
+in the sunshine, and laughed because its flowers were so lovely and
+fragrant and the world was so fresh and green in its summer dress.”
+
+“It's queer for a tree to laugh,” said Bright-Eye.
+
+“But queerer if it didn't laugh, with such lovely blossoms hanging all
+over it,” replied Fine-Ear.
+
+Everything is real to the happy child. Life is a sort of fairy garden,
+where he wanders as in a dream. “He can make abstraction of whatever
+does not fit into his fable; and he puts his eyes into his pocket just
+as we hold our noses in an unsavory lane.”
+
+Stories offer a valuable field for instruction, and for introducing in
+simple and attractive form much information concerning the laws of plant
+and flower and animal life.
+
+A story of this kind, however, must be made as well as told by an
+artist; for in the hands of a bungler it is quite as likely to be a
+failure as a success. It must be compounded with the greatest care,
+and the scientific facts must be generously diluted and mixed in small
+proportions with other and more attractive elements, or it will be
+rejected by the mental stomach; or, if received in one ear, will be
+unceremoniously ushered from the other with an “Avaunt! cold fact! What
+have thou and I in common!”
+
+Did you ever tell a story of this kind and watch its effect upon
+children? Did you ever note that fatal moment when it BEGAN to BEGIN to
+dawn upon the intelligence of the dullest member of your flock that your
+narrative was a “whited sepulchre,” and that he was being instructed
+within an inch of his life?
+
+“Treat me at least with honesty, my good woman!” he cries in his spirit.
+“Read me lessons if you will, but do not make a pretense of amusing me
+at the same moment!”
+
+This obvious attitude of criticism is very disagreeable to you, but
+never mind, it will be a salutary lesson. Did you think, O clumsy
+visitor in childhood land, that simply because you called your stuffed
+dolls “Prince” and “Princess” you could conduct them straight through
+the mineral kingdom, and allow them to converse with all the metals with
+impunity? Nest time make your scientific fact an integral part of the
+story, and do not try to introduce too much knowledge in one dose. All
+children love Nature and sympathize with her (or if they do not, “then
+despair of them, O Philanthropy!”), and all stories that bring them
+nearer to the dear mother's heart bring them at the same time nearer to
+God; therefore lead them gently to a loving observation of
+
+                          “The hills
+ Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
+ Stretching in pensive quietness between;
+ The venerable woods; rivers that move
+ In majesty, and the complaining brooks
+ That make the meadows green.”
+
+Stories bring the force of example to bear upon children in the very
+best possible way. Here we can speak to the newly awakened soul and
+touch it to nobler issues. This can be done with very little of that
+abstract moralizing which is generally so ineffective. A moral “lugged
+in” by the heels, so to speak, without any sense of perspective on the
+part of the Story-Teller, can no more incline a child to nobler living
+than cold victuals can serve as a fillip to the appetite. The facts
+themselves should suffice to exert the moral influence; the deeds should
+speak louder than the words, and in clearer, fuller tones. At the end of
+such a story, “Go thou and do likewise” sounds in the child's heart, and
+a new throb of tenderness and aspiration, of desire to do, to grow, and
+to be, stirs gently there and wakes the soul to higher ideals. In such a
+story the canting, vapid, or didactic little moral, tacked like a tag on
+the end, for fear we shall not read the lesson aright, is nothing short
+of an insult to the better feelings. It used to be very much in vogue,
+but we have learned better nowadays, and we recognize (to paraphrase
+Mrs. Whitney's bright speech) that we have often vaccinated children
+with morality for fear of their taking it the natural way.
+
+It is a curious fact that children sympathize with the imaginary woes
+of birds and butterflies and plants much more readily than with the
+sufferings of human beings; and they are melted to tears much more
+quickly by simple incidents from the manifold life of nature, than by
+the tragedies of human experience which surround them on every side.
+Robert Louis Stevenson says in his essay on “Child's Play,” “Once, when
+I was groaning aloud with physical pain, a young gentleman came into the
+room and nonchalantly inquired if I had seen his bow and arrow. He made
+no account of my groans, which he accepted, as he had to accept so
+much else, as a piece of the inexplicable conduct of his elders. Those
+elders, who care so little for rational enjoyment, and are even the
+enemies of rational enjoyment for others, he had accepted without
+understanding and without complaint, as the rest of us accept the scheme
+of the universe.” Miss Anna Buckland quotes in this connection a story
+of a little boy to whom his mother showed a picture of Daniel in the
+lions' den. The child sighed and looked much distressed, whereupon his
+mother hastened to assure him that Daniel was such a good man that God
+did not let the lions hurt him. “Oh,” replied the little fellow, “I was
+not thinking of that; but I was afraid that those big lions were going
+to eat all of him themselves, and that they would not give the poor
+little lion down in the corner any of him!”
+
+It is well to remember the details with which you surrounded your
+story when first you told it, and hold to them strictly on all other
+occasions. The children allow you no latitude in this matter; they
+draw the line absolutely upon all change. Woe unto you, scribes and
+Pharisees, if you speak of Jimmy when “his name was Johnny;” or if, when
+you are depicting the fearful results of disobedience, you lose Jane in
+a cranberry bog instead of the heart of a forest! Personally you do not
+care much for little Jane, and it is a matter of no moment to you where
+you lost her; but an error such as this undermines the very foundations
+of the universe in the children's minds. “Can Jane be lost in two
+places?” they exclaim mentally, “or are there two Janes, and are they
+both lost? because if so, it must be a fatality to be named Jane.”
+
+Perez relates the following incident: “A certain child was fond of a
+story about a young bird, which, having left its nest, although its
+mother had forbidden it to do so, flew to the top of a chimney, fell
+down the flue into the fire, and died a victim to his disobedience. The
+person who told the story thought it necessary to embellish it from his
+own imagination. 'That's not right,' said the child at the first change
+which was made, 'the mother said this and did that.' His cousin, not
+remembering the story word for word, was obliged to have recourse to
+invention to fill up gaps. But the child could not stand it. He slid
+down from his cousin's knees, and with tears in his eyes, and indignant
+gestures, exclaimed, 'It's not true! The little bird said, coui, coui,
+coui, coui, before he fell into the fire, to make his mother hear; but
+the mother did not hear him, and he burnt his wings, his claws, and his
+beak, and he died, poor little bird.' And the child ran away, crying
+as if he had been beaten. He had been worse than beaten; he had been
+deceived, or at least he thought so; his story had been spoiled by being
+altered.” So seriously do children for a long time take fiction for
+reality.
+
+If you find the attention of the children wandering, you can frequently
+win it gently back by showing some object illustrative of your story, by
+drawing a hasty sketch on a blackboard, or by questions to the children.
+You sometimes receive more answers than you bargained for; sometimes
+these answers will be confounded with the real facts; and sometimes they
+will fall very wide of the mark.
+
+I was once telling the exciting tale of the Shepherd's Child lost in
+the mountains, and of the sagacious dog who finally found him. When I
+reached the thrilling episode of the search, I followed the dog as he
+started from the shepherd's hut with the bit of breakfast for his little
+master. The shepherd sees the faithful creature, and seized by a sudden
+inspiration follows in his path. Up, up the mountain sides they climb,
+the father full of hope, the mother trembling with fear. The dog rushes
+ahead, quite out of sight; the anxious villagers press forward in hot
+pursuit. The situation grows more and more intense; they round a little
+point of rocks, and there, under the shadow of a great gray crag, they
+find&&
+
+“What do you suppose they found?”
+
+“FI' CENTS!!” shouted Benny in a transport of excitement. “BET YER THEY
+FOUND FI' CENTS!!”
+
+You would imagine that such a preposterous idea could not find favor in
+any sane community; but so altogether seductive a guess did this appear
+to be, that a chorus of “Fi' cents!” “Fi' cents!” sounded on every side;
+and when the tumult was hushed, the discovery of an ordinary flesh and
+blood child fell like an anti-climax on a public thoroughly in love
+with its own incongruities. Let the psychologist explain Benny's mental
+processes; we prefer to leave them undisturbed and unclassified.
+
+If you have no children of your own, dear Person with a Story, go into
+the highways and by-ways and gather together the little ones whose
+mothers' lips are dumb; sealed by dull poverty, hard work, and constant
+life in atmospheres where graceful fancies are blighted as soon as they
+are born. There is no fireside, and no chimney corner in those crowded
+tenements. There is no silver-haired grandsire full of years and wisdom,
+with memory that runs back to the good old times that are no more. There
+is no cheerful grandame with pocket full of goodies and a store of dear
+old reminiscences all beginning with that enchanting phrase, “When I was
+a little girl.”
+
+Brighten these sordid lives a little with your pretty thoughts, your
+lovely imaginations, your tender pictures. Speak to them simply, for
+their minds grope feebly in the dim twilight of their restricted lives.
+The old, old stories will do; stories of love and heroism and sacrifice;
+of faith and courage and fidelity. Kindle in tired hearts a gentler
+thought of life; open the eyes that see not and the ears that hear not;
+interpret to them something of the beauty that has been revealed to you.
+You do not need talent, only sympathy, “the one poor word that includes
+all our best insight and our best love.”
+
+                        KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+The fourteen little stories in this book are not offered as a collection
+ample enough to satisfy all needs of the kindergartner.
+
+Such a collection should embrace representative stories of all
+classes--narrative, realistic, imaginative, scientific, and historical,
+as well as brief and simple tales for the babies.
+
+An experience of twelve years among kindergartners, however, has shown
+us that there is room for a number of books like this modest example;
+containing stories which need no adaptation or arrangement; which are
+ready for the occasion, and which have been thoroughly tried before
+audience after audience of children.
+
+The three adaptations, “Benjy in Beast-Land,” “Moufflou,” and the
+“Porcelain Stove,” have been made as sympathetically as possible. Their
+introduction needs no apology, for they are exquisite stories, and in
+their original form much too advanced for children of the kindergarten
+age.
+
+KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.
+
+NORA A. SMITH.
+
+
+
+
+THE ORIOLE'S NEST.
+
+“See how each boy, excited by the actual event, is all ear.”--Froebel.
+
+
+There it hangs, on a corner of the picture frame, very much as it hung
+in the old willow-tree out in the garden.
+
+It was spring time, and I used to move my rocking-chair up to the
+window, where I could lean out and touch the green branches, and watch
+there for the wonderful beautiful things to tell my little children in
+the kindergarten. There I saw the busy little ants hard at work on
+the ground below; the patient, dull, brown toads snapping flies in the
+sunshine; the striped caterpillars lazily crawling up the trunk of the
+tree; and dozens of merry birds getting ready for housekeeping.
+
+Did you know the birdies “kept house”? Oh, yes; they never “board” like
+men and women; indeed, I don't think they even like to RENT a house
+without fixing it over to suit themselves, but they 'd much rather go to
+work and build one,
+
+    “So snug and so warm, so cosy and neat,
+     To start at their housekeeping all complete.”
+
+Now there hung just inside my window a box of strings, and for two or
+three days, no matter how many I put into it, when I went to look the
+next time none could be found. I had talked to the little girls and
+scolded the little boys in the house, but no one knew anything about
+the matter, when one afternoon, as I was sitting there, a beautiful bird
+with a yellow breast fluttered down from the willow-tree, perched on the
+window-sill, cocked his saucy head, winked his bright eye, and without
+saying “If you please,” clipped his naughty little beak into the string
+box and flew off with a piece of pink twine.
+
+I sat as still as a mouse to see if the little scamp would dare to come
+back; he didn't, but he sent his wife, who gave a hop, skip, and a jump,
+looked me squarely in the eye, and took her string without being a bit
+afraid.
+
+Now do you call that stealing? “No,” you answer. Neither do I; to be
+sure they took what belonged to me, but the window was wide open, and I
+think they must have known I loved the birds and would like to give them
+something for their new house. Perhaps they knew, too, that bits of old
+twine could not be worth much.
+
+Then how busily they began their work! They had already chosen the place
+for their nest, springing up and down in the boughs till they found a
+branch far out of sight of snakes and hawks and cruel tabby cats, high
+out of reach of naughty small boys with their sling-shots, and now
+everything was ready for these small carpenters to begin their building.
+No hammer and nails were needed, claw and bill were all the tools they
+used, and yet what beautiful carpenter work was theirs!
+
+Do you see how strongly the nest is tied on to those three slender
+twigs, and how carefully and closely it is woven, so that you can
+scarcely pull it apart? Those wiry black hairs holding all the rest
+together were dropped from Prince Charming's tail (Prince Charming is
+the pretty saddle-horse who crops his grass, under the willow-tree).
+Those sleek brown hairs belonged to Dame Margery, the gentle mooly cow,
+who lives with her little calf Pet in the stable with Prince Charming;
+and there is a shining yellow spot on one side. Ah, you roguish birds,
+you must have been outside the kitchen window when baby Johnny's curls
+were cut! We could only spare two from his precious head, and we hunted
+everywhere for this one to send to grandmamma!
+
+Now just look at this door in the side of the nest, and tell me how a
+bird could make such a perfect one; and yet I've heard you say, “It's
+only a bird; he doesn't know anything.” To be sure he cannot do as many
+things as you, but after all you are not wise enough to do many of the
+things that he does. What would one of my little boys do, I wonder, if
+he were carried miles away from home and dropped in a place he had never
+seen? Why, he would be too frightened to do anything but cry; and yet
+there are many birds, who, when taken away a long distance, will perch
+on top of the weather-vane, perhaps, make up their little bits of minds
+which way to go, and then with a whir-r-r-r fly off over house-tops and
+church-steeples, towns and cities, rivers and meadows, until they reach
+the place from which they started.
+
+Look at the nest for the last time now, and see the soft, lovely lining
+of ducks' feathers and lambs' wool.
+
+Why do you suppose it was made so velvet soft and fleecy? Why, for the
+little birds that were coming, of course; and sure enough, one morning
+after the tiny house was all finished, I leaned far out of the window
+and saw five little eggs cuddled close together; but I did not get much
+chance to look at those precious eggs, I can tell you; for the mamma
+bird could scarcely spare a minute to go and get a drink of water, so
+afraid was she that they would miss the warmth of her downy wings.
+
+There she sat in the long May days and warm, still nights: who but a
+mamma would be so sweet and kind and patient?--but SHE didn't mind the
+trouble--not a bit. Bless her dear little bird-heart, they were not eggs
+to her: she could see them even now as they were going to be, her five
+cunning, downy, feathery birdlings, chirping and fluttering under her
+wings; so she never minded the ache in her back or the cramp in her
+legs, but sat quite still at home, though there were splendid picnics
+in the strawberry patches and concerts on the fence rails, and all the
+father birds, and all the mother birds that were not hatching eggs, were
+having a great deal of fun this beautiful weather. At last all was over,
+and I was waked up one morning by such a chirping and singing--such a
+fluttering and flying--I knew in a minute that where the night before
+there had been two birds and five eggs, now there were seven birds and
+nothing but egg-shells in the green willow-tree!
+
+The papa oriole would hardly wait for me to dress, but flew on and off
+the window-sill, seeming to say, “Why don't you get up? why don't you
+get up? I have five little birds; they came out of the shells this very
+morning, so hungry that I can't get enough for them to eat! Why don't
+you get up, I say? I have five little birds, and I am taking care of
+them while my wife is off taking a rest!”
+
+They were five scrawny, skinny little things, I must say; for you know
+birds don't begin by being pretty like kittens and chickens, but look
+very bare and naked, and don't seem to have anything to show but a big,
+big mouth which is always opening and crying “Yip, yip, yip!”
+
+Now I think you are wondering why I happen to have this nest, and how
+I could have taken away the beautiful house from the birds. Ah, that is
+the sad part of the story, and I wish I need not tell it to you.
+
+When the baby birds were two days old, I went out on a long ride
+into the country, leaving everything safe and happy in the old green
+willow-tree; but when I came back, what do you think I found on the
+ground under the branches?----A wonderful hang-bird's nest cut from the
+tree, and five poor still birdies lying by its side. Five slender necks
+all limp and lifeless,--five pairs of bright eyes shut forever! and
+overhead the poor mamma and papa twittering and crying in the way little
+birds have when they are frightened and sorry--flying here and there,
+first down to the ground and then up in the tree, to see if it was
+really true.
+
+While I was gone two naughty boys had come into the garden to dig for
+angle-worms, and all at once they spied the oriole's nest.
+
+“O Tommy, here's a hang-bird's nest, such a funny one! there's nobody
+here, let's get it,” cried Jack.
+
+Up against the tree they put the step-ladder; and although it was almost
+out of reach, a sharp jack-knife cut the twigs that held it up, and down
+it fell from the high tree with a heavy thud on the hard earth, and the
+five little orioles never breathed again! Of course the boys didn't know
+there were any birdies in the nest, or they wouldn't have done it for
+the world; but that didn't make it any easier for the papa and mamma
+bird.
+
+Now, dear children, never let me hear you say, “It's no matter, they're
+only birds, they don't care.”
+
+Think about this nest: how the mother and father worked at it, weaving
+hair and string and wool together, day by day! Think how the patient
+mamma sat on the eggs, dreaming of the time when she should have five
+little singing, flying birds to care for, to feed and to teach! and then
+to have them live only two short days! Was it not dreadful to lose her
+beautiful house and dear little children both at once?
+
+Never forget that just as your own father and mother love their dear
+little girls and boys, so God has made the birds love their little
+feathery children that are born in the wonderful nests he teaches them
+to build.
+
+
+
+
+DICKY SMILEY'S BIRTHDAY.
+
+“In order to be especially beneficial and effective, story-telling
+should be connected with the events and occurrences of life.”--Froebel.
+
+
+Dicky Smiley was eight years old when all these things happened that I
+am going to tell you; eight years old, and as bright as a steel button.
+It was very funny that his name should be Smiley, for his face was just
+like a sunbeam, and if he ever cried at all it was only for a minute,
+and then the smiles would creep out and chase the tear-drops away from
+the blue sky of his eyes.
+
+Dicky's mother tried to call him Richard, because it was his papa's
+name, but it never would say itself somehow, and even when she did
+remember, and called him “Richard,” his baby sister Dot would cry,
+“Mamma, don't scold Dicky.”
+
+He had once a good, loving papa like yours, when he was a tiny baby in
+long white clothes; but the dear papa marched away with the blue-coated
+soldiers one day, and never came back any more to his little children;
+for he died far, far away from home, on a green battlefield, with many
+other soldiers. You can think how sad and lonely Dicky's mamma was, and
+how she hugged her three babies close in her arms, and said:&&
+
+“Darlings, you haven't any father now, but the dear God will help your
+mother to take care of you!”
+
+And now she was working hard, so very hard, from morning till night
+every day to get money to buy bread and milk and clothes for Bess and
+Dot and Dicky.
+
+But Dicky was a good little fellow and helped his mamma ever so much,
+pulling out bastings from her needlework, bringing in the kindling
+and shavings from the shed, and going to the store for her butter and
+potatoes and eggs. So one morning she said:&&
+
+“Dicky, you have been such a help to me this summer, I'd like to give
+you something to make you very happy. Let us count the money in your
+bank--you earned it all yourself--and see what we could buy with it. To
+be sure, Bess wants a waterproof and Dot needs rubbers, but we do want
+our little boy to have a birthday present.”
+
+“Oh, mamma,” cried he, clapping his hands, “what a happy day it will
+be! I shall buy that tool-box at the store round the corner! It's such a
+beauty, with a little saw, a claw-hammer, a chisel, a screw-driver, and
+everything a carpenter needs. It costs just a dollar, exactly!”
+
+Then they unscrewed the bank and found ninety-five cents, so that it
+would take only five cents more to make the dollar. Dicky earned that
+before he went to bed, by piling up wood for a neighbor; and his
+mamma changed all the little five and ten cent pieces into two bright
+half-dollars that chinked together joyfully in his trousers pocket.
+
+The next morning he was up almost at the same time the robins and
+chimney-swallows flew out of their nests; jumped down the stairs, two at
+a time, and could scarcely eat his breakfast, such a hurry as he was in
+to buy the precious tool-box. He opened the front door, danced down the
+wooden steps, and there on the curb in front of the house stood a little
+girl, with a torn gingham apron, no shoes, no hat, and her nut-brown
+curls flying in the wind; worse than all, she was crying as if her heart
+would break.
+
+“Why, little girl, what's the matter?” asked Dicky, for he was a
+kind-hearted boy, and didn't like to see people cry.
+
+She took down her apron and sobbed:&&
+
+“Oh, I've lost my darling little brown dog, and I can never get him
+back!”
+
+“Why, has somebody poisoned him--is he dead?” said Dicky.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“No, oh no! The pound-man took him away in his cart--my sweet little bit
+of a dog; he has such a cunning little curly tail, and long, silky ears;
+he does all kinds of tricks, and they'll never let me in at home without
+Bruno.”
+
+And then she began to cry harder than ever, so that Dicky hardly knew
+what to say to her.
+
+Now the pound, children, is a very large place somewhere near the city,
+with a high fence all around it, and inside are kept colts and horses,
+the little calves and mother cows, and the sheep and goats that run away
+from home, or are picked up by the roadside. The pound-man rides along
+the street in a big cart, which has a framework of slats built over
+it, so that it looks something like a chicken-coop on wheels, and in
+it--some of you have seen him do it--he puts the poor dogs that haven't
+collars on, and whose masters haven't paid for them. Then he rides away
+and locks them up in the great place inside the high fence, and they
+have to stay awhile. The dogs are killed if nobody comes for them.
+
+“Well,” said Dicky, “let us go and see the pound-man. Do you know where
+he lives?”
+
+“Yes, indeed,” answered the little girl, whose name was Lola. “I ran
+behind the cart all the way to the pound. I cried after Bruno, and Bruno
+whined for me, and poked his nose between the bars and tried to jump
+out, but he couldn't. It's a pretty long way there, and the man is as
+cross as two sticks.”
+
+But they started off, and on and on they walked together, Dicky having
+tight hold of Lola's hand, while she told him about the wonderful things
+Bruno could do; how he could go up and down a ladder, play the fife
+and beat the drum, make believe go to sleep, and dance a jig. It was by
+these tricks of his that Lola earned money for her uncle, with whom she
+lived; for her father and mother were both dead, and there was no one in
+the whole world who loved the little girl. The dear mother had died in a
+beautiful mountain country far across the ocean, and Lola and Bruno
+had been sent in a ship over to America. Now this dear, pretty mamma of
+Lola's used to sing to her when she rocked her to sleep, and as she grew
+from a baby to a tiny girl she learned the little songs to sing to Bruno
+when he was a little puppy. Would you like to hear one of them? She used
+to sing it on the street corners, and at the end of the last verse that
+knowing, cunning, darling Bruno would yawn as if he could not keep awake
+another minute, tuck his silky head between his two fore paws, shut his
+bright eyes, give a tired little sigh, and stay fast asleep until Lola
+waked him. This is the song:&&
+
+Wake, lit-tle Bru-no! Wake, lit-tle Bru-no,
+
+Wake, lit-tle Bru-no quick-ly!
+
+When the two children came to the pound and saw the little house at the
+gate where the pound-man lived, Dicky was rather frightened and hardly
+dared walk up the steps; but after a moment he thought to himself, “I
+won't be a coward; I haven't done anything wrong.” So he gave the door
+a rousing knock, for an eight-year-old boy, and brought the man out at
+once.
+
+“What do you want?” said he, in a gruff voice, for he did seem rather
+cross.
+
+“Please, sir, I want Lola's little brown dog. He's all the dog she has,
+and she earns money with him. He does funny tricks for ten cents.”
+
+“How do you think I know whether I've got a brown dog in there or not?”
+ growled he. “You'd better run home to your mothers, both of you.”
+
+At this Lola began to cry again, and Dicky said quickly:&&
+
+“Oh, you 'd know him soon as anything,--he has such a cunning curly tail
+and long silky ears. His name is Bruno.”
+
+“Well,” snapped the man, “where's your money? Hurry up! I want my
+breakfast.”
+
+“Money!” cried Dicky, looking at Lola.
+
+“Money!” whispered little Lola, looking back at Dicky.
+
+“Yes,” said he, “of course! Give me a dollar and I will give you the
+dog.”
+
+“But,” answered Lola, “I haven't a bit of money; I never have any.”
+
+“Neither have”--began Dicky; and then his fingers crept into his
+trousers pocket and felt the two silver half-dollars that were to buy
+his tool-box. He had forgotten all about that tool-box for an hour, but
+how could he--how could he ever give away that precious money which
+he had been so long in getting together, five cents at a time? He
+remembered the sharp little saw, the stout hammer, the cunning plane,
+bright chisel, and shining screw-driver, and his fingers closed round
+the money tightly; but just then he looked at pretty little Lola, with
+her sad face, her swollen eyes and the brave red lips she was trying to
+keep from quivering with tears. That was enough; he quickly drew out the
+silver dollar, and said to the pound-man:&&
+
+“Here's your dollar--give us the dog!”
+
+The man looked much surprised. Not many little eight-year-old boys have
+a dollar in their trousers pocket.
+
+“Where did you get it?” he asked.
+
+“I earned every cent of it,” answered poor Dicky with a lump in his
+throat and a choking voice. “I brought in coal and cut kindlings for
+most six months before I got enough, and there ain't another tool-box in
+the world so good as that one for a dollar--but I want Bruno!”
+
+{Illustration: “Here's your dollar--give us the dog'”}
+
+Then the pound-man showed them a little flight of steps that led up to
+a square hole in the wall of the pound, and told them to go up and look
+through it and see if the dog was there. They climbed up and put their
+two rosy eager faces at the rough little window. “Bruno! Bruno!” called
+little Lola, and no Bruno came; but every frightened homesick little
+doggy in that prison poked up his nose, wagged his tail, and started
+for the voice. It didn't matter whether they were Fidos, or Carlos, or
+Rovers, or Pontos; they knew that they were lonesome little dogs, and
+perhaps somebody had remembered them. Lola's tender heart ached at the
+sight of so many fatherless and motherless dogs, and she cried,&&
+
+“No, no, you poor darlings! I haven't come for you; I want my own
+Bruno.”
+
+“Sing for him, and may be he will come,” said Dicky; and Lola leaned her
+elbow on the window sill and sang:&&
+
+   Lit-tle shoes are sold at the gate-way of Heaven,
+   And to all the tattered lit-tle an-gels are giv-en;
+   Slum-ber my dar-ling, Slum-ber my dar-ling,
+   Slum-ber my dar-ling sweet-ly.
+
+Now Bruno was so tired with running from the pound-man, so hungry, so
+frightened, and so hoarse with barking that he had gone to sleep; but
+when he heard Lola's voice singing the song he knew so well, he started
+up, and out he bounded half awake--the dearest, loveliest little brown
+dog in the world, with a cunning curly tail sticking up in a round bob
+behind, two long silky ears that almost touched the ground, and four
+soft white feet.
+
+Then they were two such glad children, and such a glad little brown
+dog was Bruno! Why, he kissed Lola's bare feet and hands and face,
+and nearly chewed her apron into rags, he was so delighted to see his
+mistress again. Even the cross pound-man smiled and said he was the
+prettiest puppy, and the smartest, he had ever had in the pound, and
+that when he had shut him up the night before he had gone through all
+his funny tricks in hopes that he would be let out.
+
+Then Dicky and Lola walked back home over the dusty road, Bruno running
+along beside them, barking at the birds, sniffing at the squirrels, and
+chasing all the chickens and kittens he met on the way, till at last
+they reached the street corner, where Lola turned to go to her home,
+after kissing her new friend and thanking him for being so good and kind
+to her.
+
+But what about Master Dicky himself, who had lost his tool-box? He
+didn't feel much like a smiling boy just then. He crept in at the back
+door, and when he saw his dear mother's face in the kitchen he couldn't
+stand it a minute longer, but burst out crying, and told her all about
+it.
+
+“Well, my little son,” said she, “I'm very, very sorry. I wish I could
+give you another dollar, but I haven't any money to spare. You did just
+right to help Lola find Bruno, and buy him back for her, and I'm
+very proud of my boy; but you can't give away the dollar and have the
+tool-box too. So wipe your eyes, and try to be happy. You didn't eat any
+breakfast, dear, take a piece of nice bread and sugar.”
+
+So Dicky dried his tears and began to eat.
+
+After a while he wanted to wipe his sticky, sugary little mouth, and as
+he took his clean handkerchief out of his pocket, two shining, chinking,
+clinking round things tumbled out on the floor and rolled under
+the kitchen table! What could they have been! Why, his two silver
+half-dollars, to be sure. And where in the world did they come from, do
+you suppose? Why, it was the nicest, funniest thing! The pound-man was
+not so cross after all, for he thought Lola and Dicky were two such kind
+children, and Bruno such a cunning dog, that he could not bear to take
+Dicky's dollar away from him; so while the little boy was looking the
+other way the pound-man just slipped the money back into Dick's bit of a
+pocket without saying a word. Wasn't that a beautiful surprise?
+
+So Dicky ran to the corner store as fast as his feet could carry him,
+and bought the tool-box.
+
+Every Saturday afternoon he has such a pleasant time playing with it!
+And who do you suppose sits on the white kitchen floor with Dot and
+Bess, watching him make dolls' tables and chairs with his carpenter's
+tools? Why, Lola, to be sure, and a little brown dog too, with a cunning
+curly tail turned up in a round bob behind, and two long silky ears
+touching the floor. For Dick's mamma had such a big heart that I do
+believe it would have held all the children in the world, and as Lola's
+uncle didn't care for her the least little bit, he gave her to this
+mamma of Dicky's, who grew to love this little girl almost as well as
+she loved her own Dicky and Dot and Bess.
+
+
+
+
+AQUA; OR, THE WATER BABAY.
+
+
+{Footnote: The plan of this story was suggested to me many years ago; so
+many, indeed, that I cannot now remember whether it was my friend's own,
+or whether he had read something like it in German.--K. D. W.}
+
+
+“This standing above life, and yet grasping life, and being stirred by
+life, is what makes the genuine educator.”--Froebel.
+
+
+It was a clear, sunshiny day, and out on the great, wide, open sea there
+sparkled thousands and thousands of water-drops. One of these was a
+merry little fellow who danced on the silver backs of the fishes as they
+plunged up and down in the waves, and, no matter how high he sprung,
+always came down again plump into his mother's lap.
+
+His mother, you know, was the Ocean, and very beautiful she looked that
+summer day in her dark blue dress and white ruffles.
+
+By and by the happy water-drop tired of his play, and looking up to the
+clear sky above him thought he would like to have a sail on one of
+the white floating clouds; so, giving a jump from the Ocean's arms, he
+begged the Sun to catch him up and let him go on a journey to see the
+earth.
+
+The Sun said “Yes,” and took ever so many other drops, too, so that Aqua
+might not be lonesome on the way. He did not know this, however, for
+they all had been changed into fine mist or vapor. Do you know what
+vapor is? If you breathe into the air, when it is cold enough, you will
+see it coming out of your mouth like steam, and you may also see very
+hot steam coming from the nose of a kettle of boiling water. When it
+is quite near to the earth, where we can see it, we call it “fog.” The
+water-drops had been changed into vapor because in their own shape they
+were too heavy for sunbeams to carry.
+
+Higher and higher they sailed, so fast that they grew quite dizzy; why,
+in an hour they had gone over a hundred miles! and how grand it was,
+to be looking down on the world below, and sailing faster than fish can
+swim or birds can fly!
+
+But after a while it grew nearly time for the Sun to go to bed; he
+became very red in the face, and began to sink lower and lower, until
+suddenly he went clear out of sight!
+
+Poor little Aqua could not help being frightened, for every minute it
+grew darker and colder. At last he thought he would try to get back to
+the earth again, so he slipped away, and as he fell lower and lower
+he grew heavier, until he was a little round, bright drop again, and
+alighted on a rosebush. A lovely velvet bud opened its leaves, and in
+he slipped among the crimson cushions, to sleep until morning. Then the
+leaves opened, and rolling over in his bed he called out, “Please, dear
+Sun, take me with you again.” So the sunbeams caught him up a second
+time, and they flew through the air till the noon-time, when it grew
+warmer and warmer, and there was no red rose to hide him, not even a
+blade of grass to shade his tired head; but just as he was crying out,
+“Please, King Sun, let me go back to the dear mother Ocean,” the wind
+took pity on him, and came with its cool breath and fanned him, with all
+his brothers, into a heavy gray cloud, after which he blew them apart
+and told them to join hands and hurry away to the earth. Helter-skelter
+down they went, rolling over each other pell-mell, till with a patter
+and clatter and spatter they touched the ground, and all the people
+cried, “It rains.”
+
+Some of the drops fell on a mountain side, Aqua among them, and down
+the rocky cliff he ran, leading the way for his brothers. Soon, together
+they plunged into a mountain brook, which came foaming and dashing
+along, leaping over rocks and rushing down the hillside, till in the
+valley below they heard the strangest clattering noise.
+
+On the bank stood a flour-mill, and at the door a man whose hat and
+clothes were gray with dust.
+
+Inside the mill were two great stones, which kept whizzing round and
+round, faster than a boy's top could spin, worked by the big wheel
+outside; and these stones ground the wheat into flour and the corn into
+golden meal.
+
+But what giant do you suppose it was who could turn and swing that
+tremendous wheel, together with those heavy stones? No giant at all.
+No one but our tiny little water-drops themselves, who sprang on it by
+hundreds and thousands, and whirled it over and over.
+
+The brook emptied into a quiet pond where ducks and geese were swimming.
+Such a still, beautiful place it was, with the fuzzy, brown cat-tails
+lifting their heads above the water, and the yellow cow lilies, with
+their leaves like green platters, floating on the top. On the edge lived
+the fat green bullfrogs, and in the water were spotted trout, silver
+shiners, cunning minnows, and other fish.
+
+Aqua liked this place so much that he stayed a good while, sailing up
+and down, taking the ducks' backs for ships and the frogs for horses;
+but after a time he tired of the dull life, and he and his brothers
+floated out over a waterfall and under a bridge for a long, long
+distance, until they saw another brook tumbling down a hillside.
+
+“Come, let's join hands!” cried Aqua; and so they all dashed on together
+till they came to a broad river which opened its arms to them.
+
+By the help of Aqua and his brothers the beautiful river was able to
+float heavy ships, though not so long ago it was only a little rill,
+through which a child could wade or over which he could step. Here a
+vessel loaded with lumber was carried just as easily as if it had been
+a paper boat; there a steamer, piled with boxes and barrels, and crowded
+with people, passed by, its great wheel crashing through the water and
+leaving a long trail, as of foamy soapsuds, behind it. On and ever on
+the river went, seeking the ocean, and whether it hurried round a corner
+or glided smoothly on its way to the sea, there was always something
+new and strange to be seen--busy cities, quiet little towns, buzzing
+sawmills, stone bridges, and harbors full of all sorts of vessels, large
+and small, with flags of all colors floating from the masts and sailors
+of all countries working on the decks. But Aqua did not stay long in any
+place, for as the river grew wider and wider, and nearer and nearer
+its end, he could almost see the mother Ocean into whose arms he was
+joyfully running. She reached out to gather all her children, the
+water-drops, into her heart, and closer than all the others nestled our
+little Aqua.
+
+His travels were over, his pleasures and dangers past; and he was folded
+again to the dear mother heart, the safest, sweetest place in all the
+whole wide world. In warm, still summer evenings, if you will take a
+walk on the sea-beach, you will hear the gentle rippling swash of the
+waves; and some very wise people think it must be the gurgling voices
+of Aqua and his brother water-drops telling each other about their
+wonderful journey round the world.
+
+
+
+
+MOUFFLOU.
+
+Adapted from Ouida.
+
+“We tell too few stories to children, and those we tell are stories
+whose heroes are automata and stuffed dolls,”--Froebel.
+
+
+Lolo and Moufflou lived far away from here, in a sunny country called
+Italy.
+
+Lolo was not as strong as you are, and could never run about and play,
+for he was lame, poor fellow, and always had to hop along on a little
+crutch. He was never well enough to go to school, but as his fingers
+were active and quick he could plait straw matting and make baskets at
+home. He had four or five rosy, bright little brothers and sisters, but
+they were all so strong and could play all day so easily that Lolo was
+not with them much; so Moufflou was his very best friend, and they were
+together all day long.
+
+Moufflou was a snow-white poodle, with such soft, curly wool that he
+looked just like a lamb; and the man who gave him to the children, when
+he was a little puppy, had called him “Moufflon,” which meant sheep in
+his country.
+
+Lolo's father had died four years before; but he had a mother, who had
+to work very hard to keep the children clean and get them enough to eat.
+He had, too, a big brother Tasso, who worked for a gardener, and every
+Saturday night brought his wages home to help feed and clothe the little
+children. Tasso was almost a man now, and in that country as soon as you
+grow to be a man you have to go away and be a soldier; so Lolo's mother
+was troubled all the time for fear that her Tasso would be taken away.
+If you have money enough, you can always pay some one to go in your
+place; but Tasso had no money, and neither had the poor mother, so every
+day she was anxious lest her boy might have to go to the wars.
+
+But Lolo and Moufflon knew nothing of all this, and every day, when
+Lolo was well enough, they were happy together. They would walk up the
+streets, or sit on the church, steps, or, if the day was fair, would
+perhaps go into the country and bring home great bundles of yellow and
+blue and crimson flowers.
+
+The tumble-down old house in which the family lived was near a tall,
+gray church. It was a beautiful old church, and all the children loved
+it, but Lolo most of all. He loved it in the morning, when the people
+brought in great bunches of white lilies to trim it; and at noon, when
+it was cool and shady; and at sunset, when the long rays shone through
+the painted windows and made blue and golden and violet lights on the
+floor.
+
+One morning Lolo and Moufflou were sitting on the church steps and
+watching the people, when a gentleman who was passing by stopped to look
+at the dog.
+
+“That's a very fine poodle,” he said.
+
+“Indeed he is,” cried Lolo. “But you should see him on Sundays when he
+is just washed; then he is as white as snow.”
+
+“Can he do any tricks?” asked the gentleman.
+
+“I should say so,” said Lolo, for he had taught the dog all he knew. “He
+can stand on his hind legs, he can dance, he can speak, he can make a
+wheelbarrow of himself, and when I put a biscuit on his nose and count
+one, two, three, he will snap and catch the biscuit.”
+
+The gentleman said he should like to see some of the tricks, and
+Moufflou was very glad to do them, for no one had ever whipped him or
+hurt him, and he loved to do what his little master wished. Then the
+gentleman told Lolo that he had a little boy at home, so weak and so
+sick that he could not get up from the sofa, and that he would like to
+have Lolo bring the poodle to show him the next day, so he gave Lolo
+some money, and told him the name of the hotel where he was staying.
+
+Lolo went hopping home as fast as his little crutch could carry him, and
+went quickly upstairs to his mother.
+
+“Oh, mamma!” he said. “See the money a gentleman gave me, and all
+because dear Moufflou did his pretty tricks so nicely. Now you can have
+your coffee every morning, and Tasso can have his new suit for Sunday.”
+ Then he told his mother about the gentleman, and that he had promised to
+take Moufflou to see him the next day.
+
+{Illustration: He will snap and catch the biscuit}
+
+So when the morning came, Moufflou was washed as white as snow, and his
+pretty curls were tied up with blue ribbon, and they both trotted off.
+Moufflou was so proud of his curls and his ribbon that he hardly liked
+to put his feet on the ground at all. They were shown to the little
+boy's room, where he lay on the sofa very pale and unhappy. A bright
+little look came into his eyes when he saw the dog, and he laughed when
+Moufflou did his tricks. How he clapped his hands when he saw him make
+a wheelbarrow, and he tossed them both handfuls of cakes and candies!
+Neither the boy nor the dog ever had quite enough to eat, so they
+nibbled the little cakes with their sharp, white teeth, and were very
+glad.
+
+When Lolo got up to go, the little boy began to cry, and said, “Oh, I
+want the dog. Let me have the dog!”
+
+“Oh, indeed I can't,” said Lolo, “he is my own Moufflou, and I cannot
+let you have him.”
+
+The little boy was so unhappy and cried so bitterly that Lolo was very
+sorry to see him, and he went quickly down the stairs with Moufflou. The
+gentleman gave him more money this time, and he was so excited and so
+glad that he went very fast all the way home, swinging himself over the
+stones on his little crutch. But when he opened the door, there was his
+mother crying as if her heart would break, and all the children were
+crying in a corner, and even Tasso was home from his work, looking very
+unhappy.
+
+“Oh! what is the matter?” cried Lolo. But no one answered him, and
+Moufflon, seeing them all so sad, sat down and threw up his nose in the
+air and howled a long, sad howl. By and by one of the children told Lolo
+that at last Tasso had been chosen to be a soldier, and that he must
+soon go away to the war. The poor mother said, crying, that she did not
+know what would become of her little children through the long, cold
+winter.
+
+Lolo showed her his money, but she was too unhappy even to care for
+that, and so by and by he went to his bed with Moufflou. The dog had
+always slept at Lolo's feet, but this night he crept close up by the
+side of his little master, and licked his hand now and then to show that
+he was sorry.
+
+The next morning Lolo and Moufflon went with Tasso to the gardens where
+he worked, and all the way along the bright river and among the green
+trees they talked together of what they should do when Tasso had gone.
+Tasso said that if they could only get some money he would not have to
+go away to the wars, but he shook his head sadly and knew that no one
+would lend it to them. At noon Lolo went home with Moufflon to his
+dinner. When they had finished (it was only bean soup and soon eaten),
+the mother told Lolo that his aunt wanted him to go and see her that
+afternoon, and take care of the children while she went out. So Lolo put
+on his hat, called Moufflou, and was limping toward the door, when his
+mother said:&&
+
+“No, don't take the dog to-day, your aunt doesn't like him; leave him
+here with me.”
+
+“Leave Moufflou?” said Lolo, “why, I never leave him; he wouldn't know
+what to do without me all the afternoon.”
+
+“Yes, leave him,” said his mother. “I don't want you to take him with
+you. Don't let me tell you again.” So Lolo turned around and went down
+the stairs, feeling very sad at leaving his dear Moufflou even for a
+short time. But the hours went by, and when night-time came he hurried
+back to the little old home. He stood at the bottom of the long, dark
+stairway and called “Moufflou! Moufflou!” but no doggie came; then he
+climbed half-way up to the landing and called again, “Moufflou!” but no
+little white feet came pattering down. Up to the top of the stairs went
+poor tired Lolo and opened the door.
+
+“Why, where is my Moufflou?” he said.
+
+The mother had been crying, and she looked very sad and did not answer
+him for a moment.
+
+“Where is my Moufflou?” asked Lolo again, “what have you done with my
+dear Moufflou?”
+
+“He is sold,” the mother said at last, “sold to the gentleman who has
+the little lame boy. He came here to-day, and he likes the dog so much
+and his little boy was so pleased at the pretty tricks he does, that he
+told me he would give a great deal of money if I would sell him the dog.
+Just think, Lolo, he gave me so much money that we can pay somebody now
+to go to the war for Tasso.”
+
+But before she had finished talking, Lolo began to grow white and cold
+and to waver to and fro, so that his little crutch could hardly support
+him. When she had done he called out, “My Moufflou--my Moufflou sold!”
+ and he threw his hands up over his head and fell all in a heap on the
+floor, his poor little crutch clattering down beside him. His mother
+took him up and laid him on his bed, but all night long he tossed to and
+fro, calling for his dog. When the morning came, his little hands and
+his head were very, very hot, and by and by the doctor came and said he
+had a fever. He asked the mother what it was the little boy was calling
+for, and she told him that it was his dog, and that he had been sold.
+The doctor shook his head, and then went away.
+
+Day after day poor Lolo lay on his bed. His hair had been cut short, he
+did not know his brothers and sisters, nor his mother, and his little
+aching head went to and fro, to and fro, on the pillow from morning till
+night. Once Tasso went to the hotel to find the gentleman. He was
+going to tell him to take the money and give him back the dog; but the
+gentleman had gone many miles away on the cars and taken Moufflou with
+him. So every day Lolo grew weaker, until the doctor said that he must
+die very soon.
+
+One afternoon they were all in the room with him. The windows were wide
+open. His mother sat by his bed and the children on the floor beside
+her; even Tasso was at home helping to take care of his little
+brother. All was so still that you could hear poor Lolo's faint breath,
+when--suddenly--there was a scampering and a pattering of little feet
+on the stairs, and a white poodle dashed into the room and jumped on the
+bed. It was Moufflou! but you would never have known him, for he was
+so thin that you could count all his bones. His curls were dirty and
+matted, and full of sticks and straws and burrs; his feet were dusty and
+bleeding, and you could tell in a moment that he had traveled a great
+many miles. When he jumped on the bed, Lolo opened his eyes a little.
+He saw it was Moufflou, and laid one little thin hand on the dog's
+head; then he turned on his pillow, closed his eyes, and went quietly to
+sleep. Moufflou would not get off the bed, and would eat nothing unless
+they brought it to him there. He only lay close by his little master,
+with his brown eyes wide open, looking straight into his face. By and by
+the doctor came, and said that Lolo was really a little better, and
+that perhaps he might get well now. The mother and Tasso were very glad
+indeed, but they knew that the gentleman would come back for his dog,
+and they scarcely knew what to do, nor what to say to him. Lolo grew a
+little stronger every day, and at the end of a week a man came upstairs
+asking if Moufflou was there. They had taken him a long way off, but
+he had run away from them one day, and they had never been able to find
+him. Tasso asked the messenger to let Moufflou stay until he had seen
+the gentleman, and he took the money and put on his hat and went with
+him to the hotel. The sick boy was in the room with his father, and
+Tasso went straight to them and told them all about it: that Lolo nearly
+died without his dear Moufflon, that day after day he lay in his bed
+calling for the dog, and that at last one afternoon Moufflon came back
+to them, thin and hungry and dirty, but so glad to see his little master
+again. Nobody knew, said Tasso, how he could have found his way so many
+miles alone, but there he was, and now he begged the gentleman to be
+so kind as to take back the money. He would go and be a soldier, if he
+must; but Lolo and his dog must never be parted again.
+
+The gentleman told Tasso that he seemed to be a kind brother, and that
+he might keep the money and the dog too, if only he would find them
+another poodle and teach him to be as wise and faithful as Moufflou was.
+Tasso was so glad that he thanked them again and again, and hurried home
+to tell Lolo and his mother the good news. He soon found a poodle almost
+as pretty as Moufflou, and every day Lolo, who has grown strong now,
+helps Tasso to teach him all of Moufflon's tricks.
+
+Sometimes Lolo turns and puts his arms around Moufflon's neck and
+says,&&
+
+“Tell me, my Moufflou, how you ever came back to me, over all the
+rivers, and all the bridges, and all the miles of road?”
+
+Moufflou can never answer him, but I think he must have found his way
+home because he loved his master so much; and the grown people always
+say, “Love will find out the way.”
+
+
+
+
+BENJY IN BEASTLAND.
+
+ADAPTED FROM MRS. EWING.
+
+“With the genuine story-teller the inner life of the genuine listener
+is roused; he is carried out of himself, and he thereby measures
+himself.”--FROEBEL.
+
+
+Benjy was a very naughty, disagreeable boy! It is sad to say it, but it
+is truth. He always had a cloudy, smudgy, slovenly look, like a slate
+half-washed, that made one feel how nice it would be if he could be
+scrubbed inside and out with hot water and soap.
+
+Benjy was the only boy in the family, but he had two little sisters who
+were younger than he. They were dear, merry little things, and many boys
+would have found them pleasant little playmates; but Benjy had shown how
+much he disliked to play with them, and it made them feel very badly.
+One of them said one day, “Benjy does not care for us because we are
+only girls, so we have taken Nox for our brother.” Nox was a big curly
+dog, something like a Newfoundland.
+
+Now Benjy was not at all handsome, and he hated tubs and brushes and
+soap and water. He liked to lie abed late in the mornings, and when he
+got up he had only time enough to half wash himself. But Nox rose early,
+liked cold water, had snow-white teeth and glossy hair, and when you
+spoke to him he looked straight up at you with his clear honest brown
+eyes. Benjy's jacket and shirt-front were always spotted with dirt,
+while the covering of Nox's chest was glossy and well kept. Benjy came
+into the parlor with muddy boots and dirty hands; but Nox, if he had
+been out in the mud, would lie down when he came home, and lick his
+brown paws till they were quite clean. Benjy liked to kill all kinds of
+animals, but Nox saved lives, though he often came near losing his own.
+
+Near their home was a deep river, where many a dog and cat was drowned.
+There was one place on the bank of this river where there was an old
+willow-tree, which spread its branches wide and stretched its long arms
+till they touched the water. Here Nox used to bring everything that he
+found in the river.
+
+I must tell you that Benjy did not like Nox, and with very good
+reason. Benjy had had something to do with the death of several animals
+belonging to the people in the neighborhood, and he had tied stones or
+tin cans around their necks and dropped them into the river. But Nox
+used to wander round quite early in the morning, and very often found in
+the river and brought out what Benjy had thrown in, and this is why he
+did not like the brave dog.
+
+There was another dog in the family, named Mr. Rough. His eyes had
+been almost scratched out by cats, his little body bore marks of many
+beatings, and he had a hoarse bark which sounded as if he had a bad
+cold.
+
+If Benjy cared for any animal, it was for Mr. Rough, although he treated
+him worse than he did Nox, because he was small.
+
+One day Benjy felt very mischievous; he even played a cruel trick on Nox
+while he was asleep. As he sat near to him he kept lightly pricking the
+dog's lips with a fine needle. The dog would half wake up, shake his
+head, rub his lips with his paws, and then drop off to sleep again.
+
+At last this cruel boy stuck the needle in too far and hurt poor Nox,
+who jumped up with a start, and as he did so the needle broke off, part
+of it staying in the flesh, where, after a great deal of work which hurt
+the poor dog dreadfully, the little sisters found it. How they cried
+for their pet! The braver one held Nox's lips and pulled out the needle,
+while the other wiped the tears from her sister's eyes, that she might
+see what she was doing. Nox sat still and moaned and wagged his tail
+very feebly, but when it was over he fairly knocked the little sisters
+down in his eagerness to show his gratitude. But Benjy went out and
+found Mr. Rough, and as he did not feel like being kind to any one, he
+kicked him, and Mr. Rough for the first time ran away. Benjy could not
+find him, but he found a boy as naughty as himself, who was chasing
+another little dog and pelting it with stones. This would have been very
+good fun, but one of the stones struck the dog and killed him. So the
+boys tied something around his neck and threw him into the river.
+
+Benjy went to bed early that night, but he could not sleep, because he
+was thinking of that little white dog, and wishing he had not thrown
+him into the river; so at last he got up and went to the willow-tree. He
+looked up through the branches and saw the moon shining down at him, and
+it seemed so large and so close that he thought if he were only on the
+highest part of the tree he could touch it with his hand. While he was
+looking he thought of a book his mother had, which told him that all
+animals went up into the moon after they left the earth.
+
+“I wonder,” said Benjy, “if that dog we killed last night is really up
+there.”
+
+The Man in the Moon looked down on him just then, and, to his surprise,
+said:&&
+
+“This is Beastland. Won't you come up and see if the dog is here? Can
+you climb?”
+
+“I guess I can,” said Benjy, and he climbed up first on one branch, then
+up higher on to another, till he stood on the very top, and all he could
+see about him was a shining white light.
+
+“Walk right in,” said the Man in the Moon. “Put out your feet,--don't be
+afraid!” So Benjy stepped into the moon and found himself in Beastland.
+
+Oh! it was such a funny place, and yet it was very beautiful. There were
+many more beasts there than in a menagerie, and they were so polite to
+each other, too, and so merry and kind to Benjy, that it made him feel
+quite at home.
+
+A nice old spider was anxious to teach him how to make a web. So he said
+to Benjy:&&
+
+“When you are ready, look around and find a spot where you can tie your
+first line; then you have a ball of thread inside of you, of course.”
+
+“I can't say that I have,” said Benjy, “but I have a good deal of string
+in my pocket.”
+
+“Oh, well!” said the spider, “that is all right; whether it's in your
+pocket or your stomach it is all the same.”
+
+Just as the spider was giving Benjy his lesson, one animal whispered to
+another, and that one to another, who and what Benjy was. Dear me! in a
+minute the beasts all changed their way of treating him. They called him
+BOY! and up there that meant something not at all nice. Then they took
+him to the Lion, the king of all the beasts, and asked him what should
+be done with the Boy.
+
+The Lion said: “If you want me to have anything to do with this trouble,
+you must mind me. First, however, we will hear what Benjy has to say for
+himself.”
+
+They all placed themselves in a circle, the Lion on a high chair,
+(because, you know, he was going to be judge, and all judges sit in big
+chairs,) and Benjy sat in the middle of the circle.
+
+“Now, what has the Boy done?” asked the Lion.
+
+“He stones and drowns dogs, and he hurts and kills cats,” shouted the
+beasts all together.
+
+“Mr. Rough kills the cats,” said Benjy, because he was frightened.
+
+“Very well,” said the Lion, “we will send some one down for Mr. Rough.”
+
+So they all waited, and in a little while they heard the jingling of Mr.
+Rough's collar, and he walked into the circle with his little short tail
+standing right up.
+
+“Mr. Rough,” said the Lion, “Benjy says it is you, and not he, who tease
+and kill the cats.”
+
+“Well,” said Mr. Rough, jumping about in an angry way, “am I to blame?
+BOUF, BOUF, who taught me to do it? BOUF, BOUF, it was that Boy over
+there. BOUF-BOUF!”
+
+Then Mr. Rough told them that Benjy had made him tease and worry the
+cats and dogs so often that he had quite learned to like it. All the
+beasts were very angry at this, and said that Benjy must be punished.
+
+The Lion said that he did not know just then what was best to be done
+with Benjy, so he asked the beasts if they would wait till he had walked
+around and thought about it. They said yes, so he walked around the
+circle seven times, lashing his tail in the grandest way; then he took
+his seat again and said:&&
+
+“Gentle beasts, birds and fishes, you have all heard what this Boy has
+done, and you would like him to be treated as he has treated you. We
+will not abuse Benjy, but I do not think he is good enough to stay with
+us. We will tie a tin-kettle to him and chase him from Beastland, and
+Mr. Rough shall be our leader.”
+
+This was no sooner said than done. The Lion gave one dreadful roar as a
+signal for the animals to begin the chase.
+
+With the tin-kettle fastened to him and hurting him at every step, and
+with Mr. Rough at his very heels, Benjy was run out of Beastland. When
+he got to the edge of the moon he jumped off, Mr. Rough after him.
+
+Down, down, they went, oh! so fast and so far! Benjy screaming all the
+way and Mr. Rough's collar jingling. They came to the river, and making
+all the noise they could, in they fell. As Benjy sank he thought of all
+the unkind things he had done. He came to the top, but sank again, and
+sinking, thought of his papa and mamma and his little sisters, and of
+his nice little bed, and of the prayers his dear mamma used to hear him
+say. He rose for the last time, and saw Nox standing on the bank, and
+thought, “Now he has come to do something to me because I have so often
+hurt him.” Down, down he went, as a lark flew up in the summer sky. The
+bird was almost out of sight when a soft black nose and great brown eyes
+came close to his face, and a kind, gentle mouth took hold of him, and
+paddling and swimming as hard as he could, Nox carried Benjy to the
+shore and laid him under the willow-tree. There Benjy's papa found him,
+and took him home, where he was sick for a long, long time. When he got
+a little better he used to tell people of his visit to Beastland, but
+they always said it was only a dream he had during the fever.
+
+In the long weeks of his sickness he grew much kinder and sweeter. But
+something happened when he was getting well which softened his little
+heart once and forever.
+
+While he was sick, Mr. Rough was given to one of the servants to be
+cared for and fed well, but he did not treat him kindly, and besides,
+the dog wanted his little master; he wanted to see him, but no one would
+let him; so poor faithful Mr. Rough got thinner and weaker every day,
+till at last he would not eat anything nor even go out for a little
+walk.
+
+One day the barn door was open and Mr. Rough thought of Benjy and crept
+into the house. When he got into the front hall he smelled Benjy and ran
+into the parlor; and when he got into the parlor he saw Benjy, who had
+heard the jingle of his collar and who stood up and held out his arms
+for him. Mr. Rough jumped into them, and then fell dead at his master's
+feet.
+
+Yes, dear children, Mr. Rough died of joy at seeing Benjy again. Benjy
+felt very sorry for him, and it kept him from growing well for a long
+time, but it did him good in other ways, for as the tears rolled down
+his cheeks on to Mr. Bough's poor little scratched face, he felt as if
+he never could hurt or be unkind to any animal again.
+
+
+
+
+THE PORCELAIN STOVE.
+
+Adapted From Ouida.
+
+“The story-teller must take life into himself in its wholeness, must let
+it live and work whole and free within him. He must give it out free
+and unabbreviated, and yet STAND ABOVE THE LIFE which actually
+is.”--Froebel.
+
+
+In a little brown house, far, far away in Germany, there lived a father
+and his children. There were ever so many of them,--let me see,--Hilda,
+the dear eldest sister, and Hans, the big, strong brother; then Karl and
+August, and the baby Marta. Just enough for the fingers of one hand. How
+many is that? But it is Karl that I am going to tell you about. He was
+nine years old, a rosy little fellow, with big bright eyes and a curly
+head as brown as a ripe nut. The dear mother was dead, and the father
+was very poor, so that Karl and his brothers and sisters sometimes knew
+what it was to be hungry; but they were happy, for they loved each other
+very dearly, and ate their brown bread and milk without wishing it were
+something nicer. One afternoon Karl had been sent on a long journey. It
+was winter time, and he had to run fast over the frozen fields of white
+snow. The night was coming on, and he was hurrying home with a great jug
+of milk, feeling cold and tired. The mountains looked high and white
+and still in the cold moonlight, and the stars seemed to say, when
+they twinkled, “Hurry, Karl! the children are hungry.” At last he saw
+a little brown cottage, with a snow-laden roof and a shining window,
+through which he could see the bright firelight dancing merrily,--for
+Hilda never closed the shutters till all the boys were safely inside the
+house. When he saw the dear home-light he ran as fast as his feet could
+carry him, burst in at the low front door, kissed Hilda, and shouted:&&
+
+“Oh! dear, dear Hirschvogel! I am so glad to get back to you again; you
+are every bit as good as the summer time.”
+
+Now, Hirschvogel was not one of the family, as you might think, nor
+even a splendid dog, nor a pony, but it was a large, beautiful porcelain
+stove, so tall that it quite touched the ceiling. It stood at the end of
+the room, shining with all the hues of a peacock's tail, bright and warm
+and beautiful; its great golden feet were shaped like the claws of a
+lion, and there was a golden crown on the very top of all. You never
+have seen a stove like it, for it was white where our stoves are black,
+and it had flowers and birds and beautiful ladies and grand gentlemen
+painted all over it, and everywhere it was brilliant with gold and
+bright colors. It was a very old stove, for sixty years before, Karl's
+grandfather had dug it up out of some broken-down buildings where he was
+working, and, finding it strong and whole, had taken it home; and ever
+since then it had stood in the big room, warming the children, who
+tumbled like little flowers around its shining feet. The grandfather
+did not know it, but it was a wonderful stove, for it had been made by a
+great potter named Hirschvogel.
+
+A potter, you know, children, is a man who makes all sorts of things,
+dishes and tiles and vases, out of china and porcelain and clay. So the
+family had always called the stove Hirschvogel, after the potter, just
+as if it were alive.
+
+To the children the stove was very dear indeed. In summer they laid a
+mat of fresh moss all around it, and dressed it up with green boughs and
+beautiful wild flowers. In winter, scampering home from school over the
+ice and snow, they were always happy, knowing that they would soon be
+cracking nuts or roasting chestnuts in the heat and light of the dear
+old stove. All the children loved it, but Karl even more than the rest,
+and he used to say to himself, “When I grow up I will make just such
+things too, and then I will set Hirschvogel up in a beautiful room that
+I will build myself. That's what I will do when I'm a man.”
+
+After Karl had eaten his supper, this cold night, he lay down on the
+floor by the stove, the children all around him, on the big wolf-skin
+rug. With some sticks of charcoal he was drawing pictures for them of
+what he had seen all day. When the children had looked enough at one
+picture, he would sweep it out with his elbow and make another--faces,
+and dogs' heads, and men on sleds, and old women in their furs, and
+pine-trees, and all sorts of animals. When they had been playing in this
+way for some time, Hilda, the eldest sister, said:&&
+
+“It is time for you all to go to bed, children. Father is very late
+to-night; you must not sit up for him.”
+
+“Oh, just five minutes more, dear Hilda,” they begged. “Hirschvogel is
+so warm; the beds are never so warm as he is.”
+
+In the midst of their chatter and laughter the door opened, and in blew
+the cold wind and snow from outside. Their father had come home. He
+seemed very tired, and came slowly to his chair. At last he said, “Take
+the children to bed, daughter.”
+
+Karl stayed, curled up before the stove. When Hilda came back, the
+father said sadly:
+
+“Hilda, I have sold Hirschvogel! I have sold it to a traveling peddler,
+for I need money very much; the winter is so cold and the children are
+so hungry. The man will take it away to-morrow.”
+
+Hilda gave a cry. “Oh, father! the children, in the middle of winter!”
+ and she turned as white as the snow outside.
+
+Karl lay half blind with sleep, staring at his father. “It can't be
+true, it can't be true!” he cried. “You are making fun, father.” It
+seemed to him that the skies must fall if Hirschvogel were taken away.
+
+“Yes,” said the father, “you will find it true enough. The peddler has
+paid half the money to-night, and will pay me the other half to-morrow
+when he packs up the stove and takes it away.”
+
+“Oh, father! dear father!” cried poor little Karl, “you cannot mean what
+you say. Send our stove away? We shall all die in the dark and cold.
+Listen! I will go and try to get work to-morrow. I will ask them to let
+me cut ice or make the paths through the snow. There must be something I
+can do, and I will beg the people we owe money to, to wait. They are all
+neighbors; they will be patient. But sell Hirschvogel! Oh, never, never,
+never! Give the money back to the man.”
+
+The father was so sorry for his little boy that he could not speak. He
+looked sadly at him; then took the lamp that stood on the table, and
+left the room.
+
+Hilda knelt down and tried to comfort Karl, but he was too unhappy to
+listen. “I shall stay here,” was all he said, and he lay there all the
+night long. The lamp went out; the rats came and ran across the room;
+the room grew colder and colder. Karl did not move, but lay with his
+face down on the floor by the lovely rainbow-colored stove. When it grew
+light, his sister came down with a lamp in her hand to begin her morning
+work. She crept up to him, and laid her cheek on his softly, and said:&&
+
+“Dear Karl, you must be frozen. Karl! do look up; do speak.”
+
+“Ah!” said poor Karl, “it will never be warm again.”
+
+Soon after some one knocked at the door. A strange voice called through
+the keyhole,&&
+
+“Let me in! quick! there is no time to lose. More snow like this and the
+roads will all be blocked. Let me in! Do you hear? I am come to take the
+great stove.”
+
+Hilda unfastened the door. The man came in at once, and began to wrap
+the stove in a great many wrappings, and carried it out into the snow,
+where an ox-cart stood in waiting. In another moment it was gone; gone
+forever!
+
+Karl leaned against the wall, his tears falling like rain down his pale
+cheeks.
+
+An old neighbor came by just then, and, seeing the boy, said to him:
+“Child, is it true your father is selling that big painted stove?”
+
+Karl nodded his head, and began to sob again. “I love it! I love it!” he
+said.
+
+“Well, if I were you I would do better than cry. I would go after it
+when I grew bigger,” said the neighbor, trying to cheer him up a little.
+“Don't cry so loud; you will see your stove again some day,” and the old
+man went away, leaving a new idea in Karl's head.
+
+“Go after it,” the old man had said. Karl thought, “Why not go with it?”
+ He loved it better than anything else in the world, even better than
+Hilda. He ran off quickly after the cart which was carrying the dear
+Hirschvogel to the station. How he managed it he never knew very well
+himself, but it was certain that when the freight train moved away from
+the station Karl was hidden behind the stove. It was very dark, but he
+wasn't frightened. He was close beside Hirschvogel, but he wanted to be
+closer still; he meant to get inside the stove. He set to work like a
+little mouse to make a hole in the straw and hay. He gnawed and nibbled,
+and pushed and pulled, making a hole where he guessed that the door
+might be. At last he found it; he slipped through it, as he had so often
+done at home for fun, and curled himself up. He drew the hay and straw
+together carefully, and fixed the ropes, so that no one could have
+dreamed that a little mouse had been at them. Safe inside his dear
+Hirschvogel, he went as fast asleep as if he were in his own little bed
+at home. The train rumbled on in its heavy, slow way, and Karl slept
+soundly for a long time. When he awoke the darkness frightened him, but
+he felt the cold sides of Hirschvogel, and said softly, “Take care of
+me, dear Hirschvogel, oh, please take care of me!”
+
+Every time the train stopped, and he heard the banging, stamping, and
+shouting, his heart seemed to jump up into his mouth. When the people
+came to lift the stove out, would they find him? and if they did find
+him, would they kill him? The thought, too, of Hilda, kept tugging
+at his heart now and then, but he said to himself, “If I can take
+Hirschvogel back to her, how pleased she will be, and how she will clap
+her hands!” He was not at all selfish in his love for Hirschvogel; he
+wanted it for them at home quite as much as for himself. That was what
+he kept thinking of all the way in the darkness and stillness which
+lasted so long. At last the train stopped, and awoke him from a half
+sleep. Karl felt the stove lifted by some men, who carried it to a cart,
+and then they started again on the journey, up hill and down, for what
+seemed miles and miles. Where they were going Karl had no idea. Finally
+the cart stopped; then it seemed as though they were carrying the stove
+up some stairs. The men rested sometimes, and then moved on again,
+and their feet went so softly he thought they must be walking on thick
+carpets. By and by the stove was set down again, happily for Karl, for
+he felt as though he should scream, or do something to make known that
+he was there. Then the wrappings were taken off, and he heard a voice
+say, “What a beautiful, beautiful stove!”
+
+{Illustration: “Oh let me stay please let me stay”}
+
+Next some one turned the round handle of the brass door, and poor little
+Karl's heart stood still.
+
+“What is this?” said the man. “A live child!”
+
+Then Karl sprang out of the stove and fell at the feet of the man who
+had spoken.
+
+“Oh, let me stay, please let me stay!” he said. “I have come all the way
+with my darling Hirschvogel!”
+
+The man answered kindly, “Poor little child! tell me how you came to
+hide in the stove. Do not be afraid. I am the king.”
+
+Karl was too much in earnest to be afraid; he was so glad, so glad it
+was the king, for kings must be always kind, he thought.
+
+“Oh, dear king!” he said with a trembling voice, “Hirschvogel was ours,
+and we have loved it all our lives, and father sold it, and when I saw
+that it really did go from us I said to myself that I would go with it;
+and I do beg you to let me live with it, and I will go out every morning
+and cut wood for it and for all your other stoves, if only you will let
+me stay beside it. No one has ever fed it with wood but me since I grew
+big enough, and it loves me; it does indeed!” And then he lifted up
+his little pale face to the young king, who saw that great tears were
+running down his cheeks.
+
+“Can't I stay with Hirschvogel?” he pleaded.
+
+“Wait a little,” said the king. “What do you want to be when you are a
+man? Do you want to be a wood-chopper?”
+
+“I want to be a painter,” cried Karl. “I want to be what Hirschvogel
+was. I mean the potter that made my Hirschvogel.”
+
+“I understand,” answered the king, and he looked down at the child, and
+smiled. “Get up, my little man,” he said in a kind voice; “I will let
+you stay with your Hirschvogel. You shall stay here, and you shall be
+taught to be a painter, but you must grow up very good, and when you are
+twenty-one years old, if you have done well, then I will give you back
+your beautiful stove.” Then he smiled again and stretched out his hand.
+Karl threw his two arms about the king's knees and kissed his feet, and
+then all at once he was so tired and so glad and hungry and happy, that
+he fainted quite away on the floor.
+
+Then the king had a letter written to Karl's father, telling him that
+Karl had drawn him some beautiful charcoal pictures, and that he liked
+them so much he was going to take care of him until he was old enough to
+paint wonderful stoves like Hirschvogel. And he did take care of him for
+a long time, and when Karl grew older, he often went for a few days to
+his old home, where his father still lives.
+
+In the little brown house stands Hirschvogel, tall and splendid, with
+its peacock colors as beautiful as ever,--the king's present to Hilda;
+and Karl never goes home without going into the great church and giving
+his thanks to God, who blessed his strange winter's journey in the great
+porcelain stove.
+
+
+
+
+THE BABES IN THE WOOD
+
+“Nature and life speak very early to man.”--FROEBEL.
+
+
+A great many years ago three little girls lived in an old-fashioned
+house in the East. They had a very lovely home, and a kind father and
+mother, who tried to make them happy. All through the summer they used
+to roam over the hills and fields, catching butterflies, watching
+the birds and bees at work, and studying the flowers and trees in the
+beautiful meadows and woods. Then when winter came, and the days grew
+cold, they went to school; and in the evening, when the fire was burning
+brightly, they read and studied in books about all they had seen in the
+summer.
+
+Besides all these lovely things, and perhaps best of all, they had a
+very large yard to play in, so large that it took up a whole block, and
+seemed like a little farm in the middle of the town. There was a lovely
+lawn and flower beds; a vegetable garden, barnyard and stable; and an
+orchard where all kinds of fruit trees grew, apple, peach, pear, and
+many others. A cow lived down in the meadows of clover, and old Bob,
+the horse, was sometimes turned out to pasture there. But nicest of
+all, there was the wood yard. You must remember that every winter, where
+these little girls lived, the snow fell, and lay so deep on the roads
+that no one could bring in wood from the forest, and without it all the
+people would have frozen in their cold homes.
+
+So every September the gates were thrown wide open, and into the yard
+load after load of wood was drawn and piled up under the shed. Then,
+when it was too cold to play out on the hills, the little girls used to
+have a fine time in the yard, piling up the wood, making beds, tables,
+chairs, and stoves of the sticks that had once been the waving branches
+and strong, sturdy trunks of trees.
+
+Toward spring they often found a strange yellow powder on the ground
+under the wood. At first they played with it, calling it flour, and made
+pies and cakes out of it. But at last they began to wonder where the
+flour came from, and after watching and studying a long time this is
+what they found out.
+
+But first I must tell you that all the time the three little girls were
+happy and busy in this beautiful place, they were not the only family
+there. There were the robins' children, whose mammas were trying to make
+them good and happy too. There were the beetles' children, the ants'
+children, and families of toads, butterflies, and spiders. And while
+the three little girls were playing with the sticks of wood, there lay,
+tucked snugly away inside of them, many families of children, warm and
+safe in their wooden home.
+
+Now I want the smallest of you little children to hold up her hand. How
+small it is compared with your body! Now let us see the little finger
+on that hand,--it is smaller still; and now look at the nail on
+that finger: the brothers and sisters of one of these families were
+altogether about as large as that tiny nail. Their mamma was a wasp,
+with light, gauzy wings and a strong body with a long sting on the end
+of it, about the length of a needle. With this little sting or saw, as
+it really was, she had bored many holes in the wood when it was still
+a green tree, and at the bottom of each hole she had laid a tiny egg.
+There it lay for a long time, all white and still, until one day it
+cracked open, and out came a funny little white grub, with six short
+white feet, and black jaws very strong and large for such a tiny thing.
+This little creature had never had anything to eat, and as it was very
+hungry indeed, it fell to eating--what do you think? Wood--its own
+house! You wouldn't like a stick of wood for your breakfast, I know, but
+the wasp-mamma knew what her little grub-children would want, so she
+put them in just the right place; for they couldn't have eaten anything
+else. And the hungry little grubs ate and ate and ate as long as they
+could, pushing away from the hole the part they did not want, and this
+fell upon the ground as the strange yellow powder the children found in
+the wood-yard, every spring.
+
+And so, while the little girls were placing away in the sunshine the
+little grubs were eating away in the wood, until at last, one day, they
+grew satisfied, and one after another went to sleep. There they lay in
+their dark homes, fast asleep, through long weeks, while the snow was
+melting and the grass coming up, and the birds and bees beginning their
+summer work again; until one day these lazy little creatures, that had
+never done anything in their lives but eat and sleep, woke up and began
+to stretch themselves. But what had happened to them? Instead of the
+soft white bodies they had gone to sleep with, they now had black ones
+and four gauzy wings; while six slender legs had taken the place of the
+six short ones. There were still the strong black jaws to do all needful
+work with, and in addition, delicate mouth-parts, for their food was now
+to be the honey from flowers. In fact, they looked and were just like
+their mamma, the gauzy wasp. One after another they crept to the end of
+the passage that led from their dark homes to the bright world without.
+They stood one minute at the little dark hole, and then, spreading their
+wings, flitted out into the beautiful world of sunshine and flowers.
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS,
+
+“A great spiritual efficiency lies in story-telling.”--FROEBEL.
+
+
+Christmas Day, you knew, dear children, is Christ's day, Christ's
+birthday, and I want to tell you why we love it so much, and why we try
+to make every one happy when it comes each year.
+
+A long, long time ago--more than eighteen hundred years--the baby Christ
+was born on Christmas Day: a baby so wonderful and so beautiful, who
+grew up to be a man so wise, so good, so patient and sweet, that, every
+year, the people who know about him love him better and better, and are
+more and more glad when his birthday comes again. You see that he must
+have been very good and wonderful; for people have always remembered his
+birthday, and kept it lovingly for eighteen hundred years.
+
+He was born, long years ago, in a land far, far away across the seas.
+
+Before the baby Christ was born, Mary, his mother, had to make a long
+journey with her husband, Joseph. They made this journey to be taxed
+or counted; for in those days this could not be done in the town where
+people happened to live, but they must be numbered in the place where
+they were born.
+
+In that far-off time, the only way of traveling was on a horse, or a
+camel, or a good, patient donkey. Camels and horses cost a great deal
+of money, and Mary was very poor; so she rode on a quiet, safe donkey,
+while Joseph walked by her side, leading him and leaning on his stick.
+Mary was very young, and beautiful, I think, but Joseph was a great deal
+older than she.
+
+People dress nowadays, in those distant countries, just as they did so
+many years ago, so we know that Mary must have worn a long, thick dress,
+falling all about her in heavy folds, and that she had a soft white veil
+over her head and neck, and across her face. Mary lived in Nazareth, and
+the journey they were making was to Bethlehem, many miles away.
+
+They were a long time traveling, I am sure; for donkeys are slow, though
+they are so careful, and Mary must have been very tired before they came
+to the end of their journey.
+
+They had traveled all day, and it was almost dark when they came near to
+Bethlehem, to the town where the baby Christ was to be born. There was
+the place they were to stay,--a kind of inn, or lodging-house, but not
+at all like those you know about.
+
+They have them to-day in that far-off country, just as they built them
+so many years ago.
+
+It was a low, flat-roofed, stone building, with no window and only one
+large door. There were no nicely furnished bedrooms inside, and no soft
+white beds for the tired travelers; there were only little places built
+into the stones of the wall, something like the berths on steamboats
+nowadays, and each traveler brought his own bedding. No pretty garden
+was in front of the inn, for the road ran close to the very door, so
+that its dust lay upon the doorsill. All around the house, to a high,
+rocky hill at the back, a heavy stone fence was built, so that the
+people and the animals inside might be kept safe.
+
+Mary and Joseph could not get very near the inn; for the whole road in
+front was filled with camels and donkeys and sheep and cows, while a
+great many men were going to and fro, taking care of the animals. Some
+of these people had come to Bethlehem to pay their taxes, as Mary and
+Joseph had done, and others were staying for the night, on their way to
+Jerusalem, a large city a little further on.
+
+The yard was filled, too, with camels and sheep; and men were lying on
+the ground beside them, resting, and watching, and keeping them safe.
+The inn was so full and the yard was so full of people, that there was
+no room for anybody else, and the keeper had to take Joseph and Mary
+through the house and back to the high hill, where they found another
+place that was used for a stable. This had only a door and a front, and
+deep caves were behind, stretching far into the rocks.
+
+This was the spot where Christ was born. Think how poor a place!--but
+Mary was glad to be there, after all; and when the Christ-child came,
+he was like other babies, and had so lately come from heaven that he was
+happy everywhere.
+
+There were mangers all around the cave, where the cattle and sheep were
+fed, and great heaps of hay and straw were lying on the floor. Then,
+I think, there were brown-eyed cows and oxen there, and quiet, woolly
+sheep, and perhaps even some dogs that had come in to take care of the
+sheep.
+
+And there in the cave, by and by, the wonderful baby came, and they
+wrapped him up and laid him in a manger.
+
+All the stars in the sky shone brightly that night, for they knew the
+Christ-child was born, and the angels in heaven sang together for joy.
+The angels knew about the lovely child, and were glad that he had come
+to help the people on earth to be good.
+
+There lay the beautiful baby, with a manger for his bed, and oxen and
+sheep all sleeping quietly round him. His mother watched him and loved
+him, and by and by many people came to see him, for they had heard that
+a wonderful child was to be born in Bethlehem. All the people in the inn
+visited him, and even the shepherds left their flocks in the fields and
+sought the child and his mother.
+
+But the baby was very tiny, and could not talk any more than any other
+tiny child, so he lay in his mother's lap, or in the manger, and only
+looked at the people. So after they had seen him and loved him, they
+went away again.
+
+After a time, when the baby had grown larger, Mary took him back to
+Nazareth, and there he lived and grew up.
+
+And he grew to be such a sweet, wise, loving boy, such a tender, helpful
+man, and he said so many good and beautiful things, that every one loved
+him who knew him. Many of the things he said are in the Bible, you know,
+and a great many beautiful stories of the things he used to do while he
+was on earth.
+
+He loved little children like you very much, and often used to take them
+up in his arms and talk to them.
+
+And this is the reason we love Christmas Day so much, and try to make
+everybody happy when it comes around each year. This is the reason:
+because Christ, who was born on Christmas Day, has helped us all to be
+good so many, many times, and because he was the best Christmas present
+the great world ever had!
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY.
+
+“The story brings forward other people, other relations, other times and
+places, other and even quite different forms; notwithstanding this fact,
+the auditor seeks his image there.”--FROEBEL.
+
+
+Nearly three hundred years ago, a great many of the people in England
+were very unhappy because their king would not let them pray to God as
+they liked. The king said they must use the same prayers that he did;
+and if they would not do this, they were often thrown into prison, or
+perhaps driven away from home.
+
+“Let us go away from this country,” said the unhappy Englishmen to
+each other; and so they left their homes, and went far off to a
+country called Holland. It was about this time that they began to call
+themselves “Pilgrims.” Pilgrims, you know, are people who are always
+traveling to find something they love, or to find a land where they can
+be happier; and these English men and women were journeying, they said,
+“from place to place, toward heaven, their dearest country.”
+
+In Holland, the Pilgrims were quiet and happy for a while, but they were
+very poor; and when the children began to grow up, they were not like
+English children, but talked Dutch, like the little ones of Holland, and
+some grew naughty and did not want to go to church any more.
+
+“This will never do,” said the Pilgrim fathers and mothers; so after
+much talking and thinking and writing they made up their minds to come
+here to America. They hired two vessels, called the Mayflower and the
+Speedwell, to take them across the sea; but the Speedwell was not a
+strong ship, and the captain had to take her home again before she had
+gone very far.
+
+The Mayflower went back, too. Part of the Speedwell's passengers were
+given to her, and then she started alone across the great ocean.
+
+There were one hundred people on board,--mothers and fathers, brothers
+and sisters and little children. They were very crowded; it was cold and
+uncomfortable; the sea was rough, and pitched the Mayflower about, and
+they were two months sailing over the water.
+
+The children cried many times on the journey, and wished they had never
+come on the tiresome ship that rocked them so hard, and would not let
+them keep still a minute.
+
+But they had one pretty plaything to amuse them, for in the middle of
+the great ocean a Pilgrim baby was born, and they called him “Oceanus,”
+ for his birthplace. When the children grew so tired that they were cross
+and fretful, Oceanus' mother let them come and play with him, and that
+always brought smiles and happy faces back again.
+
+At last the Mayflower came in sight of land; but if the children had
+been thinking of grass and flowers and birds, they must have been
+very much disappointed, for the month was cold November, and there was
+nothing to be seen but rocks and sand and hard bare ground.
+
+Some of the Pilgrim fathers, with brave Captain Myles Standish at
+their head, went on shore to see if they could find any houses or white
+people. But they only saw some wild Indians, who ran away from them, and
+found some Indian huts and some corn buried in holes in the ground. They
+went to and fro from the ship three times, till by and by they found
+a pretty place to live, where there were “fields and little running
+brooks.”
+
+Then at last all the tired Pilgrims landed from the ship on a spot now
+called Plymouth Rock, and the first house was begun on Christmas Day.
+But when I tell you how sick they were and how much they suffered that
+first winter, you will be very sad and sorry for them. The weather was
+cold, the snow fell fast and thick, the wind was icy, and the Pilgrim
+fathers had no one to help them cut down the trees and build their
+church and their houses.
+
+The Pilgrim mothers helped all they could; but they were tired with the
+long journey, and cold, and hungry too, for no one had the right kind of
+food to eat, nor even enough of it.
+
+So first one was taken sick, and then another, till half of them were in
+bed at the same time, Brave Myles Standish and the other soldiers nursed
+them as well as they knew how; but before spring came half of the people
+died and had gone at last to “heaven, their dearest country.”
+
+But by and by the sun shone more brightly, the snow melted, the leaves
+began to grow, and sweet spring had come again.
+
+Some friendly Indians had visited the Pilgrims during the winter, and
+Captain Myles Standish, with several of his men, had returned the visit.
+
+One of the kind Indians was called Squanto, and he came to stay with the
+Pilgrims, and showed them how to plant their corn, and their pease and
+wheat and barley.
+
+When the summer came and the days were long and bright, the Pilgrim
+children were very happy, and they thought Plymouth a lovely place
+indeed. All kinds of beautiful wild flowers grew at their doors, there
+were hundreds of birds and butterflies, and the great pine woods were
+always cool and shady when the sun was too bright.
+
+When it was autumn the fathers gathered the barley and wheat and corn
+that they had planted, and found that it had grown so well that they
+would have quite enough for the long winter that was coming.
+
+“Let us thank God for it all,” they said. “It is He who has made the sun
+shine and the rain fall and the corn grow.” So they thanked God in their
+homes and in their little church; the fathers and the mothers and the
+children thanked Him.
+
+“Then,” said the Pilgrim mothers, “let us have a great Thanksgiving
+party, and invite the friendly Indians, and all rejoice together.”
+
+So they had the first Thanksgiving party, and a grand one it was! Four
+men went out shooting one whole day, and brought back so many wild ducks
+and geese and great wild turkeys that there was enough for almost a
+week. There was deer meat also, of course, for there were plenty of fine
+deer in the forest. Then the Pilgrim mothers made the corn and wheat
+into bread and cakes, and they had fish and clams from the sea besides.
+
+The friendly Indians all came with their chief Massasoit. Every one came
+that was invited, and more, I dare say, for there were ninety of them
+altogether.
+
+They brought five deer with them, that they gave to the Pilgrims; and
+they must have liked the party very much, for they stayed three days.
+
+Kind as the Indians were, you would have been very much frightened if
+you had seen them; and the baby Oceanus, who was a year old then, began
+to cry at first whenever they came near him.
+
+They were dressed in deerskins, and some of them had the furry coat of
+a wild cat hanging on their arms. Their long black hair fell loose on
+their shoulders, and was trimmed with feathers or fox-tails. They
+had their faces painted in all kinds of strange ways, some with black
+stripes as broad as your finger all up and down them. But whatever
+they wore, it was their very best, and they had put it on for the
+Thanksgiving party.
+
+Each meal, before they ate anything, the Pilgrims and the Indians
+thanked God together for all his goodness. The Indians sang and danced
+in the evenings, and every day they ran races and played all kinds of
+games with the children.
+
+Then sometimes the Pilgrims with their guns, and the Indians with their
+bows and arrows, would see who could shoot farthest and best. So they
+were glad and merry and thankful for three whole days.
+
+The Pilgrim mothers and fathers had been sick and sad many times since
+they landed from the Mayflower; they had worked very hard, often had not
+had enough to eat, and were mournful indeed when their friends died and
+left them. But now they tried to forget all this, and think only of how
+good God had been to them; and so they all were happy together at the
+first Thanksgiving party.
+
+All this happened nearly three hundred years ago, and ever since that
+time Thanksgiving has been kept in our country.
+
+Every year our fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers have
+“rejoiced together” like the Pilgrims, and have had something to be
+thankful for each time.
+
+Every year some father has told the story of the brave Pilgrims to his
+little sons and daughters, and has taught them to be very glad and proud
+that the Mayflower came sailing to our country so many years ago.
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE GEORGE WASHINGTON, PART I.
+
+
+“The child takes each story as a conquest, grasps each as a treasure,
+and inserts into his own life, for his own advancement and instruction,
+what each story teaches and shows.”--Froebel.
+
+
+Every one of my little children has seen a picture of George Washington,
+I am sure.
+
+Perhaps you may remember his likeness on a prancing white horse, holding
+his cocked hat in his hand, and bowing low to the people, or his picture
+as a general at the head of his armies, with a sword by his side and
+high boots reaching to the knee; sometimes you have seen him in a boat
+crossing the Delaware River, wrapped in his heavy soldier's cloak; and
+again as a President, with powdered hair, lace ruffles, and velvet coat.
+
+Of course all these are pictures of a strong, handsome, grown-up man,
+and I suppose you never happened to think that George Washington was
+once a little boy.
+
+But ever so long ago he was as small as you are now, and I am going to
+tell you about his father and mother, his home and his little-boy days.
+
+He was born one hundred and sixty years ago in Virginia, near a great
+river called the Potomac. His father's name was Augustine, his mother's
+Mary, and he had several brothers and a little sister.
+
+They all lived in the country on a farm, or a plantation, as they
+call it in Virginia. The Washington house stood in the middle of green
+tobacco fields and flowery meadows, and there were so many barns and
+storehouses and sheds round about it that they made quite a village
+of themselves. The nearest neighbors lived miles away; there were no
+railroads nor stages, and if you wanted to travel, you must ride on
+horseback through the thick woods, or you might sail in little boats up
+and down the rivers.
+
+City boys and girls might think, perhaps, that little George Washington
+was very lonely on the great plantation, with no neighbor-boys to play
+with; but you must remember that the horses and cattle and sheep and
+dogs on a farm make the dearest of playmates, and that there are all
+kinds of pleasant things to do in the country that city boys know
+nothing about.
+
+Little George played out of doors all the time and grew very strong. He
+went fishing and swimming in the great river, he ran races and jumped
+fences with his brothers and the dogs, he threw stones across the
+brooks, and when he grew a larger boy he even learned to shoot.
+
+He had a pretty pony, too, named “Hero,” that he loved very much, and
+that he used to ride all about the plantation.
+
+Some of the letters have been kept that he wrote when he was a little
+boy, and he talks in them about his pony, and his books with pictures of
+elephants, and the new top he is going to have soon.
+
+Think of that great General Washington on a white horse once playing
+with a little humming top like yours!
+
+Many things are told about Washington when he was little; but he lived
+so long ago that we cannot tell very well whether they ever happened
+or not. One story is that his father took him out into the garden on a
+spring morning, and drew the letters of his name with a cane in the soft
+earth. Then he filled the letters with seed, and told little George to
+wait a week or two and see what would happen. You can all guess what did
+happen, and can think how pleased the little boy was when he found his
+name all growing in fresh green leaves.
+
+Then another story, I'm sure you've all heard, is about the cherry-tree
+and the hatchet.
+
+Little George's father gave him one day, so they say, a nice, bright,
+sharp little hatchet. Of course he went around the barns and the sheds,
+trying everything and seeing how well he could cut, and at last he went
+into the orchard. There he saw a young cherry-tree, as straight as
+a soldier, with the most beautiful, smooth, shining bark, waving its
+boughs in a very provoking way, as if to say, “You can't cut me down,
+and you needn't try.”
+
+Little George did try and he did cut it down, and then was very sorry,
+for he found it was not so easy to set it up again.
+
+{Illustration: The letters of his name . . . the soft earth}
+
+His father was angry, of course, for he lived in a new country, and
+three thousand miles from any place where he could get good fruit trees;
+but when the little boy told the truth about it, his father said he
+would rather lose a thousand cherry-trees than have his son tell a lie.
+
+Now perhaps this never happened; but if George Washington ever did cut
+down a cherry-tree, you may be sure he told the truth about it.
+
+I think, though he grew to be such a wise, wonderful man, that he must
+have been just a bright, happy boy like you, when he was little.
+
+But everybody knows three things about him,--that he always told the
+truth, that he never was afraid of anything, and that he always loved
+and minded his mother.
+
+When little George was eleven years old, his good father died, and
+his poor mother was left alone to take care of her boys and her great
+plantation. What a busy mother she was! She mended and sewed, she taught
+some of her children, she took care of the sick people, she spun wool
+and knitted stockings and gloves; but every day she found time to gather
+her children around her and read good books to them, and talk to them
+about being good children.
+
+So riding his pony, and helping his mother, and learning his lessons,
+George grew to be a tall boy.
+
+When he was fourteen years old, he made up his mind that he would like
+to be a sailor, and travel far away over the blue water in a great ship.
+His elder brother said that he might do so. The right ship was found;
+his clothes were packed and carried on board, when all at once his
+mother said he must not go. She had thought about it; he was too young
+to go away, and she wanted her boy to stay with her.
+
+Of course George was greatly disappointed, but he stayed at home, and
+worked and studied hard. He wanted very much to learn how to earn money
+and help his mother, and so he studied to be a surveyor.
+
+Surveyors measure the land, you know. They measure people's gardens and
+house-lots and farms, and can tell just where to put the fences, and
+how much land belongs to you and how much to me, so that we need never
+quarrel about it.
+
+To be a good surveyor you have to be very careful indeed, and make no
+mistakes; and George Washington was careful and always tried to do his
+best, so that his surveys were the finest that could be made.
+
+When he was only sixteen, he went off into the great forest, where no
+one lived but the Indians, to measure some land for a friend of his.
+The weather was cold; he slept in a tent at night, or out of doors, on a
+bearskin by the fire, and he had to work very hard. He met a great many
+Indians, and learned to know their ways in fighting and how to manage
+them.
+
+Three years he worked hard at surveying, and at last he was a grown-up
+man!
+
+He was tall and splendid then, over six feet high, and as straight as
+an Indian, with a rosy face and bright blue eyes. He had large hands
+and fingers, and was wonderfully strong. People say that his great tent,
+which it took three men to carry, Washington could lift with one hand
+and throw into the wagon.
+
+He was very brave, too, you remember. He could shoot well, and almost
+never missed his aim; he was used to walking many miles when he was
+surveying, and he could ride any horse he liked, no matter how wild and
+fierce.
+
+So you see, when a man is strong, when he can shoot well, and walk and
+ride great distances, when he is never afraid of anything, that is just
+the man for a soldier; and I will tell you soon how George Washington
+came to be a great soldier.
+
+
+
+
+GREAT GEORGE WASHINGTON, PART II.
+
+
+“The good story-teller effects much; he has an ennobling effect upon
+children,--so much the more ennobling that he does not appear to intend
+it,”--FROEBEL.
+
+
+All this time while George Washington had been growing up,--first a
+little boy, then a larger boy, and then a young surveyor,--all this time
+the French and English and Indians were unhappy and uncomfortable in the
+country north of Virginia. The French wanted all the land, so did the
+English, and the Indians saw that there would be no room for them,
+whichever had it, so they all began to trouble each other and to quarrel
+and fight.
+
+These troubles grew so bad at last that the Virginians began to be
+afraid of the French and Indians, and thought they must have some
+soldiers of their own ready to fight.
+
+George Washington was only nineteen then, but everybody knew he was wise
+and brave, so they chose him to teach the soldiers near his home how to
+march and to fight.
+
+Then the king and the people of England grew very uneasy at all this
+quarreling, and they sent over soldiers and cannon and powder, and
+commenced to get ready to fight in earnest. Washington was made a major,
+and he had to go a thousand miles, in the middle of winter, into the
+Indian and French country, to see the chiefs and the soldiers, and find
+out about the troubles.
+
+When he came back again, all the people were so pleased with his courage
+and with the wise way in which he had behaved, that they made him
+lieutenant-colonel.
+
+Then began a long war between the French and the English, which lasted
+seven years. Washington fought through all of it, and was made a
+colonel, and by and by commander of all the soldiers in Virginia. He
+built forts and roads, he gained and lost battles, he fought the Indians
+and the French; and by all this trouble and hard work he learned to be a
+great soldier.
+
+In many of the battles of this war, Washington and the Virginians did
+not wear a uniform like the English soldiers, but a buckskin shirt and
+fringed leggings like the Indians.
+
+From beginning to end of some of the battles, Washington rode about
+among the men, telling them where to go and how to fight; the bullets
+were whistling around him all the time, but he said he liked the music.
+
+By and by the war was over; the French were driven back to their own
+part of the country, and Washington went home to Mt. Vernon to rest, and
+took with him his wife, lovely Martha Washington, whom he had met and
+married while he was fighting the French and Indians.
+
+While he was at Mt. Vernon he saw all his horses again,--“Valiant” and
+“Magnolia” and “Chinkling” and “Ajax,”--and had grand gallops over the
+country.
+
+He had some fine dogs, too, to run by his side, and help him hunt the
+bushy-tailed foxes. “Vulcan” and “Bingwood” and “Music” and “Sweetlips”
+ were the names of some of them. You may be sure the dogs were glad when
+they had their master home again.
+
+But Washington did not have long to rest, for another war was coming,
+the great war of the Revolution.
+
+Little children cannot understand all the reasons for this war, but I
+can tell you some of them.
+
+You remember in the story of Thanksgiving I told you about the Pilgrim
+fathers, who came from England to this country because their king would
+not let them pray to God as they liked. That king was dead now, and
+there was another in his place, a king with the name of George, like our
+Washington.
+
+Now our great-grandfathers had always loved England and Englishmen,
+because many of their friends were still living there, and because it
+was their old home.
+
+The king gave them governors to help take care of their people, and
+soldiers to fight for them, and they sent to England for many things to
+wear and to eat.
+
+But just before this Revolutionary War, the king and the great men who
+helped him began to say that things should be done in this country
+that our people did not think right at all. The king said they must
+buy expensive stamps to put on all their newspapers and almanacs and
+lawyer's papers, and that they must pay very high taxes on their tea and
+paper and glass, and he sent soldiers to see that this was done.
+
+This made our great-grandfathers very angry. They refused to pay the
+taxes, they would not buy anything from England any more, and some men
+even went on board the ships, as they came into Boston Harbor, and threw
+the tea over into the water.
+
+So fifty-one men were chosen from all over the country, and they met
+at Philadelphia, to see what could be done. Washington was sent from
+Virginia. And after they had talked very solemnly, they all thought
+there would be great trouble soon, and Washington went home to drill the
+soldiers.
+
+Then the war began with the battle of Lexington, in New England, and
+soon Washington was made commander in chief of the armies.
+
+He rode the whole distance from Philadelphia to Boston on horseback,
+with a troop of officers; and all the people on the way came to see him,
+bringing bands of music and cheering him as he went by. He rode into
+camp in the morning. The soldiers were drawn up in the road, and men and
+women and children who had come to look at Washington were crowded all
+about. They saw a tall, splendid, handsome man in a blue coat with buff
+facings, and epaulets on his shoulders. As he took off his hat, drew his
+shining sword and raised it in sight of all the people, the cannon began
+to thunder, and all the people hurrahed and tossed their hats in the
+air.
+
+Of course he looked very splendid, and they all knew how brave he was,
+and thought he would soon put an end to the war.
+
+But it did not happen as they expected, for this was only the beginning,
+and the war lasted seven long years.
+
+Fighting is always hard, even if you have plenty of soldiers and plenty
+for them to eat; but Washington had very few soldiers, and very little
+powder for the guns, and little food for the men to eat.
+
+The soldiers were not in uniform, as ours are to-day; but each was
+dressed just as he happened to come from his shop or his farm.
+
+Washington ordered hunting shirts for them, such as he wore when he went
+to fight the Indians, for he knew they would look more like soldiers if
+all were dressed alike.
+
+Of course many people thought that our men would be beaten, as the war
+went on; but Washington never thought so, for he was sure our side was
+right.
+
+I hardly know what he would have done, at last, if the French people had
+not promised to come over and help us, and to send us money and men and
+ships. All the people in the army thanked God when they heard it, and
+fired their guns for joy.
+
+A brave young man named Lafayette came with the French soldiers, and he
+grew to be Washington's great friend, and fought for us all through the
+Revolution.
+
+Many battles were fought in this war, and Washington lost some of them,
+and a great many of his men were killed.
+
+You could hardly understand how much trouble he had. In the winter, when
+the snow was deep on the ground, he had no houses or huts for his men to
+sleep in; his soldiers were ragged and cold by day, and had not blankets
+enough to keep them warm by night; their shoes were old and worn, and
+they had to wrap cloths around their feet to keep them from freezing.
+
+When they marched to the Delaware River, one cold Christmas night, a
+soldier who was sent after them, with a message for Washington, traced
+them by their footprints on the snow, all reddened with the blood from
+their poor cut feet.
+
+They must have been very brave and patient to have fought at all, when
+they were so cold and ragged and hungry.
+
+Washington suffered a great deal in seeing his soldiers so wretched, and
+I am sure that, with all his strength and courage, he would sometimes
+have given up hope, if he had not talked and prayed to God a great deal,
+and asked Him to help him.
+
+In one of the hardest times of the whole war, Washington was staying
+at a farmer's house. One morning, he rode out very early to visit the
+soldiers. The farmer went into the fields soon after, and as he was
+passing a brook where a great many bushes were growing, he heard a deep
+voice from the thicket. He looked through the leaves, and saw Washington
+on his knees, on the ground, praying to God for his soldiers. He had
+fastened his horse to a tree, and come away by himself to ask God to
+help them.
+
+At last the war came to an end; the English were beaten, and our armies
+sent up praise and thanks to God.
+
+Then the soldiers went quietly back to their homes, and Washington bade
+all his officers good-by, and thanked them for their help and their
+courage.
+
+The little room in New York where he said farewell is kept to show to
+visitors now, and you can see it some day yourselves.
+
+Then Washington went home to Mt. Vernon to rest; but before he had been
+there long, the people found out that they must have some one to help
+take care of them, as they had nothing to do with the king of England
+any more; and they asked Washington to come and be the first President
+of the United States.
+
+So he did as they wished, and was as wise and good, and as careful and
+fine a President as he had been surveyor, soldier, and general.
+
+You know we always call Washington the Father of his Country, because he
+did so much for us and helped to make the United States so great.
+
+After he died, there were parks and mountains and villages and towns and
+cities named for him all over the land, because people loved him so and
+prized so highly what he had done for them.
+
+In the city of Washington there is a building where you can see many
+of the things that belonged to the first President, when he was alive.
+There is his soldier's coat, his sword, and in an old camp chest are the
+plates and knives and forks that he used in the Revolution.
+
+There is a tall, splendid monument of shining gray stone in that city,
+that towers far, far above all the highest roofs and spires. It was
+built in memory of George Washington, by the people of the United
+States, to show that they loved and would always remember the Father of
+his Country.
+
+
+
+
+THE MAPLE-LEAF AND THE VIOLET.
+
+“Story-telling must please children, so that it will influence,
+strengthen, and elevate their lives.”--FROEBEL
+
+
+The Maple-tree lived on the edge of the wood. Beside and behind her
+the trees grew so thick and tall that there was plenty of shade at her
+roots; but as no one stood in front, she could always look across the
+meadows to the brown house where Bessie lived, and could see what went
+on in the world.
+
+After the cold winter had gone by, and the spring had come again,
+the Maple-tree sent out thousands of tiny leaf-buds, that stretched
+themselves, and grew larger day by day in the warm sunshine. One little
+Bud, on the end of a tall branch, worked so hard to grow that by and by
+he finished opening all his folds, and found himself a tiny pale green
+leaf.
+
+He was curious, as little folks generally are, and as soon as he opened
+his eyes wanted to see everything about him. First he looked up at the
+blue sky overhead, but the sky only looked quietly back at him. Then
+he looked across the meadows to where Bessie lived, but Bessie was at
+school and the house was still.
+
+Then he gazed far down below him on the ground; and there, just beneath,
+was a little Violet, She had uncurled her purple petals a few days
+before, and was waiting to welcome the first leaf-bud that came out.
+
+So when the Maple-leaf looked down, she smiled up at him and said,
+“Good-morning.” He answered her politely, but he was very little, and
+did not know quite what to say, so he didn't talk any more that day.
+
+The next morning they greeted each other again, and soon they grew to be
+good friends, and talked together very happily all day. The Maple-leaf
+lived so high up in the tree that he could easily see across the fields,
+and he watched every day for Bessie as she started for school. When she
+came out of her door, he told the Violet, and the Violet always said
+every morning, “Dear Bessie! I should like to see her, too!”
+
+Sometimes, when the day was chilly and it was almost too damp in the
+shade, the Violet used to wish she might be high up on the branch above
+her, waving about in the sunshine like the Maple-leaf; but she was a
+contented little thing, and never fretted long for what she could not
+have.
+
+It was generally pleasant on the ground, and the bugs and caterpillars
+and worms, as they crawled about at her roots, often told her very
+interesting things about their families and their troubles.
+
+One day it was very dry and warm. The Maple-leaf was not at all
+comfortable, high in the hot air, and he said to his mother,
+“Mother-tree, won't you let me go down by the Violet and be cool?”
+
+Then the Maple-tree answered, “No, no, little leaf, not now; if I once
+let you go, you can never come back again. Stay quietly here; the time
+will soon come for you to leave me.”
+
+The Maple-leaf told this to the Violet, and then they began to fear that
+when the mother-tree let him go, by and by, he might not be able to fall
+close beside the Violet.
+
+So the next day, when the wind came whistling along, the Violet asked
+him if he would kindly take care of the leaf, and send him to her when
+the mother-tree let him go. The wind was rough and careless, and said he
+really didn't know. He couldn't be sure how he'd feel then. They would
+have to wait and see.
+
+The two little friends were rather unhappy about this, but they waited
+quietly. By and by the weather grew cold. The air was so chill that the
+Maple-leaf shivered in the night, and in the morning, when the sun rose,
+and he could see himself, he found he was all red, just as your hands
+and cheeks are on a frosty morning. When the mother-tree saw him, she
+told him he would soon leave her now, and she bade him good-by. He
+was sorry to go, but then he thought of his dear Violet, and was happy
+again.
+
+By and by a gust of cold wind came blowing by, and twisted the little
+leaf about, and fluttered him so that he could not hold to the tree any
+longer. So at last he blew off, and the wind took him up and danced with
+him and played with him until he was very tired and dizzy. But at last,
+for he was a kind wind after all, he blew the leaf back, straight to the
+side of the Violet. How close they cuddled to each other, and how happy
+they were! You would have been very glad if you had seen them together.
+
+In the morning, when the sun rose yellow and bright, Bessie came into
+the woods with a basket and a trowel. It was nearly winter, and she knew
+that soon the snow would fall and cover all the pretty growing things.
+So she dug up, very carefully, roots of plumy fern and partridge berries
+with their leaves, and wintergreen and boxberry plants, to grow in her
+window-garden in the winter. She took the Violet too, bringing away so
+much of the earth around her roots that the little thing scarcely felt
+that she had been moved. As Bessie put her plants in the basket, she
+saw the little Maple-leaf resting close by the violet, but he looked so
+pretty, lying there, that she did not move him.
+
+In the sunny window of the little brown house the Violet grew still
+more fresh and green. But each day, as the plants were watered, the
+Maple-leaf curled up a little more at the edges, and sank down farther
+into the earth, until soon he was almost out of sight, and by and by
+crumbled quite away. Still he was close beside his Violet, and all the
+strength he had he gave to her roots.
+
+She always loved him just the same, though she could not see him any
+longer, and by and by, when she had lived her life, and her leaves
+withered away, each one, as it fell from the stem, sank into the earth
+where the Maple-leaf lay.
+
+
+
+
+MRS. CHINCHILLA.
+
+THE TALE OF A CAT.
+
+“See what joyous faces, what shining eyes, and what glad jubilee welcome
+the story-teller, and what a blooming circle of glad children press
+around him!”--FROEBEL.
+
+
+Mrs. Chinchilla was not a lovely lady, with a dress of soft gray cloth
+and a great chinchilla muff and boa. Not at all. Mrs. Chinchilla was
+a beautiful cat, with sleek fur like silver-gray satin, and a very
+handsome tail to match, quite long enough to brush the ground when she
+walked. She didn't live in a house, but she had a very comfortable home
+in a fine drug-store, with one large bay-window almost to herself and
+her kittens. She had three pretty fat dumplings of kittens, all in soft
+shades of gray like their mother. She didn't like any other color in
+kittens so well as a quiet ladylike gray. None of her children ever were
+black, or white, or yellow, but sometimes they had four snow-white socks
+on their gray paws. Mrs. Chinchilla didn't mind that, for white socks
+were really a handsome finish to a gray kitten, though, of course, it
+was a deal of trouble to keep them clean.
+
+At the time my story begins the kits were all tiny catkins, whose eyes
+had been open only a day or two, so Mrs. Chinchilla had to wash them
+every morning herself. She had the most wonderful tongue! I'll tell
+you what that tongue had in it: a hair-brush, a comb, a tooth-brush,
+a nail-brush, a sponge, a towel, and a cake of soap! And when Mrs.
+Chinchilla had finished those three little catkins, they were as fresh
+and sweet, and shiny and clean, and kissable and huggable, as any baby
+just out of a bath-tub.
+
+One morning, just after the little kits had had their scrub in the sunny
+bay-window, they felt, all at once, old enough to play; and so they
+began to scramble over each other, and run about between the great
+colored glass jars, and even to chase and bite the ends of their own
+tails. They had not known that they had any tails before that morning,
+and of course it was a charming surprise. Mrs. Chinchilla looked on
+lazily and gravely. It had been a good while since she had had time or
+had felt young and gay enough to chase her tail, but she was very glad
+to see the kittens enjoy themselves harmlessly.
+
+Now, while this was going on, some one came up to the window and looked
+in. It was the Boy who lived across the street. Mrs. Chinchilla disliked
+nearly all boys, but she was afraid of this one. He had golden curls and
+a Fauntleroy collar, and the sweetest lips that ever said prayers, and
+clean dimpled hands that looked as if they had been made to stroke cats
+and make them purr. But instead of stroking them he rubbed their fur the
+wrong way, and hung tin kettles to their tails, and tied handkerchiefs
+over their heads. When Mrs. Chinchilla saw the Boy she humped her back,
+so that it looked like a gray mountain, and said, “Sftt!” three times.
+When the Boy found that she was looking at him, and lashing her tail,
+and yawning so as to show him her sharp white teeth, he suddenly
+disappeared from sight. So Mrs. Chinchilla gave the kittens their
+breakfast, and they cuddled themselves into a round ball, and went fast
+asleep. They were first rolled so tightly, and then so tied up with
+their tails, that you couldn't have told whether they were three or six
+little catkins. When their soft purr-r-r-r, purr-r-r-r had first
+changed into sleepy little snores, and then died away altogether, Mrs.
+Chinchilla jumped down out of the window, and went for her morning
+airing in the back yard. At the same time the druggist passed behind a
+tall desk to mix some medicine, and the shop was left alone.
+
+Just then the Boy (for he hadn't gone away at all; he had just stooped
+out of sight) rushed in the door quickly, snatched one of the kittens
+out of the round ball, and ran away with it as fast as he could run.
+Pretty soon Mrs. Chinchilla came back, and of course she counted the
+kittens the very first thing. She always did it. To her surprise and
+fright she found only two instead of three. She knew she couldn't be
+mistaken. There were five kittens in her last family, and two less in
+this family; and five kittens less two kittens is three kittens. One
+chinchilla catkin gone! What should she do?
+
+She had once heard a lady say that there were too many cats in the
+world already, but she had no patience with people who made such wicked
+speeches. Her kittens had always been so beautiful that they sometimes
+sold for fifty cents apiece, and none of them had ever been drowned.
+
+Mrs. Chinchilla knew in a second just where that kitten had gone. It
+makes a pussy-cat very quick and bright and wise to take care of and
+train large families of frisky kittens, with very little help from their
+father in bringing them up. She knew that that Boy had carried off the
+kitten, and she intended to have it back, and scratch the Boy with some
+long scratches, if she could only get the chance. Looking at her claws,
+she found them nice and sharp, and as the druggist opened the door for a
+customer Mrs. Chinchilla slipped out, with just one backward glance, as
+much as to say, “Gone out; will be back soon.” Then she dashed across
+the street, and waited on the steps of the Boy's house. Very soon a
+man came with a bundle, and when the house-maid opened the door Mrs.
+Chinchilla walked in. She hadn't any visiting-card with her; but then
+the Boy hadn't left any card when he called for the kitten, so she
+didn't care for that.
+
+The housemaid didn't see her when she slipped in. It was a very nice
+house to hold such a heartless boy, she thought. The parlor door was
+open, but she knew the kitten wouldn't be there, so she ran upstairs.
+When she reached the upper hall she stood perfectly still, with her
+ears up and her whiskers trembling. Suddenly she heard a faint mew, then
+another, and then a laugh; that was the Boy. She pushed open a door that
+was ajar, and walked into the nursery. The Boy was seated in the middle
+of the floor, tying the kitten to a tin cart, and the poor little thing
+was mewing piteously. Mrs. Chinchilla dashed up to the Boy, scratched
+him as many long scratches as she had time for at that moment, took the
+frightened kitten in her kind, gentle mouth, the way all mother-cats
+do (because if they carried them in their forepaws they wouldn't
+have enough left to walk on), and was downstairs and out on the front
+doorstep before the housemaid had finished paying the man for the
+bundle. And when she got that chinchilla catkin home in the safe, sunny
+bay-window, she washed it over and over and over so many times that it
+never forgot, so long as it lived, the day it was stolen by the Boy.
+
+When the Boy's mother hurried upstairs to see why he was crying so loud,
+she told him that he must expect to be scratched by mother-cats if he
+stole their kittens. “I shall take your pretty Fauntleroy collar off,”
+ she said; “it doesn't match your disposition.”
+
+The Boy cried bitterly until luncheon time, but when he came to think
+over the matter, he knew that his mother was right, and Mrs. Chinchilla
+was right, too; so he treated all mother-cats and their kittens more
+kindly after that.
+
+
+
+
+A STORY OF THE FOREST
+
+“It is not the gay forms he meets in the fairy-tale which charm the
+child, but a spiritual, invisible truth lying far deeper.”--Froebel.
+
+
+Far away, in the depths of a great green rustling wood, there lived a
+Fir-tree. She was tall and dark and fragrant; so tall that her topmost
+plumes seemed waving about in the clouds, and her branches were so thick
+and strong and close set that down below them on the ground it was dark
+almost as night.
+
+There were many other trees in the forest, as tall and grand as she,
+and when they bent and bowed to each other, as the wind played in their
+branches, you could hear a wonderful lovely sound, like the great organ
+when it plays softly in the church.
+
+Down below, under the trees, the ground was covered with a glossy brown
+carpet of the sharp, needle-like leaves the fir-trees had let fall, and
+on this carpet there were pointed brown fir cones lying, looking dry and
+withered, and yet bearing under their scales many little seeds, hidden
+away like very precious letters in their dainty envelopes.
+
+Even on bright summer days this wood was cool and dark, and, as you
+walked about on the soft brown carpet, you could hear the wonderful song
+the pine needles made as they rubbed against each other; and perhaps far
+away in the top of some tall tree you could hear the wood-thrush sing
+out gladly.
+
+All around the great Fir-tree, where her cones had dropped, a family
+of young firs was growing up,--very tiny yet, so tiny you might have
+crushed them as you walked, and not felt them under your foot.
+
+The Fir-tree spread her thick branches over them, and kept off the
+fierce wind and the bitter cold, and under her shelter they were growing
+strong.
+
+They were all fine little trees, but one of them, that stood quite apart
+from the rest, was the finest of all, very straight and well shaped
+and handsome. Every day he looked up at the mother-tree, and saw how
+straight and strong she grew,--how the wind bent and waved her branches,
+but did not stir her great trunk; and as he looked, he sent his own
+rootlets farther down into the dark earth, and held his tiny head up
+more proudly.
+
+The other trees did not all try to grow strong and tall. Indeed, one of
+them said, “Why should I try to grow? Who can see me here in this dark
+wood? What good will it do for me to try? I can never be as fine and
+strong as the mother-tree.”
+
+So he was unhappy and hung his head, and let the wind blow him further
+and further over toward the ground; and as he did not care for his
+rootlets, they lost their hold in the earth, and by and by he withered
+quite away.
+
+But our brave little Fir-tree grew on; and when a long time had gone by,
+his head was on a level with his mother's lowest branches, and he could
+listen and hear all the whispering and talking that went on among the
+great trees. So he learned many things, for the trees were old and
+wise; and the birds, who are such great travelers, had told them many
+wonderful things that had happened in far-off lands.
+
+And the Fir-tree asked his mother many, many questions. “Dear
+mother-tree,” he said, “shall we always live here? Shall I keep on
+growing until I am a grand tall tree like you? And will you always be
+with me?”
+
+“Who knows!” said the mother-tree, rustling in all her branches. “If we
+are stout-hearted, and grow strong in trunk and perfect in shape,
+then perhaps we shall be taken away from the forest and made useful
+somewhere,--and we want to be useful, little son.”
+
+It was about this time that the young Fir-tree made himself some music
+that he used to whisper when the winds blew and rocked his branches.
+This is the little song, but I cannot sing it as he did.
+
+
+SONG OF THE FIR-TREE.
+
+   Root grow thou long-er heart be thou strong-er;
+   Let the sun bless me, soft-ly ca-
+   ress me; Let rain-drops pat-ter,
+   wind, my leaves scat-ter. My root must grow
+   long-er, my heart must grow stronger.
+
+  “Root, grow thou longer,
+   Heart, be thou stronger;
+   Let the sun bless me,
+   Softly caress me;
+   Let raindrops patter,
+   Wind, my leaves scatter.
+   My root must grow longer,
+   My heart must grow stronger.”
+
+And one day, when he was singing this song to himself, some birds
+fluttered near, pleased with the music, and as he seemed kind they began
+to build their nest in his branches,
+
+Then what a proud Fir-tree, that the birds should choose him to take
+care of them! He would not play now with the wind as it came frolicking
+by, but stood straight, that he might not shake the pretty soft nest.
+And when the eggs were laid at last, all his leaves stroked each other
+for joy, and the noise they made was so sweet that the mother-tree bent
+over to see why he was so happy.
+
+The mother-bird sat patiently on the nest all day, and when, now and
+then, she flew away to rest her tired little legs, the father-bird came
+to keep the eggs warm.
+
+So the Fir-tree was never alone; and now he asked the birds some of the
+many questions he had once asked his mother, “Tell me, dear birdies,”
+ he said, “what does the mother-tree mean? She says if I grow strong, I
+shall be taken away to be useful somewhere. How can a Fir-tree be useful
+if he is taken away from the forest where he was born?”
+
+So the birds told him how he could be useful: how perhaps men might
+take him for the mast of a ship, and fasten to him, strong and firm, the
+great white sails that send the ship like a bird over the water; or that
+he might be used to hold a bright flag, as it waved in the wind. Then
+the mother-bird thought of the happy Christmas time, for the birds
+and flowers and trees know all about it; and she told the Fir of the
+Christmas greens that were cut in the forest; of the branches and boughs
+that were used to make the houses fresh and bright; and of the Christmas
+trees, on which gifts were hung for the children.
+
+Now the Fir-tree had seen some children one day, and he knew about their
+bright eyes, and their rosy cheeks, and their dear soft little hands.
+The day they came into the woods, they had made a ring and danced about
+him, and one little girl had held up her finger, and asked the others to
+hush and hear the song he was singing.
+
+So of all the thing's the birds had told him, the sweetest to him was
+about the Christmas tree. If only he might be a Christmas tree, and have
+the children dance about him again, and feel their presents among his
+green branches!
+
+So he did all that a little tree could do to grow strong in every part,
+and each day he sang his song:&&
+
+  “Root, grow thou longer,
+   Heart, grow thou stronger;
+   Sweet sunshine, bless me,
+   Softly caress me;
+   Cold raindrops, patter,
+   Wind, my leaves scatter,
+   My roots must grow longer,
+   My heart must grow stronger,”
+
+Soon the days began to grow cold. The birdlings who had been born in
+the Fir-tree's branches had gone far away to the South. The father and
+mother bird had gone too, and on the way had stopped to say good-by to
+the brave little tree.
+
+The white snow had fallen in gentle flakes, and covered the cones and
+the glossy carpet of pine needles. All was still and shining and cold in
+the forest, and the great trees seemed taller and darker than ever.
+
+One day some men came into the wood with saws and ropes and axes, and
+cut down many of the great trees, and among these was the mother-fir.
+They fastened oxen to all the trees, and dragged them away, rustling and
+waving, over the smooth snow.
+
+The mother-tree had gone,--“gone to be useful,” said the little Fir; and
+though he missed her very much, and the world seemed very empty when he
+looked up and no longer saw her thick branches and her strong trunk, yet
+he was not unhappy, for he was a brave little Fir.
+
+Still the days grew colder, and often the Fir-tree wondered if the
+children who had made a ring and danced about him would remember him
+when Christmas time came.
+
+He could not grow, for the weather was too cold, and so he had the more
+time for thinking. He thought of the birds, of the mother-tree, and,
+most of all, of the little girl who had lifted her finger, and said,
+“Hush! hear the Fir-tree sing.”
+
+Sometimes the days seemed long, and he sighed in all his branches, and
+almost thought he would never be a Christmas tree.
+
+But suddenly, one day, he heard something far away that sounded like the
+ringing of Christmas bells. It was the children laughing and singing, as
+they ran over the snow.
+
+Nearer they came, and stood beside the Fir. “Yes,” said the little girl,
+“it is my very tree, my very singing tree!”
+
+“Indeed,” said the father, “it will be a good Christmas tree. See how
+straight and well shaped it is.”
+
+Then the tree was glad; not proud, for he was a good little Fir, but
+glad that they saw he had tried his best.
+
+{Illustration: Not all firs can be Christmas trees.}
+
+So they cut him down and carried him away on a great sled; away from the
+tall dark trees, from the white shining snow-carpet at their feet, and
+from all the murmuring and whispering that go on within the forest.
+
+The little trees stood on tiptoe and waved their green branches for
+“Good-by,” and the great trees bent their heads to watch him go.
+
+“Not all firs can be Christmas trees,” said they; “only those who grow
+their best.”
+
+The good Fir-tree stood in the children's own room. Round about his feet
+were flowers and mosses and green boughs. From his branches hung toys
+and books and candies, and at the end of each glossy twig was a bright
+glittering Christmas candle.
+
+The doors were slowly opened; the children came running in; and when
+they saw the shining lights, and the Christmas tree proudly holding
+their presents, they made a ring, and danced about him, singing.
+
+And the Fir-tree was very happy!
+
+
+
+
+PICCOLA.
+
+Suggested by One of Mrs. Celia Thaxter's Poems.
+
+“Story-telling is a real strengthening spirit-bath.”--Froebel.
+
+
+Piccola lived in Italy, where the oranges grow, and where all the year
+the sun shines warm and bright. I suppose you think Piccola a very
+strange name for a little girl; but in her country it was not strange at
+all, and her mother thought it the sweetest name a little girl ever had.
+
+Piccola had no kind father, no big brother or sister, and no sweet baby
+to play with and to love. She and her mother lived all alone in an old
+stone house that looked on a dark, narrow street. They were very poor,
+and the mother was away from home almost every day, washing clothes and
+scrubbing floors, and working hard to earn money for her little girl and
+herself. So you see Piccola was alone a great deal of the time; and if
+she had not been a very happy, contented little child, I hardly know
+what she would have done. She had no playthings except a heap of stones
+in the back yard that she used for building houses, and a very old, very
+ragged doll that her mother had found in the street one day.
+
+But there was a small round hole in the stone wall at the back of
+her yard, and her greatest pleasure was to look through that into her
+neighbor's garden. When she stood on a stone, and put her eyes close to
+the hole, she could see the green grass in the garden, smell the sweet
+flowers, and even hear the water plashing into the fountain. She had
+never seen any one walking in the garden, for it belonged to an old
+gentleman who did not care about grass and flowers.
+
+One day in the autumn her mother told her that the old gentleman had
+gone away, and had rented his house to a family of little American
+children, who had come with their sick mother to spend the winter
+in Italy. After this, Piccola was never lonely, for all day long the
+children ran and played and danced and sang in the garden. It was
+several weeks before they saw her at all, and I am not sure they would
+ever have done so but that one day the kitten ran away, and in chasing
+her they came close to the wall, and saw Piccola's black eyes looking
+through the hole in the stones. They were a little frightened at first,
+and did not speak to her; but the next day she was there again, and
+Rose, the oldest girl, went up to the wall and talked to her a little
+while. When the children found that she had no one to play with and was
+very lonely, they talked to her every day, and often brought her fruits
+and candies, and passed them through the hole in the wall.
+
+One day they even pushed the kitten through; but the hole was hardly
+large enough for her, and she mewed and scratched, and was very much
+frightened. After that the little boy said he should ask his father if
+the hole might not be made larger, and then Piccola could come in and
+play with them. The father had found out that Piccola's mother was a
+good woman, and that the little girl herself was sweet and kind, so that
+he was very glad to have some of the stones broken away, and an opening
+made for Piccola to come in.
+
+How excited she was, and how glad the children were when she first
+stepped into the garden! She wore her best dress, a long bright-colored
+woolen skirt and a white waist. Round her neck was a string of beads,
+and on her feet were little wooden shoes. It would seem very strange to
+us--would it not?--to wear wooden shoes; but Piccola and her mother
+had never worn anything else, and never had any money to buy stockings.
+Piccola almost always ran about barefooted, like the kittens and the
+chickens and the little ducks. What a good time they had that day, and
+how glad Piccola's mother was that her little girl could have such a
+pleasant, safe place to play in, while she was away at work!
+
+By and by December came, and the little Americans began to talk about
+Christmas. One day, when Piccola's curly head and bright eyes came
+peeping through the hole in the wall, they ran to her and helped her
+in; and as they did so, they all asked her at once what she thought she
+would have for a Christmas present. “A Christmas present!” said Piccola.
+“Why, what is that?”
+
+All the children looked surprised at this, and Rose said, rather
+gravely, “Dear Piccola, don't you know what Christmas is?”
+
+Oh, yes, Piccola knew it was the happy day when the baby Christ was
+born, and she had been to church on that day, and heard the beautiful
+singing, and had seen a picture of the Babe lying in the manger, with
+cattle and sheep sleeping round about. Oh, yes, she knew all that very
+well, but what was a Christmas present?
+
+Then the children began to laugh, and to answer her all together. There
+was such a clatter of tongues that she could hear only a few words now
+and then, such as “chimney,” “Santa Claus,” “stockings,” “reindeer,”
+ “Christmas Eve,” “candies and toys.” Piccola put her hands over her
+ears, and said, “Oh, I can't understand one word. You tell me, Rose.”
+ Then Rose told her all about jolly old Santa Claus, with his red cheeks
+and white beard and fur coat, and about his reindeer and sleigh full of
+toys. “Every Christmas Eve,” said Rose, “he comes down the chimney, and
+fills the stockings of all the good children; so, Piccola, you hang up
+your stocking, and who knows what a beautiful Christmas present you
+will find when morning comes!” Of course Piccola thought this was a
+delightful plan, and was very pleased to hear about it. Then all the
+children told her of every Christmas Eve they could remember, and of
+the presents they had had; so that she went home thinking of nothing but
+dolls, and hoops, and balls, and ribbons, and marbles, and wagons, and
+kites. She told her mother about Santa Claus, and her mother seemed to
+think that perhaps he did not know there was any little girl in that
+house, and very likely he would not come at all. But Piccola felt very
+sure Santa Claus would remember her, for her little friends had promised
+to send a letter up the chimney to remind him.
+
+Christmas Eve came at last. Piccola's mother hurried home from her
+work; they had their little supper of soup and bread, and soon it was
+bedtime,--time to get ready for Santa Claus. But oh! Piccola remembered
+then for the first time that the children had told her she must hang up
+her stocking, and she hadn't any, and neither had her mother.
+
+How sad, how sad it was! Now Santa Claus would come, and perhaps be
+angry because he couldn't find any place to put the present. The poor
+little girl stood by the fireplace; and the big tears began to run down
+her cheeks. Just then her mother called to her, “Hurry, Piccola; come
+to bed.” What should she do? But she stopped crying, and tried to think;
+and in a moment she remembered her wooden shoes, and ran off to get one
+of them. She put it close to the chimney, and said to herself, “Surely
+Santa Claus will know what it's there for. He will know I haven't any
+stockings, so I gave him the shoe instead.”
+
+Then she went off happily to her bed, and was asleep almost as soon as
+she had nestled close to her mother's side.
+
+The sun had only just begun to shine, next morning, when Piccola awoke.
+With one jump she was out on the floor and running toward the chimney.
+The wooden shoe was lying where she had left it, but you could never,
+never guess what was in it.
+
+{Illustration: See the present Santa Claus brought me}
+
+Piccola had not meant to wake her mother, but this surprise was more
+than any little girl could bear and yet be quiet; so she danced to the
+bed with the shoe in her hand, calling, “Mother, mother! look, look! see
+the present Santa Claus brought me!”
+
+Her mother raised her head and looked into the shoe. “Why, Piccola,” she
+said, “a little chimney swallow nestling in your shoe? What a good Santa
+Claus to bring you a bird!”
+
+“Good Santa Claus, dear Santa Claus!” cried Piccola; and she kissed her
+mother and kissed the bird and kissed the shoe, and even threw kisses up
+the chimney, she was so happy.
+
+When the birdling was taken out of the shoe, they found that he did not
+try to fly, only to hop about the room; and as they looked closer, they
+could see that one of his wings was hurt a little. But the mother bound
+it up carefully, so that it did not seem to pain him, and he was so
+gentle that he took a drink of water from a cup, and even ate crumbs and
+seeds from Piccola's hand. She was a proud little girl when she took
+her Christmas present to show the children in the garden. They had had
+a great many gifts,--dolls that could say “mamma,” bright picture-books,
+trains of cars, toy pianos; but not one of their playthings was alive,
+like Piccola's birdling. They were as pleased as she, and Rose hunted
+about the house till she found a large wicker cage that belonged to a
+blackbird she once had. She gave the cage to Piccola, and the swallow
+seemed to make himself quite at home in it at once, and sat on the perch
+winking his bright eyes at the children. Rose had saved a bag of candies
+for Piccola, and when she went home at last, with the cage and her dear
+swallow safely inside it, I am sure there was not a happier little girl
+in the whole country of Italy.
+
+
+
+THE CHILD AND THE WORLD.
+
+     I see a nest in a green elm-tree
+     With little brown sparrows,--one, two, three!
+     The elm-tree stretches its branches wide,
+     And the nest is soft and warm inside.
+     At morn, the sun, so golden bright,
+     Climbs up to fill the world with light;
+     It opens the flowers, it wakens me,
+     And wakens the birdies,--one, two, three.
+     And leaning out of my window high,
+     I look far up at the blue, blue sky,
+     And then far out at the earth so green,
+     And think it the loveliest ever seen,--
+     The loveliest world that ever was seen!
+
+     But by and by, when the sun is low,
+     And birds and babies sleepy grow,
+     I peep again from my window high,
+     And look at the earth and clouds and sky.
+     The night dew comes in silent showers,
+     To cool the hearts of thirsty flowers;
+     The moon comes out,--the slender thing,
+     A crescent yet, but soon a ring,--
+     And brings with her one yellow star;
+     How small it looks, away so far!
+     But soon, in the heaven's shining blue,
+     A thousand twinkle and blink at you,
+     Like a thousand lamps in the sky so blue.
+
+     And hush! a light breeze stirs the tree,
+     And rocks, the birdies,--one, two, three.
+     What a beautiful cradle, that soft, warm nest!
+     What a dear little coverlid, mamma-bird's breast!
+     She's hugging them close to her,--tight, so tight
+     That each downy head is hid from sight;
+     But out from under her sheltering wings
+     Their bright eyes glisten,--the darling things!
+     I lean far out from my window's height
+     And say, “Dear, lovely world, good-night!
+
+     “Good-night, dear, pretty baby moon!
+     Your cradle you'll outgrow quite soon,
+     And then, perhaps, all night you'll shine,
+     A grown-up lady moon!--so fine
+     And bright that all the stars
+     Will want to light their lamps from yours.
+     Sleep sweetly, birdies, never fear,
+     For God is always watching near!
+     And you, dear, friendly world above,
+     The same One holds us in His love:
+     Both you so great, and I so small,
+     Are safe,--He sees the sparrow's fall,--
+     The dear God watcheth over all!”
+
+
+
+
+WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL.
+
+OUR FROGGERY.
+
+“Turn back observantly into your own youth, and awaken, warm, and vivify
+the eternal youth of your mind.”--FROEBEL.
+
+
+When I was a little girl my sister and I lived in the country. She was
+younger than I, and the dearest, fattest little toddlekins of a sister
+you ever knew. She always wanted to do exactly as I did, so that I had
+to be very careful and do the right things; for if I had been naughty
+she would surely have been naughty too, and that would have made me very
+sad.
+
+As we lived in the country we had none of the things to amuse us that
+city children have. We couldn't walk in crowded streets and see people
+and look in at beautiful shop-windows, or hear the street-organs play
+and see the monkeys do tricks; we couldn't go to dancing school, nor to
+children's parties, nor to the circus to see the animals.
+
+But we had lovely plays, after all.
+
+In the spring we hunted for mayflowers, and sailed boats in the brooks,
+and gathered fluffy pussy-willows. We watched the yellow dandelions
+come, one by one, in the short green grass, and we stood under the
+maple-trees and watched the sap trickle from their trunks into the great
+wooden buckets; for that maple sap was to be boiled into maple sugar
+and syrup, and we liked to think about it. In the summer we went
+strawberrying and blueberrying, and played “hide and coop” behind the
+tall yellow haycocks, and rode on the top of the full haycarts. In the
+fall we went nutting, and pressed red and yellow autumn leaves between
+the pages of our great Webster's Dictionary; we gathered apples, and
+watched the men at work at the cider-presses, and the farmers as they
+threshed their wheat and husked their corn. And in the winter we made
+snow men, and slid downhill from morning till night when there was any
+snow to slide upon, and went sleighing behind our dear old horse Jack,
+and roasted apples in the ashes of the great open fire.
+
+But one of the things we cared for most was our froggery, and we used to
+play there for hours together in the long summer days.
+
+Perhaps you don't know what a froggery is; but you do know what a frog
+is, and so you can guess that a froggery is a place where frogs live.
+My little sister and I used at first to catch the frogs and keep them in
+tin cans filled with water; but when we thought about it we saw that the
+poor froggies couldn't enjoy this, and that it was cruel to take them
+away from their homes and make them live in unfurnished tin houses. So
+one day I asked my father if he would give us a part of the garden brook
+for our very own. He laughed, and said, “Yes,” if we wouldn't carry it
+away.
+
+Our garden was as large as four or five city blocks, and a beautiful
+silver-clear brook flowed through it, turning here and there, and here
+and there breaking into tinkling little waterfalls, and dropping gently
+into clear, still pools.
+
+It was one of these deep, quiet pools that we chose for our froggery. It
+was almost hidden on two sides by thick green alder-bushes, so that it
+was always cool and pleasant there, even on the hottest days.
+
+My father put pieces of fine wire netting into the water on each of the
+four sides of the pool, and so arranged them that we could slip those
+on the banks up and down as we pleased. Whenever we went there we always
+took away the side fences, and sat flat down upon the smooth stones at
+the edges of the brook and played with the frogs.
+
+Here we used to watch our gay young polliwogs grow into frogs, one leg
+at a time coming out at each “corner” of their fat wriggling bodies. We
+kept two great bull-frogs,--splendid bass singers both of them,--that
+had been stoned by naughty small boys, and left for dead by the
+roadside. We found them there, bound up their broken legs and bruised
+backs, and nursed them quite well again in one corner of the froggery
+that we called the hospital. In another corner was the nursery, and here
+we kept all the tiniest frogs; though we always let them out once a
+day to play with the older ones, for fear that they never would learn
+anything if they were kept entirely to themselves. One of our great
+bull-frogs grew so strong and well, after being in the hospital for a
+while, that he jumped over the highest of the wire fences, which was
+two feet higher than any frog ever was known to jump, so our hired man
+said,--jumped over and ran away. We called him the “General,” because he
+was the largest of our frogs and the oldest, we thought. (He hadn't any
+gray hairs, but he was very much wrinkled.) We were sorry to lose the
+General, and couldn't think why he should run away, when we gave him
+such good things to eat and tried to make him so happy. My father said
+that perhaps his home was in a large pond, some distance off, where
+there were so many hundred frogs that it was quite a gay city life for
+them, while the froggery was in a quiet brook in our quiet old garden.
+(If I were a frog, it seems to me I should like such a home better than
+a great noisy stagnant pond near the road, where I should be frightened
+to death half a dozen times a day; but there is no accounting for
+tastes!)
+
+{Illustration: “We were sorry to lose the General.”}
+
+But what do you think? After staying away for three days and nights
+the General came back safe and sound! We knew it was our own beloved
+General, and not any common stranger-frog, because there was the scar
+on his back where the boys had stoned him. My little sister thought that
+perhaps the General was born in Lily Pad Pond, on the other side of the
+village, and only went back to get a sight of the pond lilies, which
+were just in full bloom. If that was so, I cannot blame the General; for
+snow-white pond lilies, with their golden hearts and the green frills
+round their necks, are the loveliest things in the world, as they float
+among their shiny pads on the surface of the pond. Did you ever see
+them?
+
+All our frogs had names of their own, of course, and we knew them all
+apart, although they looked just alike to other people. There was Prince
+Pouter, Brownie, and Goldilegs; Bright-Eye, Chirp, and Gray Friar;
+Hop-o'-my-Thumb, Croaker, Baby Mine, Nimblefoot, Tiny Tim, and many
+others.
+
+We were so afraid that our frogs wouldn't like the froggery better than
+any other place in the brook that we gave them all the pleasures we
+could think of. They always had plenty of fat juicy flies and water-bugs
+for their dinners, and after a while we put some silver shiners and tiny
+minnows into the pool, so that they would have fishes to play with as
+well as other frogs. You know you do not always like to play with other
+children; sometimes you like kittens and dogs and birds better.
+
+Then we gave our frogs little vacations once in a while. We tied a long
+soft woolen string very gently round one of their hind legs, fastened it
+to a twig of one of the alderbushes, and let them take a long swim and
+make calls on all their friends.
+
+We had a singing-school for them once a week. It was very troublesome,
+for they didn't like to stand in line a bit, and it is quite useless to
+try and teach a class in singing unless the scholars will stand in a row
+or keep in some sort of order. We used to put a nice little board across
+the pool, and then try to get the frogs to sit quietly in line during
+their lesson. The General behaved quite nicely, and really got into the
+spirit of the thing, so that he was a splendid example for the head of
+the class. Then we used to put Myron W. Whitney next in line, on account
+of his beautiful bass voice. We named him after a gentleman who had once
+sung in our church, and I hope if he ever heard of it he didn't mind,
+for the frog was really a credit to him. Myron W. Whitney behaved nearly
+as well as the General, but we could never get him to sing unless we
+held the class just before bedtime, and then the little frogs were so
+sleepy that they kept tumbling out of the singing-school into the pool.
+That was the trouble with them all; they never could quite see the
+difference between school and pool. It seems to me they must have known
+it was very slight after all.
+
+Towards the end of the summer we had trained them so well that once in a
+long while we could actually get them all still at once, and all facing
+the right way as they sat upon that board. Oh! it was a beautiful sight,
+and worth any amount of trouble and work! Twenty-one frogs in a row, all
+in fresh green suits, with clean white shirt fronts, washed every day.
+The General and Myron W. Whitney always looked as if they were bursting
+with pride, and as they were too fat and lazy to move, we could
+generally count upon their good behavior.
+
+We thought that if we could only get them to look down into the pool,
+which made such a lovely looking-glass, and just see for once what a
+beautiful picture they made,--sitting so straight and still, and all so
+nicely graded as to size,--they would like it better and do it a little
+more willingly.
+
+We thought, too, the baby frogs would be ashamed, when they looked in
+the glass, to see that while the big frogs stayed still of their own
+free will, THEY had to be held down with forked sticks. But we could
+never discover that they were ashamed.
+
+So when everything was complete my little sister used to “let go” of
+the baby frogs (for, as I said, she had to hold them down while we were
+forming the line), and I would begin the lesson. Sometimes they would
+listen a minute, and then they would begin their pranks. They would
+insist on playing leap-frog, which is a very nice game, but not
+appropriate for school. Tiny Tim would jump from the foot of the class
+straight over all the others on to Myron W. Whitney's back. Baby Mine
+would try to get between Croaker and Goldilegs, where there wasn't any
+room. Nimblefoot would twist round on the board and turn his back to me,
+which was very impolite, as I was the teacher. Finally, Hop-o'-my-Thumb
+would go splash into the pool, and all the rest, save the good old
+General, would follow him, and the lesson would end. I suppose you have
+heard frogs singing just after sunset, when you were going to bed? Some
+people think the big bull-frogs say, “JUGO'RUM! JUGO'RUM! JUGO'RUM!” But
+I don't think this is at all likely, as the frogs never drink anything
+but water in their whole lives.
+
+We used to think that some of the frogs said, “KERCHUG! KERCHUG!” and
+that the largest one said, “GOTACRUMB! GOTACRUMB! GOTACRUMB!” Perhaps
+you can't make it sound right, but if you listen to the frogs you can
+very soon do it.
+
+We thought the frogs in our froggery the very best singers in all the
+country round. After our mother had tucked us in our little beds and
+kissed us good-night, she used to open the window, that we might hear
+the chirping and humming and kerchugging of our frogs down in the dear
+old garden.
+
+As we wandered dreamily off into Sandman's Land, the very last sound we
+heard was the cheerful chorus of our baby frogs, and the deep bass notes
+of Myron W. Whitney and the old General.
+
+
+
+
+FROEBEL'S BIRTHDAY.
+
+“The whole future efficiency of man is seen in the child as a germ.”--
+FROEBEL.
+
+
+On this day, children, the twenty-first of April, we always remember our
+dear Froebel; for it was his birthday.
+
+We bring flowers and vines to hang about his picture, we sing the songs
+and play the games he loved the best, and we remember the story of his
+life. We thank him all day long; for he made the kindergarten for us, he
+invented these pretty things that children love to do, he thought about
+all the pleasant work and pleasant play that make the kindergarten such
+a happy place.
+
+On this very day, more than a hundred years ago, the baby Froebel came
+to his happy father and mother. He was a little German baby, like Elsa's
+brother and Fritz's little sister, and when he began to talk his first
+words were German ones.
+
+But the dear mother did not stay long with her little Friedrich, for she
+died when he was not a year old, and he was left a very sad and lonely
+baby. His father was a busy minister, who had sermons to write, and sick
+people to see, and unhappy people to comfort, from one end of the
+week to the other, and he had no time to attend to his little son; so
+Friedrich was left to the housemaid, who was too busy herself to care
+for him properly. She was often so hurried that she was obliged to shut
+him up in a room alone, to keep him out of her way, and then it was very
+hard work for the child to amuse himself.
+
+The only window in this room looked out on a church that workmen were
+repairing, and Friedrich often watched these men, and tried to do just
+as they did. He took all the small pieces of furniture, and piled one
+on top of the other to make a big, big church, like the one outside;
+but the chairs and stools did not fit each other very well, and soon
+the church would come tumbling about his head. When Froebel grew to be a
+man, he remembered this, and made the building blocks for us, so that we
+might make fine, tall churches and houses as often as we liked.
+
+Rebel's home was surrounded by other buildings, and was close to the
+great church I told you about. There were fences and hedges all around
+the house, and at the back there were sloping fields, stretching up a
+high hill.
+
+When the little boy grew old enough to walk, he played in the garden
+alone, a great deal of the time; but he was not allowed to go outside
+at all, and never could get even a glimpse of the world beyond. He could
+only see the blue sky overhead, and feel the fresh wind blowing from the
+hills.
+
+His father had no time for him, his mother was dead, and I think perhaps
+he would have died himself, for very sadness and lonesomeness, if it had
+not been for his older brothers. Now and then, when they were at home,
+they played and talked with him, and he grew to love them very dearly
+indeed.
+
+When Friedrich was four years old, his father brought the children a
+new mother, and for a time the little boy was very happy. The mother was
+quite kind at first; and now Froebel had some one to walk with in the
+garden, some one to talk with in the daytime and to tuck him in his
+little bed at night. But by and by, when a baby boy came to the new
+mother, she had no more room in her heart for poor Friedrich, and he was
+more miserable than ever. He tried to be a good boy, but no one seemed
+to understand him, and he was often blamed for naughty things he had not
+done, and was never praised or loved.
+
+When he had learned to read he was sent to school, though not with other
+boys, for his father thought it better for him to be with girls. The
+school was pleasant and quiet, and Friedrich liked the teacher very
+much. Every morning the children read from the Bible, and learned sweet
+songs and hymns which the little boy remembered all his days.
+
+The life at home grew no happier, as Friedrich grew older; indeed, he
+seemed to be more in the way and to get into trouble more often.
+
+When he was ten years old his uncle came to visit them, and seeing
+Friedrich so unhappy, and fearing he would not grow up a good boy unless
+some one cared for him, the good uncle asked to be allowed to take the
+child home with him to live.
+
+Now, at last, Friedrich had five happy years!
+
+His uncle lived in a pretty town on the banks of a sparkling little
+river. Everything was pleasant in the house, and Friedrich went to
+school with forty boys of his own age. He jumped and ran with them in
+the playgrounds, he learned to play all kinds of games, and he was happy
+everywhere,--at school, at home, at church, playing or working.
+
+When these five pleasant years had gone by, Froebel had finished school,
+and now he must decide what he would do to earn his living. He had
+always loved flowers, since the days when he played all alone in his
+father's garden, and he liked to be out-of-doors and to see things
+growing; so he made up his mind to be a surveyor, like our George
+Washington, you know, and to learn, besides, how to take care of trees
+and forests.
+
+He studied and worked very hard at these things, and gained a great deal
+of knowledge about flowers and plants and trees and rocks.
+
+By and by he left this work and went to college, where he studied a long
+time and grew to be very wise indeed. There were numbers of things he
+had learned to do: he could measure land, take care of woods, and draw
+maps; he could make plans of houses, and show men how to build them;
+he knew all about fine stones and minerals, and could sort and arrange
+them; but he found, at last, that there was nothing in the world he
+liked so well as teaching, for he loved children very much, and he liked
+to be with them. When Froebel was a grown man, thirty years old, a great
+war broke out in Germany, and he went away to fight for his country;
+like our George Washington again, you see. He marched away with the
+soldiers, and fought bravely for a year; and then the war was over, and
+he went back to his quiet work again.
+
+For the rest of his life Froebel went on teaching all kinds of
+people,--boys and men, and young girls and grown-up women; but he never
+was quite happy or satisfied till he thought of teaching tiny children,
+just like you.
+
+He remembered very well how sad and miserable he was when a little boy,
+with no one to love him, nobody to play with, and nothing to do; so he
+thought of the kindergarten, where there are pleasant playmates, pretty
+work, happy play for everybody, and teachers who love little children.
+
+He was an old man when he thought of the kindergarten; but he was never
+too old to play with children, and people who went to his country home
+used to see him, with the little ones about him, playing the Pigeon
+House, or the Wheel, or the Farmer, or some of the games he made for us.
+
+He was often very poor, and he worked very hard all his life; but he
+did not care for this at all, if he could help other people and make
+children happy. And when, at last, it was time for him to die, and to go
+back to God, who sent him to us, he was quiet and happy through all his
+sickness, and almost the last words he said were about the flowers he
+loved so well, and about God who had been so good to him.
+
+So this is the reason, little ones, that we keep Rebel's birthday every
+year,--because we want you to remember all he did for little children,
+and to learn to love him just as he loved you.
+
+“Come, let us live with our children; so shall their lives bring peace
+and joy to us; so shall we begin to be, and to become wise.”-- FROEBEL.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story Hour, by
+Nora A. Smith and Kate Douglas Wiggin
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+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
+
+<!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" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      The Story Hour, by Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's The Story Hour, by Nora A. Smith and Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Story Hour
+
+Author: Nora A. Smith
+        Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+
+Release Date: June, 2004  [EBook #5835]
+This file was first posted on September 11, 2002
+Last Updated: March 10, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY HOUR ***
+
+
+
+
+Text file produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+HTML file produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+    <div style="height: 8em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h1>
+      THE STORY HOUR
+    </h1>
+    <h2>
+      A BOOK FOR THE HOME AND THE KINDERGARTEN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h5>
+      Therefore ear and heart open to the genuine story teller, as flowers open
+      to the spring sun and the May rain.
+    </h5>
+    <h5>
+      FRIEDRICH FROEBEL
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <b>CONTENTS</b>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE ORIOLE'S NEST. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> DICKY SMILEY'S BIRTHDAY. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> AQUA; OR, THE WATER BABAY. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> MOUFFLOU. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> BENJY IN BEASTLAND. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE PORCELAIN STOVE. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE BABES IN THE WOOD </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS, </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> LITTLE GEORGE WASHINGTON, PART I. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> GREAT GEORGE WASHINGTON, PART II. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE MAPLE-LEAF AND THE VIOLET. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> MRS. CHINCHILLA. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> A STORY OF THE FOREST </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> PICCOLA. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> FROEBEL'S BIRTHDAY. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+DETAILED CONTENTS.
+
+INTRODUCTION. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+PREFACE. Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith
+
+THE ORIOLE'S NEST. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+DICKY SMILY'S BIRTHDAY. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+AQUA; OR, THE WATER BABY. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+MOUFFLOU. Adapted from Ouida by Nora A. Smith
+
+BENJY IN BEASTLAND. Adapted from Mrs. Ewing by Kate Douglas Wiggin and
+Nora A. Smith
+
+THE PORCELAIN STOVE. Adapted from Ouida by Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+THE BABES IN THE WOOD. E. S. Smith
+
+THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS. Nora A. Smith
+
+THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY. Nora A. Smith
+
+LITTLE GEORGE WASHINGTON. Part I. Nora A. Smith
+
+GREAT GEORGE WASHINGTON. Part II. Nora A. Smith
+
+THE MAPLE-LEAF AND THE VIOLET. Nora A. Smith
+
+MRS. CHINCHILLA. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+A STORY OF THE FOREST. Nora A. Smith
+
+PICCOLA. Nora A. Smith
+
+THE CHILD AND THE WORLD. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+FROEBEL'S BIRTHDAY. Nora A. Smith
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      INTRODUCTION.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Story-telling, like letter-writing, is going out of fashion. There are no
+      modern Scheherezades, and the Sultans nowadays have to be amused in a
+      different fashion. But, for that matter, a hundred poetic pastimes of
+      leisure have fled before the relentless Hurry Demon who governs this
+      prosaic nineteenth century. The Wandering Minstrel is gone, and the
+      Troubadour, and the Court of Love, and the King's Fool, and the Round
+      Table, and with them the Story-Teller.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, tell us a story!&rdquo; It is the familiar plea of childhood. Unhappy he
+      who has not been assailed with it again and again. Thrice miserable she
+      who can be consigned to worse than oblivion by the scathing criticism,
+      &ldquo;She doesn't know any stories!&rdquo; and thrice blessed she who is recognized
+      at a glance as a person likely to be full to the brim of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There are few preliminaries and no formalities when the Person with a
+      Story is found. The motherly little sister stands by the side of her
+      chair, two or three of the smaller fry perch on the arms, and the baby
+      climbs up into her lap (such a person always has a capacious lap), and
+      folds his fat hands placidly. Then there is a deep sigh of blissful
+      expectation and an expressive silence, which means, &ldquo;Now we are ready,
+      please; and if you would be kind enough to begin it with 'Once upon a
+      time,' we should be much obliged; though of course we understand that all
+      the stories in the world can't commence that way, delightful as it would
+      be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Person with a Story smiles obligingly (at least it is to be hoped that
+      she does), and retires into a little corner of her brain, to rummage there
+      for something just fitted to the occasion. That same little corner is
+      densely populated, if she is a lover of children. In it are all sorts of
+      heroic dogs, wonderful monkeys, intelligent cats, naughty kittens; virtues
+      masquerading seductively as fairies, and vices hiding in imps; birds
+      agreeing and disagreeing in their little nests, and inevitable small boys
+      in the act of robbing them; busy bees laying up their winter stores, and
+      idle butterflies disgracefully neglecting to do the same; and then a troop
+      of lost children, disobedient children, and lazy, industrious, generous,
+      or heedless ones, waiting to furnish the thrilling climaxes. The
+      Story-Teller selects a hero or heroine out of this motley crowd,&mdash;all
+      longing to be introduced to Bright-Eye, Fine-Ear, Kind-Heart, and
+      Sweet-Lips,&mdash;and speedily the drama opens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did Rachel ever have such an audience? I trow not. Rachel never had tiny
+      hands snuggling into hers in &ldquo;the very best part of the story,&rdquo; nor was
+      she near enough her hearers to mark the thousand shades of expression that
+      chased each other across their faces,&mdash;supposing they had any
+      expression, which is doubtful. Rachel never saw dimples lurking in the
+      ambush of rosy cheeks, and popping in and out in such a distracting manner
+      that she felt like punctuating her discourse with kisses! Her dull,
+      conventional, grown-up hearers bent a little forward in their seats,
+      perhaps, and compelled by her magic power laughed and cried in the right
+      places; but their eyes never shone with that starry lustre that we see in
+      the eyes of happy children,&mdash;a lustre that is dimmed, alas, in after
+      years. Their eyes still see visions, but the &ldquo;shadows of the prison house&rdquo;
+       have fallen about us, and the things which we have seen we &ldquo;now can see no
+      more!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If you chance to be the Person with a Story, you sit like a queen on her
+      throne surrounded by her loyal subjects; or like an unworthy sun with a
+      group of flowers turning their faces towards you. Inspired by breathless
+      attention, you try ardently to do your very best. It seems to you that you
+      could never endure a total failure, and you hardly see how you could bear,
+      with any sort of equanimity, even the vacant gaze or restless movement
+      that would bespeak a vagrant interest. If you are a novice, perhaps the
+      frightful idea crosses your mind, &ldquo;What if one of these children should
+      slip out of the room?&rdquo; Or, still more tragic possibility, suppose they
+      should look you in the eye and remark with the terrible candor of infancy,
+      &ldquo;We do not like this story!&rdquo; But no; you are more fortunate. The tale is
+      told, and you are greeted with sighs of satisfaction and with the
+      instantaneous request, &ldquo;Tell it again!&rdquo; That is the encore of the
+      Story-Teller,&mdash;&ldquo;Tell it again! No, not another story; the same one
+      over again, please!&rdquo; for &ldquo;what novelty is worth that sweet monotony where
+      everything is known, and loved because it is known?&rdquo; No royal accolade
+      could be received with greater gratitude. You endeavor to let humility
+      wait upon self-respect; but when you discover that the children can
+      scarcely be dragged from your fascinating presence, crying like Romeo for
+      death rather than banishment, and that the next time you appear they make
+      a wild dash from the upper regions, and precipitate themselves upon you
+      with the full impact of their several weights &ldquo;multiplied into their
+      velocity,&rdquo; you cannot help hugging yourself to think the good God has
+      endowed you sufficiently to win the love and admiration of such keen
+      observers and merciless little critics.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now this charming little drama takes place in somebody's nursery corner at
+      twilight, when you are waiting for &ldquo;that cheerful tocsin of the soul, the
+      dinner-bell,&rdquo; or around somebody's fireside just before the children's
+      bedtime; but the same scene is enacted every few days in the presence of
+      the fresh-hearted, childlike kindergartner, of all women the likeliest to
+      find the secret of eternal youth. She chooses the story as one of the
+      vessels in which she shall carry the truth to her circle of little
+      listeners, and you will never hear her say, like the needy knife-grinder,
+      &ldquo;Story? God bless you, I have none to tell, sir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If the group chances to be one of bright, well-born, well-bred youngsters,
+      the opportunity to inspire and instruct is one of the most effective and
+      valuable that can come to any teacher. On the other hand, if the circle
+      happens to be one of little ragamuffins, Arabs, scrips and scraps of
+      vagrant humanity (sometimes scalawags and sometimes angels), born in
+      basements and bred on curbstones, then believe me, my countrymen, there is
+      a sight worth seeing, a scene fit for a painter. It might be a pleasant
+      satire upon our national hospitality if the artist were to call such a
+      picture &ldquo;Young America,&rdquo; for comparatively few distinctively American
+      faces would be found in his group of portraits.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Make a mental picture, dear reader, of the ring of listening children in a
+      San Francisco free kindergarten, for it would be difficult to gather so
+      cosmopolitan a company anywhere else: curly yellow hair and rosy cheeks
+      ... sleek blonde braids and calm blue eyes ... swarthy faces and
+      blue-black curls ... woolly little pows and thick lips ... long, arched
+      noses and broad, flat ones. There you will see the fire and passion of the
+      Southern races and the self-poise, serenity, and sturdiness of Northern
+      nations. Pat is there, with a gleam of humor in his eye ... Topsy, all
+      smiles and teeth ... Abraham, trading tops with little Isaac, next in line
+      ... Hans and Gretchen, phlegmatic and dependable ... Francois, never still
+      for an instant ... Christina, rosy, calm, and conscientious, and Duncan,
+      canny and prudent as any of his clan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What an opportunity for amalgamation of races and for laying the
+      foundation of American citizenship! for the purely social atmosphere of
+      the kindergarten makes it a school of life and experience. Imagine such a
+      group hanging breathless upon your words, as you recount the landing of
+      the Pilgrims, or try to paint the character of George Washington in colors
+      that shall appeal to children whose ancestors have known Napoleon,
+      Cromwell, and Bismarck, Peter the Great, Garibaldi, Bruce, and Robert
+      Emmett.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To such an audience were the stories in his little book told; and the
+      lines that will perhaps seem commonplace to you glow for us with a &ldquo;light
+      that never was on sea or land;&rdquo; for &ldquo;the secret of our emotions never lies
+      in the bare object, but in its subtle relations to our own past.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As we turn the pages, radiant faces peep between the words; the echo of
+      childish laughter rings in our ears and curves our lips with its happy
+      memory; there isn't a single round O in all the chapters but serves as a
+      tiny picture-frame for an eager child's face! The commas say, &ldquo;Isn't there
+      any more?&rdquo; the interrogation points ask, &ldquo;What did the boy do then?&rdquo; the
+      exclamation points cry in ecstasy, &ldquo;What a beautiful story!&rdquo; and the
+      periods sigh, &ldquo;This is all for to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this point&mdash;where the dog Moufflou returns to his little master&mdash;we
+      remember that Carlotty Griggs clapped her ebony hands, and shrieked in
+      transport, &ldquo;I KNOWED HE'D come! <i>I</i> KNOWED he'd come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here is the place where we remarked impressively, &ldquo;A lie, children, is the
+      very worst thing in the world!&rdquo; whereupon Billy interrogated, with wide
+      eyes and awed voice, &ldquo;IS IT WORSE THAN A RAILROAD CROSSING?&rdquo; And there is
+      a sentence in the story of the &ldquo;Bird's Nest&rdquo; sacred to the memory of
+      Tommy's tear!&mdash;Tommy of the callous conscience and the marble heart.
+      Tommy's dull eye washed for one brief moment by the salutary tear! Truly
+      the humble Story-Teller has not lived in vain. Sing, ye morning stars,
+      together, for this is the spot where Tommy cried!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If you would be the Person with a Story, you must not only have one to
+      tell, but you must be willing to learn how to tell it, if you wish to make
+      it a &ldquo;rememberable thing&rdquo; to children. The Story-Teller, unlike the poet,
+      is made as well as born, but he is not made of all stuffs nor in the
+      twinkling of an eye. In this respect he is very like the Ichneumon in the
+      nonsense rhyme:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+  &ldquo;There once was an idle Ichneumon
+   Who thought he could learn to play Schumann;
+   But he found, to his pains,
+   It took talent and brains,
+   And neither possessed this Ichneumon.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      To be effective, the story in the kindergarten should always be told,
+      never read; for little children need the magnetism of eye and smile as
+      well as the gesture which illuminates the strange word and endows it with
+      meaning. The story that is told is always a thousand times more
+      attractive, real, and personal than anything read from a book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well-chosen, graphically told stories can be made of distinct educative
+      value in the nursery or kindergarten. They give the child a love of
+      reading, develop in him the germ, at least, of a taste for good
+      literature, and teach him the art of speech. If they are told in simple,
+      graceful, expressive English, they are a direct and valuable object lesson
+      in this last direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ear of the child becomes used to refined intonations, and slovenly
+      language will grow more and more disagreeable to him. The kindergartner
+      cannot be too careful in this matter. By the sweetness of her tone and the
+      perfection of her enunciation she not only makes herself a worthy model
+      for the children, but she constantly reveals the possibilities of language
+      and its inner meaning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The very brooding of a voice on a word,&rdquo; says George Macdonald, &ldquo;seems to
+      hatch something of what is in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stories help a child to form a standard by which he can live and grow, for
+      they are his first introduction into the grand world of the ideal in
+      character.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love; And even as these are well and
+      wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The child understands his own life better, when he is enabled to compare
+      it with other lives; he sees himself and his own possibilities reflected
+      in them as in a mirror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They also aid in the growth of the imaginative faculty, which is very
+      early developed in the child, and requires its natural food.
+      &ldquo;Imagination,&rdquo; says Dr. Seguin, &ldquo;is more than a decorative attribute of
+      leisure; it is a power in the sense that from images perceived and stored
+      it sublimes ideals.&rdquo; &ldquo;If I were to choose between two great calamities for
+      my children,&rdquo; he goes on to say, &ldquo;I would rather have them unalphabetic
+      than unimaginative.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There is a great difference of opinion concerning the value of fairy
+      stories. The Gradgrinds will not accept them on any basis whatever, but
+      they are invariably so fascinating to children that it is certain they
+      must serve some good purpose and appeal to some inherent craving in
+      child-nature. But here comes in the necessity of discrimination. The true
+      meaning of the word &ldquo;faerie&rdquo; is spiritual, but many stories masquerade
+      under that title which have no claim to it. Some universal spiritual truth
+      underlies the really fine old fairy tale; but there can be no educative
+      influence in the so-called fairy stories which are merely jumbles of
+      impossible incidents, and which not unfrequently present dishonesty,
+      deceit, and cruelty in attractive or amusing guise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the fairy tale carries us into an exquisite ideal world, where the
+      fancy may roam at will, creating new images and seeing truth ever in new
+      forms, then it has a pure and lovely influence over children, who are
+      natural poets, and live more in the spirit and less in the body than we.
+      The fairy tale offers us a broad canvas on which to paint our
+      word-pictures. There are no restrictions of time or space; the world is
+      ours, and we can roam in it at will; for spirit, there, is ever victorious
+      over matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Once upon a time,&rdquo; saith the Story-Teller, &ldquo;there was a beautiful locust
+      tree, that bent its delicate fans and waved its creamy blossoms in the
+      sunshine, and laughed because its flowers were so lovely and fragrant and
+      the world was so fresh and green in its summer dress.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's queer for a tree to laugh,&rdquo; said Bright-Eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But queerer if it didn't laugh, with such lovely blossoms hanging all
+      over it,&rdquo; replied Fine-Ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything is real to the happy child. Life is a sort of fairy garden,
+      where he wanders as in a dream. &ldquo;He can make abstraction of whatever does
+      not fit into his fable; and he puts his eyes into his pocket just as we
+      hold our noses in an unsavory lane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stories offer a valuable field for instruction, and for introducing in
+      simple and attractive form much information concerning the laws of plant
+      and flower and animal life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A story of this kind, however, must be made as well as told by an artist;
+      for in the hands of a bungler it is quite as likely to be a failure as a
+      success. It must be compounded with the greatest care, and the scientific
+      facts must be generously diluted and mixed in small proportions with other
+      and more attractive elements, or it will be rejected by the mental
+      stomach; or, if received in one ear, will be unceremoniously ushered from
+      the other with an &ldquo;Avaunt! cold fact! What have thou and I in common!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Did you ever tell a story of this kind and watch its effect upon children?
+      Did you ever note that fatal moment when it BEGAN to BEGIN to dawn upon
+      the intelligence of the dullest member of your flock that your narrative
+      was a &ldquo;whited sepulchre,&rdquo; and that he was being instructed within an inch
+      of his life?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Treat me at least with honesty, my good woman!&rdquo; he cries in his spirit.
+      &ldquo;Read me lessons if you will, but do not make a pretense of amusing me at
+      the same moment!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This obvious attitude of criticism is very disagreeable to you, but never
+      mind, it will be a salutary lesson. Did you think, O clumsy visitor in
+      childhood land, that simply because you called your stuffed dolls &ldquo;Prince&rdquo;
+       and &ldquo;Princess&rdquo; you could conduct them straight through the mineral
+      kingdom, and allow them to converse with all the metals with impunity?
+      Nest time make your scientific fact an integral part of the story, and do
+      not try to introduce too much knowledge in one dose. All children love
+      Nature and sympathize with her (or if they do not, &ldquo;then despair of them,
+      O Philanthropy!&rdquo;), and all stories that bring them nearer to the dear
+      mother's heart bring them at the same time nearer to God; therefore lead
+      them gently to a loving observation of
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+                          &ldquo;The hills
+ Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
+ Stretching in pensive quietness between;
+ The venerable woods; rivers that move
+ In majesty, and the complaining brooks
+ That make the meadows green.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Stories bring the force of example to bear upon children in the very best
+      possible way. Here we can speak to the newly awakened soul and touch it to
+      nobler issues. This can be done with very little of that abstract
+      moralizing which is generally so ineffective. A moral &ldquo;lugged in&rdquo; by the
+      heels, so to speak, without any sense of perspective on the part of the
+      Story-Teller, can no more incline a child to nobler living than cold
+      victuals can serve as a fillip to the appetite. The facts themselves
+      should suffice to exert the moral influence; the deeds should speak louder
+      than the words, and in clearer, fuller tones. At the end of such a story,
+      &ldquo;Go thou and do likewise&rdquo; sounds in the child's heart, and a new throb of
+      tenderness and aspiration, of desire to do, to grow, and to be, stirs
+      gently there and wakes the soul to higher ideals. In such a story the
+      canting, vapid, or didactic little moral, tacked like a tag on the end,
+      for fear we shall not read the lesson aright, is nothing short of an
+      insult to the better feelings. It used to be very much in vogue, but we
+      have learned better nowadays, and we recognize (to paraphrase Mrs.
+      Whitney's bright speech) that we have often vaccinated children with
+      morality for fear of their taking it the natural way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is a curious fact that children sympathize with the imaginary woes of
+      birds and butterflies and plants much more readily than with the
+      sufferings of human beings; and they are melted to tears much more quickly
+      by simple incidents from the manifold life of nature, than by the
+      tragedies of human experience which surround them on every side. Robert
+      Louis Stevenson says in his essay on &ldquo;Child's Play,&rdquo; &ldquo;Once, when I was
+      groaning aloud with physical pain, a young gentleman came into the room
+      and nonchalantly inquired if I had seen his bow and arrow. He made no
+      account of my groans, which he accepted, as he had to accept so much else,
+      as a piece of the inexplicable conduct of his elders. Those elders, who
+      care so little for rational enjoyment, and are even the enemies of
+      rational enjoyment for others, he had accepted without understanding and
+      without complaint, as the rest of us accept the scheme of the universe.&rdquo;
+       Miss Anna Buckland quotes in this connection a story of a little boy to
+      whom his mother showed a picture of Daniel in the lions' den. The child
+      sighed and looked much distressed, whereupon his mother hastened to assure
+      him that Daniel was such a good man that God did not let the lions hurt
+      him. &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; replied the little fellow, &ldquo;I was not thinking of that; but I
+      was afraid that those big lions were going to eat all of him themselves,
+      and that they would not give the poor little lion down in the corner any
+      of him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It is well to remember the details with which you surrounded your story
+      when first you told it, and hold to them strictly on all other occasions.
+      The children allow you no latitude in this matter; they draw the line
+      absolutely upon all change. Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, if you
+      speak of Jimmy when &ldquo;his name was Johnny;&rdquo; or if, when you are depicting
+      the fearful results of disobedience, you lose Jane in a cranberry bog
+      instead of the heart of a forest! Personally you do not care much for
+      little Jane, and it is a matter of no moment to you where you lost her;
+      but an error such as this undermines the very foundations of the universe
+      in the children's minds. &ldquo;Can Jane be lost in two places?&rdquo; they exclaim
+      mentally, &ldquo;or are there two Janes, and are they both lost? because if so,
+      it must be a fatality to be named Jane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Perez relates the following incident: &ldquo;A certain child was fond of a story
+      about a young bird, which, having left its nest, although its mother had
+      forbidden it to do so, flew to the top of a chimney, fell down the flue
+      into the fire, and died a victim to his disobedience. The person who told
+      the story thought it necessary to embellish it from his own imagination.
+      'That's not right,' said the child at the first change which was made,
+      'the mother said this and did that.' His cousin, not remembering the story
+      word for word, was obliged to have recourse to invention to fill up gaps.
+      But the child could not stand it. He slid down from his cousin's knees,
+      and with tears in his eyes, and indignant gestures, exclaimed, 'It's not
+      true! The little bird said, coui, coui, coui, coui, before he fell into
+      the fire, to make his mother hear; but the mother did not hear him, and he
+      burnt his wings, his claws, and his beak, and he died, poor little bird.'
+      And the child ran away, crying as if he had been beaten. He had been worse
+      than beaten; he had been deceived, or at least he thought so; his story
+      had been spoiled by being altered.&rdquo; So seriously do children for a long
+      time take fiction for reality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If you find the attention of the children wandering, you can frequently
+      win it gently back by showing some object illustrative of your story, by
+      drawing a hasty sketch on a blackboard, or by questions to the children.
+      You sometimes receive more answers than you bargained for; sometimes these
+      answers will be confounded with the real facts; and sometimes they will
+      fall very wide of the mark.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was once telling the exciting tale of the Shepherd's Child lost in the
+      mountains, and of the sagacious dog who finally found him. When I reached
+      the thrilling episode of the search, I followed the dog as he started from
+      the shepherd's hut with the bit of breakfast for his little master. The
+      shepherd sees the faithful creature, and seized by a sudden inspiration
+      follows in his path. Up, up the mountain sides they climb, the father full
+      of hope, the mother trembling with fear. The dog rushes ahead, quite out
+      of sight; the anxious villagers press forward in hot pursuit. The
+      situation grows more and more intense; they round a little point of rocks,
+      and there, under the shadow of a great gray crag, they find&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you suppose they found?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;FI' CENTS!!&rdquo; shouted Benny in a transport of excitement. &ldquo;BET YER THEY
+      FOUND FI' CENTS!!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      You would imagine that such a preposterous idea could not find favor in
+      any sane community; but so altogether seductive a guess did this appear to
+      be, that a chorus of &ldquo;Fi' cents!&rdquo; &ldquo;Fi' cents!&rdquo; sounded on every side; and
+      when the tumult was hushed, the discovery of an ordinary flesh and blood
+      child fell like an anti-climax on a public thoroughly in love with its own
+      incongruities. Let the psychologist explain Benny's mental processes; we
+      prefer to leave them undisturbed and unclassified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If you have no children of your own, dear Person with a Story, go into the
+      highways and by-ways and gather together the little ones whose mothers'
+      lips are dumb; sealed by dull poverty, hard work, and constant life in
+      atmospheres where graceful fancies are blighted as soon as they are born.
+      There is no fireside, and no chimney corner in those crowded tenements.
+      There is no silver-haired grandsire full of years and wisdom, with memory
+      that runs back to the good old times that are no more. There is no
+      cheerful grandame with pocket full of goodies and a store of dear old
+      reminiscences all beginning with that enchanting phrase, &ldquo;When I was a
+      little girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Brighten these sordid lives a little with your pretty thoughts, your
+      lovely imaginations, your tender pictures. Speak to them simply, for their
+      minds grope feebly in the dim twilight of their restricted lives. The old,
+      old stories will do; stories of love and heroism and sacrifice; of faith
+      and courage and fidelity. Kindle in tired hearts a gentler thought of
+      life; open the eyes that see not and the ears that hear not; interpret to
+      them something of the beauty that has been revealed to you. You do not
+      need talent, only sympathy, &ldquo;the one poor word that includes all our best
+      insight and our best love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PREFACE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The fourteen little stories in this book are not offered as a collection
+      ample enough to satisfy all needs of the kindergartner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such a collection should embrace representative stories of all classes&mdash;narrative,
+      realistic, imaginative, scientific, and historical, as well as brief and
+      simple tales for the babies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An experience of twelve years among kindergartners, however, has shown us
+      that there is room for a number of books like this modest example;
+      containing stories which need no adaptation or arrangement; which are
+      ready for the occasion, and which have been thoroughly tried before
+      audience after audience of children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The three adaptations, &ldquo;Benjy in Beast-Land,&rdquo; &ldquo;Moufflou,&rdquo; and the
+      &ldquo;Porcelain Stove,&rdquo; have been made as sympathetically as possible. Their
+      introduction needs no apology, for they are exquisite stories, and in
+      their original form much too advanced for children of the kindergarten
+      age.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      NORA A. SMITH.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THE ORIOLE'S NEST.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;See how each boy, excited by the actual event, is all ear.&rdquo;&mdash;Froebel.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      There it hangs, on a corner of the picture frame, very much as it hung in
+      the old willow-tree out in the garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was spring time, and I used to move my rocking-chair up to the window,
+      where I could lean out and touch the green branches, and watch there for
+      the wonderful beautiful things to tell my little children in the
+      kindergarten. There I saw the busy little ants hard at work on the ground
+      below; the patient, dull, brown toads snapping flies in the sunshine; the
+      striped caterpillars lazily crawling up the trunk of the tree; and dozens
+      of merry birds getting ready for housekeeping.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did you know the birdies &ldquo;kept house&rdquo;? Oh, yes; they never &ldquo;board&rdquo; like
+      men and women; indeed, I don't think they even like to RENT a house
+      without fixing it over to suit themselves, but they 'd much rather go to
+      work and build one,
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+    &ldquo;So snug and so warm, so cosy and neat,
+     To start at their housekeeping all complete.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Now there hung just inside my window a box of strings, and for two or
+      three days, no matter how many I put into it, when I went to look the next
+      time none could be found. I had talked to the little girls and scolded the
+      little boys in the house, but no one knew anything about the matter, when
+      one afternoon, as I was sitting there, a beautiful bird with a yellow
+      breast fluttered down from the willow-tree, perched on the window-sill,
+      cocked his saucy head, winked his bright eye, and without saying &ldquo;If you
+      please,&rdquo; clipped his naughty little beak into the string box and flew off
+      with a piece of pink twine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I sat as still as a mouse to see if the little scamp would dare to come
+      back; he didn't, but he sent his wife, who gave a hop, skip, and a jump,
+      looked me squarely in the eye, and took her string without being a bit
+      afraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now do you call that stealing? &ldquo;No,&rdquo; you answer. Neither do I; to be sure
+      they took what belonged to me, but the window was wide open, and I think
+      they must have known I loved the birds and would like to give them
+      something for their new house. Perhaps they knew, too, that bits of old
+      twine could not be worth much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then how busily they began their work! They had already chosen the place
+      for their nest, springing up and down in the boughs till they found a
+      branch far out of sight of snakes and hawks and cruel tabby cats, high out
+      of reach of naughty small boys with their sling-shots, and now everything
+      was ready for these small carpenters to begin their building. No hammer
+      and nails were needed, claw and bill were all the tools they used, and yet
+      what beautiful carpenter work was theirs!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do you see how strongly the nest is tied on to those three slender twigs,
+      and how carefully and closely it is woven, so that you can scarcely pull
+      it apart? Those wiry black hairs holding all the rest together were
+      dropped from Prince Charming's tail (Prince Charming is the pretty
+      saddle-horse who crops his grass, under the willow-tree). Those sleek
+      brown hairs belonged to Dame Margery, the gentle mooly cow, who lives with
+      her little calf Pet in the stable with Prince Charming; and there is a
+      shining yellow spot on one side. Ah, you roguish birds, you must have been
+      outside the kitchen window when baby Johnny's curls were cut! We could
+      only spare two from his precious head, and we hunted everywhere for this
+      one to send to grandmamma!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now just look at this door in the side of the nest, and tell me how a bird
+      could make such a perfect one; and yet I've heard you say, &ldquo;It's only a
+      bird; he doesn't know anything.&rdquo; To be sure he cannot do as many things as
+      you, but after all you are not wise enough to do many of the things that
+      he does. What would one of my little boys do, I wonder, if he were carried
+      miles away from home and dropped in a place he had never seen? Why, he
+      would be too frightened to do anything but cry; and yet there are many
+      birds, who, when taken away a long distance, will perch on top of the
+      weather-vane, perhaps, make up their little bits of minds which way to go,
+      and then with a whir-r-r-r fly off over house-tops and church-steeples,
+      towns and cities, rivers and meadows, until they reach the place from
+      which they started.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Look at the nest for the last time now, and see the soft, lovely lining of
+      ducks' feathers and lambs' wool.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why do you suppose it was made so velvet soft and fleecy? Why, for the
+      little birds that were coming, of course; and sure enough, one morning
+      after the tiny house was all finished, I leaned far out of the window and
+      saw five little eggs cuddled close together; but I did not get much chance
+      to look at those precious eggs, I can tell you; for the mamma bird could
+      scarcely spare a minute to go and get a drink of water, so afraid was she
+      that they would miss the warmth of her downy wings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There she sat in the long May days and warm, still nights: who but a mamma
+      would be so sweet and kind and patient?&mdash;but SHE didn't mind the
+      trouble&mdash;not a bit. Bless her dear little bird-heart, they were not
+      eggs to her: she could see them even now as they were going to be, her
+      five cunning, downy, feathery birdlings, chirping and fluttering under her
+      wings; so she never minded the ache in her back or the cramp in her legs,
+      but sat quite still at home, though there were splendid picnics in the
+      strawberry patches and concerts on the fence rails, and all the father
+      birds, and all the mother birds that were not hatching eggs, were having a
+      great deal of fun this beautiful weather. At last all was over, and I was
+      waked up one morning by such a chirping and singing&mdash;such a
+      fluttering and flying&mdash;I knew in a minute that where the night before
+      there had been two birds and five eggs, now there were seven birds and
+      nothing but egg-shells in the green willow-tree!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The papa oriole would hardly wait for me to dress, but flew on and off the
+      window-sill, seeming to say, &ldquo;Why don't you get up? why don't you get up?
+      I have five little birds; they came out of the shells this very morning,
+      so hungry that I can't get enough for them to eat! Why don't you get up, I
+      say? I have five little birds, and I am taking care of them while my wife
+      is off taking a rest!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were five scrawny, skinny little things, I must say; for you know
+      birds don't begin by being pretty like kittens and chickens, but look very
+      bare and naked, and don't seem to have anything to show but a big, big
+      mouth which is always opening and crying &ldquo;Yip, yip, yip!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now I think you are wondering why I happen to have this nest, and how I
+      could have taken away the beautiful house from the birds. Ah, that is the
+      sad part of the story, and I wish I need not tell it to you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the baby birds were two days old, I went out on a long ride into the
+      country, leaving everything safe and happy in the old green willow-tree;
+      but when I came back, what do you think I found on the ground under the
+      branches?&mdash;&mdash;A wonderful hang-bird's nest cut from the tree, and
+      five poor still birdies lying by its side. Five slender necks all limp and
+      lifeless,&mdash;five pairs of bright eyes shut forever! and overhead the
+      poor mamma and papa twittering and crying in the way little birds have
+      when they are frightened and sorry&mdash;flying here and there, first down
+      to the ground and then up in the tree, to see if it was really true.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While I was gone two naughty boys had come into the garden to dig for
+      angle-worms, and all at once they spied the oriole's nest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Tommy, here's a hang-bird's nest, such a funny one! there's nobody
+      here, let's get it,&rdquo; cried Jack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up against the tree they put the step-ladder; and although it was almost
+      out of reach, a sharp jack-knife cut the twigs that held it up, and down
+      it fell from the high tree with a heavy thud on the hard earth, and the
+      five little orioles never breathed again! Of course the boys didn't know
+      there were any birdies in the nest, or they wouldn't have done it for the
+      world; but that didn't make it any easier for the papa and mamma bird.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, dear children, never let me hear you say, &ldquo;It's no matter, they're
+      only birds, they don't care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Think about this nest: how the mother and father worked at it, weaving
+      hair and string and wool together, day by day! Think how the patient mamma
+      sat on the eggs, dreaming of the time when she should have five little
+      singing, flying birds to care for, to feed and to teach! and then to have
+      them live only two short days! Was it not dreadful to lose her beautiful
+      house and dear little children both at once?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never forget that just as your own father and mother love their dear
+      little girls and boys, so God has made the birds love their little
+      feathery children that are born in the wonderful nests he teaches them to
+      build.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      DICKY SMILEY'S BIRTHDAY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In order to be especially beneficial and effective, story-telling should
+      be connected with the events and occurrences of life.&rdquo;&mdash;Froebel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dicky Smiley was eight years old when all these things happened that I am
+      going to tell you; eight years old, and as bright as a steel button. It
+      was very funny that his name should be Smiley, for his face was just like
+      a sunbeam, and if he ever cried at all it was only for a minute, and then
+      the smiles would creep out and chase the tear-drops away from the blue sky
+      of his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dicky's mother tried to call him Richard, because it was his papa's name,
+      but it never would say itself somehow, and even when she did remember, and
+      called him &ldquo;Richard,&rdquo; his baby sister Dot would cry, &ldquo;Mamma, don't scold
+      Dicky.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had once a good, loving papa like yours, when he was a tiny baby in
+      long white clothes; but the dear papa marched away with the blue-coated
+      soldiers one day, and never came back any more to his little children; for
+      he died far, far away from home, on a green battlefield, with many other
+      soldiers. You can think how sad and lonely Dicky's mamma was, and how she
+      hugged her three babies close in her arms, and said:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Darlings, you haven't any father now, but the dear God will help your
+      mother to take care of you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And now she was working hard, so very hard, from morning till night every
+      day to get money to buy bread and milk and clothes for Bess and Dot and
+      Dicky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Dicky was a good little fellow and helped his mamma ever so much,
+      pulling out bastings from her needlework, bringing in the kindling and
+      shavings from the shed, and going to the store for her butter and potatoes
+      and eggs. So one morning she said:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dicky, you have been such a help to me this summer, I'd like to give you
+      something to make you very happy. Let us count the money in your bank&mdash;you
+      earned it all yourself&mdash;and see what we could buy with it. To be
+      sure, Bess wants a waterproof and Dot needs rubbers, but we do want our
+      little boy to have a birthday present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, mamma,&rdquo; cried he, clapping his hands, &ldquo;what a happy day it will be! I
+      shall buy that tool-box at the store round the corner! It's such a beauty,
+      with a little saw, a claw-hammer, a chisel, a screw-driver, and everything
+      a carpenter needs. It costs just a dollar, exactly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they unscrewed the bank and found ninety-five cents, so that it would
+      take only five cents more to make the dollar. Dicky earned that before he
+      went to bed, by piling up wood for a neighbor; and his mamma changed all
+      the little five and ten cent pieces into two bright half-dollars that
+      chinked together joyfully in his trousers pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next morning he was up almost at the same time the robins and
+      chimney-swallows flew out of their nests; jumped down the stairs, two at a
+      time, and could scarcely eat his breakfast, such a hurry as he was in to
+      buy the precious tool-box. He opened the front door, danced down the
+      wooden steps, and there on the curb in front of the house stood a little
+      girl, with a torn gingham apron, no shoes, no hat, and her nut-brown curls
+      flying in the wind; worse than all, she was crying as if her heart would
+      break.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, little girl, what's the matter?&rdquo; asked Dicky, for he was a
+      kind-hearted boy, and didn't like to see people cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She took down her apron and sobbed:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I've lost my darling little brown dog, and I can never get him back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, has somebody poisoned him&mdash;is he dead?&rdquo; said Dicky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, oh no! The pound-man took him away in his cart&mdash;my sweet little
+      bit of a dog; he has such a cunning little curly tail, and long, silky
+      ears; he does all kinds of tricks, and they'll never let me in at home
+      without Bruno.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then she began to cry harder than ever, so that Dicky hardly knew what
+      to say to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the pound, children, is a very large place somewhere near the city,
+      with a high fence all around it, and inside are kept colts and horses, the
+      little calves and mother cows, and the sheep and goats that run away from
+      home, or are picked up by the roadside. The pound-man rides along the
+      street in a big cart, which has a framework of slats built over it, so
+      that it looks something like a chicken-coop on wheels, and in it&mdash;some
+      of you have seen him do it&mdash;he puts the poor dogs that haven't
+      collars on, and whose masters haven't paid for them. Then he rides away
+      and locks them up in the great place inside the high fence, and they have
+      to stay awhile. The dogs are killed if nobody comes for them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Dicky, &ldquo;let us go and see the pound-man. Do you know where he
+      lives?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, indeed,&rdquo; answered the little girl, whose name was Lola. &ldquo;I ran
+      behind the cart all the way to the pound. I cried after Bruno, and Bruno
+      whined for me, and poked his nose between the bars and tried to jump out,
+      but he couldn't. It's a pretty long way there, and the man is as cross as
+      two sticks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But they started off, and on and on they walked together, Dicky having
+      tight hold of Lola's hand, while she told him about the wonderful things
+      Bruno could do; how he could go up and down a ladder, play the fife and
+      beat the drum, make believe go to sleep, and dance a jig. It was by these
+      tricks of his that Lola earned money for her uncle, with whom she lived;
+      for her father and mother were both dead, and there was no one in the
+      whole world who loved the little girl. The dear mother had died in a
+      beautiful mountain country far across the ocean, and Lola and Bruno had
+      been sent in a ship over to America. Now this dear, pretty mamma of Lola's
+      used to sing to her when she rocked her to sleep, and as she grew from a
+      baby to a tiny girl she learned the little songs to sing to Bruno when he
+      was a little puppy. Would you like to hear one of them? She used to sing
+      it on the street corners, and at the end of the last verse that knowing,
+      cunning, darling Bruno would yawn as if he could not keep awake another
+      minute, tuck his silky head between his two fore paws, shut his bright
+      eyes, give a tired little sigh, and stay fast asleep until Lola waked him.
+      This is the song:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wake, lit-tle Bru-no! Wake, lit-tle Bru-no,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wake, lit-tle Bru-no quick-ly!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the two children came to the pound and saw the little house at the
+      gate where the pound-man lived, Dicky was rather frightened and hardly
+      dared walk up the steps; but after a moment he thought to himself, &ldquo;I
+      won't be a coward; I haven't done anything wrong.&rdquo; So he gave the door a
+      rousing knock, for an eight-year-old boy, and brought the man out at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo; said he, in a gruff voice, for he did seem rather
+      cross.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please, sir, I want Lola's little brown dog. He's all the dog she has,
+      and she earns money with him. He does funny tricks for ten cents.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you think I know whether I've got a brown dog in there or not?&rdquo;
+       growled he. &ldquo;You'd better run home to your mothers, both of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this Lola began to cry again, and Dicky said quickly:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you 'd know him soon as anything,&mdash;he has such a cunning curly
+      tail and long silky ears. His name is Bruno.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; snapped the man, &ldquo;where's your money? Hurry up! I want my
+      breakfast.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Money!&rdquo; cried Dicky, looking at Lola.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Money!&rdquo; whispered little Lola, looking back at Dicky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;of course! Give me a dollar and I will give you the dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; answered Lola, &ldquo;I haven't a bit of money; I never have any.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neither have&rdquo;&mdash;began Dicky; and then his fingers crept into his
+      trousers pocket and felt the two silver half-dollars that were to buy his
+      tool-box. He had forgotten all about that tool-box for an hour, but how
+      could he&mdash;how could he ever give away that precious money which he
+      had been so long in getting together, five cents at a time? He remembered
+      the sharp little saw, the stout hammer, the cunning plane, bright chisel,
+      and shining screw-driver, and his fingers closed round the money tightly;
+      but just then he looked at pretty little Lola, with her sad face, her
+      swollen eyes and the brave red lips she was trying to keep from quivering
+      with tears. That was enough; he quickly drew out the silver dollar, and
+      said to the pound-man:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's your dollar&mdash;give us the dog!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man looked much surprised. Not many little eight-year-old boys have a
+      dollar in their trousers pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did you get it?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I earned every cent of it,&rdquo; answered poor Dicky with a lump in his throat
+      and a choking voice. &ldquo;I brought in coal and cut kindlings for most six
+      months before I got enough, and there ain't another tool-box in the world
+      so good as that one for a dollar&mdash;but I want Bruno!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      {Illustration: &ldquo;Here's your dollar&mdash;give us the dog'&rdquo;}
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the pound-man showed them a little flight of steps that led up to a
+      square hole in the wall of the pound, and told them to go up and look
+      through it and see if the dog was there. They climbed up and put their two
+      rosy eager faces at the rough little window. &ldquo;Bruno! Bruno!&rdquo; called little
+      Lola, and no Bruno came; but every frightened homesick little doggy in
+      that prison poked up his nose, wagged his tail, and started for the voice.
+      It didn't matter whether they were Fidos, or Carlos, or Rovers, or Pontos;
+      they knew that they were lonesome little dogs, and perhaps somebody had
+      remembered them. Lola's tender heart ached at the sight of so many
+      fatherless and motherless dogs, and she cried,&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, you poor darlings! I haven't come for you; I want my own Bruno.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sing for him, and may be he will come,&rdquo; said Dicky; and Lola leaned her
+      elbow on the window sill and sang:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+   Lit-tle shoes are sold at the gate-way of Heaven,
+   And to all the tattered lit-tle an-gels are giv-en;
+   Slum-ber my dar-ling, Slum-ber my dar-ling,
+   Slum-ber my dar-ling sweet-ly.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Now Bruno was so tired with running from the pound-man, so hungry, so
+      frightened, and so hoarse with barking that he had gone to sleep; but when
+      he heard Lola's voice singing the song he knew so well, he started up, and
+      out he bounded half awake&mdash;the dearest, loveliest little brown dog in
+      the world, with a cunning curly tail sticking up in a round bob behind,
+      two long silky ears that almost touched the ground, and four soft white
+      feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they were two such glad children, and such a glad little brown dog
+      was Bruno! Why, he kissed Lola's bare feet and hands and face, and nearly
+      chewed her apron into rags, he was so delighted to see his mistress again.
+      Even the cross pound-man smiled and said he was the prettiest puppy, and
+      the smartest, he had ever had in the pound, and that when he had shut him
+      up the night before he had gone through all his funny tricks in hopes that
+      he would be let out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Dicky and Lola walked back home over the dusty road, Bruno running
+      along beside them, barking at the birds, sniffing at the squirrels, and
+      chasing all the chickens and kittens he met on the way, till at last they
+      reached the street corner, where Lola turned to go to her home, after
+      kissing her new friend and thanking him for being so good and kind to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what about Master Dicky himself, who had lost his tool-box? He didn't
+      feel much like a smiling boy just then. He crept in at the back door, and
+      when he saw his dear mother's face in the kitchen he couldn't stand it a
+      minute longer, but burst out crying, and told her all about it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my little son,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I'm very, very sorry. I wish I could
+      give you another dollar, but I haven't any money to spare. You did just
+      right to help Lola find Bruno, and buy him back for her, and I'm very
+      proud of my boy; but you can't give away the dollar and have the tool-box
+      too. So wipe your eyes, and try to be happy. You didn't eat any breakfast,
+      dear, take a piece of nice bread and sugar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Dicky dried his tears and began to eat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a while he wanted to wipe his sticky, sugary little mouth, and as he
+      took his clean handkerchief out of his pocket, two shining, chinking,
+      clinking round things tumbled out on the floor and rolled under the
+      kitchen table! What could they have been! Why, his two silver
+      half-dollars, to be sure. And where in the world did they come from, do
+      you suppose? Why, it was the nicest, funniest thing! The pound-man was not
+      so cross after all, for he thought Lola and Dicky were two such kind
+      children, and Bruno such a cunning dog, that he could not bear to take
+      Dicky's dollar away from him; so while the little boy was looking the
+      other way the pound-man just slipped the money back into Dick's bit of a
+      pocket without saying a word. Wasn't that a beautiful surprise?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Dicky ran to the corner store as fast as his feet could carry him, and
+      bought the tool-box.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every Saturday afternoon he has such a pleasant time playing with it! And
+      who do you suppose sits on the white kitchen floor with Dot and Bess,
+      watching him make dolls' tables and chairs with his carpenter's tools?
+      Why, Lola, to be sure, and a little brown dog too, with a cunning curly
+      tail turned up in a round bob behind, and two long silky ears touching the
+      floor. For Dick's mamma had such a big heart that I do believe it would
+      have held all the children in the world, and as Lola's uncle didn't care
+      for her the least little bit, he gave her to this mamma of Dicky's, who
+      grew to love this little girl almost as well as she loved her own Dicky
+      and Dot and Bess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      AQUA; OR, THE WATER BABAY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      {Footnote: The plan of this story was suggested to me many years ago; so
+      many, indeed, that I cannot now remember whether it was my friend's own,
+      or whether he had read something like it in German.&mdash;K. D. W.}
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This standing above life, and yet grasping life, and being stirred by
+      life, is what makes the genuine educator.&rdquo;&mdash;Froebel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a clear, sunshiny day, and out on the great, wide, open sea there
+      sparkled thousands and thousands of water-drops. One of these was a merry
+      little fellow who danced on the silver backs of the fishes as they plunged
+      up and down in the waves, and, no matter how high he sprung, always came
+      down again plump into his mother's lap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His mother, you know, was the Ocean, and very beautiful she looked that
+      summer day in her dark blue dress and white ruffles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By and by the happy water-drop tired of his play, and looking up to the
+      clear sky above him thought he would like to have a sail on one of the
+      white floating clouds; so, giving a jump from the Ocean's arms, he begged
+      the Sun to catch him up and let him go on a journey to see the earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Sun said &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; and took ever so many other drops, too, so that Aqua
+      might not be lonesome on the way. He did not know this, however, for they
+      all had been changed into fine mist or vapor. Do you know what vapor is?
+      If you breathe into the air, when it is cold enough, you will see it
+      coming out of your mouth like steam, and you may also see very hot steam
+      coming from the nose of a kettle of boiling water. When it is quite near
+      to the earth, where we can see it, we call it &ldquo;fog.&rdquo; The water-drops had
+      been changed into vapor because in their own shape they were too heavy for
+      sunbeams to carry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Higher and higher they sailed, so fast that they grew quite dizzy; why, in
+      an hour they had gone over a hundred miles! and how grand it was, to be
+      looking down on the world below, and sailing faster than fish can swim or
+      birds can fly!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But after a while it grew nearly time for the Sun to go to bed; he became
+      very red in the face, and began to sink lower and lower, until suddenly he
+      went clear out of sight!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Poor little Aqua could not help being frightened, for every minute it grew
+      darker and colder. At last he thought he would try to get back to the
+      earth again, so he slipped away, and as he fell lower and lower he grew
+      heavier, until he was a little round, bright drop again, and alighted on a
+      rosebush. A lovely velvet bud opened its leaves, and in he slipped among
+      the crimson cushions, to sleep until morning. Then the leaves opened, and
+      rolling over in his bed he called out, &ldquo;Please, dear Sun, take me with you
+      again.&rdquo; So the sunbeams caught him up a second time, and they flew through
+      the air till the noon-time, when it grew warmer and warmer, and there was
+      no red rose to hide him, not even a blade of grass to shade his tired
+      head; but just as he was crying out, &ldquo;Please, King Sun, let me go back to
+      the dear mother Ocean,&rdquo; the wind took pity on him, and came with its cool
+      breath and fanned him, with all his brothers, into a heavy gray cloud,
+      after which he blew them apart and told them to join hands and hurry away
+      to the earth. Helter-skelter down they went, rolling over each other
+      pell-mell, till with a patter and clatter and spatter they touched the
+      ground, and all the people cried, &ldquo;It rains.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Some of the drops fell on a mountain side, Aqua among them, and down the
+      rocky cliff he ran, leading the way for his brothers. Soon, together they
+      plunged into a mountain brook, which came foaming and dashing along,
+      leaping over rocks and rushing down the hillside, till in the valley below
+      they heard the strangest clattering noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the bank stood a flour-mill, and at the door a man whose hat and
+      clothes were gray with dust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Inside the mill were two great stones, which kept whizzing round and
+      round, faster than a boy's top could spin, worked by the big wheel
+      outside; and these stones ground the wheat into flour and the corn into
+      golden meal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what giant do you suppose it was who could turn and swing that
+      tremendous wheel, together with those heavy stones? No giant at all. No
+      one but our tiny little water-drops themselves, who sprang on it by
+      hundreds and thousands, and whirled it over and over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The brook emptied into a quiet pond where ducks and geese were swimming.
+      Such a still, beautiful place it was, with the fuzzy, brown cat-tails
+      lifting their heads above the water, and the yellow cow lilies, with their
+      leaves like green platters, floating on the top. On the edge lived the fat
+      green bullfrogs, and in the water were spotted trout, silver shiners,
+      cunning minnows, and other fish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aqua liked this place so much that he stayed a good while, sailing up and
+      down, taking the ducks' backs for ships and the frogs for horses; but
+      after a time he tired of the dull life, and he and his brothers floated
+      out over a waterfall and under a bridge for a long, long distance, until
+      they saw another brook tumbling down a hillside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, let's join hands!&rdquo; cried Aqua; and so they all dashed on together
+      till they came to a broad river which opened its arms to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the help of Aqua and his brothers the beautiful river was able to float
+      heavy ships, though not so long ago it was only a little rill, through
+      which a child could wade or over which he could step. Here a vessel loaded
+      with lumber was carried just as easily as if it had been a paper boat;
+      there a steamer, piled with boxes and barrels, and crowded with people,
+      passed by, its great wheel crashing through the water and leaving a long
+      trail, as of foamy soapsuds, behind it. On and ever on the river went,
+      seeking the ocean, and whether it hurried round a corner or glided
+      smoothly on its way to the sea, there was always something new and strange
+      to be seen&mdash;busy cities, quiet little towns, buzzing sawmills, stone
+      bridges, and harbors full of all sorts of vessels, large and small, with
+      flags of all colors floating from the masts and sailors of all countries
+      working on the decks. But Aqua did not stay long in any place, for as the
+      river grew wider and wider, and nearer and nearer its end, he could almost
+      see the mother Ocean into whose arms he was joyfully running. She reached
+      out to gather all her children, the water-drops, into her heart, and
+      closer than all the others nestled our little Aqua.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His travels were over, his pleasures and dangers past; and he was folded
+      again to the dear mother heart, the safest, sweetest place in all the
+      whole wide world. In warm, still summer evenings, if you will take a walk
+      on the sea-beach, you will hear the gentle rippling swash of the waves;
+      and some very wise people think it must be the gurgling voices of Aqua and
+      his brother water-drops telling each other about their wonderful journey
+      round the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      MOUFFLOU.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      Adapted from Ouida.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We tell too few stories to children, and those we tell are stories whose
+      heroes are automata and stuffed dolls,&rdquo;&mdash;Froebel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lolo and Moufflou lived far away from here, in a sunny country called
+      Italy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lolo was not as strong as you are, and could never run about and play, for
+      he was lame, poor fellow, and always had to hop along on a little crutch.
+      He was never well enough to go to school, but as his fingers were active
+      and quick he could plait straw matting and make baskets at home. He had
+      four or five rosy, bright little brothers and sisters, but they were all
+      so strong and could play all day so easily that Lolo was not with them
+      much; so Moufflou was his very best friend, and they were together all day
+      long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Moufflou was a snow-white poodle, with such soft, curly wool that he
+      looked just like a lamb; and the man who gave him to the children, when he
+      was a little puppy, had called him &ldquo;Moufflon,&rdquo; which meant sheep in his
+      country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lolo's father had died four years before; but he had a mother, who had to
+      work very hard to keep the children clean and get them enough to eat. He
+      had, too, a big brother Tasso, who worked for a gardener, and every
+      Saturday night brought his wages home to help feed and clothe the little
+      children. Tasso was almost a man now, and in that country as soon as you
+      grow to be a man you have to go away and be a soldier; so Lolo's mother
+      was troubled all the time for fear that her Tasso would be taken away. If
+      you have money enough, you can always pay some one to go in your place;
+      but Tasso had no money, and neither had the poor mother, so every day she
+      was anxious lest her boy might have to go to the wars.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Lolo and Moufflon knew nothing of all this, and every day, when Lolo
+      was well enough, they were happy together. They would walk up the streets,
+      or sit on the church, steps, or, if the day was fair, would perhaps go
+      into the country and bring home great bundles of yellow and blue and
+      crimson flowers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The tumble-down old house in which the family lived was near a tall, gray
+      church. It was a beautiful old church, and all the children loved it, but
+      Lolo most of all. He loved it in the morning, when the people brought in
+      great bunches of white lilies to trim it; and at noon, when it was cool
+      and shady; and at sunset, when the long rays shone through the painted
+      windows and made blue and golden and violet lights on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One morning Lolo and Moufflou were sitting on the church steps and
+      watching the people, when a gentleman who was passing by stopped to look
+      at the dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a very fine poodle,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed he is,&rdquo; cried Lolo. &ldquo;But you should see him on Sundays when he is
+      just washed; then he is as white as snow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can he do any tricks?&rdquo; asked the gentleman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should say so,&rdquo; said Lolo, for he had taught the dog all he knew. &ldquo;He
+      can stand on his hind legs, he can dance, he can speak, he can make a
+      wheelbarrow of himself, and when I put a biscuit on his nose and count
+      one, two, three, he will snap and catch the biscuit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The gentleman said he should like to see some of the tricks, and Moufflou
+      was very glad to do them, for no one had ever whipped him or hurt him, and
+      he loved to do what his little master wished. Then the gentleman told Lolo
+      that he had a little boy at home, so weak and so sick that he could not
+      get up from the sofa, and that he would like to have Lolo bring the poodle
+      to show him the next day, so he gave Lolo some money, and told him the
+      name of the hotel where he was staying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lolo went hopping home as fast as his little crutch could carry him, and
+      went quickly upstairs to his mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, mamma!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;See the money a gentleman gave me, and all because
+      dear Moufflou did his pretty tricks so nicely. Now you can have your
+      coffee every morning, and Tasso can have his new suit for Sunday.&rdquo; Then he
+      told his mother about the gentleman, and that he had promised to take
+      Moufflou to see him the next day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      {Illustration: He will snap and catch the biscuit}
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So when the morning came, Moufflou was washed as white as snow, and his
+      pretty curls were tied up with blue ribbon, and they both trotted off.
+      Moufflou was so proud of his curls and his ribbon that he hardly liked to
+      put his feet on the ground at all. They were shown to the little boy's
+      room, where he lay on the sofa very pale and unhappy. A bright little look
+      came into his eyes when he saw the dog, and he laughed when Moufflou did
+      his tricks. How he clapped his hands when he saw him make a wheelbarrow,
+      and he tossed them both handfuls of cakes and candies! Neither the boy nor
+      the dog ever had quite enough to eat, so they nibbled the little cakes
+      with their sharp, white teeth, and were very glad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Lolo got up to go, the little boy began to cry, and said, &ldquo;Oh, I want
+      the dog. Let me have the dog!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, indeed I can't,&rdquo; said Lolo, &ldquo;he is my own Moufflou, and I cannot let
+      you have him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little boy was so unhappy and cried so bitterly that Lolo was very
+      sorry to see him, and he went quickly down the stairs with Moufflou. The
+      gentleman gave him more money this time, and he was so excited and so glad
+      that he went very fast all the way home, swinging himself over the stones
+      on his little crutch. But when he opened the door, there was his mother
+      crying as if her heart would break, and all the children were crying in a
+      corner, and even Tasso was home from his work, looking very unhappy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! what is the matter?&rdquo; cried Lolo. But no one answered him, and
+      Moufflon, seeing them all so sad, sat down and threw up his nose in the
+      air and howled a long, sad howl. By and by one of the children told Lolo
+      that at last Tasso had been chosen to be a soldier, and that he must soon
+      go away to the war. The poor mother said, crying, that she did not know
+      what would become of her little children through the long, cold winter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lolo showed her his money, but she was too unhappy even to care for that,
+      and so by and by he went to his bed with Moufflou. The dog had always
+      slept at Lolo's feet, but this night he crept close up by the side of his
+      little master, and licked his hand now and then to show that he was sorry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next morning Lolo and Moufflon went with Tasso to the gardens where he
+      worked, and all the way along the bright river and among the green trees
+      they talked together of what they should do when Tasso had gone. Tasso
+      said that if they could only get some money he would not have to go away
+      to the wars, but he shook his head sadly and knew that no one would lend
+      it to them. At noon Lolo went home with Moufflon to his dinner. When they
+      had finished (it was only bean soup and soon eaten), the mother told Lolo
+      that his aunt wanted him to go and see her that afternoon, and take care
+      of the children while she went out. So Lolo put on his hat, called
+      Moufflou, and was limping toward the door, when his mother said:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, don't take the dog to-day, your aunt doesn't like him; leave him here
+      with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave Moufflou?&rdquo; said Lolo, &ldquo;why, I never leave him; he wouldn't know
+      what to do without me all the afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, leave him,&rdquo; said his mother. &ldquo;I don't want you to take him with you.
+      Don't let me tell you again.&rdquo; So Lolo turned around and went down the
+      stairs, feeling very sad at leaving his dear Moufflou even for a short
+      time. But the hours went by, and when night-time came he hurried back to
+      the little old home. He stood at the bottom of the long, dark stairway and
+      called &ldquo;Moufflou! Moufflou!&rdquo; but no doggie came; then he climbed half-way
+      up to the landing and called again, &ldquo;Moufflou!&rdquo; but no little white feet
+      came pattering down. Up to the top of the stairs went poor tired Lolo and
+      opened the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, where is my Moufflou?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mother had been crying, and she looked very sad and did not answer him
+      for a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is my Moufflou?&rdquo; asked Lolo again, &ldquo;what have you done with my dear
+      Moufflou?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is sold,&rdquo; the mother said at last, &ldquo;sold to the gentleman who has the
+      little lame boy. He came here to-day, and he likes the dog so much and his
+      little boy was so pleased at the pretty tricks he does, that he told me he
+      would give a great deal of money if I would sell him the dog. Just think,
+      Lolo, he gave me so much money that we can pay somebody now to go to the
+      war for Tasso.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But before she had finished talking, Lolo began to grow white and cold and
+      to waver to and fro, so that his little crutch could hardly support him.
+      When she had done he called out, &ldquo;My Moufflou&mdash;my Moufflou sold!&rdquo; and
+      he threw his hands up over his head and fell all in a heap on the floor,
+      his poor little crutch clattering down beside him. His mother took him up
+      and laid him on his bed, but all night long he tossed to and fro, calling
+      for his dog. When the morning came, his little hands and his head were
+      very, very hot, and by and by the doctor came and said he had a fever. He
+      asked the mother what it was the little boy was calling for, and she told
+      him that it was his dog, and that he had been sold. The doctor shook his
+      head, and then went away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Day after day poor Lolo lay on his bed. His hair had been cut short, he
+      did not know his brothers and sisters, nor his mother, and his little
+      aching head went to and fro, to and fro, on the pillow from morning till
+      night. Once Tasso went to the hotel to find the gentleman. He was going to
+      tell him to take the money and give him back the dog; but the gentleman
+      had gone many miles away on the cars and taken Moufflou with him. So every
+      day Lolo grew weaker, until the doctor said that he must die very soon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One afternoon they were all in the room with him. The windows were wide
+      open. His mother sat by his bed and the children on the floor beside her;
+      even Tasso was at home helping to take care of his little brother. All was
+      so still that you could hear poor Lolo's faint breath, when&mdash;suddenly&mdash;there
+      was a scampering and a pattering of little feet on the stairs, and a white
+      poodle dashed into the room and jumped on the bed. It was Moufflou! but
+      you would never have known him, for he was so thin that you could count
+      all his bones. His curls were dirty and matted, and full of sticks and
+      straws and burrs; his feet were dusty and bleeding, and you could tell in
+      a moment that he had traveled a great many miles. When he jumped on the
+      bed, Lolo opened his eyes a little. He saw it was Moufflou, and laid one
+      little thin hand on the dog's head; then he turned on his pillow, closed
+      his eyes, and went quietly to sleep. Moufflou would not get off the bed,
+      and would eat nothing unless they brought it to him there. He only lay
+      close by his little master, with his brown eyes wide open, looking
+      straight into his face. By and by the doctor came, and said that Lolo was
+      really a little better, and that perhaps he might get well now. The mother
+      and Tasso were very glad indeed, but they knew that the gentleman would
+      come back for his dog, and they scarcely knew what to do, nor what to say
+      to him. Lolo grew a little stronger every day, and at the end of a week a
+      man came upstairs asking if Moufflou was there. They had taken him a long
+      way off, but he had run away from them one day, and they had never been
+      able to find him. Tasso asked the messenger to let Moufflou stay until he
+      had seen the gentleman, and he took the money and put on his hat and went
+      with him to the hotel. The sick boy was in the room with his father, and
+      Tasso went straight to them and told them all about it: that Lolo nearly
+      died without his dear Moufflon, that day after day he lay in his bed
+      calling for the dog, and that at last one afternoon Moufflon came back to
+      them, thin and hungry and dirty, but so glad to see his little master
+      again. Nobody knew, said Tasso, how he could have found his way so many
+      miles alone, but there he was, and now he begged the gentleman to be so
+      kind as to take back the money. He would go and be a soldier, if he must;
+      but Lolo and his dog must never be parted again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gentleman told Tasso that he seemed to be a kind brother, and that he
+      might keep the money and the dog too, if only he would find them another
+      poodle and teach him to be as wise and faithful as Moufflou was. Tasso was
+      so glad that he thanked them again and again, and hurried home to tell
+      Lolo and his mother the good news. He soon found a poodle almost as pretty
+      as Moufflou, and every day Lolo, who has grown strong now, helps Tasso to
+      teach him all of Moufflon's tricks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes Lolo turns and puts his arms around Moufflon's neck and says,&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me, my Moufflou, how you ever came back to me, over all the rivers,
+      and all the bridges, and all the miles of road?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Moufflou can never answer him, but I think he must have found his way home
+      because he loved his master so much; and the grown people always say,
+      &ldquo;Love will find out the way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      BENJY IN BEASTLAND.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      ADAPTED FROM MRS. EWING.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With the genuine story-teller the inner life of the genuine listener is
+      roused; he is carried out of himself, and he thereby measures himself.&rdquo;&mdash;FROEBEL.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjy was a very naughty, disagreeable boy! It is sad to say it, but it is
+      truth. He always had a cloudy, smudgy, slovenly look, like a slate
+      half-washed, that made one feel how nice it would be if he could be
+      scrubbed inside and out with hot water and soap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjy was the only boy in the family, but he had two little sisters who
+      were younger than he. They were dear, merry little things, and many boys
+      would have found them pleasant little playmates; but Benjy had shown how
+      much he disliked to play with them, and it made them feel very badly. One
+      of them said one day, &ldquo;Benjy does not care for us because we are only
+      girls, so we have taken Nox for our brother.&rdquo; Nox was a big curly dog,
+      something like a Newfoundland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Benjy was not at all handsome, and he hated tubs and brushes and soap
+      and water. He liked to lie abed late in the mornings, and when he got up
+      he had only time enough to half wash himself. But Nox rose early, liked
+      cold water, had snow-white teeth and glossy hair, and when you spoke to
+      him he looked straight up at you with his clear honest brown eyes. Benjy's
+      jacket and shirt-front were always spotted with dirt, while the covering
+      of Nox's chest was glossy and well kept. Benjy came into the parlor with
+      muddy boots and dirty hands; but Nox, if he had been out in the mud, would
+      lie down when he came home, and lick his brown paws till they were quite
+      clean. Benjy liked to kill all kinds of animals, but Nox saved lives,
+      though he often came near losing his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Near their home was a deep river, where many a dog and cat was drowned.
+      There was one place on the bank of this river where there was an old
+      willow-tree, which spread its branches wide and stretched its long arms
+      till they touched the water. Here Nox used to bring everything that he
+      found in the river.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I must tell you that Benjy did not like Nox, and with very good reason.
+      Benjy had had something to do with the death of several animals belonging
+      to the people in the neighborhood, and he had tied stones or tin cans
+      around their necks and dropped them into the river. But Nox used to wander
+      round quite early in the morning, and very often found in the river and
+      brought out what Benjy had thrown in, and this is why he did not like the
+      brave dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was another dog in the family, named Mr. Rough. His eyes had been
+      almost scratched out by cats, his little body bore marks of many beatings,
+      and he had a hoarse bark which sounded as if he had a bad cold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Benjy cared for any animal, it was for Mr. Rough, although he treated
+      him worse than he did Nox, because he was small.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day Benjy felt very mischievous; he even played a cruel trick on Nox
+      while he was asleep. As he sat near to him he kept lightly pricking the
+      dog's lips with a fine needle. The dog would half wake up, shake his head,
+      rub his lips with his paws, and then drop off to sleep again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last this cruel boy stuck the needle in too far and hurt poor Nox, who
+      jumped up with a start, and as he did so the needle broke off, part of it
+      staying in the flesh, where, after a great deal of work which hurt the
+      poor dog dreadfully, the little sisters found it. How they cried for their
+      pet! The braver one held Nox's lips and pulled out the needle, while the
+      other wiped the tears from her sister's eyes, that she might see what she
+      was doing. Nox sat still and moaned and wagged his tail very feebly, but
+      when it was over he fairly knocked the little sisters down in his
+      eagerness to show his gratitude. But Benjy went out and found Mr. Rough,
+      and as he did not feel like being kind to any one, he kicked him, and Mr.
+      Rough for the first time ran away. Benjy could not find him, but he found
+      a boy as naughty as himself, who was chasing another little dog and
+      pelting it with stones. This would have been very good fun, but one of the
+      stones struck the dog and killed him. So the boys tied something around
+      his neck and threw him into the river.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjy went to bed early that night, but he could not sleep, because he was
+      thinking of that little white dog, and wishing he had not thrown him into
+      the river; so at last he got up and went to the willow-tree. He looked up
+      through the branches and saw the moon shining down at him, and it seemed
+      so large and so close that he thought if he were only on the highest part
+      of the tree he could touch it with his hand. While he was looking he
+      thought of a book his mother had, which told him that all animals went up
+      into the moon after they left the earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder,&rdquo; said Benjy, &ldquo;if that dog we killed last night is really up
+      there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Man in the Moon looked down on him just then, and, to his surprise,
+      said:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is Beastland. Won't you come up and see if the dog is here? Can you
+      climb?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess I can,&rdquo; said Benjy, and he climbed up first on one branch, then
+      up higher on to another, till he stood on the very top, and all he could
+      see about him was a shining white light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Walk right in,&rdquo; said the Man in the Moon. &ldquo;Put out your feet,&mdash;don't
+      be afraid!&rdquo; So Benjy stepped into the moon and found himself in Beastland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh! it was such a funny place, and yet it was very beautiful. There were
+      many more beasts there than in a menagerie, and they were so polite to
+      each other, too, and so merry and kind to Benjy, that it made him feel
+      quite at home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A nice old spider was anxious to teach him how to make a web. So he said
+      to Benjy:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you are ready, look around and find a spot where you can tie your
+      first line; then you have a ball of thread inside of you, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't say that I have,&rdquo; said Benjy, &ldquo;but I have a good deal of string
+      in my pocket.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well!&rdquo; said the spider, &ldquo;that is all right; whether it's in your
+      pocket or your stomach it is all the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Just as the spider was giving Benjy his lesson, one animal whispered to
+      another, and that one to another, who and what Benjy was. Dear me! in a
+      minute the beasts all changed their way of treating him. They called him
+      BOY! and up there that meant something not at all nice. Then they took him
+      to the Lion, the king of all the beasts, and asked him what should be done
+      with the Boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Lion said: &ldquo;If you want me to have anything to do with this trouble,
+      you must mind me. First, however, we will hear what Benjy has to say for
+      himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They all placed themselves in a circle, the Lion on a high chair,
+      (because, you know, he was going to be judge, and all judges sit in big
+      chairs,) and Benjy sat in the middle of the circle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, what has the Boy done?&rdquo; asked the Lion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He stones and drowns dogs, and he hurts and kills cats,&rdquo; shouted the
+      beasts all together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Rough kills the cats,&rdquo; said Benjy, because he was frightened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said the Lion, &ldquo;we will send some one down for Mr. Rough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they all waited, and in a little while they heard the jingling of Mr.
+      Rough's collar, and he walked into the circle with his little short tail
+      standing right up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Rough,&rdquo; said the Lion, &ldquo;Benjy says it is you, and not he, who tease
+      and kill the cats.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Mr. Rough, jumping about in an angry way, &ldquo;am I to blame?
+      BOUF, BOUF, who taught me to do it? BOUF, BOUF, it was that Boy over
+      there. BOUF-BOUF!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Mr. Rough told them that Benjy had made him tease and worry the cats
+      and dogs so often that he had quite learned to like it. All the beasts
+      were very angry at this, and said that Benjy must be punished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Lion said that he did not know just then what was best to be done with
+      Benjy, so he asked the beasts if they would wait till he had walked around
+      and thought about it. They said yes, so he walked around the circle seven
+      times, lashing his tail in the grandest way; then he took his seat again
+      and said:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentle beasts, birds and fishes, you have all heard what this Boy has
+      done, and you would like him to be treated as he has treated you. We will
+      not abuse Benjy, but I do not think he is good enough to stay with us. We
+      will tie a tin-kettle to him and chase him from Beastland, and Mr. Rough
+      shall be our leader.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was no sooner said than done. The Lion gave one dreadful roar as a
+      signal for the animals to begin the chase.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the tin-kettle fastened to him and hurting him at every step, and
+      with Mr. Rough at his very heels, Benjy was run out of Beastland. When he
+      got to the edge of the moon he jumped off, Mr. Rough after him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down, down, they went, oh! so fast and so far! Benjy screaming all the way
+      and Mr. Rough's collar jingling. They came to the river, and making all
+      the noise they could, in they fell. As Benjy sank he thought of all the
+      unkind things he had done. He came to the top, but sank again, and
+      sinking, thought of his papa and mamma and his little sisters, and of his
+      nice little bed, and of the prayers his dear mamma used to hear him say.
+      He rose for the last time, and saw Nox standing on the bank, and thought,
+      &ldquo;Now he has come to do something to me because I have so often hurt him.&rdquo;
+       Down, down he went, as a lark flew up in the summer sky. The bird was
+      almost out of sight when a soft black nose and great brown eyes came close
+      to his face, and a kind, gentle mouth took hold of him, and paddling and
+      swimming as hard as he could, Nox carried Benjy to the shore and laid him
+      under the willow-tree. There Benjy's papa found him, and took him home,
+      where he was sick for a long, long time. When he got a little better he
+      used to tell people of his visit to Beastland, but they always said it was
+      only a dream he had during the fever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the long weeks of his sickness he grew much kinder and sweeter. But
+      something happened when he was getting well which softened his little
+      heart once and forever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While he was sick, Mr. Rough was given to one of the servants to be cared
+      for and fed well, but he did not treat him kindly, and besides, the dog
+      wanted his little master; he wanted to see him, but no one would let him;
+      so poor faithful Mr. Rough got thinner and weaker every day, till at last
+      he would not eat anything nor even go out for a little walk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day the barn door was open and Mr. Rough thought of Benjy and crept
+      into the house. When he got into the front hall he smelled Benjy and ran
+      into the parlor; and when he got into the parlor he saw Benjy, who had
+      heard the jingle of his collar and who stood up and held out his arms for
+      him. Mr. Rough jumped into them, and then fell dead at his master's feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, dear children, Mr. Rough died of joy at seeing Benjy again. Benjy
+      felt very sorry for him, and it kept him from growing well for a long
+      time, but it did him good in other ways, for as the tears rolled down his
+      cheeks on to Mr. Bough's poor little scratched face, he felt as if he
+      never could hurt or be unkind to any animal again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THE PORCELAIN STOVE.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      Adapted From Ouida.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The story-teller must take life into himself in its wholeness, must let
+      it live and work whole and free within him. He must give it out free and
+      unabbreviated, and yet STAND ABOVE THE LIFE which actually is.&rdquo;&mdash;Froebel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a little brown house, far, far away in Germany, there lived a father
+      and his children. There were ever so many of them,&mdash;let me see,&mdash;Hilda,
+      the dear eldest sister, and Hans, the big, strong brother; then Karl and
+      August, and the baby Marta. Just enough for the fingers of one hand. How
+      many is that? But it is Karl that I am going to tell you about. He was
+      nine years old, a rosy little fellow, with big bright eyes and a curly
+      head as brown as a ripe nut. The dear mother was dead, and the father was
+      very poor, so that Karl and his brothers and sisters sometimes knew what
+      it was to be hungry; but they were happy, for they loved each other very
+      dearly, and ate their brown bread and milk without wishing it were
+      something nicer. One afternoon Karl had been sent on a long journey. It
+      was winter time, and he had to run fast over the frozen fields of white
+      snow. The night was coming on, and he was hurrying home with a great jug
+      of milk, feeling cold and tired. The mountains looked high and white and
+      still in the cold moonlight, and the stars seemed to say, when they
+      twinkled, &ldquo;Hurry, Karl! the children are hungry.&rdquo; At last he saw a little
+      brown cottage, with a snow-laden roof and a shining window, through which
+      he could see the bright firelight dancing merrily,&mdash;for Hilda never
+      closed the shutters till all the boys were safely inside the house. When
+      he saw the dear home-light he ran as fast as his feet could carry him,
+      burst in at the low front door, kissed Hilda, and shouted:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! dear, dear Hirschvogel! I am so glad to get back to you again; you
+      are every bit as good as the summer time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, Hirschvogel was not one of the family, as you might think, nor even a
+      splendid dog, nor a pony, but it was a large, beautiful porcelain stove,
+      so tall that it quite touched the ceiling. It stood at the end of the
+      room, shining with all the hues of a peacock's tail, bright and warm and
+      beautiful; its great golden feet were shaped like the claws of a lion, and
+      there was a golden crown on the very top of all. You never have seen a
+      stove like it, for it was white where our stoves are black, and it had
+      flowers and birds and beautiful ladies and grand gentlemen painted all
+      over it, and everywhere it was brilliant with gold and bright colors. It
+      was a very old stove, for sixty years before, Karl's grandfather had dug
+      it up out of some broken-down buildings where he was working, and, finding
+      it strong and whole, had taken it home; and ever since then it had stood
+      in the big room, warming the children, who tumbled like little flowers
+      around its shining feet. The grandfather did not know it, but it was a
+      wonderful stove, for it had been made by a great potter named Hirschvogel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A potter, you know, children, is a man who makes all sorts of things,
+      dishes and tiles and vases, out of china and porcelain and clay. So the
+      family had always called the stove Hirschvogel, after the potter, just as
+      if it were alive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the children the stove was very dear indeed. In summer they laid a mat
+      of fresh moss all around it, and dressed it up with green boughs and
+      beautiful wild flowers. In winter, scampering home from school over the
+      ice and snow, they were always happy, knowing that they would soon be
+      cracking nuts or roasting chestnuts in the heat and light of the dear old
+      stove. All the children loved it, but Karl even more than the rest, and he
+      used to say to himself, &ldquo;When I grow up I will make just such things too,
+      and then I will set Hirschvogel up in a beautiful room that I will build
+      myself. That's what I will do when I'm a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After Karl had eaten his supper, this cold night, he lay down on the floor
+      by the stove, the children all around him, on the big wolf-skin rug. With
+      some sticks of charcoal he was drawing pictures for them of what he had
+      seen all day. When the children had looked enough at one picture, he would
+      sweep it out with his elbow and make another&mdash;faces, and dogs' heads,
+      and men on sleds, and old women in their furs, and pine-trees, and all
+      sorts of animals. When they had been playing in this way for some time,
+      Hilda, the eldest sister, said:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is time for you all to go to bed, children. Father is very late
+      to-night; you must not sit up for him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, just five minutes more, dear Hilda,&rdquo; they begged. &ldquo;Hirschvogel is so
+      warm; the beds are never so warm as he is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the midst of their chatter and laughter the door opened, and in blew
+      the cold wind and snow from outside. Their father had come home. He seemed
+      very tired, and came slowly to his chair. At last he said, &ldquo;Take the
+      children to bed, daughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Karl stayed, curled up before the stove. When Hilda came back, the father
+      said sadly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hilda, I have sold Hirschvogel! I have sold it to a traveling peddler,
+      for I need money very much; the winter is so cold and the children are so
+      hungry. The man will take it away to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hilda gave a cry. &ldquo;Oh, father! the children, in the middle of winter!&rdquo; and
+      she turned as white as the snow outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Karl lay half blind with sleep, staring at his father. &ldquo;It can't be true,
+      it can't be true!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You are making fun, father.&rdquo; It seemed to
+      him that the skies must fall if Hirschvogel were taken away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the father, &ldquo;you will find it true enough. The peddler has
+      paid half the money to-night, and will pay me the other half to-morrow
+      when he packs up the stove and takes it away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, father! dear father!&rdquo; cried poor little Karl, &ldquo;you cannot mean what
+      you say. Send our stove away? We shall all die in the dark and cold.
+      Listen! I will go and try to get work to-morrow. I will ask them to let me
+      cut ice or make the paths through the snow. There must be something I can
+      do, and I will beg the people we owe money to, to wait. They are all
+      neighbors; they will be patient. But sell Hirschvogel! Oh, never, never,
+      never! Give the money back to the man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The father was so sorry for his little boy that he could not speak. He
+      looked sadly at him; then took the lamp that stood on the table, and left
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hilda knelt down and tried to comfort Karl, but he was too unhappy to
+      listen. &ldquo;I shall stay here,&rdquo; was all he said, and he lay there all the
+      night long. The lamp went out; the rats came and ran across the room; the
+      room grew colder and colder. Karl did not move, but lay with his face down
+      on the floor by the lovely rainbow-colored stove. When it grew light, his
+      sister came down with a lamp in her hand to begin her morning work. She
+      crept up to him, and laid her cheek on his softly, and said:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Karl, you must be frozen. Karl! do look up; do speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said poor Karl, &ldquo;it will never be warm again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon after some one knocked at the door. A strange voice called through
+      the keyhole,&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me in! quick! there is no time to lose. More snow like this and the
+      roads will all be blocked. Let me in! Do you hear? I am come to take the
+      great stove.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hilda unfastened the door. The man came in at once, and began to wrap the
+      stove in a great many wrappings, and carried it out into the snow, where
+      an ox-cart stood in waiting. In another moment it was gone; gone forever!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Karl leaned against the wall, his tears falling like rain down his pale
+      cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An old neighbor came by just then, and, seeing the boy, said to him:
+      &ldquo;Child, is it true your father is selling that big painted stove?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Karl nodded his head, and began to sob again. &ldquo;I love it! I love it!&rdquo; he
+      said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if I were you I would do better than cry. I would go after it when
+      I grew bigger,&rdquo; said the neighbor, trying to cheer him up a little. &ldquo;Don't
+      cry so loud; you will see your stove again some day,&rdquo; and the old man went
+      away, leaving a new idea in Karl's head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go after it,&rdquo; the old man had said. Karl thought, &ldquo;Why not go with it?&rdquo;
+       He loved it better than anything else in the world, even better than
+      Hilda. He ran off quickly after the cart which was carrying the dear
+      Hirschvogel to the station. How he managed it he never knew very well
+      himself, but it was certain that when the freight train moved away from
+      the station Karl was hidden behind the stove. It was very dark, but he
+      wasn't frightened. He was close beside Hirschvogel, but he wanted to be
+      closer still; he meant to get inside the stove. He set to work like a
+      little mouse to make a hole in the straw and hay. He gnawed and nibbled,
+      and pushed and pulled, making a hole where he guessed that the door might
+      be. At last he found it; he slipped through it, as he had so often done at
+      home for fun, and curled himself up. He drew the hay and straw together
+      carefully, and fixed the ropes, so that no one could have dreamed that a
+      little mouse had been at them. Safe inside his dear Hirschvogel, he went
+      as fast asleep as if he were in his own little bed at home. The train
+      rumbled on in its heavy, slow way, and Karl slept soundly for a long time.
+      When he awoke the darkness frightened him, but he felt the cold sides of
+      Hirschvogel, and said softly, &ldquo;Take care of me, dear Hirschvogel, oh,
+      please take care of me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Every time the train stopped, and he heard the banging, stamping, and
+      shouting, his heart seemed to jump up into his mouth. When the people came
+      to lift the stove out, would they find him? and if they did find him,
+      would they kill him? The thought, too, of Hilda, kept tugging at his heart
+      now and then, but he said to himself, &ldquo;If I can take Hirschvogel back to
+      her, how pleased she will be, and how she will clap her hands!&rdquo; He was not
+      at all selfish in his love for Hirschvogel; he wanted it for them at home
+      quite as much as for himself. That was what he kept thinking of all the
+      way in the darkness and stillness which lasted so long. At last the train
+      stopped, and awoke him from a half sleep. Karl felt the stove lifted by
+      some men, who carried it to a cart, and then they started again on the
+      journey, up hill and down, for what seemed miles and miles. Where they
+      were going Karl had no idea. Finally the cart stopped; then it seemed as
+      though they were carrying the stove up some stairs. The men rested
+      sometimes, and then moved on again, and their feet went so softly he
+      thought they must be walking on thick carpets. By and by the stove was set
+      down again, happily for Karl, for he felt as though he should scream, or
+      do something to make known that he was there. Then the wrappings were
+      taken off, and he heard a voice say, &ldquo;What a beautiful, beautiful stove!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      {Illustration: &ldquo;Oh let me stay please let me stay&rdquo;}
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next some one turned the round handle of the brass door, and poor little
+      Karl's heart stood still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is this?&rdquo; said the man. &ldquo;A live child!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Karl sprang out of the stove and fell at the feet of the man who had
+      spoken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, let me stay, please let me stay!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have come all the way
+      with my darling Hirschvogel!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man answered kindly, &ldquo;Poor little child! tell me how you came to hide
+      in the stove. Do not be afraid. I am the king.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Karl was too much in earnest to be afraid; he was so glad, so glad it was
+      the king, for kings must be always kind, he thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, dear king!&rdquo; he said with a trembling voice, &ldquo;Hirschvogel was ours,
+      and we have loved it all our lives, and father sold it, and when I saw
+      that it really did go from us I said to myself that I would go with it;
+      and I do beg you to let me live with it, and I will go out every morning
+      and cut wood for it and for all your other stoves, if only you will let me
+      stay beside it. No one has ever fed it with wood but me since I grew big
+      enough, and it loves me; it does indeed!&rdquo; And then he lifted up his little
+      pale face to the young king, who saw that great tears were running down
+      his cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't I stay with Hirschvogel?&rdquo; he pleaded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait a little,&rdquo; said the king. &ldquo;What do you want to be when you are a
+      man? Do you want to be a wood-chopper?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to be a painter,&rdquo; cried Karl. &ldquo;I want to be what Hirschvogel was.
+      I mean the potter that made my Hirschvogel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand,&rdquo; answered the king, and he looked down at the child, and
+      smiled. &ldquo;Get up, my little man,&rdquo; he said in a kind voice; &ldquo;I will let you
+      stay with your Hirschvogel. You shall stay here, and you shall be taught
+      to be a painter, but you must grow up very good, and when you are
+      twenty-one years old, if you have done well, then I will give you back
+      your beautiful stove.&rdquo; Then he smiled again and stretched out his hand.
+      Karl threw his two arms about the king's knees and kissed his feet, and
+      then all at once he was so tired and so glad and hungry and happy, that he
+      fainted quite away on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the king had a letter written to Karl's father, telling him that Karl
+      had drawn him some beautiful charcoal pictures, and that he liked them so
+      much he was going to take care of him until he was old enough to paint
+      wonderful stoves like Hirschvogel. And he did take care of him for a long
+      time, and when Karl grew older, he often went for a few days to his old
+      home, where his father still lives.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the little brown house stands Hirschvogel, tall and splendid, with its
+      peacock colors as beautiful as ever,&mdash;the king's present to Hilda;
+      and Karl never goes home without going into the great church and giving
+      his thanks to God, who blessed his strange winter's journey in the great
+      porcelain stove.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THE BABES IN THE WOOD
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;Nature and life speak very early to man.&rdquo;&mdash;FROEBEL.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      A great many years ago three little girls lived in an old-fashioned house
+      in the East. They had a very lovely home, and a kind father and mother,
+      who tried to make them happy. All through the summer they used to roam
+      over the hills and fields, catching butterflies, watching the birds and
+      bees at work, and studying the flowers and trees in the beautiful meadows
+      and woods. Then when winter came, and the days grew cold, they went to
+      school; and in the evening, when the fire was burning brightly, they read
+      and studied in books about all they had seen in the summer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Besides all these lovely things, and perhaps best of all, they had a very
+      large yard to play in, so large that it took up a whole block, and seemed
+      like a little farm in the middle of the town. There was a lovely lawn and
+      flower beds; a vegetable garden, barnyard and stable; and an orchard where
+      all kinds of fruit trees grew, apple, peach, pear, and many others. A cow
+      lived down in the meadows of clover, and old Bob, the horse, was sometimes
+      turned out to pasture there. But nicest of all, there was the wood yard.
+      You must remember that every winter, where these little girls lived, the
+      snow fell, and lay so deep on the roads that no one could bring in wood
+      from the forest, and without it all the people would have frozen in their
+      cold homes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So every September the gates were thrown wide open, and into the yard load
+      after load of wood was drawn and piled up under the shed. Then, when it
+      was too cold to play out on the hills, the little girls used to have a
+      fine time in the yard, piling up the wood, making beds, tables, chairs,
+      and stoves of the sticks that had once been the waving branches and
+      strong, sturdy trunks of trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Toward spring they often found a strange yellow powder on the ground under
+      the wood. At first they played with it, calling it flour, and made pies
+      and cakes out of it. But at last they began to wonder where the flour came
+      from, and after watching and studying a long time this is what they found
+      out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But first I must tell you that all the time the three little girls were
+      happy and busy in this beautiful place, they were not the only family
+      there. There were the robins' children, whose mammas were trying to make
+      them good and happy too. There were the beetles' children, the ants'
+      children, and families of toads, butterflies, and spiders. And while the
+      three little girls were playing with the sticks of wood, there lay, tucked
+      snugly away inside of them, many families of children, warm and safe in
+      their wooden home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now I want the smallest of you little children to hold up her hand. How
+      small it is compared with your body! Now let us see the little finger on
+      that hand,&mdash;it is smaller still; and now look at the nail on that
+      finger: the brothers and sisters of one of these families were altogether
+      about as large as that tiny nail. Their mamma was a wasp, with light,
+      gauzy wings and a strong body with a long sting on the end of it, about
+      the length of a needle. With this little sting or saw, as it really was,
+      she had bored many holes in the wood when it was still a green tree, and
+      at the bottom of each hole she had laid a tiny egg. There it lay for a
+      long time, all white and still, until one day it cracked open, and out
+      came a funny little white grub, with six short white feet, and black jaws
+      very strong and large for such a tiny thing. This little creature had
+      never had anything to eat, and as it was very hungry indeed, it fell to
+      eating&mdash;what do you think? Wood&mdash;its own house! You wouldn't
+      like a stick of wood for your breakfast, I know, but the wasp-mamma knew
+      what her little grub-children would want, so she put them in just the
+      right place; for they couldn't have eaten anything else. And the hungry
+      little grubs ate and ate and ate as long as they could, pushing away from
+      the hole the part they did not want, and this fell upon the ground as the
+      strange yellow powder the children found in the wood-yard, every spring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so, while the little girls were placing away in the sunshine the
+      little grubs were eating away in the wood, until at last, one day, they
+      grew satisfied, and one after another went to sleep. There they lay in
+      their dark homes, fast asleep, through long weeks, while the snow was
+      melting and the grass coming up, and the birds and bees beginning their
+      summer work again; until one day these lazy little creatures, that had
+      never done anything in their lives but eat and sleep, woke up and began to
+      stretch themselves. But what had happened to them? Instead of the soft
+      white bodies they had gone to sleep with, they now had black ones and four
+      gauzy wings; while six slender legs had taken the place of the six short
+      ones. There were still the strong black jaws to do all needful work with,
+      and in addition, delicate mouth-parts, for their food was now to be the
+      honey from flowers. In fact, they looked and were just like their mamma,
+      the gauzy wasp. One after another they crept to the end of the passage
+      that led from their dark homes to the bright world without. They stood one
+      minute at the little dark hole, and then, spreading their wings, flitted
+      out into the beautiful world of sunshine and flowers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS,
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;A great spiritual efficiency lies in story-telling.&rdquo;&mdash;FROEBEL.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Christmas Day, you knew, dear children, is Christ's day, Christ's
+      birthday, and I want to tell you why we love it so much, and why we try to
+      make every one happy when it comes each year.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A long, long time ago&mdash;more than eighteen hundred years&mdash;the
+      baby Christ was born on Christmas Day: a baby so wonderful and so
+      beautiful, who grew up to be a man so wise, so good, so patient and sweet,
+      that, every year, the people who know about him love him better and
+      better, and are more and more glad when his birthday comes again. You see
+      that he must have been very good and wonderful; for people have always
+      remembered his birthday, and kept it lovingly for eighteen hundred years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was born, long years ago, in a land far, far away across the seas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before the baby Christ was born, Mary, his mother, had to make a long
+      journey with her husband, Joseph. They made this journey to be taxed or
+      counted; for in those days this could not be done in the town where people
+      happened to live, but they must be numbered in the place where they were
+      born.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In that far-off time, the only way of traveling was on a horse, or a
+      camel, or a good, patient donkey. Camels and horses cost a great deal of
+      money, and Mary was very poor; so she rode on a quiet, safe donkey, while
+      Joseph walked by her side, leading him and leaning on his stick. Mary was
+      very young, and beautiful, I think, but Joseph was a great deal older than
+      she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      People dress nowadays, in those distant countries, just as they did so
+      many years ago, so we know that Mary must have worn a long, thick dress,
+      falling all about her in heavy folds, and that she had a soft white veil
+      over her head and neck, and across her face. Mary lived in Nazareth, and
+      the journey they were making was to Bethlehem, many miles away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were a long time traveling, I am sure; for donkeys are slow, though
+      they are so careful, and Mary must have been very tired before they came
+      to the end of their journey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had traveled all day, and it was almost dark when they came near to
+      Bethlehem, to the town where the baby Christ was to be born. There was the
+      place they were to stay,&mdash;a kind of inn, or lodging-house, but not at
+      all like those you know about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They have them to-day in that far-off country, just as they built them so
+      many years ago.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a low, flat-roofed, stone building, with no window and only one
+      large door. There were no nicely furnished bedrooms inside, and no soft
+      white beds for the tired travelers; there were only little places built
+      into the stones of the wall, something like the berths on steamboats
+      nowadays, and each traveler brought his own bedding. No pretty garden was
+      in front of the inn, for the road ran close to the very door, so that its
+      dust lay upon the doorsill. All around the house, to a high, rocky hill at
+      the back, a heavy stone fence was built, so that the people and the
+      animals inside might be kept safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary and Joseph could not get very near the inn; for the whole road in
+      front was filled with camels and donkeys and sheep and cows, while a great
+      many men were going to and fro, taking care of the animals. Some of these
+      people had come to Bethlehem to pay their taxes, as Mary and Joseph had
+      done, and others were staying for the night, on their way to Jerusalem, a
+      large city a little further on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The yard was filled, too, with camels and sheep; and men were lying on the
+      ground beside them, resting, and watching, and keeping them safe. The inn
+      was so full and the yard was so full of people, that there was no room for
+      anybody else, and the keeper had to take Joseph and Mary through the house
+      and back to the high hill, where they found another place that was used
+      for a stable. This had only a door and a front, and deep caves were
+      behind, stretching far into the rocks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was the spot where Christ was born. Think how poor a place!&mdash;but
+      Mary was glad to be there, after all; and when the Christ-child came, he
+      was like other babies, and had so lately come from heaven that he was
+      happy everywhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were mangers all around the cave, where the cattle and sheep were
+      fed, and great heaps of hay and straw were lying on the floor. Then, I
+      think, there were brown-eyed cows and oxen there, and quiet, woolly sheep,
+      and perhaps even some dogs that had come in to take care of the sheep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And there in the cave, by and by, the wonderful baby came, and they
+      wrapped him up and laid him in a manger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All the stars in the sky shone brightly that night, for they knew the
+      Christ-child was born, and the angels in heaven sang together for joy. The
+      angels knew about the lovely child, and were glad that he had come to help
+      the people on earth to be good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There lay the beautiful baby, with a manger for his bed, and oxen and
+      sheep all sleeping quietly round him. His mother watched him and loved
+      him, and by and by many people came to see him, for they had heard that a
+      wonderful child was to be born in Bethlehem. All the people in the inn
+      visited him, and even the shepherds left their flocks in the fields and
+      sought the child and his mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the baby was very tiny, and could not talk any more than any other
+      tiny child, so he lay in his mother's lap, or in the manger, and only
+      looked at the people. So after they had seen him and loved him, they went
+      away again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a time, when the baby had grown larger, Mary took him back to
+      Nazareth, and there he lived and grew up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he grew to be such a sweet, wise, loving boy, such a tender, helpful
+      man, and he said so many good and beautiful things, that every one loved
+      him who knew him. Many of the things he said are in the Bible, you know,
+      and a great many beautiful stories of the things he used to do while he
+      was on earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He loved little children like you very much, and often used to take them
+      up in his arms and talk to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this is the reason we love Christmas Day so much, and try to make
+      everybody happy when it comes around each year. This is the reason:
+      because Christ, who was born on Christmas Day, has helped us all to be
+      good so many, many times, and because he was the best Christmas present
+      the great world ever had!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The story brings forward other people, other relations, other times and
+      places, other and even quite different forms; notwithstanding this fact,
+      the auditor seeks his image there.&rdquo;&mdash;FROEBEL.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nearly three hundred years ago, a great many of the people in England were
+      very unhappy because their king would not let them pray to God as they
+      liked. The king said they must use the same prayers that he did; and if
+      they would not do this, they were often thrown into prison, or perhaps
+      driven away from home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us go away from this country,&rdquo; said the unhappy Englishmen to each
+      other; and so they left their homes, and went far off to a country called
+      Holland. It was about this time that they began to call themselves
+      &ldquo;Pilgrims.&rdquo; Pilgrims, you know, are people who are always traveling to
+      find something they love, or to find a land where they can be happier; and
+      these English men and women were journeying, they said, &ldquo;from place to
+      place, toward heaven, their dearest country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In Holland, the Pilgrims were quiet and happy for a while, but they were
+      very poor; and when the children began to grow up, they were not like
+      English children, but talked Dutch, like the little ones of Holland, and
+      some grew naughty and did not want to go to church any more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This will never do,&rdquo; said the Pilgrim fathers and mothers; so after much
+      talking and thinking and writing they made up their minds to come here to
+      America. They hired two vessels, called the Mayflower and the Speedwell,
+      to take them across the sea; but the Speedwell was not a strong ship, and
+      the captain had to take her home again before she had gone very far.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Mayflower went back, too. Part of the Speedwell's passengers were
+      given to her, and then she started alone across the great ocean.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were one hundred people on board,&mdash;mothers and fathers,
+      brothers and sisters and little children. They were very crowded; it was
+      cold and uncomfortable; the sea was rough, and pitched the Mayflower
+      about, and they were two months sailing over the water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The children cried many times on the journey, and wished they had never
+      come on the tiresome ship that rocked them so hard, and would not let them
+      keep still a minute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But they had one pretty plaything to amuse them, for in the middle of the
+      great ocean a Pilgrim baby was born, and they called him &ldquo;Oceanus,&rdquo; for
+      his birthplace. When the children grew so tired that they were cross and
+      fretful, Oceanus' mother let them come and play with him, and that always
+      brought smiles and happy faces back again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last the Mayflower came in sight of land; but if the children had been
+      thinking of grass and flowers and birds, they must have been very much
+      disappointed, for the month was cold November, and there was nothing to be
+      seen but rocks and sand and hard bare ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some of the Pilgrim fathers, with brave Captain Myles Standish at their
+      head, went on shore to see if they could find any houses or white people.
+      But they only saw some wild Indians, who ran away from them, and found
+      some Indian huts and some corn buried in holes in the ground. They went to
+      and fro from the ship three times, till by and by they found a pretty
+      place to live, where there were &ldquo;fields and little running brooks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then at last all the tired Pilgrims landed from the ship on a spot now
+      called Plymouth Rock, and the first house was begun on Christmas Day. But
+      when I tell you how sick they were and how much they suffered that first
+      winter, you will be very sad and sorry for them. The weather was cold, the
+      snow fell fast and thick, the wind was icy, and the Pilgrim fathers had no
+      one to help them cut down the trees and build their church and their
+      houses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Pilgrim mothers helped all they could; but they were tired with the
+      long journey, and cold, and hungry too, for no one had the right kind of
+      food to eat, nor even enough of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So first one was taken sick, and then another, till half of them were in
+      bed at the same time, Brave Myles Standish and the other soldiers nursed
+      them as well as they knew how; but before spring came half of the people
+      died and had gone at last to &ldquo;heaven, their dearest country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But by and by the sun shone more brightly, the snow melted, the leaves
+      began to grow, and sweet spring had come again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some friendly Indians had visited the Pilgrims during the winter, and
+      Captain Myles Standish, with several of his men, had returned the visit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of the kind Indians was called Squanto, and he came to stay with the
+      Pilgrims, and showed them how to plant their corn, and their pease and
+      wheat and barley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the summer came and the days were long and bright, the Pilgrim
+      children were very happy, and they thought Plymouth a lovely place indeed.
+      All kinds of beautiful wild flowers grew at their doors, there were
+      hundreds of birds and butterflies, and the great pine woods were always
+      cool and shady when the sun was too bright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When it was autumn the fathers gathered the barley and wheat and corn that
+      they had planted, and found that it had grown so well that they would have
+      quite enough for the long winter that was coming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us thank God for it all,&rdquo; they said. &ldquo;It is He who has made the sun
+      shine and the rain fall and the corn grow.&rdquo; So they thanked God in their
+      homes and in their little church; the fathers and the mothers and the
+      children thanked Him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; said the Pilgrim mothers, &ldquo;let us have a great Thanksgiving party,
+      and invite the friendly Indians, and all rejoice together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they had the first Thanksgiving party, and a grand one it was! Four men
+      went out shooting one whole day, and brought back so many wild ducks and
+      geese and great wild turkeys that there was enough for almost a week.
+      There was deer meat also, of course, for there were plenty of fine deer in
+      the forest. Then the Pilgrim mothers made the corn and wheat into bread
+      and cakes, and they had fish and clams from the sea besides.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The friendly Indians all came with their chief Massasoit. Every one came
+      that was invited, and more, I dare say, for there were ninety of them
+      altogether.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They brought five deer with them, that they gave to the Pilgrims; and they
+      must have liked the party very much, for they stayed three days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kind as the Indians were, you would have been very much frightened if you
+      had seen them; and the baby Oceanus, who was a year old then, began to cry
+      at first whenever they came near him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were dressed in deerskins, and some of them had the furry coat of a
+      wild cat hanging on their arms. Their long black hair fell loose on their
+      shoulders, and was trimmed with feathers or fox-tails. They had their
+      faces painted in all kinds of strange ways, some with black stripes as
+      broad as your finger all up and down them. But whatever they wore, it was
+      their very best, and they had put it on for the Thanksgiving party.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Each meal, before they ate anything, the Pilgrims and the Indians thanked
+      God together for all his goodness. The Indians sang and danced in the
+      evenings, and every day they ran races and played all kinds of games with
+      the children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then sometimes the Pilgrims with their guns, and the Indians with their
+      bows and arrows, would see who could shoot farthest and best. So they were
+      glad and merry and thankful for three whole days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Pilgrim mothers and fathers had been sick and sad many times since
+      they landed from the Mayflower; they had worked very hard, often had not
+      had enough to eat, and were mournful indeed when their friends died and
+      left them. But now they tried to forget all this, and think only of how
+      good God had been to them; and so they all were happy together at the
+      first Thanksgiving party.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this happened nearly three hundred years ago, and ever since that time
+      Thanksgiving has been kept in our country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every year our fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers have
+      &ldquo;rejoiced together&rdquo; like the Pilgrims, and have had something to be
+      thankful for each time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every year some father has told the story of the brave Pilgrims to his
+      little sons and daughters, and has taught them to be very glad and proud
+      that the Mayflower came sailing to our country so many years ago.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LITTLE GEORGE WASHINGTON, PART I.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The child takes each story as a conquest, grasps each as a treasure, and
+      inserts into his own life, for his own advancement and instruction, what
+      each story teaches and shows.&rdquo;&mdash;Froebel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every one of my little children has seen a picture of George Washington, I
+      am sure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps you may remember his likeness on a prancing white horse, holding
+      his cocked hat in his hand, and bowing low to the people, or his picture
+      as a general at the head of his armies, with a sword by his side and high
+      boots reaching to the knee; sometimes you have seen him in a boat crossing
+      the Delaware River, wrapped in his heavy soldier's cloak; and again as a
+      President, with powdered hair, lace ruffles, and velvet coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course all these are pictures of a strong, handsome, grown-up man, and
+      I suppose you never happened to think that George Washington was once a
+      little boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But ever so long ago he was as small as you are now, and I am going to
+      tell you about his father and mother, his home and his little-boy days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was born one hundred and sixty years ago in Virginia, near a great
+      river called the Potomac. His father's name was Augustine, his mother's
+      Mary, and he had several brothers and a little sister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They all lived in the country on a farm, or a plantation, as they call it
+      in Virginia. The Washington house stood in the middle of green tobacco
+      fields and flowery meadows, and there were so many barns and storehouses
+      and sheds round about it that they made quite a village of themselves. The
+      nearest neighbors lived miles away; there were no railroads nor stages,
+      and if you wanted to travel, you must ride on horseback through the thick
+      woods, or you might sail in little boats up and down the rivers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      City boys and girls might think, perhaps, that little George Washington
+      was very lonely on the great plantation, with no neighbor-boys to play
+      with; but you must remember that the horses and cattle and sheep and dogs
+      on a farm make the dearest of playmates, and that there are all kinds of
+      pleasant things to do in the country that city boys know nothing about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Little George played out of doors all the time and grew very strong. He
+      went fishing and swimming in the great river, he ran races and jumped
+      fences with his brothers and the dogs, he threw stones across the brooks,
+      and when he grew a larger boy he even learned to shoot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had a pretty pony, too, named &ldquo;Hero,&rdquo; that he loved very much, and that
+      he used to ride all about the plantation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some of the letters have been kept that he wrote when he was a little boy,
+      and he talks in them about his pony, and his books with pictures of
+      elephants, and the new top he is going to have soon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Think of that great General Washington on a white horse once playing with
+      a little humming top like yours!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many things are told about Washington when he was little; but he lived so
+      long ago that we cannot tell very well whether they ever happened or not.
+      One story is that his father took him out into the garden on a spring
+      morning, and drew the letters of his name with a cane in the soft earth.
+      Then he filled the letters with seed, and told little George to wait a
+      week or two and see what would happen. You can all guess what did happen,
+      and can think how pleased the little boy was when he found his name all
+      growing in fresh green leaves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then another story, I'm sure you've all heard, is about the cherry-tree
+      and the hatchet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Little George's father gave him one day, so they say, a nice, bright,
+      sharp little hatchet. Of course he went around the barns and the sheds,
+      trying everything and seeing how well he could cut, and at last he went
+      into the orchard. There he saw a young cherry-tree, as straight as a
+      soldier, with the most beautiful, smooth, shining bark, waving its boughs
+      in a very provoking way, as if to say, &ldquo;You can't cut me down, and you
+      needn't try.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Little George did try and he did cut it down, and then was very sorry, for
+      he found it was not so easy to set it up again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      {Illustration: The letters of his name . . . the soft earth}
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His father was angry, of course, for he lived in a new country, and three
+      thousand miles from any place where he could get good fruit trees; but
+      when the little boy told the truth about it, his father said he would
+      rather lose a thousand cherry-trees than have his son tell a lie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now perhaps this never happened; but if George Washington ever did cut
+      down a cherry-tree, you may be sure he told the truth about it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I think, though he grew to be such a wise, wonderful man, that he must
+      have been just a bright, happy boy like you, when he was little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But everybody knows three things about him,&mdash;that he always told the
+      truth, that he never was afraid of anything, and that he always loved and
+      minded his mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When little George was eleven years old, his good father died, and his
+      poor mother was left alone to take care of her boys and her great
+      plantation. What a busy mother she was! She mended and sewed, she taught
+      some of her children, she took care of the sick people, she spun wool and
+      knitted stockings and gloves; but every day she found time to gather her
+      children around her and read good books to them, and talk to them about
+      being good children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So riding his pony, and helping his mother, and learning his lessons,
+      George grew to be a tall boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he was fourteen years old, he made up his mind that he would like to
+      be a sailor, and travel far away over the blue water in a great ship. His
+      elder brother said that he might do so. The right ship was found; his
+      clothes were packed and carried on board, when all at once his mother said
+      he must not go. She had thought about it; he was too young to go away, and
+      she wanted her boy to stay with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course George was greatly disappointed, but he stayed at home, and
+      worked and studied hard. He wanted very much to learn how to earn money
+      and help his mother, and so he studied to be a surveyor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Surveyors measure the land, you know. They measure people's gardens and
+      house-lots and farms, and can tell just where to put the fences, and how
+      much land belongs to you and how much to me, so that we need never quarrel
+      about it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be a good surveyor you have to be very careful indeed, and make no
+      mistakes; and George Washington was careful and always tried to do his
+      best, so that his surveys were the finest that could be made.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he was only sixteen, he went off into the great forest, where no one
+      lived but the Indians, to measure some land for a friend of his. The
+      weather was cold; he slept in a tent at night, or out of doors, on a
+      bearskin by the fire, and he had to work very hard. He met a great many
+      Indians, and learned to know their ways in fighting and how to manage
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three years he worked hard at surveying, and at last he was a grown-up
+      man!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was tall and splendid then, over six feet high, and as straight as an
+      Indian, with a rosy face and bright blue eyes. He had large hands and
+      fingers, and was wonderfully strong. People say that his great tent, which
+      it took three men to carry, Washington could lift with one hand and throw
+      into the wagon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was very brave, too, you remember. He could shoot well, and almost
+      never missed his aim; he was used to walking many miles when he was
+      surveying, and he could ride any horse he liked, no matter how wild and
+      fierce.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So you see, when a man is strong, when he can shoot well, and walk and
+      ride great distances, when he is never afraid of anything, that is just
+      the man for a soldier; and I will tell you soon how George Washington came
+      to be a great soldier.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      GREAT GEORGE WASHINGTON, PART II.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The good story-teller effects much; he has an ennobling effect upon
+      children,&mdash;so much the more ennobling that he does not appear to
+      intend it,&rdquo;&mdash;FROEBEL.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this time while George Washington had been growing up,&mdash;first a
+      little boy, then a larger boy, and then a young surveyor,&mdash;all this
+      time the French and English and Indians were unhappy and uncomfortable in
+      the country north of Virginia. The French wanted all the land, so did the
+      English, and the Indians saw that there would be no room for them,
+      whichever had it, so they all began to trouble each other and to quarrel
+      and fight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These troubles grew so bad at last that the Virginians began to be afraid
+      of the French and Indians, and thought they must have some soldiers of
+      their own ready to fight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      George Washington was only nineteen then, but everybody knew he was wise
+      and brave, so they chose him to teach the soldiers near his home how to
+      march and to fight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the king and the people of England grew very uneasy at all this
+      quarreling, and they sent over soldiers and cannon and powder, and
+      commenced to get ready to fight in earnest. Washington was made a major,
+      and he had to go a thousand miles, in the middle of winter, into the
+      Indian and French country, to see the chiefs and the soldiers, and find
+      out about the troubles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he came back again, all the people were so pleased with his courage
+      and with the wise way in which he had behaved, that they made him
+      lieutenant-colonel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then began a long war between the French and the English, which lasted
+      seven years. Washington fought through all of it, and was made a colonel,
+      and by and by commander of all the soldiers in Virginia. He built forts
+      and roads, he gained and lost battles, he fought the Indians and the
+      French; and by all this trouble and hard work he learned to be a great
+      soldier.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In many of the battles of this war, Washington and the Virginians did not
+      wear a uniform like the English soldiers, but a buckskin shirt and fringed
+      leggings like the Indians.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From beginning to end of some of the battles, Washington rode about among
+      the men, telling them where to go and how to fight; the bullets were
+      whistling around him all the time, but he said he liked the music.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By and by the war was over; the French were driven back to their own part
+      of the country, and Washington went home to Mt. Vernon to rest, and took
+      with him his wife, lovely Martha Washington, whom he had met and married
+      while he was fighting the French and Indians.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While he was at Mt. Vernon he saw all his horses again,&mdash;&ldquo;Valiant&rdquo;
+       and &ldquo;Magnolia&rdquo; and &ldquo;Chinkling&rdquo; and &ldquo;Ajax,&rdquo;&mdash;and had grand gallops
+      over the country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had some fine dogs, too, to run by his side, and help him hunt the
+      bushy-tailed foxes. &ldquo;Vulcan&rdquo; and &ldquo;Bingwood&rdquo; and &ldquo;Music&rdquo; and &ldquo;Sweetlips&rdquo;
+       were the names of some of them. You may be sure the dogs were glad when
+      they had their master home again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Washington did not have long to rest, for another war was coming, the
+      great war of the Revolution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Little children cannot understand all the reasons for this war, but I can
+      tell you some of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You remember in the story of Thanksgiving I told you about the Pilgrim
+      fathers, who came from England to this country because their king would
+      not let them pray to God as they liked. That king was dead now, and there
+      was another in his place, a king with the name of George, like our
+      Washington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now our great-grandfathers had always loved England and Englishmen,
+      because many of their friends were still living there, and because it was
+      their old home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The king gave them governors to help take care of their people, and
+      soldiers to fight for them, and they sent to England for many things to
+      wear and to eat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But just before this Revolutionary War, the king and the great men who
+      helped him began to say that things should be done in this country that
+      our people did not think right at all. The king said they must buy
+      expensive stamps to put on all their newspapers and almanacs and lawyer's
+      papers, and that they must pay very high taxes on their tea and paper and
+      glass, and he sent soldiers to see that this was done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This made our great-grandfathers very angry. They refused to pay the
+      taxes, they would not buy anything from England any more, and some men
+      even went on board the ships, as they came into Boston Harbor, and threw
+      the tea over into the water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So fifty-one men were chosen from all over the country, and they met at
+      Philadelphia, to see what could be done. Washington was sent from
+      Virginia. And after they had talked very solemnly, they all thought there
+      would be great trouble soon, and Washington went home to drill the
+      soldiers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the war began with the battle of Lexington, in New England, and soon
+      Washington was made commander in chief of the armies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rode the whole distance from Philadelphia to Boston on horseback, with
+      a troop of officers; and all the people on the way came to see him,
+      bringing bands of music and cheering him as he went by. He rode into camp
+      in the morning. The soldiers were drawn up in the road, and men and women
+      and children who had come to look at Washington were crowded all about.
+      They saw a tall, splendid, handsome man in a blue coat with buff facings,
+      and epaulets on his shoulders. As he took off his hat, drew his shining
+      sword and raised it in sight of all the people, the cannon began to
+      thunder, and all the people hurrahed and tossed their hats in the air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course he looked very splendid, and they all knew how brave he was, and
+      thought he would soon put an end to the war.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it did not happen as they expected, for this was only the beginning,
+      and the war lasted seven long years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fighting is always hard, even if you have plenty of soldiers and plenty
+      for them to eat; but Washington had very few soldiers, and very little
+      powder for the guns, and little food for the men to eat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The soldiers were not in uniform, as ours are to-day; but each was dressed
+      just as he happened to come from his shop or his farm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Washington ordered hunting shirts for them, such as he wore when he went
+      to fight the Indians, for he knew they would look more like soldiers if
+      all were dressed alike.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course many people thought that our men would be beaten, as the war
+      went on; but Washington never thought so, for he was sure our side was
+      right.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I hardly know what he would have done, at last, if the French people had
+      not promised to come over and help us, and to send us money and men and
+      ships. All the people in the army thanked God when they heard it, and
+      fired their guns for joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A brave young man named Lafayette came with the French soldiers, and he
+      grew to be Washington's great friend, and fought for us all through the
+      Revolution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many battles were fought in this war, and Washington lost some of them,
+      and a great many of his men were killed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You could hardly understand how much trouble he had. In the winter, when
+      the snow was deep on the ground, he had no houses or huts for his men to
+      sleep in; his soldiers were ragged and cold by day, and had not blankets
+      enough to keep them warm by night; their shoes were old and worn, and they
+      had to wrap cloths around their feet to keep them from freezing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they marched to the Delaware River, one cold Christmas night, a
+      soldier who was sent after them, with a message for Washington, traced
+      them by their footprints on the snow, all reddened with the blood from
+      their poor cut feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They must have been very brave and patient to have fought at all, when
+      they were so cold and ragged and hungry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Washington suffered a great deal in seeing his soldiers so wretched, and I
+      am sure that, with all his strength and courage, he would sometimes have
+      given up hope, if he had not talked and prayed to God a great deal, and
+      asked Him to help him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In one of the hardest times of the whole war, Washington was staying at a
+      farmer's house. One morning, he rode out very early to visit the soldiers.
+      The farmer went into the fields soon after, and as he was passing a brook
+      where a great many bushes were growing, he heard a deep voice from the
+      thicket. He looked through the leaves, and saw Washington on his knees, on
+      the ground, praying to God for his soldiers. He had fastened his horse to
+      a tree, and come away by himself to ask God to help them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last the war came to an end; the English were beaten, and our armies
+      sent up praise and thanks to God.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the soldiers went quietly back to their homes, and Washington bade
+      all his officers good-by, and thanked them for their help and their
+      courage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little room in New York where he said farewell is kept to show to
+      visitors now, and you can see it some day yourselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Washington went home to Mt. Vernon to rest; but before he had been
+      there long, the people found out that they must have some one to help take
+      care of them, as they had nothing to do with the king of England any more;
+      and they asked Washington to come and be the first President of the United
+      States.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he did as they wished, and was as wise and good, and as careful and
+      fine a President as he had been surveyor, soldier, and general.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You know we always call Washington the Father of his Country, because he
+      did so much for us and helped to make the United States so great.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After he died, there were parks and mountains and villages and towns and
+      cities named for him all over the land, because people loved him so and
+      prized so highly what he had done for them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the city of Washington there is a building where you can see many of
+      the things that belonged to the first President, when he was alive. There
+      is his soldier's coat, his sword, and in an old camp chest are the plates
+      and knives and forks that he used in the Revolution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is a tall, splendid monument of shining gray stone in that city,
+      that towers far, far above all the highest roofs and spires. It was built
+      in memory of George Washington, by the people of the United States, to
+      show that they loved and would always remember the Father of his Country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THE MAPLE-LEAF AND THE VIOLET.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Story-telling must please children, so that it will influence,
+      strengthen, and elevate their lives.&rdquo;&mdash;FROEBEL
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Maple-tree lived on the edge of the wood. Beside and behind her the
+      trees grew so thick and tall that there was plenty of shade at her roots;
+      but as no one stood in front, she could always look across the meadows to
+      the brown house where Bessie lived, and could see what went on in the
+      world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the cold winter had gone by, and the spring had come again, the
+      Maple-tree sent out thousands of tiny leaf-buds, that stretched
+      themselves, and grew larger day by day in the warm sunshine. One little
+      Bud, on the end of a tall branch, worked so hard to grow that by and by he
+      finished opening all his folds, and found himself a tiny pale green leaf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was curious, as little folks generally are, and as soon as he opened
+      his eyes wanted to see everything about him. First he looked up at the
+      blue sky overhead, but the sky only looked quietly back at him. Then he
+      looked across the meadows to where Bessie lived, but Bessie was at school
+      and the house was still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he gazed far down below him on the ground; and there, just beneath,
+      was a little Violet, She had uncurled her purple petals a few days before,
+      and was waiting to welcome the first leaf-bud that came out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So when the Maple-leaf looked down, she smiled up at him and said,
+      &ldquo;Good-morning.&rdquo; He answered her politely, but he was very little, and did
+      not know quite what to say, so he didn't talk any more that day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next morning they greeted each other again, and soon they grew to be
+      good friends, and talked together very happily all day. The Maple-leaf
+      lived so high up in the tree that he could easily see across the fields,
+      and he watched every day for Bessie as she started for school. When she
+      came out of her door, he told the Violet, and the Violet always said every
+      morning, &ldquo;Dear Bessie! I should like to see her, too!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes, when the day was chilly and it was almost too damp in the
+      shade, the Violet used to wish she might be high up on the branch above
+      her, waving about in the sunshine like the Maple-leaf; but she was a
+      contented little thing, and never fretted long for what she could not
+      have.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was generally pleasant on the ground, and the bugs and caterpillars and
+      worms, as they crawled about at her roots, often told her very interesting
+      things about their families and their troubles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day it was very dry and warm. The Maple-leaf was not at all
+      comfortable, high in the hot air, and he said to his mother, &ldquo;Mother-tree,
+      won't you let me go down by the Violet and be cool?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the Maple-tree answered, &ldquo;No, no, little leaf, not now; if I once let
+      you go, you can never come back again. Stay quietly here; the time will
+      soon come for you to leave me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Maple-leaf told this to the Violet, and then they began to fear that
+      when the mother-tree let him go, by and by, he might not be able to fall
+      close beside the Violet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the next day, when the wind came whistling along, the Violet asked him
+      if he would kindly take care of the leaf, and send him to her when the
+      mother-tree let him go. The wind was rough and careless, and said he
+      really didn't know. He couldn't be sure how he'd feel then. They would
+      have to wait and see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two little friends were rather unhappy about this, but they waited
+      quietly. By and by the weather grew cold. The air was so chill that the
+      Maple-leaf shivered in the night, and in the morning, when the sun rose,
+      and he could see himself, he found he was all red, just as your hands and
+      cheeks are on a frosty morning. When the mother-tree saw him, she told him
+      he would soon leave her now, and she bade him good-by. He was sorry to go,
+      but then he thought of his dear Violet, and was happy again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By and by a gust of cold wind came blowing by, and twisted the little leaf
+      about, and fluttered him so that he could not hold to the tree any longer.
+      So at last he blew off, and the wind took him up and danced with him and
+      played with him until he was very tired and dizzy. But at last, for he was
+      a kind wind after all, he blew the leaf back, straight to the side of the
+      Violet. How close they cuddled to each other, and how happy they were! You
+      would have been very glad if you had seen them together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning, when the sun rose yellow and bright, Bessie came into the
+      woods with a basket and a trowel. It was nearly winter, and she knew that
+      soon the snow would fall and cover all the pretty growing things. So she
+      dug up, very carefully, roots of plumy fern and partridge berries with
+      their leaves, and wintergreen and boxberry plants, to grow in her
+      window-garden in the winter. She took the Violet too, bringing away so
+      much of the earth around her roots that the little thing scarcely felt
+      that she had been moved. As Bessie put her plants in the basket, she saw
+      the little Maple-leaf resting close by the violet, but he looked so
+      pretty, lying there, that she did not move him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the sunny window of the little brown house the Violet grew still more
+      fresh and green. But each day, as the plants were watered, the Maple-leaf
+      curled up a little more at the edges, and sank down farther into the
+      earth, until soon he was almost out of sight, and by and by crumbled quite
+      away. Still he was close beside his Violet, and all the strength he had he
+      gave to her roots.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She always loved him just the same, though she could not see him any
+      longer, and by and by, when she had lived her life, and her leaves
+      withered away, each one, as it fell from the stem, sank into the earth
+      where the Maple-leaf lay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      MRS. CHINCHILLA.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE TALE OF A CAT.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See what joyous faces, what shining eyes, and what glad jubilee welcome
+      the story-teller, and what a blooming circle of glad children press around
+      him!&rdquo;&mdash;FROEBEL.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Chinchilla was not a lovely lady, with a dress of soft gray cloth and
+      a great chinchilla muff and boa. Not at all. Mrs. Chinchilla was a
+      beautiful cat, with sleek fur like silver-gray satin, and a very handsome
+      tail to match, quite long enough to brush the ground when she walked. She
+      didn't live in a house, but she had a very comfortable home in a fine
+      drug-store, with one large bay-window almost to herself and her kittens.
+      She had three pretty fat dumplings of kittens, all in soft shades of gray
+      like their mother. She didn't like any other color in kittens so well as a
+      quiet ladylike gray. None of her children ever were black, or white, or
+      yellow, but sometimes they had four snow-white socks on their gray paws.
+      Mrs. Chinchilla didn't mind that, for white socks were really a handsome
+      finish to a gray kitten, though, of course, it was a deal of trouble to
+      keep them clean.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the time my story begins the kits were all tiny catkins, whose eyes had
+      been open only a day or two, so Mrs. Chinchilla had to wash them every
+      morning herself. She had the most wonderful tongue! I'll tell you what
+      that tongue had in it: a hair-brush, a comb, a tooth-brush, a nail-brush,
+      a sponge, a towel, and a cake of soap! And when Mrs. Chinchilla had
+      finished those three little catkins, they were as fresh and sweet, and
+      shiny and clean, and kissable and huggable, as any baby just out of a
+      bath-tub.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One morning, just after the little kits had had their scrub in the sunny
+      bay-window, they felt, all at once, old enough to play; and so they began
+      to scramble over each other, and run about between the great colored glass
+      jars, and even to chase and bite the ends of their own tails. They had not
+      known that they had any tails before that morning, and of course it was a
+      charming surprise. Mrs. Chinchilla looked on lazily and gravely. It had
+      been a good while since she had had time or had felt young and gay enough
+      to chase her tail, but she was very glad to see the kittens enjoy
+      themselves harmlessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, while this was going on, some one came up to the window and looked
+      in. It was the Boy who lived across the street. Mrs. Chinchilla disliked
+      nearly all boys, but she was afraid of this one. He had golden curls and a
+      Fauntleroy collar, and the sweetest lips that ever said prayers, and clean
+      dimpled hands that looked as if they had been made to stroke cats and make
+      them purr. But instead of stroking them he rubbed their fur the wrong way,
+      and hung tin kettles to their tails, and tied handkerchiefs over their
+      heads. When Mrs. Chinchilla saw the Boy she humped her back, so that it
+      looked like a gray mountain, and said, &ldquo;Sftt!&rdquo; three times. When the Boy
+      found that she was looking at him, and lashing her tail, and yawning so as
+      to show him her sharp white teeth, he suddenly disappeared from sight. So
+      Mrs. Chinchilla gave the kittens their breakfast, and they cuddled
+      themselves into a round ball, and went fast asleep. They were first rolled
+      so tightly, and then so tied up with their tails, that you couldn't have
+      told whether they were three or six little catkins. When their soft
+      purr-r-r-r, purr-r-r-r had first changed into sleepy little snores, and
+      then died away altogether, Mrs. Chinchilla jumped down out of the window,
+      and went for her morning airing in the back yard. At the same time the
+      druggist passed behind a tall desk to mix some medicine, and the shop was
+      left alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then the Boy (for he hadn't gone away at all; he had just stooped out
+      of sight) rushed in the door quickly, snatched one of the kittens out of
+      the round ball, and ran away with it as fast as he could run. Pretty soon
+      Mrs. Chinchilla came back, and of course she counted the kittens the very
+      first thing. She always did it. To her surprise and fright she found only
+      two instead of three. She knew she couldn't be mistaken. There were five
+      kittens in her last family, and two less in this family; and five kittens
+      less two kittens is three kittens. One chinchilla catkin gone! What should
+      she do?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had once heard a lady say that there were too many cats in the world
+      already, but she had no patience with people who made such wicked
+      speeches. Her kittens had always been so beautiful that they sometimes
+      sold for fifty cents apiece, and none of them had ever been drowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Chinchilla knew in a second just where that kitten had gone. It makes
+      a pussy-cat very quick and bright and wise to take care of and train large
+      families of frisky kittens, with very little help from their father in
+      bringing them up. She knew that that Boy had carried off the kitten, and
+      she intended to have it back, and scratch the Boy with some long
+      scratches, if she could only get the chance. Looking at her claws, she
+      found them nice and sharp, and as the druggist opened the door for a
+      customer Mrs. Chinchilla slipped out, with just one backward glance, as
+      much as to say, &ldquo;Gone out; will be back soon.&rdquo; Then she dashed across the
+      street, and waited on the steps of the Boy's house. Very soon a man came
+      with a bundle, and when the house-maid opened the door Mrs. Chinchilla
+      walked in. She hadn't any visiting-card with her; but then the Boy hadn't
+      left any card when he called for the kitten, so she didn't care for that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The housemaid didn't see her when she slipped in. It was a very nice house
+      to hold such a heartless boy, she thought. The parlor door was open, but
+      she knew the kitten wouldn't be there, so she ran upstairs. When she
+      reached the upper hall she stood perfectly still, with her ears up and her
+      whiskers trembling. Suddenly she heard a faint mew, then another, and then
+      a laugh; that was the Boy. She pushed open a door that was ajar, and
+      walked into the nursery. The Boy was seated in the middle of the floor,
+      tying the kitten to a tin cart, and the poor little thing was mewing
+      piteously. Mrs. Chinchilla dashed up to the Boy, scratched him as many
+      long scratches as she had time for at that moment, took the frightened
+      kitten in her kind, gentle mouth, the way all mother-cats do (because if
+      they carried them in their forepaws they wouldn't have enough left to walk
+      on), and was downstairs and out on the front doorstep before the housemaid
+      had finished paying the man for the bundle. And when she got that
+      chinchilla catkin home in the safe, sunny bay-window, she washed it over
+      and over and over so many times that it never forgot, so long as it lived,
+      the day it was stolen by the Boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the Boy's mother hurried upstairs to see why he was crying so loud,
+      she told him that he must expect to be scratched by mother-cats if he
+      stole their kittens. &ldquo;I shall take your pretty Fauntleroy collar off,&rdquo; she
+      said; &ldquo;it doesn't match your disposition.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Boy cried bitterly until luncheon time, but when he came to think over
+      the matter, he knew that his mother was right, and Mrs. Chinchilla was
+      right, too; so he treated all mother-cats and their kittens more kindly
+      after that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      A STORY OF THE FOREST
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not the gay forms he meets in the fairy-tale which charm the child,
+      but a spiritual, invisible truth lying far deeper.&rdquo;&mdash;Froebel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Far away, in the depths of a great green rustling wood, there lived a
+      Fir-tree. She was tall and dark and fragrant; so tall that her topmost
+      plumes seemed waving about in the clouds, and her branches were so thick
+      and strong and close set that down below them on the ground it was dark
+      almost as night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were many other trees in the forest, as tall and grand as she, and
+      when they bent and bowed to each other, as the wind played in their
+      branches, you could hear a wonderful lovely sound, like the great organ
+      when it plays softly in the church.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down below, under the trees, the ground was covered with a glossy brown
+      carpet of the sharp, needle-like leaves the fir-trees had let fall, and on
+      this carpet there were pointed brown fir cones lying, looking dry and
+      withered, and yet bearing under their scales many little seeds, hidden
+      away like very precious letters in their dainty envelopes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even on bright summer days this wood was cool and dark, and, as you walked
+      about on the soft brown carpet, you could hear the wonderful song the pine
+      needles made as they rubbed against each other; and perhaps far away in
+      the top of some tall tree you could hear the wood-thrush sing out gladly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All around the great Fir-tree, where her cones had dropped, a family of
+      young firs was growing up,&mdash;very tiny yet, so tiny you might have
+      crushed them as you walked, and not felt them under your foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Fir-tree spread her thick branches over them, and kept off the fierce
+      wind and the bitter cold, and under her shelter they were growing strong.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were all fine little trees, but one of them, that stood quite apart
+      from the rest, was the finest of all, very straight and well shaped and
+      handsome. Every day he looked up at the mother-tree, and saw how straight
+      and strong she grew,&mdash;how the wind bent and waved her branches, but
+      did not stir her great trunk; and as he looked, he sent his own rootlets
+      farther down into the dark earth, and held his tiny head up more proudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other trees did not all try to grow strong and tall. Indeed, one of
+      them said, &ldquo;Why should I try to grow? Who can see me here in this dark
+      wood? What good will it do for me to try? I can never be as fine and
+      strong as the mother-tree.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he was unhappy and hung his head, and let the wind blow him further and
+      further over toward the ground; and as he did not care for his rootlets,
+      they lost their hold in the earth, and by and by he withered quite away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But our brave little Fir-tree grew on; and when a long time had gone by,
+      his head was on a level with his mother's lowest branches, and he could
+      listen and hear all the whispering and talking that went on among the
+      great trees. So he learned many things, for the trees were old and wise;
+      and the birds, who are such great travelers, had told them many wonderful
+      things that had happened in far-off lands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the Fir-tree asked his mother many, many questions. &ldquo;Dear
+      mother-tree,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;shall we always live here? Shall I keep on growing
+      until I am a grand tall tree like you? And will you always be with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who knows!&rdquo; said the mother-tree, rustling in all her branches. &ldquo;If we
+      are stout-hearted, and grow strong in trunk and perfect in shape, then
+      perhaps we shall be taken away from the forest and made useful somewhere,&mdash;and
+      we want to be useful, little son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was about this time that the young Fir-tree made himself some music
+      that he used to whisper when the winds blew and rocked his branches. This
+      is the little song, but I cannot sing it as he did.
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      SONG OF THE FIR-TREE.
+    </h3>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+   Root grow thou long-er heart be thou strong-er;
+   Let the sun bless me, soft-ly ca-
+   ress me; Let rain-drops pat-ter,
+   wind, my leaves scat-ter. My root must grow
+   long-er, my heart must grow stronger.
+
+  &ldquo;Root, grow thou longer,
+   Heart, be thou stronger;
+   Let the sun bless me,
+   Softly caress me;
+   Let raindrops patter,
+   Wind, my leaves scatter.
+   My root must grow longer,
+   My heart must grow stronger.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      And one day, when he was singing this song to himself, some birds
+      fluttered near, pleased with the music, and as he seemed kind they began
+      to build their nest in his branches,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then what a proud Fir-tree, that the birds should choose him to take care
+      of them! He would not play now with the wind as it came frolicking by, but
+      stood straight, that he might not shake the pretty soft nest. And when the
+      eggs were laid at last, all his leaves stroked each other for joy, and the
+      noise they made was so sweet that the mother-tree bent over to see why he
+      was so happy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mother-bird sat patiently on the nest all day, and when, now and then,
+      she flew away to rest her tired little legs, the father-bird came to keep
+      the eggs warm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the Fir-tree was never alone; and now he asked the birds some of the
+      many questions he had once asked his mother, &ldquo;Tell me, dear birdies,&rdquo; he
+      said, &ldquo;what does the mother-tree mean? She says if I grow strong, I shall
+      be taken away to be useful somewhere. How can a Fir-tree be useful if he
+      is taken away from the forest where he was born?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the birds told him how he could be useful: how perhaps men might take
+      him for the mast of a ship, and fasten to him, strong and firm, the great
+      white sails that send the ship like a bird over the water; or that he
+      might be used to hold a bright flag, as it waved in the wind. Then the
+      mother-bird thought of the happy Christmas time, for the birds and flowers
+      and trees know all about it; and she told the Fir of the Christmas greens
+      that were cut in the forest; of the branches and boughs that were used to
+      make the houses fresh and bright; and of the Christmas trees, on which
+      gifts were hung for the children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the Fir-tree had seen some children one day, and he knew about their
+      bright eyes, and their rosy cheeks, and their dear soft little hands. The
+      day they came into the woods, they had made a ring and danced about him,
+      and one little girl had held up her finger, and asked the others to hush
+      and hear the song he was singing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So of all the thing's the birds had told him, the sweetest to him was
+      about the Christmas tree. If only he might be a Christmas tree, and have
+      the children dance about him again, and feel their presents among his
+      green branches!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he did all that a little tree could do to grow strong in every part,
+      and each day he sang his song:&amp;&amp;
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+  &ldquo;Root, grow thou longer,
+   Heart, grow thou stronger;
+   Sweet sunshine, bless me,
+   Softly caress me;
+   Cold raindrops, patter,
+   Wind, my leaves scatter,
+   My roots must grow longer,
+   My heart must grow stronger,&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Soon the days began to grow cold. The birdlings who had been born in the
+      Fir-tree's branches had gone far away to the South. The father and mother
+      bird had gone too, and on the way had stopped to say good-by to the brave
+      little tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The white snow had fallen in gentle flakes, and covered the cones and the
+      glossy carpet of pine needles. All was still and shining and cold in the
+      forest, and the great trees seemed taller and darker than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day some men came into the wood with saws and ropes and axes, and cut
+      down many of the great trees, and among these was the mother-fir. They
+      fastened oxen to all the trees, and dragged them away, rustling and
+      waving, over the smooth snow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mother-tree had gone,&mdash;&ldquo;gone to be useful,&rdquo; said the little Fir;
+      and though he missed her very much, and the world seemed very empty when
+      he looked up and no longer saw her thick branches and her strong trunk,
+      yet he was not unhappy, for he was a brave little Fir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still the days grew colder, and often the Fir-tree wondered if the
+      children who had made a ring and danced about him would remember him when
+      Christmas time came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could not grow, for the weather was too cold, and so he had the more
+      time for thinking. He thought of the birds, of the mother-tree, and, most
+      of all, of the little girl who had lifted her finger, and said, &ldquo;Hush!
+      hear the Fir-tree sing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes the days seemed long, and he sighed in all his branches, and
+      almost thought he would never be a Christmas tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But suddenly, one day, he heard something far away that sounded like the
+      ringing of Christmas bells. It was the children laughing and singing, as
+      they ran over the snow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nearer they came, and stood beside the Fir. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the little girl,
+      &ldquo;it is my very tree, my very singing tree!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; said the father, &ldquo;it will be a good Christmas tree. See how
+      straight and well shaped it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the tree was glad; not proud, for he was a good little Fir, but glad
+      that they saw he had tried his best.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      {Illustration: Not all firs can be Christmas trees.}
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they cut him down and carried him away on a great sled; away from the
+      tall dark trees, from the white shining snow-carpet at their feet, and
+      from all the murmuring and whispering that go on within the forest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little trees stood on tiptoe and waved their green branches for
+      &ldquo;Good-by,&rdquo; and the great trees bent their heads to watch him go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not all firs can be Christmas trees,&rdquo; said they; &ldquo;only those who grow
+      their best.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The good Fir-tree stood in the children's own room. Round about his feet
+      were flowers and mosses and green boughs. From his branches hung toys and
+      books and candies, and at the end of each glossy twig was a bright
+      glittering Christmas candle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doors were slowly opened; the children came running in; and when they
+      saw the shining lights, and the Christmas tree proudly holding their
+      presents, they made a ring, and danced about him, singing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the Fir-tree was very happy!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PICCOLA.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      Suggested by One of Mrs. Celia Thaxter's Poems.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Story-telling is a real strengthening spirit-bath.&rdquo;&mdash;Froebel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Piccola lived in Italy, where the oranges grow, and where all the year the
+      sun shines warm and bright. I suppose you think Piccola a very strange
+      name for a little girl; but in her country it was not strange at all, and
+      her mother thought it the sweetest name a little girl ever had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Piccola had no kind father, no big brother or sister, and no sweet baby to
+      play with and to love. She and her mother lived all alone in an old stone
+      house that looked on a dark, narrow street. They were very poor, and the
+      mother was away from home almost every day, washing clothes and scrubbing
+      floors, and working hard to earn money for her little girl and herself. So
+      you see Piccola was alone a great deal of the time; and if she had not
+      been a very happy, contented little child, I hardly know what she would
+      have done. She had no playthings except a heap of stones in the back yard
+      that she used for building houses, and a very old, very ragged doll that
+      her mother had found in the street one day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But there was a small round hole in the stone wall at the back of her
+      yard, and her greatest pleasure was to look through that into her
+      neighbor's garden. When she stood on a stone, and put her eyes close to
+      the hole, she could see the green grass in the garden, smell the sweet
+      flowers, and even hear the water plashing into the fountain. She had never
+      seen any one walking in the garden, for it belonged to an old gentleman
+      who did not care about grass and flowers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day in the autumn her mother told her that the old gentleman had gone
+      away, and had rented his house to a family of little American children,
+      who had come with their sick mother to spend the winter in Italy. After
+      this, Piccola was never lonely, for all day long the children ran and
+      played and danced and sang in the garden. It was several weeks before they
+      saw her at all, and I am not sure they would ever have done so but that
+      one day the kitten ran away, and in chasing her they came close to the
+      wall, and saw Piccola's black eyes looking through the hole in the stones.
+      They were a little frightened at first, and did not speak to her; but the
+      next day she was there again, and Rose, the oldest girl, went up to the
+      wall and talked to her a little while. When the children found that she
+      had no one to play with and was very lonely, they talked to her every day,
+      and often brought her fruits and candies, and passed them through the hole
+      in the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day they even pushed the kitten through; but the hole was hardly large
+      enough for her, and she mewed and scratched, and was very much frightened.
+      After that the little boy said he should ask his father if the hole might
+      not be made larger, and then Piccola could come in and play with them. The
+      father had found out that Piccola's mother was a good woman, and that the
+      little girl herself was sweet and kind, so that he was very glad to have
+      some of the stones broken away, and an opening made for Piccola to come
+      in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How excited she was, and how glad the children were when she first stepped
+      into the garden! She wore her best dress, a long bright-colored woolen
+      skirt and a white waist. Round her neck was a string of beads, and on her
+      feet were little wooden shoes. It would seem very strange to us&mdash;would
+      it not?&mdash;to wear wooden shoes; but Piccola and her mother had never
+      worn anything else, and never had any money to buy stockings. Piccola
+      almost always ran about barefooted, like the kittens and the chickens and
+      the little ducks. What a good time they had that day, and how glad
+      Piccola's mother was that her little girl could have such a pleasant, safe
+      place to play in, while she was away at work!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By and by December came, and the little Americans began to talk about
+      Christmas. One day, when Piccola's curly head and bright eyes came peeping
+      through the hole in the wall, they ran to her and helped her in; and as
+      they did so, they all asked her at once what she thought she would have
+      for a Christmas present. &ldquo;A Christmas present!&rdquo; said Piccola. &ldquo;Why, what
+      is that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All the children looked surprised at this, and Rose said, rather gravely,
+      &ldquo;Dear Piccola, don't you know what Christmas is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, yes, Piccola knew it was the happy day when the baby Christ was born,
+      and she had been to church on that day, and heard the beautiful singing,
+      and had seen a picture of the Babe lying in the manger, with cattle and
+      sheep sleeping round about. Oh, yes, she knew all that very well, but what
+      was a Christmas present?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the children began to laugh, and to answer her all together. There
+      was such a clatter of tongues that she could hear only a few words now and
+      then, such as &ldquo;chimney,&rdquo; &ldquo;Santa Claus,&rdquo; &ldquo;stockings,&rdquo; &ldquo;reindeer,&rdquo;
+       &ldquo;Christmas Eve,&rdquo; &ldquo;candies and toys.&rdquo; Piccola put her hands over her ears,
+      and said, &ldquo;Oh, I can't understand one word. You tell me, Rose.&rdquo; Then Rose
+      told her all about jolly old Santa Claus, with his red cheeks and white
+      beard and fur coat, and about his reindeer and sleigh full of toys. &ldquo;Every
+      Christmas Eve,&rdquo; said Rose, &ldquo;he comes down the chimney, and fills the
+      stockings of all the good children; so, Piccola, you hang up your
+      stocking, and who knows what a beautiful Christmas present you will find
+      when morning comes!&rdquo; Of course Piccola thought this was a delightful plan,
+      and was very pleased to hear about it. Then all the children told her of
+      every Christmas Eve they could remember, and of the presents they had had;
+      so that she went home thinking of nothing but dolls, and hoops, and balls,
+      and ribbons, and marbles, and wagons, and kites. She told her mother about
+      Santa Claus, and her mother seemed to think that perhaps he did not know
+      there was any little girl in that house, and very likely he would not come
+      at all. But Piccola felt very sure Santa Claus would remember her, for her
+      little friends had promised to send a letter up the chimney to remind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Christmas Eve came at last. Piccola's mother hurried home from her work;
+      they had their little supper of soup and bread, and soon it was bedtime,&mdash;time
+      to get ready for Santa Claus. But oh! Piccola remembered then for the
+      first time that the children had told her she must hang up her stocking,
+      and she hadn't any, and neither had her mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How sad, how sad it was! Now Santa Claus would come, and perhaps be angry
+      because he couldn't find any place to put the present. The poor little
+      girl stood by the fireplace; and the big tears began to run down her
+      cheeks. Just then her mother called to her, &ldquo;Hurry, Piccola; come to bed.&rdquo;
+       What should she do? But she stopped crying, and tried to think; and in a
+      moment she remembered her wooden shoes, and ran off to get one of them.
+      She put it close to the chimney, and said to herself, &ldquo;Surely Santa Claus
+      will know what it's there for. He will know I haven't any stockings, so I
+      gave him the shoe instead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she went off happily to her bed, and was asleep almost as soon as she
+      had nestled close to her mother's side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sun had only just begun to shine, next morning, when Piccola awoke.
+      With one jump she was out on the floor and running toward the chimney. The
+      wooden shoe was lying where she had left it, but you could never, never
+      guess what was in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      {Illustration: See the present Santa Claus brought me}
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Piccola had not meant to wake her mother, but this surprise was more than
+      any little girl could bear and yet be quiet; so she danced to the bed with
+      the shoe in her hand, calling, &ldquo;Mother, mother! look, look! see the
+      present Santa Claus brought me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her mother raised her head and looked into the shoe. &ldquo;Why, Piccola,&rdquo; she
+      said, &ldquo;a little chimney swallow nestling in your shoe? What a good Santa
+      Claus to bring you a bird!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Santa Claus, dear Santa Claus!&rdquo; cried Piccola; and she kissed her
+      mother and kissed the bird and kissed the shoe, and even threw kisses up
+      the chimney, she was so happy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the birdling was taken out of the shoe, they found that he did not
+      try to fly, only to hop about the room; and as they looked closer, they
+      could see that one of his wings was hurt a little. But the mother bound it
+      up carefully, so that it did not seem to pain him, and he was so gentle
+      that he took a drink of water from a cup, and even ate crumbs and seeds
+      from Piccola's hand. She was a proud little girl when she took her
+      Christmas present to show the children in the garden. They had had a great
+      many gifts,&mdash;dolls that could say &ldquo;mamma,&rdquo; bright picture-books,
+      trains of cars, toy pianos; but not one of their playthings was alive,
+      like Piccola's birdling. They were as pleased as she, and Rose hunted
+      about the house till she found a large wicker cage that belonged to a
+      blackbird she once had. She gave the cage to Piccola, and the swallow
+      seemed to make himself quite at home in it at once, and sat on the perch
+      winking his bright eyes at the children. Rose had saved a bag of candies
+      for Piccola, and when she went home at last, with the cage and her dear
+      swallow safely inside it, I am sure there was not a happier little girl in
+      the whole country of Italy.
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      THE CHILD AND THE WORLD.
+    </h3>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     I see a nest in a green elm-tree
+     With little brown sparrows,&mdash;one, two, three!
+     The elm-tree stretches its branches wide,
+     And the nest is soft and warm inside.
+     At morn, the sun, so golden bright,
+     Climbs up to fill the world with light;
+     It opens the flowers, it wakens me,
+     And wakens the birdies,&mdash;one, two, three.
+     And leaning out of my window high,
+     I look far up at the blue, blue sky,
+     And then far out at the earth so green,
+     And think it the loveliest ever seen,&mdash;
+     The loveliest world that ever was seen!
+
+     But by and by, when the sun is low,
+     And birds and babies sleepy grow,
+     I peep again from my window high,
+     And look at the earth and clouds and sky.
+     The night dew comes in silent showers,
+     To cool the hearts of thirsty flowers;
+     The moon comes out,&mdash;the slender thing,
+     A crescent yet, but soon a ring,&mdash;
+     And brings with her one yellow star;
+     How small it looks, away so far!
+     But soon, in the heaven's shining blue,
+     A thousand twinkle and blink at you,
+     Like a thousand lamps in the sky so blue.
+
+     And hush! a light breeze stirs the tree,
+     And rocks, the birdies,&mdash;one, two, three.
+     What a beautiful cradle, that soft, warm nest!
+     What a dear little coverlid, mamma-bird's breast!
+     She's hugging them close to her,&mdash;tight, so tight
+     That each downy head is hid from sight;
+     But out from under her sheltering wings
+     Their bright eyes glisten,&mdash;the darling things!
+     I lean far out from my window's height
+     And say, &ldquo;Dear, lovely world, good-night!
+
+     &ldquo;Good-night, dear, pretty baby moon!
+     Your cradle you'll outgrow quite soon,
+     And then, perhaps, all night you'll shine,
+     A grown-up lady moon!&mdash;so fine
+     And bright that all the stars
+     Will want to light their lamps from yours.
+     Sleep sweetly, birdies, never fear,
+     For God is always watching near!
+     And you, dear, friendly world above,
+     The same One holds us in His love:
+     Both you so great, and I so small,
+     Are safe,&mdash;He sees the sparrow's fall,&mdash;
+     The dear God watcheth over all!&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      OUR FROGGERY.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Turn back observantly into your own youth, and awaken, warm, and vivify
+      the eternal youth of your mind.&rdquo;&mdash;FROEBEL.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When I was a little girl my sister and I lived in the country. She was
+      younger than I, and the dearest, fattest little toddlekins of a sister you
+      ever knew. She always wanted to do exactly as I did, so that I had to be
+      very careful and do the right things; for if I had been naughty she would
+      surely have been naughty too, and that would have made me very sad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As we lived in the country we had none of the things to amuse us that city
+      children have. We couldn't walk in crowded streets and see people and look
+      in at beautiful shop-windows, or hear the street-organs play and see the
+      monkeys do tricks; we couldn't go to dancing school, nor to children's
+      parties, nor to the circus to see the animals.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But we had lovely plays, after all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the spring we hunted for mayflowers, and sailed boats in the brooks,
+      and gathered fluffy pussy-willows. We watched the yellow dandelions come,
+      one by one, in the short green grass, and we stood under the maple-trees
+      and watched the sap trickle from their trunks into the great wooden
+      buckets; for that maple sap was to be boiled into maple sugar and syrup,
+      and we liked to think about it. In the summer we went strawberrying and
+      blueberrying, and played &ldquo;hide and coop&rdquo; behind the tall yellow haycocks,
+      and rode on the top of the full haycarts. In the fall we went nutting, and
+      pressed red and yellow autumn leaves between the pages of our great
+      Webster's Dictionary; we gathered apples, and watched the men at work at
+      the cider-presses, and the farmers as they threshed their wheat and husked
+      their corn. And in the winter we made snow men, and slid downhill from
+      morning till night when there was any snow to slide upon, and went
+      sleighing behind our dear old horse Jack, and roasted apples in the ashes
+      of the great open fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But one of the things we cared for most was our froggery, and we used to
+      play there for hours together in the long summer days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps you don't know what a froggery is; but you do know what a frog is,
+      and so you can guess that a froggery is a place where frogs live. My
+      little sister and I used at first to catch the frogs and keep them in tin
+      cans filled with water; but when we thought about it we saw that the poor
+      froggies couldn't enjoy this, and that it was cruel to take them away from
+      their homes and make them live in unfurnished tin houses. So one day I
+      asked my father if he would give us a part of the garden brook for our
+      very own. He laughed, and said, &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; if we wouldn't carry it away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Our garden was as large as four or five city blocks, and a beautiful
+      silver-clear brook flowed through it, turning here and there, and here and
+      there breaking into tinkling little waterfalls, and dropping gently into
+      clear, still pools.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was one of these deep, quiet pools that we chose for our froggery. It
+      was almost hidden on two sides by thick green alder-bushes, so that it was
+      always cool and pleasant there, even on the hottest days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My father put pieces of fine wire netting into the water on each of the
+      four sides of the pool, and so arranged them that we could slip those on
+      the banks up and down as we pleased. Whenever we went there we always took
+      away the side fences, and sat flat down upon the smooth stones at the
+      edges of the brook and played with the frogs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here we used to watch our gay young polliwogs grow into frogs, one leg at
+      a time coming out at each &ldquo;corner&rdquo; of their fat wriggling bodies. We kept
+      two great bull-frogs,&mdash;splendid bass singers both of them,&mdash;that
+      had been stoned by naughty small boys, and left for dead by the roadside.
+      We found them there, bound up their broken legs and bruised backs, and
+      nursed them quite well again in one corner of the froggery that we called
+      the hospital. In another corner was the nursery, and here we kept all the
+      tiniest frogs; though we always let them out once a day to play with the
+      older ones, for fear that they never would learn anything if they were
+      kept entirely to themselves. One of our great bull-frogs grew so strong
+      and well, after being in the hospital for a while, that he jumped over the
+      highest of the wire fences, which was two feet higher than any frog ever
+      was known to jump, so our hired man said,&mdash;jumped over and ran away.
+      We called him the &ldquo;General,&rdquo; because he was the largest of our frogs and
+      the oldest, we thought. (He hadn't any gray hairs, but he was very much
+      wrinkled.) We were sorry to lose the General, and couldn't think why he
+      should run away, when we gave him such good things to eat and tried to
+      make him so happy. My father said that perhaps his home was in a large
+      pond, some distance off, where there were so many hundred frogs that it
+      was quite a gay city life for them, while the froggery was in a quiet
+      brook in our quiet old garden. (If I were a frog, it seems to me I should
+      like such a home better than a great noisy stagnant pond near the road,
+      where I should be frightened to death half a dozen times a day; but there
+      is no accounting for tastes!)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      {Illustration: &ldquo;We were sorry to lose the General.&rdquo;}
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what do you think? After staying away for three days and nights the
+      General came back safe and sound! We knew it was our own beloved General,
+      and not any common stranger-frog, because there was the scar on his back
+      where the boys had stoned him. My little sister thought that perhaps the
+      General was born in Lily Pad Pond, on the other side of the village, and
+      only went back to get a sight of the pond lilies, which were just in full
+      bloom. If that was so, I cannot blame the General; for snow-white pond
+      lilies, with their golden hearts and the green frills round their necks,
+      are the loveliest things in the world, as they float among their shiny
+      pads on the surface of the pond. Did you ever see them?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All our frogs had names of their own, of course, and we knew them all
+      apart, although they looked just alike to other people. There was Prince
+      Pouter, Brownie, and Goldilegs; Bright-Eye, Chirp, and Gray Friar;
+      Hop-o'-my-Thumb, Croaker, Baby Mine, Nimblefoot, Tiny Tim, and many
+      others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We were so afraid that our frogs wouldn't like the froggery better than
+      any other place in the brook that we gave them all the pleasures we could
+      think of. They always had plenty of fat juicy flies and water-bugs for
+      their dinners, and after a while we put some silver shiners and tiny
+      minnows into the pool, so that they would have fishes to play with as well
+      as other frogs. You know you do not always like to play with other
+      children; sometimes you like kittens and dogs and birds better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then we gave our frogs little vacations once in a while. We tied a long
+      soft woolen string very gently round one of their hind legs, fastened it
+      to a twig of one of the alderbushes, and let them take a long swim and
+      make calls on all their friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We had a singing-school for them once a week. It was very troublesome, for
+      they didn't like to stand in line a bit, and it is quite useless to try
+      and teach a class in singing unless the scholars will stand in a row or
+      keep in some sort of order. We used to put a nice little board across the
+      pool, and then try to get the frogs to sit quietly in line during their
+      lesson. The General behaved quite nicely, and really got into the spirit
+      of the thing, so that he was a splendid example for the head of the class.
+      Then we used to put Myron W. Whitney next in line, on account of his
+      beautiful bass voice. We named him after a gentleman who had once sung in
+      our church, and I hope if he ever heard of it he didn't mind, for the frog
+      was really a credit to him. Myron W. Whitney behaved nearly as well as the
+      General, but we could never get him to sing unless we held the class just
+      before bedtime, and then the little frogs were so sleepy that they kept
+      tumbling out of the singing-school into the pool. That was the trouble
+      with them all; they never could quite see the difference between school
+      and pool. It seems to me they must have known it was very slight after
+      all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Towards the end of the summer we had trained them so well that once in a
+      long while we could actually get them all still at once, and all facing
+      the right way as they sat upon that board. Oh! it was a beautiful sight,
+      and worth any amount of trouble and work! Twenty-one frogs in a row, all
+      in fresh green suits, with clean white shirt fronts, washed every day. The
+      General and Myron W. Whitney always looked as if they were bursting with
+      pride, and as they were too fat and lazy to move, we could generally count
+      upon their good behavior.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We thought that if we could only get them to look down into the pool,
+      which made such a lovely looking-glass, and just see for once what a
+      beautiful picture they made,&mdash;sitting so straight and still, and all
+      so nicely graded as to size,&mdash;they would like it better and do it a
+      little more willingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We thought, too, the baby frogs would be ashamed, when they looked in the
+      glass, to see that while the big frogs stayed still of their own free
+      will, THEY had to be held down with forked sticks. But we could never
+      discover that they were ashamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So when everything was complete my little sister used to &ldquo;let go&rdquo; of the
+      baby frogs (for, as I said, she had to hold them down while we were
+      forming the line), and I would begin the lesson. Sometimes they would
+      listen a minute, and then they would begin their pranks. They would insist
+      on playing leap-frog, which is a very nice game, but not appropriate for
+      school. Tiny Tim would jump from the foot of the class straight over all
+      the others on to Myron W. Whitney's back. Baby Mine would try to get
+      between Croaker and Goldilegs, where there wasn't any room. Nimblefoot
+      would twist round on the board and turn his back to me, which was very
+      impolite, as I was the teacher. Finally, Hop-o'-my-Thumb would go splash
+      into the pool, and all the rest, save the good old General, would follow
+      him, and the lesson would end. I suppose you have heard frogs singing just
+      after sunset, when you were going to bed? Some people think the big
+      bull-frogs say, &ldquo;JUGO'RUM! JUGO'RUM! JUGO'RUM!&rdquo; But I don't think this is
+      at all likely, as the frogs never drink anything but water in their whole
+      lives.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We used to think that some of the frogs said, &ldquo;KERCHUG! KERCHUG!&rdquo; and that
+      the largest one said, &ldquo;GOTACRUMB! GOTACRUMB! GOTACRUMB!&rdquo; Perhaps you can't
+      make it sound right, but if you listen to the frogs you can very soon do
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We thought the frogs in our froggery the very best singers in all the
+      country round. After our mother had tucked us in our little beds and
+      kissed us good-night, she used to open the window, that we might hear the
+      chirping and humming and kerchugging of our frogs down in the dear old
+      garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As we wandered dreamily off into Sandman's Land, the very last sound we
+      heard was the cheerful chorus of our baby frogs, and the deep bass notes
+      of Myron W. Whitney and the old General.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      FROEBEL'S BIRTHDAY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The whole future efficiency of man is seen in the child as a germ.&rdquo;&mdash;
+      FROEBEL.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On this day, children, the twenty-first of April, we always remember our
+      dear Froebel; for it was his birthday.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We bring flowers and vines to hang about his picture, we sing the songs
+      and play the games he loved the best, and we remember the story of his
+      life. We thank him all day long; for he made the kindergarten for us, he
+      invented these pretty things that children love to do, he thought about
+      all the pleasant work and pleasant play that make the kindergarten such a
+      happy place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On this very day, more than a hundred years ago, the baby Froebel came to
+      his happy father and mother. He was a little German baby, like Elsa's
+      brother and Fritz's little sister, and when he began to talk his first
+      words were German ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the dear mother did not stay long with her little Friedrich, for she
+      died when he was not a year old, and he was left a very sad and lonely
+      baby. His father was a busy minister, who had sermons to write, and sick
+      people to see, and unhappy people to comfort, from one end of the week to
+      the other, and he had no time to attend to his little son; so Friedrich
+      was left to the housemaid, who was too busy herself to care for him
+      properly. She was often so hurried that she was obliged to shut him up in
+      a room alone, to keep him out of her way, and then it was very hard work
+      for the child to amuse himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The only window in this room looked out on a church that workmen were
+      repairing, and Friedrich often watched these men, and tried to do just as
+      they did. He took all the small pieces of furniture, and piled one on top
+      of the other to make a big, big church, like the one outside; but the
+      chairs and stools did not fit each other very well, and soon the church
+      would come tumbling about his head. When Froebel grew to be a man, he
+      remembered this, and made the building blocks for us, so that we might
+      make fine, tall churches and houses as often as we liked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rebel's home was surrounded by other buildings, and was close to the great
+      church I told you about. There were fences and hedges all around the
+      house, and at the back there were sloping fields, stretching up a high
+      hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the little boy grew old enough to walk, he played in the garden
+      alone, a great deal of the time; but he was not allowed to go outside at
+      all, and never could get even a glimpse of the world beyond. He could only
+      see the blue sky overhead, and feel the fresh wind blowing from the hills.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His father had no time for him, his mother was dead, and I think perhaps
+      he would have died himself, for very sadness and lonesomeness, if it had
+      not been for his older brothers. Now and then, when they were at home,
+      they played and talked with him, and he grew to love them very dearly
+      indeed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Friedrich was four years old, his father brought the children a new
+      mother, and for a time the little boy was very happy. The mother was quite
+      kind at first; and now Froebel had some one to walk with in the garden,
+      some one to talk with in the daytime and to tuck him in his little bed at
+      night. But by and by, when a baby boy came to the new mother, she had no
+      more room in her heart for poor Friedrich, and he was more miserable than
+      ever. He tried to be a good boy, but no one seemed to understand him, and
+      he was often blamed for naughty things he had not done, and was never
+      praised or loved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he had learned to read he was sent to school, though not with other
+      boys, for his father thought it better for him to be with girls. The
+      school was pleasant and quiet, and Friedrich liked the teacher very much.
+      Every morning the children read from the Bible, and learned sweet songs
+      and hymns which the little boy remembered all his days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The life at home grew no happier, as Friedrich grew older; indeed, he
+      seemed to be more in the way and to get into trouble more often.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he was ten years old his uncle came to visit them, and seeing
+      Friedrich so unhappy, and fearing he would not grow up a good boy unless
+      some one cared for him, the good uncle asked to be allowed to take the
+      child home with him to live.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, at last, Friedrich had five happy years!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His uncle lived in a pretty town on the banks of a sparkling little river.
+      Everything was pleasant in the house, and Friedrich went to school with
+      forty boys of his own age. He jumped and ran with them in the playgrounds,
+      he learned to play all kinds of games, and he was happy everywhere,&mdash;at
+      school, at home, at church, playing or working.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When these five pleasant years had gone by, Froebel had finished school,
+      and now he must decide what he would do to earn his living. He had always
+      loved flowers, since the days when he played all alone in his father's
+      garden, and he liked to be out-of-doors and to see things growing; so he
+      made up his mind to be a surveyor, like our George Washington, you know,
+      and to learn, besides, how to take care of trees and forests.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He studied and worked very hard at these things, and gained a great deal
+      of knowledge about flowers and plants and trees and rocks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By and by he left this work and went to college, where he studied a long
+      time and grew to be very wise indeed. There were numbers of things he had
+      learned to do: he could measure land, take care of woods, and draw maps;
+      he could make plans of houses, and show men how to build them; he knew all
+      about fine stones and minerals, and could sort and arrange them; but he
+      found, at last, that there was nothing in the world he liked so well as
+      teaching, for he loved children very much, and he liked to be with them.
+      When Froebel was a grown man, thirty years old, a great war broke out in
+      Germany, and he went away to fight for his country; like our George
+      Washington again, you see. He marched away with the soldiers, and fought
+      bravely for a year; and then the war was over, and he went back to his
+      quiet work again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the rest of his life Froebel went on teaching all kinds of people,&mdash;boys
+      and men, and young girls and grown-up women; but he never was quite happy
+      or satisfied till he thought of teaching tiny children, just like you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He remembered very well how sad and miserable he was when a little boy,
+      with no one to love him, nobody to play with, and nothing to do; so he
+      thought of the kindergarten, where there are pleasant playmates, pretty
+      work, happy play for everybody, and teachers who love little children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was an old man when he thought of the kindergarten; but he was never
+      too old to play with children, and people who went to his country home
+      used to see him, with the little ones about him, playing the Pigeon House,
+      or the Wheel, or the Farmer, or some of the games he made for us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was often very poor, and he worked very hard all his life; but he did
+      not care for this at all, if he could help other people and make children
+      happy. And when, at last, it was time for him to die, and to go back to
+      God, who sent him to us, he was quiet and happy through all his sickness,
+      and almost the last words he said were about the flowers he loved so well,
+      and about God who had been so good to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So this is the reason, little ones, that we keep Rebel's birthday every
+      year,&mdash;because we want you to remember all he did for little
+      children, and to learn to love him just as he loved you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, let us live with our children; so shall their lives bring peace and
+      joy to us; so shall we begin to be, and to become wise.&rdquo;&mdash; FROEBEL.
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 6em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story Hour, by
+Nora A. Smith and Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
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+</html>
diff --git a/5835.txt b/5835.txt
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+++ b/5835.txt
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+Project Gutenberg's The Story Hour, by Nora A. Smith and Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Story Hour
+
+Author: Nora A. Smith
+        Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+
+Release Date: June, 2004  [EBook #5835]
+This file was first posted on September 11, 2002
+Last Updated: April 20, 2013
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY HOUR ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY HOUR
+
+A BOOK FOR THE HOME AND THE KINDERGARTEN
+
+By Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith
+
+
+
+Therefore ear and heart open to the genuine story teller, as flowers
+open to the spring sun and the May rain.
+
+FRIEDRICH FROEBEL
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+INTRODUCTION. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+PREFACE. Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith
+
+THE ORIOLE'S NEST. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+DICKY SMILY'S BIRTHDAY. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+AQUA; OR, THE WATER BABY. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+MOUFFLOU. Adapted from Ouida by Nora A. Smith
+
+BENJY IN BEASTLAND. Adapted from Mrs. Ewing by Kate Douglas Wiggin and
+Nora A. Smith
+
+THE PORCELAIN STOVE. Adapted from Ouida by Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+THE BABES IN THE WOOD. E. S. Smith
+
+THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS. Nora A. Smith
+
+THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY. Nora A. Smith
+
+LITTLE GEORGE WASHINGTON. Part I. Nora A. Smith
+
+GREAT GEORGE WASHINGTON. Part II. Nora A. Smith
+
+THE MAPLE-LEAF AND THE VIOLET. Nora A. Smith
+
+MRS. CHINCHILLA. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+A STORY OF THE FOREST. Nora A. Smith
+
+PICCOLA. Nora A. Smith
+
+THE CHILD AND THE WORLD. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+FROEBEL'S BIRTHDAY. Nora A. Smith
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+Story-telling, like letter-writing, is going out of fashion. There are
+no modern Scheherezades, and the Sultans nowadays have to be amused in
+a different fashion. But, for that matter, a hundred poetic pastimes
+of leisure have fled before the relentless Hurry Demon who governs this
+prosaic nineteenth century. The Wandering Minstrel is gone, and the
+Troubadour, and the Court of Love, and the King's Fool, and the Round
+Table, and with them the Story-Teller.
+
+"Come, tell us a story!" It is the familiar plea of childhood. Unhappy
+he who has not been assailed with it again and again. Thrice miserable
+she who can be consigned to worse than oblivion by the scathing
+criticism, "She doesn't know any stories!" and thrice blessed she who
+is recognized at a glance as a person likely to be full to the brim of
+them.
+
+There are few preliminaries and no formalities when the Person with a
+Story is found. The motherly little sister stands by the side of her
+chair, two or three of the smaller fry perch on the arms, and the baby
+climbs up into her lap (such a person always has a capacious lap), and
+folds his fat hands placidly. Then there is a deep sigh of blissful
+expectation and an expressive silence, which means, "Now we are ready,
+please; and if you would be kind enough to begin it with 'Once upon a
+time,' we should be much obliged; though of course we understand that
+all the stories in the world can't commence that way, delightful as it
+would be."
+
+The Person with a Story smiles obligingly (at least it is to be hoped
+that she does), and retires into a little corner of her brain, to
+rummage there for something just fitted to the occasion. That same
+little corner is densely populated, if she is a lover of children. In
+it are all sorts of heroic dogs, wonderful monkeys, intelligent cats,
+naughty kittens; virtues masquerading seductively as fairies, and vices
+hiding in imps; birds agreeing and disagreeing in their little nests,
+and inevitable small boys in the act of robbing them; busy bees laying
+up their winter stores, and idle butterflies disgracefully neglecting
+to do the same; and then a troop of lost children, disobedient children,
+and lazy, industrious, generous, or heedless ones, waiting to furnish
+the thrilling climaxes. The Story-Teller selects a hero or heroine
+out of this motley crowd,--all longing to be introduced to Bright-Eye,
+Fine-Ear, Kind-Heart, and Sweet-Lips,--and speedily the drama opens.
+
+Did Rachel ever have such an audience? I trow not. Rachel never had tiny
+hands snuggling into hers in "the very best part of the story," nor was
+she near enough her hearers to mark the thousand shades of expression
+that chased each other across their faces,--supposing they had any
+expression, which is doubtful. Rachel never saw dimples lurking in the
+ambush of rosy cheeks, and popping in and out in such a distracting
+manner that she felt like punctuating her discourse with kisses! Her
+dull, conventional, grown-up hearers bent a little forward in their
+seats, perhaps, and compelled by her magic power laughed and cried in
+the right places; but their eyes never shone with that starry lustre
+that we see in the eyes of happy children,--a lustre that is dimmed,
+alas, in after years. Their eyes still see visions, but the "shadows
+of the prison house" have fallen about us, and the things which we have
+seen we "now can see no more!"
+
+If you chance to be the Person with a Story, you sit like a queen on her
+throne surrounded by her loyal subjects; or like an unworthy sun with a
+group of flowers turning their faces towards you. Inspired by breathless
+attention, you try ardently to do your very best. It seems to you that
+you could never endure a total failure, and you hardly see how you could
+bear, with any sort of equanimity, even the vacant gaze or restless
+movement that would bespeak a vagrant interest. If you are a novice,
+perhaps the frightful idea crosses your mind, "What if one of
+these children should slip out of the room?" Or, still more tragic
+possibility, suppose they should look you in the eye and remark with the
+terrible candor of infancy, "We do not like this story!" But no; you
+are more fortunate. The tale is told, and you are greeted with sighs of
+satisfaction and with the instantaneous request, "Tell it again!" That
+is the encore of the Story-Teller,--"Tell it again! No, not another
+story; the same one over again, please!" for "what novelty is worth
+that sweet monotony where everything is known, and loved because it is
+known?" No royal accolade could be received with greater gratitude. You
+endeavor to let humility wait upon self-respect; but when you discover
+that the children can scarcely be dragged from your fascinating
+presence, crying like Romeo for death rather than banishment, and that
+the next time you appear they make a wild dash from the upper regions,
+and precipitate themselves upon you with the full impact of their
+several weights "multiplied into their velocity," you cannot help
+hugging yourself to think the good God has endowed you sufficiently to
+win the love and admiration of such keen observers and merciless little
+critics.
+
+Now this charming little drama takes place in somebody's nursery corner
+at twilight, when you are waiting for "that cheerful tocsin of the
+soul, the dinner-bell," or around somebody's fireside just before the
+children's bedtime; but the same scene is enacted every few days in the
+presence of the fresh-hearted, childlike kindergartner, of all women the
+likeliest to find the secret of eternal youth. She chooses the story as
+one of the vessels in which she shall carry the truth to her circle
+of little listeners, and you will never hear her say, like the needy
+knife-grinder, "Story? God bless you, I have none to tell, sir!"
+
+If the group chances to be one of bright, well-born, well-bred
+youngsters, the opportunity to inspire and instruct is one of the most
+effective and valuable that can come to any teacher. On the other hand,
+if the circle happens to be one of little ragamuffins, Arabs, scrips and
+scraps of vagrant humanity (sometimes scalawags and sometimes
+angels), born in basements and bred on curbstones, then believe me, my
+countrymen, there is a sight worth seeing, a scene fit for a painter. It
+might be a pleasant satire upon our national hospitality if the artist
+were to call such a picture "Young America," for comparatively few
+distinctively American faces would be found in his group of portraits.
+
+Make a mental picture, dear reader, of the ring of listening children in
+a San Francisco free kindergarten, for it would be difficult to gather
+so cosmopolitan a company anywhere else: curly yellow hair and rosy
+cheeks ... sleek blonde braids and calm blue eyes ... swarthy faces and
+blue-black curls ... woolly little pows and thick lips ... long, arched
+noses and broad, flat ones. There you will see the fire and passion
+of the Southern races and the self-poise, serenity, and sturdiness of
+Northern nations. Pat is there, with a gleam of humor in his eye ...
+Topsy, all smiles and teeth ... Abraham, trading tops with little
+Isaac, next in line ... Hans and Gretchen, phlegmatic and dependable
+... Francois, never still for an instant ... Christina, rosy, calm, and
+conscientious, and Duncan, canny and prudent as any of his clan.
+
+What an opportunity for amalgamation of races and for laying the
+foundation of American citizenship! for the purely social atmosphere of
+the kindergarten makes it a school of life and experience. Imagine such
+a group hanging breathless upon your words, as you recount the landing
+of the Pilgrims, or try to paint the character of George Washington
+in colors that shall appeal to children whose ancestors have known
+Napoleon, Cromwell, and Bismarck, Peter the Great, Garibaldi, Bruce, and
+Robert Emmett.
+
+To such an audience were the stories in his little book told; and the
+lines that will perhaps seem commonplace to you glow for us with a
+"light that never was on sea or land;" for "the secret of our emotions
+never lies in the bare object, but in its subtle relations to our own
+past."
+
+As we turn the pages, radiant faces peep between the words; the echo of
+childish laughter rings in our ears and curves our lips with its happy
+memory; there isn't a single round O in all the chapters but serves as
+a tiny picture-frame for an eager child's face! The commas say, "Isn't
+there any more?" the interrogation points ask, "What did the boy do
+then?" the exclamation points cry in ecstasy, "What a beautiful story!"
+and the periods sigh, "This is all for to-day."
+
+At this point--where the dog Moufflou returns to his little master--we
+remember that Carlotty Griggs clapped her ebony hands, and shrieked in
+transport, "I KNOWED HE'D come! _I_ KNOWED he'd come!"
+
+Here is the place where we remarked impressively, "A lie, children, is
+the very worst thing in the world!" whereupon Billy interrogated, with
+wide eyes and awed voice, "IS IT WORSE THAN A RAILROAD CROSSING?" And
+there is a sentence in the story of the "Bird's Nest" sacred to the
+memory of Tommy's tear!--Tommy of the callous conscience and the marble
+heart. Tommy's dull eye washed for one brief moment by the salutary
+tear! Truly the humble Story-Teller has not lived in vain. Sing, ye
+morning stars, together, for this is the spot where Tommy cried!
+
+If you would be the Person with a Story, you must not only have one to
+tell, but you must be willing to learn how to tell it, if you wish to
+make it a "rememberable thing" to children. The Story-Teller, unlike the
+poet, is made as well as born, but he is not made of all stuffs nor in
+the twinkling of an eye. In this respect he is very like the Ichneumon
+in the nonsense rhyme:&&
+
+  "There once was an idle Ichneumon
+   Who thought he could learn to play Schumann;
+   But he found, to his pains,
+   It took talent and brains,
+   And neither possessed this Ichneumon."
+
+To be effective, the story in the kindergarten should always be told,
+never read; for little children need the magnetism of eye and smile as
+well as the gesture which illuminates the strange word and endows it
+with meaning. The story that is told is always a thousand times more
+attractive, real, and personal than anything read from a book.
+
+Well-chosen, graphically told stories can be made of distinct educative
+value in the nursery or kindergarten. They give the child a love
+of reading, develop in him the germ, at least, of a taste for good
+literature, and teach him the art of speech. If they are told in simple,
+graceful, expressive English, they are a direct and valuable object
+lesson in this last direction.
+
+The ear of the child becomes used to refined intonations, and slovenly
+language will grow more and more disagreeable to him. The kindergartner
+cannot be too careful in this matter. By the sweetness of her tone and
+the perfection of her enunciation she not only makes herself a worthy
+model for the children, but she constantly reveals the possibilities of
+language and its inner meaning.
+
+"The very brooding of a voice on a word," says George Macdonald, "seems
+to hatch something of what is in it."
+
+Stories help a child to form a standard by which he can live and grow,
+for they are his first introduction into the grand world of the ideal in
+character.
+
+"We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love; And even as these are well and
+wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend."
+
+The child understands his own life better, when he is enabled to compare
+it with other lives; he sees himself and his own possibilities reflected
+in them as in a mirror.
+
+They also aid in the growth of the imaginative faculty, which is
+very early developed in the child, and requires its natural food.
+"Imagination," says Dr. Seguin, "is more than a decorative attribute
+of leisure; it is a power in the sense that from images perceived and
+stored it sublimes ideals." "If I were to choose between two great
+calamities for my children," he goes on to say, "I would rather have
+them unalphabetic than unimaginative."
+
+There is a great difference of opinion concerning the value of fairy
+stories. The Gradgrinds will not accept them on any basis whatever, but
+they are invariably so fascinating to children that it is certain they
+must serve some good purpose and appeal to some inherent craving in
+child-nature. But here comes in the necessity of discrimination.
+The true meaning of the word "faerie" is spiritual, but many stories
+masquerade under that title which have no claim to it. Some universal
+spiritual truth underlies the really fine old fairy tale; but there
+can be no educative influence in the so-called fairy stories which
+are merely jumbles of impossible incidents, and which not unfrequently
+present dishonesty, deceit, and cruelty in attractive or amusing guise.
+
+When the fairy tale carries us into an exquisite ideal world, where the
+fancy may roam at will, creating new images and seeing truth ever in new
+forms, then it has a pure and lovely influence over children, who are
+natural poets, and live more in the spirit and less in the body than
+we. The fairy tale offers us a broad canvas on which to paint our
+word-pictures. There are no restrictions of time or space; the world
+is ours, and we can roam in it at will; for spirit, there, is ever
+victorious over matter.
+
+"Once upon a time," saith the Story-Teller, "there was a beautiful
+locust tree, that bent its delicate fans and waved its creamy blossoms
+in the sunshine, and laughed because its flowers were so lovely and
+fragrant and the world was so fresh and green in its summer dress."
+
+"It's queer for a tree to laugh," said Bright-Eye.
+
+"But queerer if it didn't laugh, with such lovely blossoms hanging all
+over it," replied Fine-Ear.
+
+Everything is real to the happy child. Life is a sort of fairy garden,
+where he wanders as in a dream. "He can make abstraction of whatever
+does not fit into his fable; and he puts his eyes into his pocket just
+as we hold our noses in an unsavory lane."
+
+Stories offer a valuable field for instruction, and for introducing in
+simple and attractive form much information concerning the laws of plant
+and flower and animal life.
+
+A story of this kind, however, must be made as well as told by an
+artist; for in the hands of a bungler it is quite as likely to be a
+failure as a success. It must be compounded with the greatest care,
+and the scientific facts must be generously diluted and mixed in small
+proportions with other and more attractive elements, or it will be
+rejected by the mental stomach; or, if received in one ear, will be
+unceremoniously ushered from the other with an "Avaunt! cold fact! What
+have thou and I in common!"
+
+Did you ever tell a story of this kind and watch its effect upon
+children? Did you ever note that fatal moment when it BEGAN to BEGIN to
+dawn upon the intelligence of the dullest member of your flock that your
+narrative was a "whited sepulchre," and that he was being instructed
+within an inch of his life?
+
+"Treat me at least with honesty, my good woman!" he cries in his spirit.
+"Read me lessons if you will, but do not make a pretense of amusing me
+at the same moment!"
+
+This obvious attitude of criticism is very disagreeable to you, but
+never mind, it will be a salutary lesson. Did you think, O clumsy
+visitor in childhood land, that simply because you called your stuffed
+dolls "Prince" and "Princess" you could conduct them straight through
+the mineral kingdom, and allow them to converse with all the metals with
+impunity? Nest time make your scientific fact an integral part of the
+story, and do not try to introduce too much knowledge in one dose. All
+children love Nature and sympathize with her (or if they do not, "then
+despair of them, O Philanthropy!"), and all stories that bring them
+nearer to the dear mother's heart bring them at the same time nearer to
+God; therefore lead them gently to a loving observation of
+
+                          "The hills
+ Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
+ Stretching in pensive quietness between;
+ The venerable woods; rivers that move
+ In majesty, and the complaining brooks
+ That make the meadows green."
+
+Stories bring the force of example to bear upon children in the very
+best possible way. Here we can speak to the newly awakened soul and
+touch it to nobler issues. This can be done with very little of that
+abstract moralizing which is generally so ineffective. A moral "lugged
+in" by the heels, so to speak, without any sense of perspective on the
+part of the Story-Teller, can no more incline a child to nobler living
+than cold victuals can serve as a fillip to the appetite. The facts
+themselves should suffice to exert the moral influence; the deeds should
+speak louder than the words, and in clearer, fuller tones. At the end of
+such a story, "Go thou and do likewise" sounds in the child's heart, and
+a new throb of tenderness and aspiration, of desire to do, to grow, and
+to be, stirs gently there and wakes the soul to higher ideals. In such a
+story the canting, vapid, or didactic little moral, tacked like a tag on
+the end, for fear we shall not read the lesson aright, is nothing short
+of an insult to the better feelings. It used to be very much in vogue,
+but we have learned better nowadays, and we recognize (to paraphrase
+Mrs. Whitney's bright speech) that we have often vaccinated children
+with morality for fear of their taking it the natural way.
+
+It is a curious fact that children sympathize with the imaginary woes
+of birds and butterflies and plants much more readily than with the
+sufferings of human beings; and they are melted to tears much more
+quickly by simple incidents from the manifold life of nature, than by
+the tragedies of human experience which surround them on every side.
+Robert Louis Stevenson says in his essay on "Child's Play," "Once, when
+I was groaning aloud with physical pain, a young gentleman came into the
+room and nonchalantly inquired if I had seen his bow and arrow. He made
+no account of my groans, which he accepted, as he had to accept so
+much else, as a piece of the inexplicable conduct of his elders. Those
+elders, who care so little for rational enjoyment, and are even the
+enemies of rational enjoyment for others, he had accepted without
+understanding and without complaint, as the rest of us accept the scheme
+of the universe." Miss Anna Buckland quotes in this connection a story
+of a little boy to whom his mother showed a picture of Daniel in the
+lions' den. The child sighed and looked much distressed, whereupon his
+mother hastened to assure him that Daniel was such a good man that God
+did not let the lions hurt him. "Oh," replied the little fellow, "I was
+not thinking of that; but I was afraid that those big lions were going
+to eat all of him themselves, and that they would not give the poor
+little lion down in the corner any of him!"
+
+It is well to remember the details with which you surrounded your
+story when first you told it, and hold to them strictly on all other
+occasions. The children allow you no latitude in this matter; they
+draw the line absolutely upon all change. Woe unto you, scribes and
+Pharisees, if you speak of Jimmy when "his name was Johnny;" or if, when
+you are depicting the fearful results of disobedience, you lose Jane in
+a cranberry bog instead of the heart of a forest! Personally you do not
+care much for little Jane, and it is a matter of no moment to you where
+you lost her; but an error such as this undermines the very foundations
+of the universe in the children's minds. "Can Jane be lost in two
+places?" they exclaim mentally, "or are there two Janes, and are they
+both lost? because if so, it must be a fatality to be named Jane."
+
+Perez relates the following incident: "A certain child was fond of a
+story about a young bird, which, having left its nest, although its
+mother had forbidden it to do so, flew to the top of a chimney, fell
+down the flue into the fire, and died a victim to his disobedience. The
+person who told the story thought it necessary to embellish it from his
+own imagination. 'That's not right,' said the child at the first change
+which was made, 'the mother said this and did that.' His cousin, not
+remembering the story word for word, was obliged to have recourse to
+invention to fill up gaps. But the child could not stand it. He slid
+down from his cousin's knees, and with tears in his eyes, and indignant
+gestures, exclaimed, 'It's not true! The little bird said, coui, coui,
+coui, coui, before he fell into the fire, to make his mother hear; but
+the mother did not hear him, and he burnt his wings, his claws, and his
+beak, and he died, poor little bird.' And the child ran away, crying
+as if he had been beaten. He had been worse than beaten; he had been
+deceived, or at least he thought so; his story had been spoiled by being
+altered." So seriously do children for a long time take fiction for
+reality.
+
+If you find the attention of the children wandering, you can frequently
+win it gently back by showing some object illustrative of your story, by
+drawing a hasty sketch on a blackboard, or by questions to the children.
+You sometimes receive more answers than you bargained for; sometimes
+these answers will be confounded with the real facts; and sometimes they
+will fall very wide of the mark.
+
+I was once telling the exciting tale of the Shepherd's Child lost in
+the mountains, and of the sagacious dog who finally found him. When I
+reached the thrilling episode of the search, I followed the dog as he
+started from the shepherd's hut with the bit of breakfast for his little
+master. The shepherd sees the faithful creature, and seized by a sudden
+inspiration follows in his path. Up, up the mountain sides they climb,
+the father full of hope, the mother trembling with fear. The dog rushes
+ahead, quite out of sight; the anxious villagers press forward in hot
+pursuit. The situation grows more and more intense; they round a little
+point of rocks, and there, under the shadow of a great gray crag, they
+find&&
+
+"What do you suppose they found?"
+
+"FI' CENTS!!" shouted Benny in a transport of excitement. "BET YER THEY
+FOUND FI' CENTS!!"
+
+You would imagine that such a preposterous idea could not find favor in
+any sane community; but so altogether seductive a guess did this appear
+to be, that a chorus of "Fi' cents!" "Fi' cents!" sounded on every side;
+and when the tumult was hushed, the discovery of an ordinary flesh and
+blood child fell like an anti-climax on a public thoroughly in love
+with its own incongruities. Let the psychologist explain Benny's mental
+processes; we prefer to leave them undisturbed and unclassified.
+
+If you have no children of your own, dear Person with a Story, go into
+the highways and by-ways and gather together the little ones whose
+mothers' lips are dumb; sealed by dull poverty, hard work, and constant
+life in atmospheres where graceful fancies are blighted as soon as they
+are born. There is no fireside, and no chimney corner in those crowded
+tenements. There is no silver-haired grandsire full of years and wisdom,
+with memory that runs back to the good old times that are no more. There
+is no cheerful grandame with pocket full of goodies and a store of dear
+old reminiscences all beginning with that enchanting phrase, "When I was
+a little girl."
+
+Brighten these sordid lives a little with your pretty thoughts, your
+lovely imaginations, your tender pictures. Speak to them simply, for
+their minds grope feebly in the dim twilight of their restricted lives.
+The old, old stories will do; stories of love and heroism and sacrifice;
+of faith and courage and fidelity. Kindle in tired hearts a gentler
+thought of life; open the eyes that see not and the ears that hear not;
+interpret to them something of the beauty that has been revealed to you.
+You do not need talent, only sympathy, "the one poor word that includes
+all our best insight and our best love."
+
+                        KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+The fourteen little stories in this book are not offered as a collection
+ample enough to satisfy all needs of the kindergartner.
+
+Such a collection should embrace representative stories of all
+classes--narrative, realistic, imaginative, scientific, and historical,
+as well as brief and simple tales for the babies.
+
+An experience of twelve years among kindergartners, however, has shown
+us that there is room for a number of books like this modest example;
+containing stories which need no adaptation or arrangement; which are
+ready for the occasion, and which have been thoroughly tried before
+audience after audience of children.
+
+The three adaptations, "Benjy in Beast-Land," "Moufflou," and the
+"Porcelain Stove," have been made as sympathetically as possible. Their
+introduction needs no apology, for they are exquisite stories, and in
+their original form much too advanced for children of the kindergarten
+age.
+
+KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.
+
+NORA A. SMITH.
+
+
+
+
+THE ORIOLE'S NEST.
+
+"See how each boy, excited by the actual event, is all ear."--Froebel.
+
+
+There it hangs, on a corner of the picture frame, very much as it hung
+in the old willow-tree out in the garden.
+
+It was spring time, and I used to move my rocking-chair up to the
+window, where I could lean out and touch the green branches, and watch
+there for the wonderful beautiful things to tell my little children in
+the kindergarten. There I saw the busy little ants hard at work on
+the ground below; the patient, dull, brown toads snapping flies in the
+sunshine; the striped caterpillars lazily crawling up the trunk of the
+tree; and dozens of merry birds getting ready for housekeeping.
+
+Did you know the birdies "kept house"? Oh, yes; they never "board" like
+men and women; indeed, I don't think they even like to RENT a house
+without fixing it over to suit themselves, but they 'd much rather go to
+work and build one,
+
+    "So snug and so warm, so cosy and neat,
+     To start at their housekeeping all complete."
+
+Now there hung just inside my window a box of strings, and for two or
+three days, no matter how many I put into it, when I went to look the
+next time none could be found. I had talked to the little girls and
+scolded the little boys in the house, but no one knew anything about
+the matter, when one afternoon, as I was sitting there, a beautiful bird
+with a yellow breast fluttered down from the willow-tree, perched on the
+window-sill, cocked his saucy head, winked his bright eye, and without
+saying "If you please," clipped his naughty little beak into the string
+box and flew off with a piece of pink twine.
+
+I sat as still as a mouse to see if the little scamp would dare to come
+back; he didn't, but he sent his wife, who gave a hop, skip, and a jump,
+looked me squarely in the eye, and took her string without being a bit
+afraid.
+
+Now do you call that stealing? "No," you answer. Neither do I; to be
+sure they took what belonged to me, but the window was wide open, and I
+think they must have known I loved the birds and would like to give them
+something for their new house. Perhaps they knew, too, that bits of old
+twine could not be worth much.
+
+Then how busily they began their work! They had already chosen the place
+for their nest, springing up and down in the boughs till they found a
+branch far out of sight of snakes and hawks and cruel tabby cats, high
+out of reach of naughty small boys with their sling-shots, and now
+everything was ready for these small carpenters to begin their building.
+No hammer and nails were needed, claw and bill were all the tools they
+used, and yet what beautiful carpenter work was theirs!
+
+Do you see how strongly the nest is tied on to those three slender
+twigs, and how carefully and closely it is woven, so that you can
+scarcely pull it apart? Those wiry black hairs holding all the rest
+together were dropped from Prince Charming's tail (Prince Charming is
+the pretty saddle-horse who crops his grass, under the willow-tree).
+Those sleek brown hairs belonged to Dame Margery, the gentle mooly cow,
+who lives with her little calf Pet in the stable with Prince Charming;
+and there is a shining yellow spot on one side. Ah, you roguish birds,
+you must have been outside the kitchen window when baby Johnny's curls
+were cut! We could only spare two from his precious head, and we hunted
+everywhere for this one to send to grandmamma!
+
+Now just look at this door in the side of the nest, and tell me how a
+bird could make such a perfect one; and yet I've heard you say, "It's
+only a bird; he doesn't know anything." To be sure he cannot do as many
+things as you, but after all you are not wise enough to do many of the
+things that he does. What would one of my little boys do, I wonder, if
+he were carried miles away from home and dropped in a place he had never
+seen? Why, he would be too frightened to do anything but cry; and yet
+there are many birds, who, when taken away a long distance, will perch
+on top of the weather-vane, perhaps, make up their little bits of minds
+which way to go, and then with a whir-r-r-r fly off over house-tops and
+church-steeples, towns and cities, rivers and meadows, until they reach
+the place from which they started.
+
+Look at the nest for the last time now, and see the soft, lovely lining
+of ducks' feathers and lambs' wool.
+
+Why do you suppose it was made so velvet soft and fleecy? Why, for the
+little birds that were coming, of course; and sure enough, one morning
+after the tiny house was all finished, I leaned far out of the window
+and saw five little eggs cuddled close together; but I did not get much
+chance to look at those precious eggs, I can tell you; for the mamma
+bird could scarcely spare a minute to go and get a drink of water, so
+afraid was she that they would miss the warmth of her downy wings.
+
+There she sat in the long May days and warm, still nights: who but a
+mamma would be so sweet and kind and patient?--but SHE didn't mind the
+trouble--not a bit. Bless her dear little bird-heart, they were not eggs
+to her: she could see them even now as they were going to be, her five
+cunning, downy, feathery birdlings, chirping and fluttering under her
+wings; so she never minded the ache in her back or the cramp in her
+legs, but sat quite still at home, though there were splendid picnics
+in the strawberry patches and concerts on the fence rails, and all the
+father birds, and all the mother birds that were not hatching eggs, were
+having a great deal of fun this beautiful weather. At last all was over,
+and I was waked up one morning by such a chirping and singing--such a
+fluttering and flying--I knew in a minute that where the night before
+there had been two birds and five eggs, now there were seven birds and
+nothing but egg-shells in the green willow-tree!
+
+The papa oriole would hardly wait for me to dress, but flew on and off
+the window-sill, seeming to say, "Why don't you get up? why don't you
+get up? I have five little birds; they came out of the shells this very
+morning, so hungry that I can't get enough for them to eat! Why don't
+you get up, I say? I have five little birds, and I am taking care of
+them while my wife is off taking a rest!"
+
+They were five scrawny, skinny little things, I must say; for you know
+birds don't begin by being pretty like kittens and chickens, but look
+very bare and naked, and don't seem to have anything to show but a big,
+big mouth which is always opening and crying "Yip, yip, yip!"
+
+Now I think you are wondering why I happen to have this nest, and how
+I could have taken away the beautiful house from the birds. Ah, that is
+the sad part of the story, and I wish I need not tell it to you.
+
+When the baby birds were two days old, I went out on a long ride
+into the country, leaving everything safe and happy in the old green
+willow-tree; but when I came back, what do you think I found on the
+ground under the branches?----A wonderful hang-bird's nest cut from the
+tree, and five poor still birdies lying by its side. Five slender necks
+all limp and lifeless,--five pairs of bright eyes shut forever! and
+overhead the poor mamma and papa twittering and crying in the way little
+birds have when they are frightened and sorry--flying here and there,
+first down to the ground and then up in the tree, to see if it was
+really true.
+
+While I was gone two naughty boys had come into the garden to dig for
+angle-worms, and all at once they spied the oriole's nest.
+
+"O Tommy, here's a hang-bird's nest, such a funny one! there's nobody
+here, let's get it," cried Jack.
+
+Up against the tree they put the step-ladder; and although it was almost
+out of reach, a sharp jack-knife cut the twigs that held it up, and down
+it fell from the high tree with a heavy thud on the hard earth, and the
+five little orioles never breathed again! Of course the boys didn't know
+there were any birdies in the nest, or they wouldn't have done it for
+the world; but that didn't make it any easier for the papa and mamma
+bird.
+
+Now, dear children, never let me hear you say, "It's no matter, they're
+only birds, they don't care."
+
+Think about this nest: how the mother and father worked at it, weaving
+hair and string and wool together, day by day! Think how the patient
+mamma sat on the eggs, dreaming of the time when she should have five
+little singing, flying birds to care for, to feed and to teach! and then
+to have them live only two short days! Was it not dreadful to lose her
+beautiful house and dear little children both at once?
+
+Never forget that just as your own father and mother love their dear
+little girls and boys, so God has made the birds love their little
+feathery children that are born in the wonderful nests he teaches them
+to build.
+
+
+
+
+DICKY SMILEY'S BIRTHDAY.
+
+"In order to be especially beneficial and effective, story-telling
+should be connected with the events and occurrences of life."--Froebel.
+
+
+Dicky Smiley was eight years old when all these things happened that I
+am going to tell you; eight years old, and as bright as a steel button.
+It was very funny that his name should be Smiley, for his face was just
+like a sunbeam, and if he ever cried at all it was only for a minute,
+and then the smiles would creep out and chase the tear-drops away from
+the blue sky of his eyes.
+
+Dicky's mother tried to call him Richard, because it was his papa's
+name, but it never would say itself somehow, and even when she did
+remember, and called him "Richard," his baby sister Dot would cry,
+"Mamma, don't scold Dicky."
+
+He had once a good, loving papa like yours, when he was a tiny baby in
+long white clothes; but the dear papa marched away with the blue-coated
+soldiers one day, and never came back any more to his little children;
+for he died far, far away from home, on a green battlefield, with many
+other soldiers. You can think how sad and lonely Dicky's mamma was, and
+how she hugged her three babies close in her arms, and said:&&
+
+"Darlings, you haven't any father now, but the dear God will help your
+mother to take care of you!"
+
+And now she was working hard, so very hard, from morning till night
+every day to get money to buy bread and milk and clothes for Bess and
+Dot and Dicky.
+
+But Dicky was a good little fellow and helped his mamma ever so much,
+pulling out bastings from her needlework, bringing in the kindling
+and shavings from the shed, and going to the store for her butter and
+potatoes and eggs. So one morning she said:&&
+
+"Dicky, you have been such a help to me this summer, I'd like to give
+you something to make you very happy. Let us count the money in your
+bank--you earned it all yourself--and see what we could buy with it. To
+be sure, Bess wants a waterproof and Dot needs rubbers, but we do want
+our little boy to have a birthday present."
+
+"Oh, mamma," cried he, clapping his hands, "what a happy day it will
+be! I shall buy that tool-box at the store round the corner! It's such a
+beauty, with a little saw, a claw-hammer, a chisel, a screw-driver, and
+everything a carpenter needs. It costs just a dollar, exactly!"
+
+Then they unscrewed the bank and found ninety-five cents, so that it
+would take only five cents more to make the dollar. Dicky earned that
+before he went to bed, by piling up wood for a neighbor; and his
+mamma changed all the little five and ten cent pieces into two bright
+half-dollars that chinked together joyfully in his trousers pocket.
+
+The next morning he was up almost at the same time the robins and
+chimney-swallows flew out of their nests; jumped down the stairs, two at
+a time, and could scarcely eat his breakfast, such a hurry as he was in
+to buy the precious tool-box. He opened the front door, danced down the
+wooden steps, and there on the curb in front of the house stood a little
+girl, with a torn gingham apron, no shoes, no hat, and her nut-brown
+curls flying in the wind; worse than all, she was crying as if her heart
+would break.
+
+"Why, little girl, what's the matter?" asked Dicky, for he was a
+kind-hearted boy, and didn't like to see people cry.
+
+She took down her apron and sobbed:&&
+
+"Oh, I've lost my darling little brown dog, and I can never get him
+back!"
+
+"Why, has somebody poisoned him--is he dead?" said Dicky.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"No, oh no! The pound-man took him away in his cart--my sweet little bit
+of a dog; he has such a cunning little curly tail, and long, silky ears;
+he does all kinds of tricks, and they'll never let me in at home without
+Bruno."
+
+And then she began to cry harder than ever, so that Dicky hardly knew
+what to say to her.
+
+Now the pound, children, is a very large place somewhere near the city,
+with a high fence all around it, and inside are kept colts and horses,
+the little calves and mother cows, and the sheep and goats that run away
+from home, or are picked up by the roadside. The pound-man rides along
+the street in a big cart, which has a framework of slats built over
+it, so that it looks something like a chicken-coop on wheels, and in
+it--some of you have seen him do it--he puts the poor dogs that haven't
+collars on, and whose masters haven't paid for them. Then he rides away
+and locks them up in the great place inside the high fence, and they
+have to stay awhile. The dogs are killed if nobody comes for them.
+
+"Well," said Dicky, "let us go and see the pound-man. Do you know where
+he lives?"
+
+"Yes, indeed," answered the little girl, whose name was Lola. "I ran
+behind the cart all the way to the pound. I cried after Bruno, and Bruno
+whined for me, and poked his nose between the bars and tried to jump
+out, but he couldn't. It's a pretty long way there, and the man is as
+cross as two sticks."
+
+But they started off, and on and on they walked together, Dicky having
+tight hold of Lola's hand, while she told him about the wonderful things
+Bruno could do; how he could go up and down a ladder, play the fife
+and beat the drum, make believe go to sleep, and dance a jig. It was by
+these tricks of his that Lola earned money for her uncle, with whom she
+lived; for her father and mother were both dead, and there was no one in
+the whole world who loved the little girl. The dear mother had died in a
+beautiful mountain country far across the ocean, and Lola and Bruno
+had been sent in a ship over to America. Now this dear, pretty mamma of
+Lola's used to sing to her when she rocked her to sleep, and as she grew
+from a baby to a tiny girl she learned the little songs to sing to Bruno
+when he was a little puppy. Would you like to hear one of them? She used
+to sing it on the street corners, and at the end of the last verse that
+knowing, cunning, darling Bruno would yawn as if he could not keep awake
+another minute, tuck his silky head between his two fore paws, shut his
+bright eyes, give a tired little sigh, and stay fast asleep until Lola
+waked him. This is the song:&&
+
+Wake, lit-tle Bru-no! Wake, lit-tle Bru-no,
+
+Wake, lit-tle Bru-no quick-ly!
+
+When the two children came to the pound and saw the little house at the
+gate where the pound-man lived, Dicky was rather frightened and hardly
+dared walk up the steps; but after a moment he thought to himself, "I
+won't be a coward; I haven't done anything wrong." So he gave the door
+a rousing knock, for an eight-year-old boy, and brought the man out at
+once.
+
+"What do you want?" said he, in a gruff voice, for he did seem rather
+cross.
+
+"Please, sir, I want Lola's little brown dog. He's all the dog she has,
+and she earns money with him. He does funny tricks for ten cents."
+
+"How do you think I know whether I've got a brown dog in there or not?"
+growled he. "You'd better run home to your mothers, both of you."
+
+At this Lola began to cry again, and Dicky said quickly:&&
+
+"Oh, you 'd know him soon as anything,--he has such a cunning curly tail
+and long silky ears. His name is Bruno."
+
+"Well," snapped the man, "where's your money? Hurry up! I want my
+breakfast."
+
+"Money!" cried Dicky, looking at Lola.
+
+"Money!" whispered little Lola, looking back at Dicky.
+
+"Yes," said he, "of course! Give me a dollar and I will give you the
+dog."
+
+"But," answered Lola, "I haven't a bit of money; I never have any."
+
+"Neither have"--began Dicky; and then his fingers crept into his
+trousers pocket and felt the two silver half-dollars that were to buy
+his tool-box. He had forgotten all about that tool-box for an hour, but
+how could he--how could he ever give away that precious money which
+he had been so long in getting together, five cents at a time? He
+remembered the sharp little saw, the stout hammer, the cunning plane,
+bright chisel, and shining screw-driver, and his fingers closed round
+the money tightly; but just then he looked at pretty little Lola, with
+her sad face, her swollen eyes and the brave red lips she was trying to
+keep from quivering with tears. That was enough; he quickly drew out the
+silver dollar, and said to the pound-man:&&
+
+"Here's your dollar--give us the dog!"
+
+The man looked much surprised. Not many little eight-year-old boys have
+a dollar in their trousers pocket.
+
+"Where did you get it?" he asked.
+
+"I earned every cent of it," answered poor Dicky with a lump in his
+throat and a choking voice. "I brought in coal and cut kindlings for
+most six months before I got enough, and there ain't another tool-box in
+the world so good as that one for a dollar--but I want Bruno!"
+
+{Illustration: "Here's your dollar--give us the dog'"}
+
+Then the pound-man showed them a little flight of steps that led up to
+a square hole in the wall of the pound, and told them to go up and look
+through it and see if the dog was there. They climbed up and put their
+two rosy eager faces at the rough little window. "Bruno! Bruno!" called
+little Lola, and no Bruno came; but every frightened homesick little
+doggy in that prison poked up his nose, wagged his tail, and started
+for the voice. It didn't matter whether they were Fidos, or Carlos, or
+Rovers, or Pontos; they knew that they were lonesome little dogs, and
+perhaps somebody had remembered them. Lola's tender heart ached at the
+sight of so many fatherless and motherless dogs, and she cried,&&
+
+"No, no, you poor darlings! I haven't come for you; I want my own
+Bruno."
+
+"Sing for him, and may be he will come," said Dicky; and Lola leaned her
+elbow on the window sill and sang:&&
+
+   Lit-tle shoes are sold at the gate-way of Heaven,
+   And to all the tattered lit-tle an-gels are giv-en;
+   Slum-ber my dar-ling, Slum-ber my dar-ling,
+   Slum-ber my dar-ling sweet-ly.
+
+Now Bruno was so tired with running from the pound-man, so hungry, so
+frightened, and so hoarse with barking that he had gone to sleep; but
+when he heard Lola's voice singing the song he knew so well, he started
+up, and out he bounded half awake--the dearest, loveliest little brown
+dog in the world, with a cunning curly tail sticking up in a round bob
+behind, two long silky ears that almost touched the ground, and four
+soft white feet.
+
+Then they were two such glad children, and such a glad little brown
+dog was Bruno! Why, he kissed Lola's bare feet and hands and face,
+and nearly chewed her apron into rags, he was so delighted to see his
+mistress again. Even the cross pound-man smiled and said he was the
+prettiest puppy, and the smartest, he had ever had in the pound, and
+that when he had shut him up the night before he had gone through all
+his funny tricks in hopes that he would be let out.
+
+Then Dicky and Lola walked back home over the dusty road, Bruno running
+along beside them, barking at the birds, sniffing at the squirrels, and
+chasing all the chickens and kittens he met on the way, till at last
+they reached the street corner, where Lola turned to go to her home,
+after kissing her new friend and thanking him for being so good and kind
+to her.
+
+But what about Master Dicky himself, who had lost his tool-box? He
+didn't feel much like a smiling boy just then. He crept in at the back
+door, and when he saw his dear mother's face in the kitchen he couldn't
+stand it a minute longer, but burst out crying, and told her all about
+it.
+
+"Well, my little son," said she, "I'm very, very sorry. I wish I could
+give you another dollar, but I haven't any money to spare. You did just
+right to help Lola find Bruno, and buy him back for her, and I'm
+very proud of my boy; but you can't give away the dollar and have the
+tool-box too. So wipe your eyes, and try to be happy. You didn't eat any
+breakfast, dear, take a piece of nice bread and sugar."
+
+So Dicky dried his tears and began to eat.
+
+After a while he wanted to wipe his sticky, sugary little mouth, and as
+he took his clean handkerchief out of his pocket, two shining, chinking,
+clinking round things tumbled out on the floor and rolled under
+the kitchen table! What could they have been! Why, his two silver
+half-dollars, to be sure. And where in the world did they come from, do
+you suppose? Why, it was the nicest, funniest thing! The pound-man was
+not so cross after all, for he thought Lola and Dicky were two such kind
+children, and Bruno such a cunning dog, that he could not bear to take
+Dicky's dollar away from him; so while the little boy was looking the
+other way the pound-man just slipped the money back into Dick's bit of a
+pocket without saying a word. Wasn't that a beautiful surprise?
+
+So Dicky ran to the corner store as fast as his feet could carry him,
+and bought the tool-box.
+
+Every Saturday afternoon he has such a pleasant time playing with it!
+And who do you suppose sits on the white kitchen floor with Dot and
+Bess, watching him make dolls' tables and chairs with his carpenter's
+tools? Why, Lola, to be sure, and a little brown dog too, with a cunning
+curly tail turned up in a round bob behind, and two long silky ears
+touching the floor. For Dick's mamma had such a big heart that I do
+believe it would have held all the children in the world, and as Lola's
+uncle didn't care for her the least little bit, he gave her to this
+mamma of Dicky's, who grew to love this little girl almost as well as
+she loved her own Dicky and Dot and Bess.
+
+
+
+
+AQUA; OR, THE WATER BABAY.
+
+
+{Footnote: The plan of this story was suggested to me many years ago; so
+many, indeed, that I cannot now remember whether it was my friend's own,
+or whether he had read something like it in German.--K. D. W.}
+
+
+"This standing above life, and yet grasping life, and being stirred by
+life, is what makes the genuine educator."--Froebel.
+
+
+It was a clear, sunshiny day, and out on the great, wide, open sea there
+sparkled thousands and thousands of water-drops. One of these was a
+merry little fellow who danced on the silver backs of the fishes as they
+plunged up and down in the waves, and, no matter how high he sprung,
+always came down again plump into his mother's lap.
+
+His mother, you know, was the Ocean, and very beautiful she looked that
+summer day in her dark blue dress and white ruffles.
+
+By and by the happy water-drop tired of his play, and looking up to the
+clear sky above him thought he would like to have a sail on one of
+the white floating clouds; so, giving a jump from the Ocean's arms, he
+begged the Sun to catch him up and let him go on a journey to see the
+earth.
+
+The Sun said "Yes," and took ever so many other drops, too, so that Aqua
+might not be lonesome on the way. He did not know this, however, for
+they all had been changed into fine mist or vapor. Do you know what
+vapor is? If you breathe into the air, when it is cold enough, you will
+see it coming out of your mouth like steam, and you may also see very
+hot steam coming from the nose of a kettle of boiling water. When it
+is quite near to the earth, where we can see it, we call it "fog." The
+water-drops had been changed into vapor because in their own shape they
+were too heavy for sunbeams to carry.
+
+Higher and higher they sailed, so fast that they grew quite dizzy; why,
+in an hour they had gone over a hundred miles! and how grand it was,
+to be looking down on the world below, and sailing faster than fish can
+swim or birds can fly!
+
+But after a while it grew nearly time for the Sun to go to bed; he
+became very red in the face, and began to sink lower and lower, until
+suddenly he went clear out of sight!
+
+Poor little Aqua could not help being frightened, for every minute it
+grew darker and colder. At last he thought he would try to get back to
+the earth again, so he slipped away, and as he fell lower and lower
+he grew heavier, until he was a little round, bright drop again, and
+alighted on a rosebush. A lovely velvet bud opened its leaves, and in
+he slipped among the crimson cushions, to sleep until morning. Then the
+leaves opened, and rolling over in his bed he called out, "Please, dear
+Sun, take me with you again." So the sunbeams caught him up a second
+time, and they flew through the air till the noon-time, when it grew
+warmer and warmer, and there was no red rose to hide him, not even a
+blade of grass to shade his tired head; but just as he was crying out,
+"Please, King Sun, let me go back to the dear mother Ocean," the wind
+took pity on him, and came with its cool breath and fanned him, with all
+his brothers, into a heavy gray cloud, after which he blew them apart
+and told them to join hands and hurry away to the earth. Helter-skelter
+down they went, rolling over each other pell-mell, till with a patter
+and clatter and spatter they touched the ground, and all the people
+cried, "It rains."
+
+Some of the drops fell on a mountain side, Aqua among them, and down
+the rocky cliff he ran, leading the way for his brothers. Soon, together
+they plunged into a mountain brook, which came foaming and dashing
+along, leaping over rocks and rushing down the hillside, till in the
+valley below they heard the strangest clattering noise.
+
+On the bank stood a flour-mill, and at the door a man whose hat and
+clothes were gray with dust.
+
+Inside the mill were two great stones, which kept whizzing round and
+round, faster than a boy's top could spin, worked by the big wheel
+outside; and these stones ground the wheat into flour and the corn into
+golden meal.
+
+But what giant do you suppose it was who could turn and swing that
+tremendous wheel, together with those heavy stones? No giant at all.
+No one but our tiny little water-drops themselves, who sprang on it by
+hundreds and thousands, and whirled it over and over.
+
+The brook emptied into a quiet pond where ducks and geese were swimming.
+Such a still, beautiful place it was, with the fuzzy, brown cat-tails
+lifting their heads above the water, and the yellow cow lilies, with
+their leaves like green platters, floating on the top. On the edge lived
+the fat green bullfrogs, and in the water were spotted trout, silver
+shiners, cunning minnows, and other fish.
+
+Aqua liked this place so much that he stayed a good while, sailing up
+and down, taking the ducks' backs for ships and the frogs for horses;
+but after a time he tired of the dull life, and he and his brothers
+floated out over a waterfall and under a bridge for a long, long
+distance, until they saw another brook tumbling down a hillside.
+
+"Come, let's join hands!" cried Aqua; and so they all dashed on together
+till they came to a broad river which opened its arms to them.
+
+By the help of Aqua and his brothers the beautiful river was able to
+float heavy ships, though not so long ago it was only a little rill,
+through which a child could wade or over which he could step. Here a
+vessel loaded with lumber was carried just as easily as if it had been
+a paper boat; there a steamer, piled with boxes and barrels, and crowded
+with people, passed by, its great wheel crashing through the water and
+leaving a long trail, as of foamy soapsuds, behind it. On and ever on
+the river went, seeking the ocean, and whether it hurried round a corner
+or glided smoothly on its way to the sea, there was always something
+new and strange to be seen--busy cities, quiet little towns, buzzing
+sawmills, stone bridges, and harbors full of all sorts of vessels, large
+and small, with flags of all colors floating from the masts and sailors
+of all countries working on the decks. But Aqua did not stay long in any
+place, for as the river grew wider and wider, and nearer and nearer
+its end, he could almost see the mother Ocean into whose arms he was
+joyfully running. She reached out to gather all her children, the
+water-drops, into her heart, and closer than all the others nestled our
+little Aqua.
+
+His travels were over, his pleasures and dangers past; and he was folded
+again to the dear mother heart, the safest, sweetest place in all the
+whole wide world. In warm, still summer evenings, if you will take a
+walk on the sea-beach, you will hear the gentle rippling swash of the
+waves; and some very wise people think it must be the gurgling voices
+of Aqua and his brother water-drops telling each other about their
+wonderful journey round the world.
+
+
+
+
+MOUFFLOU.
+
+Adapted from Ouida.
+
+"We tell too few stories to children, and those we tell are stories
+whose heroes are automata and stuffed dolls,"--Froebel.
+
+
+Lolo and Moufflou lived far away from here, in a sunny country called
+Italy.
+
+Lolo was not as strong as you are, and could never run about and play,
+for he was lame, poor fellow, and always had to hop along on a little
+crutch. He was never well enough to go to school, but as his fingers
+were active and quick he could plait straw matting and make baskets at
+home. He had four or five rosy, bright little brothers and sisters, but
+they were all so strong and could play all day so easily that Lolo was
+not with them much; so Moufflou was his very best friend, and they were
+together all day long.
+
+Moufflou was a snow-white poodle, with such soft, curly wool that he
+looked just like a lamb; and the man who gave him to the children, when
+he was a little puppy, had called him "Moufflon," which meant sheep in
+his country.
+
+Lolo's father had died four years before; but he had a mother, who had
+to work very hard to keep the children clean and get them enough to eat.
+He had, too, a big brother Tasso, who worked for a gardener, and every
+Saturday night brought his wages home to help feed and clothe the little
+children. Tasso was almost a man now, and in that country as soon as you
+grow to be a man you have to go away and be a soldier; so Lolo's mother
+was troubled all the time for fear that her Tasso would be taken away.
+If you have money enough, you can always pay some one to go in your
+place; but Tasso had no money, and neither had the poor mother, so every
+day she was anxious lest her boy might have to go to the wars.
+
+But Lolo and Moufflon knew nothing of all this, and every day, when
+Lolo was well enough, they were happy together. They would walk up the
+streets, or sit on the church, steps, or, if the day was fair, would
+perhaps go into the country and bring home great bundles of yellow and
+blue and crimson flowers.
+
+The tumble-down old house in which the family lived was near a tall,
+gray church. It was a beautiful old church, and all the children loved
+it, but Lolo most of all. He loved it in the morning, when the people
+brought in great bunches of white lilies to trim it; and at noon, when
+it was cool and shady; and at sunset, when the long rays shone through
+the painted windows and made blue and golden and violet lights on the
+floor.
+
+One morning Lolo and Moufflou were sitting on the church steps and
+watching the people, when a gentleman who was passing by stopped to look
+at the dog.
+
+"That's a very fine poodle," he said.
+
+"Indeed he is," cried Lolo. "But you should see him on Sundays when he
+is just washed; then he is as white as snow."
+
+"Can he do any tricks?" asked the gentleman.
+
+"I should say so," said Lolo, for he had taught the dog all he knew. "He
+can stand on his hind legs, he can dance, he can speak, he can make a
+wheelbarrow of himself, and when I put a biscuit on his nose and count
+one, two, three, he will snap and catch the biscuit."
+
+The gentleman said he should like to see some of the tricks, and
+Moufflou was very glad to do them, for no one had ever whipped him or
+hurt him, and he loved to do what his little master wished. Then the
+gentleman told Lolo that he had a little boy at home, so weak and so
+sick that he could not get up from the sofa, and that he would like to
+have Lolo bring the poodle to show him the next day, so he gave Lolo
+some money, and told him the name of the hotel where he was staying.
+
+Lolo went hopping home as fast as his little crutch could carry him, and
+went quickly upstairs to his mother.
+
+"Oh, mamma!" he said. "See the money a gentleman gave me, and all
+because dear Moufflou did his pretty tricks so nicely. Now you can have
+your coffee every morning, and Tasso can have his new suit for Sunday."
+Then he told his mother about the gentleman, and that he had promised to
+take Moufflou to see him the next day.
+
+{Illustration: He will snap and catch the biscuit}
+
+So when the morning came, Moufflou was washed as white as snow, and his
+pretty curls were tied up with blue ribbon, and they both trotted off.
+Moufflou was so proud of his curls and his ribbon that he hardly liked
+to put his feet on the ground at all. They were shown to the little
+boy's room, where he lay on the sofa very pale and unhappy. A bright
+little look came into his eyes when he saw the dog, and he laughed when
+Moufflou did his tricks. How he clapped his hands when he saw him make
+a wheelbarrow, and he tossed them both handfuls of cakes and candies!
+Neither the boy nor the dog ever had quite enough to eat, so they
+nibbled the little cakes with their sharp, white teeth, and were very
+glad.
+
+When Lolo got up to go, the little boy began to cry, and said, "Oh, I
+want the dog. Let me have the dog!"
+
+"Oh, indeed I can't," said Lolo, "he is my own Moufflou, and I cannot
+let you have him."
+
+The little boy was so unhappy and cried so bitterly that Lolo was very
+sorry to see him, and he went quickly down the stairs with Moufflou. The
+gentleman gave him more money this time, and he was so excited and so
+glad that he went very fast all the way home, swinging himself over the
+stones on his little crutch. But when he opened the door, there was his
+mother crying as if her heart would break, and all the children were
+crying in a corner, and even Tasso was home from his work, looking very
+unhappy.
+
+"Oh! what is the matter?" cried Lolo. But no one answered him, and
+Moufflon, seeing them all so sad, sat down and threw up his nose in the
+air and howled a long, sad howl. By and by one of the children told Lolo
+that at last Tasso had been chosen to be a soldier, and that he must
+soon go away to the war. The poor mother said, crying, that she did not
+know what would become of her little children through the long, cold
+winter.
+
+Lolo showed her his money, but she was too unhappy even to care for
+that, and so by and by he went to his bed with Moufflou. The dog had
+always slept at Lolo's feet, but this night he crept close up by the
+side of his little master, and licked his hand now and then to show that
+he was sorry.
+
+The next morning Lolo and Moufflon went with Tasso to the gardens where
+he worked, and all the way along the bright river and among the green
+trees they talked together of what they should do when Tasso had gone.
+Tasso said that if they could only get some money he would not have to
+go away to the wars, but he shook his head sadly and knew that no one
+would lend it to them. At noon Lolo went home with Moufflon to his
+dinner. When they had finished (it was only bean soup and soon eaten),
+the mother told Lolo that his aunt wanted him to go and see her that
+afternoon, and take care of the children while she went out. So Lolo put
+on his hat, called Moufflou, and was limping toward the door, when his
+mother said:&&
+
+"No, don't take the dog to-day, your aunt doesn't like him; leave him
+here with me."
+
+"Leave Moufflou?" said Lolo, "why, I never leave him; he wouldn't know
+what to do without me all the afternoon."
+
+"Yes, leave him," said his mother. "I don't want you to take him with
+you. Don't let me tell you again." So Lolo turned around and went down
+the stairs, feeling very sad at leaving his dear Moufflou even for a
+short time. But the hours went by, and when night-time came he hurried
+back to the little old home. He stood at the bottom of the long, dark
+stairway and called "Moufflou! Moufflou!" but no doggie came; then he
+climbed half-way up to the landing and called again, "Moufflou!" but no
+little white feet came pattering down. Up to the top of the stairs went
+poor tired Lolo and opened the door.
+
+"Why, where is my Moufflou?" he said.
+
+The mother had been crying, and she looked very sad and did not answer
+him for a moment.
+
+"Where is my Moufflou?" asked Lolo again, "what have you done with my
+dear Moufflou?"
+
+"He is sold," the mother said at last, "sold to the gentleman who has
+the little lame boy. He came here to-day, and he likes the dog so much
+and his little boy was so pleased at the pretty tricks he does, that he
+told me he would give a great deal of money if I would sell him the dog.
+Just think, Lolo, he gave me so much money that we can pay somebody now
+to go to the war for Tasso."
+
+But before she had finished talking, Lolo began to grow white and cold
+and to waver to and fro, so that his little crutch could hardly support
+him. When she had done he called out, "My Moufflou--my Moufflou sold!"
+and he threw his hands up over his head and fell all in a heap on the
+floor, his poor little crutch clattering down beside him. His mother
+took him up and laid him on his bed, but all night long he tossed to and
+fro, calling for his dog. When the morning came, his little hands and
+his head were very, very hot, and by and by the doctor came and said he
+had a fever. He asked the mother what it was the little boy was calling
+for, and she told him that it was his dog, and that he had been sold.
+The doctor shook his head, and then went away.
+
+Day after day poor Lolo lay on his bed. His hair had been cut short, he
+did not know his brothers and sisters, nor his mother, and his little
+aching head went to and fro, to and fro, on the pillow from morning till
+night. Once Tasso went to the hotel to find the gentleman. He was
+going to tell him to take the money and give him back the dog; but the
+gentleman had gone many miles away on the cars and taken Moufflou with
+him. So every day Lolo grew weaker, until the doctor said that he must
+die very soon.
+
+One afternoon they were all in the room with him. The windows were wide
+open. His mother sat by his bed and the children on the floor beside
+her; even Tasso was at home helping to take care of his little
+brother. All was so still that you could hear poor Lolo's faint breath,
+when--suddenly--there was a scampering and a pattering of little feet
+on the stairs, and a white poodle dashed into the room and jumped on the
+bed. It was Moufflou! but you would never have known him, for he was
+so thin that you could count all his bones. His curls were dirty and
+matted, and full of sticks and straws and burrs; his feet were dusty and
+bleeding, and you could tell in a moment that he had traveled a great
+many miles. When he jumped on the bed, Lolo opened his eyes a little.
+He saw it was Moufflou, and laid one little thin hand on the dog's
+head; then he turned on his pillow, closed his eyes, and went quietly to
+sleep. Moufflou would not get off the bed, and would eat nothing unless
+they brought it to him there. He only lay close by his little master,
+with his brown eyes wide open, looking straight into his face. By and by
+the doctor came, and said that Lolo was really a little better, and
+that perhaps he might get well now. The mother and Tasso were very glad
+indeed, but they knew that the gentleman would come back for his dog,
+and they scarcely knew what to do, nor what to say to him. Lolo grew a
+little stronger every day, and at the end of a week a man came upstairs
+asking if Moufflou was there. They had taken him a long way off, but
+he had run away from them one day, and they had never been able to find
+him. Tasso asked the messenger to let Moufflou stay until he had seen
+the gentleman, and he took the money and put on his hat and went with
+him to the hotel. The sick boy was in the room with his father, and
+Tasso went straight to them and told them all about it: that Lolo nearly
+died without his dear Moufflon, that day after day he lay in his bed
+calling for the dog, and that at last one afternoon Moufflon came back
+to them, thin and hungry and dirty, but so glad to see his little master
+again. Nobody knew, said Tasso, how he could have found his way so many
+miles alone, but there he was, and now he begged the gentleman to be
+so kind as to take back the money. He would go and be a soldier, if he
+must; but Lolo and his dog must never be parted again.
+
+The gentleman told Tasso that he seemed to be a kind brother, and that
+he might keep the money and the dog too, if only he would find them
+another poodle and teach him to be as wise and faithful as Moufflou was.
+Tasso was so glad that he thanked them again and again, and hurried home
+to tell Lolo and his mother the good news. He soon found a poodle almost
+as pretty as Moufflou, and every day Lolo, who has grown strong now,
+helps Tasso to teach him all of Moufflon's tricks.
+
+Sometimes Lolo turns and puts his arms around Moufflon's neck and
+says,&&
+
+"Tell me, my Moufflou, how you ever came back to me, over all the
+rivers, and all the bridges, and all the miles of road?"
+
+Moufflou can never answer him, but I think he must have found his way
+home because he loved his master so much; and the grown people always
+say, "Love will find out the way."
+
+
+
+
+BENJY IN BEASTLAND.
+
+ADAPTED FROM MRS. EWING.
+
+"With the genuine story-teller the inner life of the genuine listener
+is roused; he is carried out of himself, and he thereby measures
+himself."--FROEBEL.
+
+
+Benjy was a very naughty, disagreeable boy! It is sad to say it, but it
+is truth. He always had a cloudy, smudgy, slovenly look, like a slate
+half-washed, that made one feel how nice it would be if he could be
+scrubbed inside and out with hot water and soap.
+
+Benjy was the only boy in the family, but he had two little sisters who
+were younger than he. They were dear, merry little things, and many boys
+would have found them pleasant little playmates; but Benjy had shown how
+much he disliked to play with them, and it made them feel very badly.
+One of them said one day, "Benjy does not care for us because we are
+only girls, so we have taken Nox for our brother." Nox was a big curly
+dog, something like a Newfoundland.
+
+Now Benjy was not at all handsome, and he hated tubs and brushes and
+soap and water. He liked to lie abed late in the mornings, and when he
+got up he had only time enough to half wash himself. But Nox rose early,
+liked cold water, had snow-white teeth and glossy hair, and when you
+spoke to him he looked straight up at you with his clear honest brown
+eyes. Benjy's jacket and shirt-front were always spotted with dirt,
+while the covering of Nox's chest was glossy and well kept. Benjy came
+into the parlor with muddy boots and dirty hands; but Nox, if he had
+been out in the mud, would lie down when he came home, and lick his
+brown paws till they were quite clean. Benjy liked to kill all kinds of
+animals, but Nox saved lives, though he often came near losing his own.
+
+Near their home was a deep river, where many a dog and cat was drowned.
+There was one place on the bank of this river where there was an old
+willow-tree, which spread its branches wide and stretched its long arms
+till they touched the water. Here Nox used to bring everything that he
+found in the river.
+
+I must tell you that Benjy did not like Nox, and with very good
+reason. Benjy had had something to do with the death of several animals
+belonging to the people in the neighborhood, and he had tied stones or
+tin cans around their necks and dropped them into the river. But Nox
+used to wander round quite early in the morning, and very often found in
+the river and brought out what Benjy had thrown in, and this is why he
+did not like the brave dog.
+
+There was another dog in the family, named Mr. Rough. His eyes had
+been almost scratched out by cats, his little body bore marks of many
+beatings, and he had a hoarse bark which sounded as if he had a bad
+cold.
+
+If Benjy cared for any animal, it was for Mr. Rough, although he treated
+him worse than he did Nox, because he was small.
+
+One day Benjy felt very mischievous; he even played a cruel trick on Nox
+while he was asleep. As he sat near to him he kept lightly pricking the
+dog's lips with a fine needle. The dog would half wake up, shake his
+head, rub his lips with his paws, and then drop off to sleep again.
+
+At last this cruel boy stuck the needle in too far and hurt poor Nox,
+who jumped up with a start, and as he did so the needle broke off, part
+of it staying in the flesh, where, after a great deal of work which hurt
+the poor dog dreadfully, the little sisters found it. How they cried
+for their pet! The braver one held Nox's lips and pulled out the needle,
+while the other wiped the tears from her sister's eyes, that she might
+see what she was doing. Nox sat still and moaned and wagged his tail
+very feebly, but when it was over he fairly knocked the little sisters
+down in his eagerness to show his gratitude. But Benjy went out and
+found Mr. Rough, and as he did not feel like being kind to any one, he
+kicked him, and Mr. Rough for the first time ran away. Benjy could not
+find him, but he found a boy as naughty as himself, who was chasing
+another little dog and pelting it with stones. This would have been very
+good fun, but one of the stones struck the dog and killed him. So the
+boys tied something around his neck and threw him into the river.
+
+Benjy went to bed early that night, but he could not sleep, because he
+was thinking of that little white dog, and wishing he had not thrown
+him into the river; so at last he got up and went to the willow-tree. He
+looked up through the branches and saw the moon shining down at him, and
+it seemed so large and so close that he thought if he were only on the
+highest part of the tree he could touch it with his hand. While he was
+looking he thought of a book his mother had, which told him that all
+animals went up into the moon after they left the earth.
+
+"I wonder," said Benjy, "if that dog we killed last night is really up
+there."
+
+The Man in the Moon looked down on him just then, and, to his surprise,
+said:&&
+
+"This is Beastland. Won't you come up and see if the dog is here? Can
+you climb?"
+
+"I guess I can," said Benjy, and he climbed up first on one branch, then
+up higher on to another, till he stood on the very top, and all he could
+see about him was a shining white light.
+
+"Walk right in," said the Man in the Moon. "Put out your feet,--don't be
+afraid!" So Benjy stepped into the moon and found himself in Beastland.
+
+Oh! it was such a funny place, and yet it was very beautiful. There were
+many more beasts there than in a menagerie, and they were so polite to
+each other, too, and so merry and kind to Benjy, that it made him feel
+quite at home.
+
+A nice old spider was anxious to teach him how to make a web. So he said
+to Benjy:&&
+
+"When you are ready, look around and find a spot where you can tie your
+first line; then you have a ball of thread inside of you, of course."
+
+"I can't say that I have," said Benjy, "but I have a good deal of string
+in my pocket."
+
+"Oh, well!" said the spider, "that is all right; whether it's in your
+pocket or your stomach it is all the same."
+
+Just as the spider was giving Benjy his lesson, one animal whispered to
+another, and that one to another, who and what Benjy was. Dear me! in a
+minute the beasts all changed their way of treating him. They called him
+BOY! and up there that meant something not at all nice. Then they took
+him to the Lion, the king of all the beasts, and asked him what should
+be done with the Boy.
+
+The Lion said: "If you want me to have anything to do with this trouble,
+you must mind me. First, however, we will hear what Benjy has to say for
+himself."
+
+They all placed themselves in a circle, the Lion on a high chair,
+(because, you know, he was going to be judge, and all judges sit in big
+chairs,) and Benjy sat in the middle of the circle.
+
+"Now, what has the Boy done?" asked the Lion.
+
+"He stones and drowns dogs, and he hurts and kills cats," shouted the
+beasts all together.
+
+"Mr. Rough kills the cats," said Benjy, because he was frightened.
+
+"Very well," said the Lion, "we will send some one down for Mr. Rough."
+
+So they all waited, and in a little while they heard the jingling of Mr.
+Rough's collar, and he walked into the circle with his little short tail
+standing right up.
+
+"Mr. Rough," said the Lion, "Benjy says it is you, and not he, who tease
+and kill the cats."
+
+"Well," said Mr. Rough, jumping about in an angry way, "am I to blame?
+BOUF, BOUF, who taught me to do it? BOUF, BOUF, it was that Boy over
+there. BOUF-BOUF!"
+
+Then Mr. Rough told them that Benjy had made him tease and worry the
+cats and dogs so often that he had quite learned to like it. All the
+beasts were very angry at this, and said that Benjy must be punished.
+
+The Lion said that he did not know just then what was best to be done
+with Benjy, so he asked the beasts if they would wait till he had walked
+around and thought about it. They said yes, so he walked around the
+circle seven times, lashing his tail in the grandest way; then he took
+his seat again and said:&&
+
+"Gentle beasts, birds and fishes, you have all heard what this Boy has
+done, and you would like him to be treated as he has treated you. We
+will not abuse Benjy, but I do not think he is good enough to stay with
+us. We will tie a tin-kettle to him and chase him from Beastland, and
+Mr. Rough shall be our leader."
+
+This was no sooner said than done. The Lion gave one dreadful roar as a
+signal for the animals to begin the chase.
+
+With the tin-kettle fastened to him and hurting him at every step, and
+with Mr. Rough at his very heels, Benjy was run out of Beastland. When
+he got to the edge of the moon he jumped off, Mr. Rough after him.
+
+Down, down, they went, oh! so fast and so far! Benjy screaming all the
+way and Mr. Rough's collar jingling. They came to the river, and making
+all the noise they could, in they fell. As Benjy sank he thought of all
+the unkind things he had done. He came to the top, but sank again, and
+sinking, thought of his papa and mamma and his little sisters, and of
+his nice little bed, and of the prayers his dear mamma used to hear him
+say. He rose for the last time, and saw Nox standing on the bank, and
+thought, "Now he has come to do something to me because I have so often
+hurt him." Down, down he went, as a lark flew up in the summer sky. The
+bird was almost out of sight when a soft black nose and great brown eyes
+came close to his face, and a kind, gentle mouth took hold of him, and
+paddling and swimming as hard as he could, Nox carried Benjy to the
+shore and laid him under the willow-tree. There Benjy's papa found him,
+and took him home, where he was sick for a long, long time. When he got
+a little better he used to tell people of his visit to Beastland, but
+they always said it was only a dream he had during the fever.
+
+In the long weeks of his sickness he grew much kinder and sweeter. But
+something happened when he was getting well which softened his little
+heart once and forever.
+
+While he was sick, Mr. Rough was given to one of the servants to be
+cared for and fed well, but he did not treat him kindly, and besides,
+the dog wanted his little master; he wanted to see him, but no one would
+let him; so poor faithful Mr. Rough got thinner and weaker every day,
+till at last he would not eat anything nor even go out for a little
+walk.
+
+One day the barn door was open and Mr. Rough thought of Benjy and crept
+into the house. When he got into the front hall he smelled Benjy and ran
+into the parlor; and when he got into the parlor he saw Benjy, who had
+heard the jingle of his collar and who stood up and held out his arms
+for him. Mr. Rough jumped into them, and then fell dead at his master's
+feet.
+
+Yes, dear children, Mr. Rough died of joy at seeing Benjy again. Benjy
+felt very sorry for him, and it kept him from growing well for a long
+time, but it did him good in other ways, for as the tears rolled down
+his cheeks on to Mr. Bough's poor little scratched face, he felt as if
+he never could hurt or be unkind to any animal again.
+
+
+
+
+THE PORCELAIN STOVE.
+
+Adapted From Ouida.
+
+"The story-teller must take life into himself in its wholeness, must let
+it live and work whole and free within him. He must give it out free
+and unabbreviated, and yet STAND ABOVE THE LIFE which actually
+is."--Froebel.
+
+
+In a little brown house, far, far away in Germany, there lived a father
+and his children. There were ever so many of them,--let me see,--Hilda,
+the dear eldest sister, and Hans, the big, strong brother; then Karl and
+August, and the baby Marta. Just enough for the fingers of one hand. How
+many is that? But it is Karl that I am going to tell you about. He was
+nine years old, a rosy little fellow, with big bright eyes and a curly
+head as brown as a ripe nut. The dear mother was dead, and the father
+was very poor, so that Karl and his brothers and sisters sometimes knew
+what it was to be hungry; but they were happy, for they loved each other
+very dearly, and ate their brown bread and milk without wishing it were
+something nicer. One afternoon Karl had been sent on a long journey. It
+was winter time, and he had to run fast over the frozen fields of white
+snow. The night was coming on, and he was hurrying home with a great jug
+of milk, feeling cold and tired. The mountains looked high and white
+and still in the cold moonlight, and the stars seemed to say, when
+they twinkled, "Hurry, Karl! the children are hungry." At last he saw
+a little brown cottage, with a snow-laden roof and a shining window,
+through which he could see the bright firelight dancing merrily,--for
+Hilda never closed the shutters till all the boys were safely inside the
+house. When he saw the dear home-light he ran as fast as his feet could
+carry him, burst in at the low front door, kissed Hilda, and shouted:&&
+
+"Oh! dear, dear Hirschvogel! I am so glad to get back to you again; you
+are every bit as good as the summer time."
+
+Now, Hirschvogel was not one of the family, as you might think, nor
+even a splendid dog, nor a pony, but it was a large, beautiful porcelain
+stove, so tall that it quite touched the ceiling. It stood at the end of
+the room, shining with all the hues of a peacock's tail, bright and warm
+and beautiful; its great golden feet were shaped like the claws of a
+lion, and there was a golden crown on the very top of all. You never
+have seen a stove like it, for it was white where our stoves are black,
+and it had flowers and birds and beautiful ladies and grand gentlemen
+painted all over it, and everywhere it was brilliant with gold and
+bright colors. It was a very old stove, for sixty years before, Karl's
+grandfather had dug it up out of some broken-down buildings where he was
+working, and, finding it strong and whole, had taken it home; and ever
+since then it had stood in the big room, warming the children, who
+tumbled like little flowers around its shining feet. The grandfather
+did not know it, but it was a wonderful stove, for it had been made by a
+great potter named Hirschvogel.
+
+A potter, you know, children, is a man who makes all sorts of things,
+dishes and tiles and vases, out of china and porcelain and clay. So the
+family had always called the stove Hirschvogel, after the potter, just
+as if it were alive.
+
+To the children the stove was very dear indeed. In summer they laid a
+mat of fresh moss all around it, and dressed it up with green boughs and
+beautiful wild flowers. In winter, scampering home from school over the
+ice and snow, they were always happy, knowing that they would soon be
+cracking nuts or roasting chestnuts in the heat and light of the dear
+old stove. All the children loved it, but Karl even more than the rest,
+and he used to say to himself, "When I grow up I will make just such
+things too, and then I will set Hirschvogel up in a beautiful room that
+I will build myself. That's what I will do when I'm a man."
+
+After Karl had eaten his supper, this cold night, he lay down on the
+floor by the stove, the children all around him, on the big wolf-skin
+rug. With some sticks of charcoal he was drawing pictures for them of
+what he had seen all day. When the children had looked enough at one
+picture, he would sweep it out with his elbow and make another--faces,
+and dogs' heads, and men on sleds, and old women in their furs, and
+pine-trees, and all sorts of animals. When they had been playing in this
+way for some time, Hilda, the eldest sister, said:&&
+
+"It is time for you all to go to bed, children. Father is very late
+to-night; you must not sit up for him."
+
+"Oh, just five minutes more, dear Hilda," they begged. "Hirschvogel is
+so warm; the beds are never so warm as he is."
+
+In the midst of their chatter and laughter the door opened, and in blew
+the cold wind and snow from outside. Their father had come home. He
+seemed very tired, and came slowly to his chair. At last he said, "Take
+the children to bed, daughter."
+
+Karl stayed, curled up before the stove. When Hilda came back, the
+father said sadly:
+
+"Hilda, I have sold Hirschvogel! I have sold it to a traveling peddler,
+for I need money very much; the winter is so cold and the children are
+so hungry. The man will take it away to-morrow."
+
+Hilda gave a cry. "Oh, father! the children, in the middle of winter!"
+and she turned as white as the snow outside.
+
+Karl lay half blind with sleep, staring at his father. "It can't be
+true, it can't be true!" he cried. "You are making fun, father." It
+seemed to him that the skies must fall if Hirschvogel were taken away.
+
+"Yes," said the father, "you will find it true enough. The peddler has
+paid half the money to-night, and will pay me the other half to-morrow
+when he packs up the stove and takes it away."
+
+"Oh, father! dear father!" cried poor little Karl, "you cannot mean what
+you say. Send our stove away? We shall all die in the dark and cold.
+Listen! I will go and try to get work to-morrow. I will ask them to let
+me cut ice or make the paths through the snow. There must be something I
+can do, and I will beg the people we owe money to, to wait. They are all
+neighbors; they will be patient. But sell Hirschvogel! Oh, never, never,
+never! Give the money back to the man."
+
+The father was so sorry for his little boy that he could not speak. He
+looked sadly at him; then took the lamp that stood on the table, and
+left the room.
+
+Hilda knelt down and tried to comfort Karl, but he was too unhappy to
+listen. "I shall stay here," was all he said, and he lay there all the
+night long. The lamp went out; the rats came and ran across the room;
+the room grew colder and colder. Karl did not move, but lay with his
+face down on the floor by the lovely rainbow-colored stove. When it grew
+light, his sister came down with a lamp in her hand to begin her morning
+work. She crept up to him, and laid her cheek on his softly, and said:&&
+
+"Dear Karl, you must be frozen. Karl! do look up; do speak."
+
+"Ah!" said poor Karl, "it will never be warm again."
+
+Soon after some one knocked at the door. A strange voice called through
+the keyhole,&&
+
+"Let me in! quick! there is no time to lose. More snow like this and the
+roads will all be blocked. Let me in! Do you hear? I am come to take the
+great stove."
+
+Hilda unfastened the door. The man came in at once, and began to wrap
+the stove in a great many wrappings, and carried it out into the snow,
+where an ox-cart stood in waiting. In another moment it was gone; gone
+forever!
+
+Karl leaned against the wall, his tears falling like rain down his pale
+cheeks.
+
+An old neighbor came by just then, and, seeing the boy, said to him:
+"Child, is it true your father is selling that big painted stove?"
+
+Karl nodded his head, and began to sob again. "I love it! I love it!" he
+said.
+
+"Well, if I were you I would do better than cry. I would go after it
+when I grew bigger," said the neighbor, trying to cheer him up a little.
+"Don't cry so loud; you will see your stove again some day," and the old
+man went away, leaving a new idea in Karl's head.
+
+"Go after it," the old man had said. Karl thought, "Why not go with it?"
+He loved it better than anything else in the world, even better than
+Hilda. He ran off quickly after the cart which was carrying the dear
+Hirschvogel to the station. How he managed it he never knew very well
+himself, but it was certain that when the freight train moved away from
+the station Karl was hidden behind the stove. It was very dark, but he
+wasn't frightened. He was close beside Hirschvogel, but he wanted to be
+closer still; he meant to get inside the stove. He set to work like a
+little mouse to make a hole in the straw and hay. He gnawed and nibbled,
+and pushed and pulled, making a hole where he guessed that the door
+might be. At last he found it; he slipped through it, as he had so often
+done at home for fun, and curled himself up. He drew the hay and straw
+together carefully, and fixed the ropes, so that no one could have
+dreamed that a little mouse had been at them. Safe inside his dear
+Hirschvogel, he went as fast asleep as if he were in his own little bed
+at home. The train rumbled on in its heavy, slow way, and Karl slept
+soundly for a long time. When he awoke the darkness frightened him, but
+he felt the cold sides of Hirschvogel, and said softly, "Take care of
+me, dear Hirschvogel, oh, please take care of me!"
+
+Every time the train stopped, and he heard the banging, stamping, and
+shouting, his heart seemed to jump up into his mouth. When the people
+came to lift the stove out, would they find him? and if they did find
+him, would they kill him? The thought, too, of Hilda, kept tugging
+at his heart now and then, but he said to himself, "If I can take
+Hirschvogel back to her, how pleased she will be, and how she will clap
+her hands!" He was not at all selfish in his love for Hirschvogel; he
+wanted it for them at home quite as much as for himself. That was what
+he kept thinking of all the way in the darkness and stillness which
+lasted so long. At last the train stopped, and awoke him from a half
+sleep. Karl felt the stove lifted by some men, who carried it to a cart,
+and then they started again on the journey, up hill and down, for what
+seemed miles and miles. Where they were going Karl had no idea. Finally
+the cart stopped; then it seemed as though they were carrying the stove
+up some stairs. The men rested sometimes, and then moved on again,
+and their feet went so softly he thought they must be walking on thick
+carpets. By and by the stove was set down again, happily for Karl, for
+he felt as though he should scream, or do something to make known that
+he was there. Then the wrappings were taken off, and he heard a voice
+say, "What a beautiful, beautiful stove!"
+
+{Illustration: "Oh let me stay please let me stay"}
+
+Next some one turned the round handle of the brass door, and poor little
+Karl's heart stood still.
+
+"What is this?" said the man. "A live child!"
+
+Then Karl sprang out of the stove and fell at the feet of the man who
+had spoken.
+
+"Oh, let me stay, please let me stay!" he said. "I have come all the way
+with my darling Hirschvogel!"
+
+The man answered kindly, "Poor little child! tell me how you came to
+hide in the stove. Do not be afraid. I am the king."
+
+Karl was too much in earnest to be afraid; he was so glad, so glad it
+was the king, for kings must be always kind, he thought.
+
+"Oh, dear king!" he said with a trembling voice, "Hirschvogel was ours,
+and we have loved it all our lives, and father sold it, and when I saw
+that it really did go from us I said to myself that I would go with it;
+and I do beg you to let me live with it, and I will go out every morning
+and cut wood for it and for all your other stoves, if only you will let
+me stay beside it. No one has ever fed it with wood but me since I grew
+big enough, and it loves me; it does indeed!" And then he lifted up
+his little pale face to the young king, who saw that great tears were
+running down his cheeks.
+
+"Can't I stay with Hirschvogel?" he pleaded.
+
+"Wait a little," said the king. "What do you want to be when you are a
+man? Do you want to be a wood-chopper?"
+
+"I want to be a painter," cried Karl. "I want to be what Hirschvogel
+was. I mean the potter that made my Hirschvogel."
+
+"I understand," answered the king, and he looked down at the child, and
+smiled. "Get up, my little man," he said in a kind voice; "I will let
+you stay with your Hirschvogel. You shall stay here, and you shall be
+taught to be a painter, but you must grow up very good, and when you are
+twenty-one years old, if you have done well, then I will give you back
+your beautiful stove." Then he smiled again and stretched out his hand.
+Karl threw his two arms about the king's knees and kissed his feet, and
+then all at once he was so tired and so glad and hungry and happy, that
+he fainted quite away on the floor.
+
+Then the king had a letter written to Karl's father, telling him that
+Karl had drawn him some beautiful charcoal pictures, and that he liked
+them so much he was going to take care of him until he was old enough to
+paint wonderful stoves like Hirschvogel. And he did take care of him for
+a long time, and when Karl grew older, he often went for a few days to
+his old home, where his father still lives.
+
+In the little brown house stands Hirschvogel, tall and splendid, with
+its peacock colors as beautiful as ever,--the king's present to Hilda;
+and Karl never goes home without going into the great church and giving
+his thanks to God, who blessed his strange winter's journey in the great
+porcelain stove.
+
+
+
+
+THE BABES IN THE WOOD
+
+"Nature and life speak very early to man."--FROEBEL.
+
+
+A great many years ago three little girls lived in an old-fashioned
+house in the East. They had a very lovely home, and a kind father and
+mother, who tried to make them happy. All through the summer they used
+to roam over the hills and fields, catching butterflies, watching
+the birds and bees at work, and studying the flowers and trees in the
+beautiful meadows and woods. Then when winter came, and the days grew
+cold, they went to school; and in the evening, when the fire was burning
+brightly, they read and studied in books about all they had seen in the
+summer.
+
+Besides all these lovely things, and perhaps best of all, they had a
+very large yard to play in, so large that it took up a whole block, and
+seemed like a little farm in the middle of the town. There was a lovely
+lawn and flower beds; a vegetable garden, barnyard and stable; and an
+orchard where all kinds of fruit trees grew, apple, peach, pear, and
+many others. A cow lived down in the meadows of clover, and old Bob,
+the horse, was sometimes turned out to pasture there. But nicest of
+all, there was the wood yard. You must remember that every winter, where
+these little girls lived, the snow fell, and lay so deep on the roads
+that no one could bring in wood from the forest, and without it all the
+people would have frozen in their cold homes.
+
+So every September the gates were thrown wide open, and into the yard
+load after load of wood was drawn and piled up under the shed. Then,
+when it was too cold to play out on the hills, the little girls used to
+have a fine time in the yard, piling up the wood, making beds, tables,
+chairs, and stoves of the sticks that had once been the waving branches
+and strong, sturdy trunks of trees.
+
+Toward spring they often found a strange yellow powder on the ground
+under the wood. At first they played with it, calling it flour, and made
+pies and cakes out of it. But at last they began to wonder where the
+flour came from, and after watching and studying a long time this is
+what they found out.
+
+But first I must tell you that all the time the three little girls were
+happy and busy in this beautiful place, they were not the only family
+there. There were the robins' children, whose mammas were trying to make
+them good and happy too. There were the beetles' children, the ants'
+children, and families of toads, butterflies, and spiders. And while
+the three little girls were playing with the sticks of wood, there lay,
+tucked snugly away inside of them, many families of children, warm and
+safe in their wooden home.
+
+Now I want the smallest of you little children to hold up her hand. How
+small it is compared with your body! Now let us see the little finger
+on that hand,--it is smaller still; and now look at the nail on
+that finger: the brothers and sisters of one of these families were
+altogether about as large as that tiny nail. Their mamma was a wasp,
+with light, gauzy wings and a strong body with a long sting on the end
+of it, about the length of a needle. With this little sting or saw, as
+it really was, she had bored many holes in the wood when it was still
+a green tree, and at the bottom of each hole she had laid a tiny egg.
+There it lay for a long time, all white and still, until one day it
+cracked open, and out came a funny little white grub, with six short
+white feet, and black jaws very strong and large for such a tiny thing.
+This little creature had never had anything to eat, and as it was very
+hungry indeed, it fell to eating--what do you think? Wood--its own
+house! You wouldn't like a stick of wood for your breakfast, I know, but
+the wasp-mamma knew what her little grub-children would want, so she
+put them in just the right place; for they couldn't have eaten anything
+else. And the hungry little grubs ate and ate and ate as long as they
+could, pushing away from the hole the part they did not want, and this
+fell upon the ground as the strange yellow powder the children found in
+the wood-yard, every spring.
+
+And so, while the little girls were placing away in the sunshine the
+little grubs were eating away in the wood, until at last, one day, they
+grew satisfied, and one after another went to sleep. There they lay in
+their dark homes, fast asleep, through long weeks, while the snow was
+melting and the grass coming up, and the birds and bees beginning their
+summer work again; until one day these lazy little creatures, that had
+never done anything in their lives but eat and sleep, woke up and began
+to stretch themselves. But what had happened to them? Instead of the
+soft white bodies they had gone to sleep with, they now had black ones
+and four gauzy wings; while six slender legs had taken the place of the
+six short ones. There were still the strong black jaws to do all needful
+work with, and in addition, delicate mouth-parts, for their food was now
+to be the honey from flowers. In fact, they looked and were just like
+their mamma, the gauzy wasp. One after another they crept to the end of
+the passage that led from their dark homes to the bright world without.
+They stood one minute at the little dark hole, and then, spreading their
+wings, flitted out into the beautiful world of sunshine and flowers.
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS,
+
+"A great spiritual efficiency lies in story-telling."--FROEBEL.
+
+
+Christmas Day, you knew, dear children, is Christ's day, Christ's
+birthday, and I want to tell you why we love it so much, and why we try
+to make every one happy when it comes each year.
+
+A long, long time ago--more than eighteen hundred years--the baby Christ
+was born on Christmas Day: a baby so wonderful and so beautiful, who
+grew up to be a man so wise, so good, so patient and sweet, that, every
+year, the people who know about him love him better and better, and are
+more and more glad when his birthday comes again. You see that he must
+have been very good and wonderful; for people have always remembered his
+birthday, and kept it lovingly for eighteen hundred years.
+
+He was born, long years ago, in a land far, far away across the seas.
+
+Before the baby Christ was born, Mary, his mother, had to make a long
+journey with her husband, Joseph. They made this journey to be taxed
+or counted; for in those days this could not be done in the town where
+people happened to live, but they must be numbered in the place where
+they were born.
+
+In that far-off time, the only way of traveling was on a horse, or a
+camel, or a good, patient donkey. Camels and horses cost a great deal
+of money, and Mary was very poor; so she rode on a quiet, safe donkey,
+while Joseph walked by her side, leading him and leaning on his stick.
+Mary was very young, and beautiful, I think, but Joseph was a great deal
+older than she.
+
+People dress nowadays, in those distant countries, just as they did so
+many years ago, so we know that Mary must have worn a long, thick dress,
+falling all about her in heavy folds, and that she had a soft white veil
+over her head and neck, and across her face. Mary lived in Nazareth, and
+the journey they were making was to Bethlehem, many miles away.
+
+They were a long time traveling, I am sure; for donkeys are slow, though
+they are so careful, and Mary must have been very tired before they came
+to the end of their journey.
+
+They had traveled all day, and it was almost dark when they came near to
+Bethlehem, to the town where the baby Christ was to be born. There was
+the place they were to stay,--a kind of inn, or lodging-house, but not
+at all like those you know about.
+
+They have them to-day in that far-off country, just as they built them
+so many years ago.
+
+It was a low, flat-roofed, stone building, with no window and only one
+large door. There were no nicely furnished bedrooms inside, and no soft
+white beds for the tired travelers; there were only little places built
+into the stones of the wall, something like the berths on steamboats
+nowadays, and each traveler brought his own bedding. No pretty garden
+was in front of the inn, for the road ran close to the very door, so
+that its dust lay upon the doorsill. All around the house, to a high,
+rocky hill at the back, a heavy stone fence was built, so that the
+people and the animals inside might be kept safe.
+
+Mary and Joseph could not get very near the inn; for the whole road in
+front was filled with camels and donkeys and sheep and cows, while a
+great many men were going to and fro, taking care of the animals. Some
+of these people had come to Bethlehem to pay their taxes, as Mary and
+Joseph had done, and others were staying for the night, on their way to
+Jerusalem, a large city a little further on.
+
+The yard was filled, too, with camels and sheep; and men were lying on
+the ground beside them, resting, and watching, and keeping them safe.
+The inn was so full and the yard was so full of people, that there was
+no room for anybody else, and the keeper had to take Joseph and Mary
+through the house and back to the high hill, where they found another
+place that was used for a stable. This had only a door and a front, and
+deep caves were behind, stretching far into the rocks.
+
+This was the spot where Christ was born. Think how poor a place!--but
+Mary was glad to be there, after all; and when the Christ-child came,
+he was like other babies, and had so lately come from heaven that he was
+happy everywhere.
+
+There were mangers all around the cave, where the cattle and sheep were
+fed, and great heaps of hay and straw were lying on the floor. Then,
+I think, there were brown-eyed cows and oxen there, and quiet, woolly
+sheep, and perhaps even some dogs that had come in to take care of the
+sheep.
+
+And there in the cave, by and by, the wonderful baby came, and they
+wrapped him up and laid him in a manger.
+
+All the stars in the sky shone brightly that night, for they knew the
+Christ-child was born, and the angels in heaven sang together for joy.
+The angels knew about the lovely child, and were glad that he had come
+to help the people on earth to be good.
+
+There lay the beautiful baby, with a manger for his bed, and oxen and
+sheep all sleeping quietly round him. His mother watched him and loved
+him, and by and by many people came to see him, for they had heard that
+a wonderful child was to be born in Bethlehem. All the people in the inn
+visited him, and even the shepherds left their flocks in the fields and
+sought the child and his mother.
+
+But the baby was very tiny, and could not talk any more than any other
+tiny child, so he lay in his mother's lap, or in the manger, and only
+looked at the people. So after they had seen him and loved him, they
+went away again.
+
+After a time, when the baby had grown larger, Mary took him back to
+Nazareth, and there he lived and grew up.
+
+And he grew to be such a sweet, wise, loving boy, such a tender, helpful
+man, and he said so many good and beautiful things, that every one loved
+him who knew him. Many of the things he said are in the Bible, you know,
+and a great many beautiful stories of the things he used to do while he
+was on earth.
+
+He loved little children like you very much, and often used to take them
+up in his arms and talk to them.
+
+And this is the reason we love Christmas Day so much, and try to make
+everybody happy when it comes around each year. This is the reason:
+because Christ, who was born on Christmas Day, has helped us all to be
+good so many, many times, and because he was the best Christmas present
+the great world ever had!
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY.
+
+"The story brings forward other people, other relations, other times and
+places, other and even quite different forms; notwithstanding this fact,
+the auditor seeks his image there."--FROEBEL.
+
+
+Nearly three hundred years ago, a great many of the people in England
+were very unhappy because their king would not let them pray to God as
+they liked. The king said they must use the same prayers that he did;
+and if they would not do this, they were often thrown into prison, or
+perhaps driven away from home.
+
+"Let us go away from this country," said the unhappy Englishmen to
+each other; and so they left their homes, and went far off to a
+country called Holland. It was about this time that they began to call
+themselves "Pilgrims." Pilgrims, you know, are people who are always
+traveling to find something they love, or to find a land where they can
+be happier; and these English men and women were journeying, they said,
+"from place to place, toward heaven, their dearest country."
+
+In Holland, the Pilgrims were quiet and happy for a while, but they were
+very poor; and when the children began to grow up, they were not like
+English children, but talked Dutch, like the little ones of Holland, and
+some grew naughty and did not want to go to church any more.
+
+"This will never do," said the Pilgrim fathers and mothers; so after
+much talking and thinking and writing they made up their minds to come
+here to America. They hired two vessels, called the Mayflower and the
+Speedwell, to take them across the sea; but the Speedwell was not a
+strong ship, and the captain had to take her home again before she had
+gone very far.
+
+The Mayflower went back, too. Part of the Speedwell's passengers were
+given to her, and then she started alone across the great ocean.
+
+There were one hundred people on board,--mothers and fathers, brothers
+and sisters and little children. They were very crowded; it was cold and
+uncomfortable; the sea was rough, and pitched the Mayflower about, and
+they were two months sailing over the water.
+
+The children cried many times on the journey, and wished they had never
+come on the tiresome ship that rocked them so hard, and would not let
+them keep still a minute.
+
+But they had one pretty plaything to amuse them, for in the middle of
+the great ocean a Pilgrim baby was born, and they called him "Oceanus,"
+for his birthplace. When the children grew so tired that they were cross
+and fretful, Oceanus' mother let them come and play with him, and that
+always brought smiles and happy faces back again.
+
+At last the Mayflower came in sight of land; but if the children had
+been thinking of grass and flowers and birds, they must have been
+very much disappointed, for the month was cold November, and there was
+nothing to be seen but rocks and sand and hard bare ground.
+
+Some of the Pilgrim fathers, with brave Captain Myles Standish at
+their head, went on shore to see if they could find any houses or white
+people. But they only saw some wild Indians, who ran away from them, and
+found some Indian huts and some corn buried in holes in the ground. They
+went to and fro from the ship three times, till by and by they found
+a pretty place to live, where there were "fields and little running
+brooks."
+
+Then at last all the tired Pilgrims landed from the ship on a spot now
+called Plymouth Rock, and the first house was begun on Christmas Day.
+But when I tell you how sick they were and how much they suffered that
+first winter, you will be very sad and sorry for them. The weather was
+cold, the snow fell fast and thick, the wind was icy, and the Pilgrim
+fathers had no one to help them cut down the trees and build their
+church and their houses.
+
+The Pilgrim mothers helped all they could; but they were tired with the
+long journey, and cold, and hungry too, for no one had the right kind of
+food to eat, nor even enough of it.
+
+So first one was taken sick, and then another, till half of them were in
+bed at the same time, Brave Myles Standish and the other soldiers nursed
+them as well as they knew how; but before spring came half of the people
+died and had gone at last to "heaven, their dearest country."
+
+But by and by the sun shone more brightly, the snow melted, the leaves
+began to grow, and sweet spring had come again.
+
+Some friendly Indians had visited the Pilgrims during the winter, and
+Captain Myles Standish, with several of his men, had returned the visit.
+
+One of the kind Indians was called Squanto, and he came to stay with the
+Pilgrims, and showed them how to plant their corn, and their pease and
+wheat and barley.
+
+When the summer came and the days were long and bright, the Pilgrim
+children were very happy, and they thought Plymouth a lovely place
+indeed. All kinds of beautiful wild flowers grew at their doors, there
+were hundreds of birds and butterflies, and the great pine woods were
+always cool and shady when the sun was too bright.
+
+When it was autumn the fathers gathered the barley and wheat and corn
+that they had planted, and found that it had grown so well that they
+would have quite enough for the long winter that was coming.
+
+"Let us thank God for it all," they said. "It is He who has made the sun
+shine and the rain fall and the corn grow." So they thanked God in their
+homes and in their little church; the fathers and the mothers and the
+children thanked Him.
+
+"Then," said the Pilgrim mothers, "let us have a great Thanksgiving
+party, and invite the friendly Indians, and all rejoice together."
+
+So they had the first Thanksgiving party, and a grand one it was! Four
+men went out shooting one whole day, and brought back so many wild ducks
+and geese and great wild turkeys that there was enough for almost a
+week. There was deer meat also, of course, for there were plenty of fine
+deer in the forest. Then the Pilgrim mothers made the corn and wheat
+into bread and cakes, and they had fish and clams from the sea besides.
+
+The friendly Indians all came with their chief Massasoit. Every one came
+that was invited, and more, I dare say, for there were ninety of them
+altogether.
+
+They brought five deer with them, that they gave to the Pilgrims; and
+they must have liked the party very much, for they stayed three days.
+
+Kind as the Indians were, you would have been very much frightened if
+you had seen them; and the baby Oceanus, who was a year old then, began
+to cry at first whenever they came near him.
+
+They were dressed in deerskins, and some of them had the furry coat of
+a wild cat hanging on their arms. Their long black hair fell loose on
+their shoulders, and was trimmed with feathers or fox-tails. They
+had their faces painted in all kinds of strange ways, some with black
+stripes as broad as your finger all up and down them. But whatever
+they wore, it was their very best, and they had put it on for the
+Thanksgiving party.
+
+Each meal, before they ate anything, the Pilgrims and the Indians
+thanked God together for all his goodness. The Indians sang and danced
+in the evenings, and every day they ran races and played all kinds of
+games with the children.
+
+Then sometimes the Pilgrims with their guns, and the Indians with their
+bows and arrows, would see who could shoot farthest and best. So they
+were glad and merry and thankful for three whole days.
+
+The Pilgrim mothers and fathers had been sick and sad many times since
+they landed from the Mayflower; they had worked very hard, often had not
+had enough to eat, and were mournful indeed when their friends died and
+left them. But now they tried to forget all this, and think only of how
+good God had been to them; and so they all were happy together at the
+first Thanksgiving party.
+
+All this happened nearly three hundred years ago, and ever since that
+time Thanksgiving has been kept in our country.
+
+Every year our fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers have
+"rejoiced together" like the Pilgrims, and have had something to be
+thankful for each time.
+
+Every year some father has told the story of the brave Pilgrims to his
+little sons and daughters, and has taught them to be very glad and proud
+that the Mayflower came sailing to our country so many years ago.
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE GEORGE WASHINGTON, PART I.
+
+
+"The child takes each story as a conquest, grasps each as a treasure,
+and inserts into his own life, for his own advancement and instruction,
+what each story teaches and shows."--Froebel.
+
+
+Every one of my little children has seen a picture of George Washington,
+I am sure.
+
+Perhaps you may remember his likeness on a prancing white horse, holding
+his cocked hat in his hand, and bowing low to the people, or his picture
+as a general at the head of his armies, with a sword by his side and
+high boots reaching to the knee; sometimes you have seen him in a boat
+crossing the Delaware River, wrapped in his heavy soldier's cloak; and
+again as a President, with powdered hair, lace ruffles, and velvet coat.
+
+Of course all these are pictures of a strong, handsome, grown-up man,
+and I suppose you never happened to think that George Washington was
+once a little boy.
+
+But ever so long ago he was as small as you are now, and I am going to
+tell you about his father and mother, his home and his little-boy days.
+
+He was born one hundred and sixty years ago in Virginia, near a great
+river called the Potomac. His father's name was Augustine, his mother's
+Mary, and he had several brothers and a little sister.
+
+They all lived in the country on a farm, or a plantation, as they
+call it in Virginia. The Washington house stood in the middle of green
+tobacco fields and flowery meadows, and there were so many barns and
+storehouses and sheds round about it that they made quite a village
+of themselves. The nearest neighbors lived miles away; there were no
+railroads nor stages, and if you wanted to travel, you must ride on
+horseback through the thick woods, or you might sail in little boats up
+and down the rivers.
+
+City boys and girls might think, perhaps, that little George Washington
+was very lonely on the great plantation, with no neighbor-boys to play
+with; but you must remember that the horses and cattle and sheep and
+dogs on a farm make the dearest of playmates, and that there are all
+kinds of pleasant things to do in the country that city boys know
+nothing about.
+
+Little George played out of doors all the time and grew very strong. He
+went fishing and swimming in the great river, he ran races and jumped
+fences with his brothers and the dogs, he threw stones across the
+brooks, and when he grew a larger boy he even learned to shoot.
+
+He had a pretty pony, too, named "Hero," that he loved very much, and
+that he used to ride all about the plantation.
+
+Some of the letters have been kept that he wrote when he was a little
+boy, and he talks in them about his pony, and his books with pictures of
+elephants, and the new top he is going to have soon.
+
+Think of that great General Washington on a white horse once playing
+with a little humming top like yours!
+
+Many things are told about Washington when he was little; but he lived
+so long ago that we cannot tell very well whether they ever happened
+or not. One story is that his father took him out into the garden on a
+spring morning, and drew the letters of his name with a cane in the soft
+earth. Then he filled the letters with seed, and told little George to
+wait a week or two and see what would happen. You can all guess what did
+happen, and can think how pleased the little boy was when he found his
+name all growing in fresh green leaves.
+
+Then another story, I'm sure you've all heard, is about the cherry-tree
+and the hatchet.
+
+Little George's father gave him one day, so they say, a nice, bright,
+sharp little hatchet. Of course he went around the barns and the sheds,
+trying everything and seeing how well he could cut, and at last he went
+into the orchard. There he saw a young cherry-tree, as straight as
+a soldier, with the most beautiful, smooth, shining bark, waving its
+boughs in a very provoking way, as if to say, "You can't cut me down,
+and you needn't try."
+
+Little George did try and he did cut it down, and then was very sorry,
+for he found it was not so easy to set it up again.
+
+{Illustration: The letters of his name . . . the soft earth}
+
+His father was angry, of course, for he lived in a new country, and
+three thousand miles from any place where he could get good fruit trees;
+but when the little boy told the truth about it, his father said he
+would rather lose a thousand cherry-trees than have his son tell a lie.
+
+Now perhaps this never happened; but if George Washington ever did cut
+down a cherry-tree, you may be sure he told the truth about it.
+
+I think, though he grew to be such a wise, wonderful man, that he must
+have been just a bright, happy boy like you, when he was little.
+
+But everybody knows three things about him,--that he always told the
+truth, that he never was afraid of anything, and that he always loved
+and minded his mother.
+
+When little George was eleven years old, his good father died, and
+his poor mother was left alone to take care of her boys and her great
+plantation. What a busy mother she was! She mended and sewed, she taught
+some of her children, she took care of the sick people, she spun wool
+and knitted stockings and gloves; but every day she found time to gather
+her children around her and read good books to them, and talk to them
+about being good children.
+
+So riding his pony, and helping his mother, and learning his lessons,
+George grew to be a tall boy.
+
+When he was fourteen years old, he made up his mind that he would like
+to be a sailor, and travel far away over the blue water in a great ship.
+His elder brother said that he might do so. The right ship was found;
+his clothes were packed and carried on board, when all at once his
+mother said he must not go. She had thought about it; he was too young
+to go away, and she wanted her boy to stay with her.
+
+Of course George was greatly disappointed, but he stayed at home, and
+worked and studied hard. He wanted very much to learn how to earn money
+and help his mother, and so he studied to be a surveyor.
+
+Surveyors measure the land, you know. They measure people's gardens and
+house-lots and farms, and can tell just where to put the fences, and
+how much land belongs to you and how much to me, so that we need never
+quarrel about it.
+
+To be a good surveyor you have to be very careful indeed, and make no
+mistakes; and George Washington was careful and always tried to do his
+best, so that his surveys were the finest that could be made.
+
+When he was only sixteen, he went off into the great forest, where no
+one lived but the Indians, to measure some land for a friend of his.
+The weather was cold; he slept in a tent at night, or out of doors, on a
+bearskin by the fire, and he had to work very hard. He met a great many
+Indians, and learned to know their ways in fighting and how to manage
+them.
+
+Three years he worked hard at surveying, and at last he was a grown-up
+man!
+
+He was tall and splendid then, over six feet high, and as straight as
+an Indian, with a rosy face and bright blue eyes. He had large hands
+and fingers, and was wonderfully strong. People say that his great tent,
+which it took three men to carry, Washington could lift with one hand
+and throw into the wagon.
+
+He was very brave, too, you remember. He could shoot well, and almost
+never missed his aim; he was used to walking many miles when he was
+surveying, and he could ride any horse he liked, no matter how wild and
+fierce.
+
+So you see, when a man is strong, when he can shoot well, and walk and
+ride great distances, when he is never afraid of anything, that is just
+the man for a soldier; and I will tell you soon how George Washington
+came to be a great soldier.
+
+
+
+
+GREAT GEORGE WASHINGTON, PART II.
+
+
+"The good story-teller effects much; he has an ennobling effect upon
+children,--so much the more ennobling that he does not appear to intend
+it,"--FROEBEL.
+
+
+All this time while George Washington had been growing up,--first a
+little boy, then a larger boy, and then a young surveyor,--all this time
+the French and English and Indians were unhappy and uncomfortable in the
+country north of Virginia. The French wanted all the land, so did the
+English, and the Indians saw that there would be no room for them,
+whichever had it, so they all began to trouble each other and to quarrel
+and fight.
+
+These troubles grew so bad at last that the Virginians began to be
+afraid of the French and Indians, and thought they must have some
+soldiers of their own ready to fight.
+
+George Washington was only nineteen then, but everybody knew he was wise
+and brave, so they chose him to teach the soldiers near his home how to
+march and to fight.
+
+Then the king and the people of England grew very uneasy at all this
+quarreling, and they sent over soldiers and cannon and powder, and
+commenced to get ready to fight in earnest. Washington was made a major,
+and he had to go a thousand miles, in the middle of winter, into the
+Indian and French country, to see the chiefs and the soldiers, and find
+out about the troubles.
+
+When he came back again, all the people were so pleased with his courage
+and with the wise way in which he had behaved, that they made him
+lieutenant-colonel.
+
+Then began a long war between the French and the English, which lasted
+seven years. Washington fought through all of it, and was made a
+colonel, and by and by commander of all the soldiers in Virginia. He
+built forts and roads, he gained and lost battles, he fought the Indians
+and the French; and by all this trouble and hard work he learned to be a
+great soldier.
+
+In many of the battles of this war, Washington and the Virginians did
+not wear a uniform like the English soldiers, but a buckskin shirt and
+fringed leggings like the Indians.
+
+From beginning to end of some of the battles, Washington rode about
+among the men, telling them where to go and how to fight; the bullets
+were whistling around him all the time, but he said he liked the music.
+
+By and by the war was over; the French were driven back to their own
+part of the country, and Washington went home to Mt. Vernon to rest, and
+took with him his wife, lovely Martha Washington, whom he had met and
+married while he was fighting the French and Indians.
+
+While he was at Mt. Vernon he saw all his horses again,--"Valiant" and
+"Magnolia" and "Chinkling" and "Ajax,"--and had grand gallops over the
+country.
+
+He had some fine dogs, too, to run by his side, and help him hunt the
+bushy-tailed foxes. "Vulcan" and "Bingwood" and "Music" and "Sweetlips"
+were the names of some of them. You may be sure the dogs were glad when
+they had their master home again.
+
+But Washington did not have long to rest, for another war was coming,
+the great war of the Revolution.
+
+Little children cannot understand all the reasons for this war, but I
+can tell you some of them.
+
+You remember in the story of Thanksgiving I told you about the Pilgrim
+fathers, who came from England to this country because their king would
+not let them pray to God as they liked. That king was dead now, and
+there was another in his place, a king with the name of George, like our
+Washington.
+
+Now our great-grandfathers had always loved England and Englishmen,
+because many of their friends were still living there, and because it
+was their old home.
+
+The king gave them governors to help take care of their people, and
+soldiers to fight for them, and they sent to England for many things to
+wear and to eat.
+
+But just before this Revolutionary War, the king and the great men who
+helped him began to say that things should be done in this country
+that our people did not think right at all. The king said they must
+buy expensive stamps to put on all their newspapers and almanacs and
+lawyer's papers, and that they must pay very high taxes on their tea and
+paper and glass, and he sent soldiers to see that this was done.
+
+This made our great-grandfathers very angry. They refused to pay the
+taxes, they would not buy anything from England any more, and some men
+even went on board the ships, as they came into Boston Harbor, and threw
+the tea over into the water.
+
+So fifty-one men were chosen from all over the country, and they met
+at Philadelphia, to see what could be done. Washington was sent from
+Virginia. And after they had talked very solemnly, they all thought
+there would be great trouble soon, and Washington went home to drill the
+soldiers.
+
+Then the war began with the battle of Lexington, in New England, and
+soon Washington was made commander in chief of the armies.
+
+He rode the whole distance from Philadelphia to Boston on horseback,
+with a troop of officers; and all the people on the way came to see him,
+bringing bands of music and cheering him as he went by. He rode into
+camp in the morning. The soldiers were drawn up in the road, and men and
+women and children who had come to look at Washington were crowded all
+about. They saw a tall, splendid, handsome man in a blue coat with buff
+facings, and epaulets on his shoulders. As he took off his hat, drew his
+shining sword and raised it in sight of all the people, the cannon began
+to thunder, and all the people hurrahed and tossed their hats in the
+air.
+
+Of course he looked very splendid, and they all knew how brave he was,
+and thought he would soon put an end to the war.
+
+But it did not happen as they expected, for this was only the beginning,
+and the war lasted seven long years.
+
+Fighting is always hard, even if you have plenty of soldiers and plenty
+for them to eat; but Washington had very few soldiers, and very little
+powder for the guns, and little food for the men to eat.
+
+The soldiers were not in uniform, as ours are to-day; but each was
+dressed just as he happened to come from his shop or his farm.
+
+Washington ordered hunting shirts for them, such as he wore when he went
+to fight the Indians, for he knew they would look more like soldiers if
+all were dressed alike.
+
+Of course many people thought that our men would be beaten, as the war
+went on; but Washington never thought so, for he was sure our side was
+right.
+
+I hardly know what he would have done, at last, if the French people had
+not promised to come over and help us, and to send us money and men and
+ships. All the people in the army thanked God when they heard it, and
+fired their guns for joy.
+
+A brave young man named Lafayette came with the French soldiers, and he
+grew to be Washington's great friend, and fought for us all through the
+Revolution.
+
+Many battles were fought in this war, and Washington lost some of them,
+and a great many of his men were killed.
+
+You could hardly understand how much trouble he had. In the winter, when
+the snow was deep on the ground, he had no houses or huts for his men to
+sleep in; his soldiers were ragged and cold by day, and had not blankets
+enough to keep them warm by night; their shoes were old and worn, and
+they had to wrap cloths around their feet to keep them from freezing.
+
+When they marched to the Delaware River, one cold Christmas night, a
+soldier who was sent after them, with a message for Washington, traced
+them by their footprints on the snow, all reddened with the blood from
+their poor cut feet.
+
+They must have been very brave and patient to have fought at all, when
+they were so cold and ragged and hungry.
+
+Washington suffered a great deal in seeing his soldiers so wretched, and
+I am sure that, with all his strength and courage, he would sometimes
+have given up hope, if he had not talked and prayed to God a great deal,
+and asked Him to help him.
+
+In one of the hardest times of the whole war, Washington was staying
+at a farmer's house. One morning, he rode out very early to visit the
+soldiers. The farmer went into the fields soon after, and as he was
+passing a brook where a great many bushes were growing, he heard a deep
+voice from the thicket. He looked through the leaves, and saw Washington
+on his knees, on the ground, praying to God for his soldiers. He had
+fastened his horse to a tree, and come away by himself to ask God to
+help them.
+
+At last the war came to an end; the English were beaten, and our armies
+sent up praise and thanks to God.
+
+Then the soldiers went quietly back to their homes, and Washington bade
+all his officers good-by, and thanked them for their help and their
+courage.
+
+The little room in New York where he said farewell is kept to show to
+visitors now, and you can see it some day yourselves.
+
+Then Washington went home to Mt. Vernon to rest; but before he had been
+there long, the people found out that they must have some one to help
+take care of them, as they had nothing to do with the king of England
+any more; and they asked Washington to come and be the first President
+of the United States.
+
+So he did as they wished, and was as wise and good, and as careful and
+fine a President as he had been surveyor, soldier, and general.
+
+You know we always call Washington the Father of his Country, because he
+did so much for us and helped to make the United States so great.
+
+After he died, there were parks and mountains and villages and towns and
+cities named for him all over the land, because people loved him so and
+prized so highly what he had done for them.
+
+In the city of Washington there is a building where you can see many
+of the things that belonged to the first President, when he was alive.
+There is his soldier's coat, his sword, and in an old camp chest are the
+plates and knives and forks that he used in the Revolution.
+
+There is a tall, splendid monument of shining gray stone in that city,
+that towers far, far above all the highest roofs and spires. It was
+built in memory of George Washington, by the people of the United
+States, to show that they loved and would always remember the Father of
+his Country.
+
+
+
+
+THE MAPLE-LEAF AND THE VIOLET.
+
+"Story-telling must please children, so that it will influence,
+strengthen, and elevate their lives."--FROEBEL
+
+
+The Maple-tree lived on the edge of the wood. Beside and behind her
+the trees grew so thick and tall that there was plenty of shade at her
+roots; but as no one stood in front, she could always look across the
+meadows to the brown house where Bessie lived, and could see what went
+on in the world.
+
+After the cold winter had gone by, and the spring had come again,
+the Maple-tree sent out thousands of tiny leaf-buds, that stretched
+themselves, and grew larger day by day in the warm sunshine. One little
+Bud, on the end of a tall branch, worked so hard to grow that by and by
+he finished opening all his folds, and found himself a tiny pale green
+leaf.
+
+He was curious, as little folks generally are, and as soon as he opened
+his eyes wanted to see everything about him. First he looked up at the
+blue sky overhead, but the sky only looked quietly back at him. Then
+he looked across the meadows to where Bessie lived, but Bessie was at
+school and the house was still.
+
+Then he gazed far down below him on the ground; and there, just beneath,
+was a little Violet, She had uncurled her purple petals a few days
+before, and was waiting to welcome the first leaf-bud that came out.
+
+So when the Maple-leaf looked down, she smiled up at him and said,
+"Good-morning." He answered her politely, but he was very little, and
+did not know quite what to say, so he didn't talk any more that day.
+
+The next morning they greeted each other again, and soon they grew to be
+good friends, and talked together very happily all day. The Maple-leaf
+lived so high up in the tree that he could easily see across the fields,
+and he watched every day for Bessie as she started for school. When she
+came out of her door, he told the Violet, and the Violet always said
+every morning, "Dear Bessie! I should like to see her, too!"
+
+Sometimes, when the day was chilly and it was almost too damp in the
+shade, the Violet used to wish she might be high up on the branch above
+her, waving about in the sunshine like the Maple-leaf; but she was a
+contented little thing, and never fretted long for what she could not
+have.
+
+It was generally pleasant on the ground, and the bugs and caterpillars
+and worms, as they crawled about at her roots, often told her very
+interesting things about their families and their troubles.
+
+One day it was very dry and warm. The Maple-leaf was not at all
+comfortable, high in the hot air, and he said to his mother,
+"Mother-tree, won't you let me go down by the Violet and be cool?"
+
+Then the Maple-tree answered, "No, no, little leaf, not now; if I once
+let you go, you can never come back again. Stay quietly here; the time
+will soon come for you to leave me."
+
+The Maple-leaf told this to the Violet, and then they began to fear that
+when the mother-tree let him go, by and by, he might not be able to fall
+close beside the Violet.
+
+So the next day, when the wind came whistling along, the Violet asked
+him if he would kindly take care of the leaf, and send him to her when
+the mother-tree let him go. The wind was rough and careless, and said he
+really didn't know. He couldn't be sure how he'd feel then. They would
+have to wait and see.
+
+The two little friends were rather unhappy about this, but they waited
+quietly. By and by the weather grew cold. The air was so chill that the
+Maple-leaf shivered in the night, and in the morning, when the sun rose,
+and he could see himself, he found he was all red, just as your hands
+and cheeks are on a frosty morning. When the mother-tree saw him, she
+told him he would soon leave her now, and she bade him good-by. He
+was sorry to go, but then he thought of his dear Violet, and was happy
+again.
+
+By and by a gust of cold wind came blowing by, and twisted the little
+leaf about, and fluttered him so that he could not hold to the tree any
+longer. So at last he blew off, and the wind took him up and danced with
+him and played with him until he was very tired and dizzy. But at last,
+for he was a kind wind after all, he blew the leaf back, straight to the
+side of the Violet. How close they cuddled to each other, and how happy
+they were! You would have been very glad if you had seen them together.
+
+In the morning, when the sun rose yellow and bright, Bessie came into
+the woods with a basket and a trowel. It was nearly winter, and she knew
+that soon the snow would fall and cover all the pretty growing things.
+So she dug up, very carefully, roots of plumy fern and partridge berries
+with their leaves, and wintergreen and boxberry plants, to grow in her
+window-garden in the winter. She took the Violet too, bringing away so
+much of the earth around her roots that the little thing scarcely felt
+that she had been moved. As Bessie put her plants in the basket, she
+saw the little Maple-leaf resting close by the violet, but he looked so
+pretty, lying there, that she did not move him.
+
+In the sunny window of the little brown house the Violet grew still
+more fresh and green. But each day, as the plants were watered, the
+Maple-leaf curled up a little more at the edges, and sank down farther
+into the earth, until soon he was almost out of sight, and by and by
+crumbled quite away. Still he was close beside his Violet, and all the
+strength he had he gave to her roots.
+
+She always loved him just the same, though she could not see him any
+longer, and by and by, when she had lived her life, and her leaves
+withered away, each one, as it fell from the stem, sank into the earth
+where the Maple-leaf lay.
+
+
+
+
+MRS. CHINCHILLA.
+
+THE TALE OF A CAT.
+
+"See what joyous faces, what shining eyes, and what glad jubilee welcome
+the story-teller, and what a blooming circle of glad children press
+around him!"--FROEBEL.
+
+
+Mrs. Chinchilla was not a lovely lady, with a dress of soft gray cloth
+and a great chinchilla muff and boa. Not at all. Mrs. Chinchilla was
+a beautiful cat, with sleek fur like silver-gray satin, and a very
+handsome tail to match, quite long enough to brush the ground when she
+walked. She didn't live in a house, but she had a very comfortable home
+in a fine drug-store, with one large bay-window almost to herself and
+her kittens. She had three pretty fat dumplings of kittens, all in soft
+shades of gray like their mother. She didn't like any other color in
+kittens so well as a quiet ladylike gray. None of her children ever were
+black, or white, or yellow, but sometimes they had four snow-white socks
+on their gray paws. Mrs. Chinchilla didn't mind that, for white socks
+were really a handsome finish to a gray kitten, though, of course, it
+was a deal of trouble to keep them clean.
+
+At the time my story begins the kits were all tiny catkins, whose eyes
+had been open only a day or two, so Mrs. Chinchilla had to wash them
+every morning herself. She had the most wonderful tongue! I'll tell
+you what that tongue had in it: a hair-brush, a comb, a tooth-brush,
+a nail-brush, a sponge, a towel, and a cake of soap! And when Mrs.
+Chinchilla had finished those three little catkins, they were as fresh
+and sweet, and shiny and clean, and kissable and huggable, as any baby
+just out of a bath-tub.
+
+One morning, just after the little kits had had their scrub in the sunny
+bay-window, they felt, all at once, old enough to play; and so they
+began to scramble over each other, and run about between the great
+colored glass jars, and even to chase and bite the ends of their own
+tails. They had not known that they had any tails before that morning,
+and of course it was a charming surprise. Mrs. Chinchilla looked on
+lazily and gravely. It had been a good while since she had had time or
+had felt young and gay enough to chase her tail, but she was very glad
+to see the kittens enjoy themselves harmlessly.
+
+Now, while this was going on, some one came up to the window and looked
+in. It was the Boy who lived across the street. Mrs. Chinchilla disliked
+nearly all boys, but she was afraid of this one. He had golden curls and
+a Fauntleroy collar, and the sweetest lips that ever said prayers, and
+clean dimpled hands that looked as if they had been made to stroke cats
+and make them purr. But instead of stroking them he rubbed their fur the
+wrong way, and hung tin kettles to their tails, and tied handkerchiefs
+over their heads. When Mrs. Chinchilla saw the Boy she humped her back,
+so that it looked like a gray mountain, and said, "Sftt!" three times.
+When the Boy found that she was looking at him, and lashing her tail,
+and yawning so as to show him her sharp white teeth, he suddenly
+disappeared from sight. So Mrs. Chinchilla gave the kittens their
+breakfast, and they cuddled themselves into a round ball, and went fast
+asleep. They were first rolled so tightly, and then so tied up with
+their tails, that you couldn't have told whether they were three or six
+little catkins. When their soft purr-r-r-r, purr-r-r-r had first
+changed into sleepy little snores, and then died away altogether, Mrs.
+Chinchilla jumped down out of the window, and went for her morning
+airing in the back yard. At the same time the druggist passed behind a
+tall desk to mix some medicine, and the shop was left alone.
+
+Just then the Boy (for he hadn't gone away at all; he had just stooped
+out of sight) rushed in the door quickly, snatched one of the kittens
+out of the round ball, and ran away with it as fast as he could run.
+Pretty soon Mrs. Chinchilla came back, and of course she counted the
+kittens the very first thing. She always did it. To her surprise and
+fright she found only two instead of three. She knew she couldn't be
+mistaken. There were five kittens in her last family, and two less in
+this family; and five kittens less two kittens is three kittens. One
+chinchilla catkin gone! What should she do?
+
+She had once heard a lady say that there were too many cats in the
+world already, but she had no patience with people who made such wicked
+speeches. Her kittens had always been so beautiful that they sometimes
+sold for fifty cents apiece, and none of them had ever been drowned.
+
+Mrs. Chinchilla knew in a second just where that kitten had gone. It
+makes a pussy-cat very quick and bright and wise to take care of and
+train large families of frisky kittens, with very little help from their
+father in bringing them up. She knew that that Boy had carried off the
+kitten, and she intended to have it back, and scratch the Boy with some
+long scratches, if she could only get the chance. Looking at her claws,
+she found them nice and sharp, and as the druggist opened the door for a
+customer Mrs. Chinchilla slipped out, with just one backward glance, as
+much as to say, "Gone out; will be back soon." Then she dashed across
+the street, and waited on the steps of the Boy's house. Very soon a
+man came with a bundle, and when the house-maid opened the door Mrs.
+Chinchilla walked in. She hadn't any visiting-card with her; but then
+the Boy hadn't left any card when he called for the kitten, so she
+didn't care for that.
+
+The housemaid didn't see her when she slipped in. It was a very nice
+house to hold such a heartless boy, she thought. The parlor door was
+open, but she knew the kitten wouldn't be there, so she ran upstairs.
+When she reached the upper hall she stood perfectly still, with her
+ears up and her whiskers trembling. Suddenly she heard a faint mew, then
+another, and then a laugh; that was the Boy. She pushed open a door that
+was ajar, and walked into the nursery. The Boy was seated in the middle
+of the floor, tying the kitten to a tin cart, and the poor little thing
+was mewing piteously. Mrs. Chinchilla dashed up to the Boy, scratched
+him as many long scratches as she had time for at that moment, took the
+frightened kitten in her kind, gentle mouth, the way all mother-cats
+do (because if they carried them in their forepaws they wouldn't
+have enough left to walk on), and was downstairs and out on the front
+doorstep before the housemaid had finished paying the man for the
+bundle. And when she got that chinchilla catkin home in the safe, sunny
+bay-window, she washed it over and over and over so many times that it
+never forgot, so long as it lived, the day it was stolen by the Boy.
+
+When the Boy's mother hurried upstairs to see why he was crying so loud,
+she told him that he must expect to be scratched by mother-cats if he
+stole their kittens. "I shall take your pretty Fauntleroy collar off,"
+she said; "it doesn't match your disposition."
+
+The Boy cried bitterly until luncheon time, but when he came to think
+over the matter, he knew that his mother was right, and Mrs. Chinchilla
+was right, too; so he treated all mother-cats and their kittens more
+kindly after that.
+
+
+
+
+A STORY OF THE FOREST
+
+"It is not the gay forms he meets in the fairy-tale which charm the
+child, but a spiritual, invisible truth lying far deeper."--Froebel.
+
+
+Far away, in the depths of a great green rustling wood, there lived a
+Fir-tree. She was tall and dark and fragrant; so tall that her topmost
+plumes seemed waving about in the clouds, and her branches were so thick
+and strong and close set that down below them on the ground it was dark
+almost as night.
+
+There were many other trees in the forest, as tall and grand as she,
+and when they bent and bowed to each other, as the wind played in their
+branches, you could hear a wonderful lovely sound, like the great organ
+when it plays softly in the church.
+
+Down below, under the trees, the ground was covered with a glossy brown
+carpet of the sharp, needle-like leaves the fir-trees had let fall, and
+on this carpet there were pointed brown fir cones lying, looking dry and
+withered, and yet bearing under their scales many little seeds, hidden
+away like very precious letters in their dainty envelopes.
+
+Even on bright summer days this wood was cool and dark, and, as you
+walked about on the soft brown carpet, you could hear the wonderful song
+the pine needles made as they rubbed against each other; and perhaps far
+away in the top of some tall tree you could hear the wood-thrush sing
+out gladly.
+
+All around the great Fir-tree, where her cones had dropped, a family
+of young firs was growing up,--very tiny yet, so tiny you might have
+crushed them as you walked, and not felt them under your foot.
+
+The Fir-tree spread her thick branches over them, and kept off the
+fierce wind and the bitter cold, and under her shelter they were growing
+strong.
+
+They were all fine little trees, but one of them, that stood quite apart
+from the rest, was the finest of all, very straight and well shaped
+and handsome. Every day he looked up at the mother-tree, and saw how
+straight and strong she grew,--how the wind bent and waved her branches,
+but did not stir her great trunk; and as he looked, he sent his own
+rootlets farther down into the dark earth, and held his tiny head up
+more proudly.
+
+The other trees did not all try to grow strong and tall. Indeed, one of
+them said, "Why should I try to grow? Who can see me here in this dark
+wood? What good will it do for me to try? I can never be as fine and
+strong as the mother-tree."
+
+So he was unhappy and hung his head, and let the wind blow him further
+and further over toward the ground; and as he did not care for his
+rootlets, they lost their hold in the earth, and by and by he withered
+quite away.
+
+But our brave little Fir-tree grew on; and when a long time had gone by,
+his head was on a level with his mother's lowest branches, and he could
+listen and hear all the whispering and talking that went on among the
+great trees. So he learned many things, for the trees were old and
+wise; and the birds, who are such great travelers, had told them many
+wonderful things that had happened in far-off lands.
+
+And the Fir-tree asked his mother many, many questions. "Dear
+mother-tree," he said, "shall we always live here? Shall I keep on
+growing until I am a grand tall tree like you? And will you always be
+with me?"
+
+"Who knows!" said the mother-tree, rustling in all her branches. "If we
+are stout-hearted, and grow strong in trunk and perfect in shape,
+then perhaps we shall be taken away from the forest and made useful
+somewhere,--and we want to be useful, little son."
+
+It was about this time that the young Fir-tree made himself some music
+that he used to whisper when the winds blew and rocked his branches.
+This is the little song, but I cannot sing it as he did.
+
+
+SONG OF THE FIR-TREE.
+
+   Root grow thou long-er heart be thou strong-er;
+   Let the sun bless me, soft-ly ca-
+   ress me; Let rain-drops pat-ter,
+   wind, my leaves scat-ter. My root must grow
+   long-er, my heart must grow stronger.
+
+  "Root, grow thou longer,
+   Heart, be thou stronger;
+   Let the sun bless me,
+   Softly caress me;
+   Let raindrops patter,
+   Wind, my leaves scatter.
+   My root must grow longer,
+   My heart must grow stronger."
+
+And one day, when he was singing this song to himself, some birds
+fluttered near, pleased with the music, and as he seemed kind they began
+to build their nest in his branches,
+
+Then what a proud Fir-tree, that the birds should choose him to take
+care of them! He would not play now with the wind as it came frolicking
+by, but stood straight, that he might not shake the pretty soft nest.
+And when the eggs were laid at last, all his leaves stroked each other
+for joy, and the noise they made was so sweet that the mother-tree bent
+over to see why he was so happy.
+
+The mother-bird sat patiently on the nest all day, and when, now and
+then, she flew away to rest her tired little legs, the father-bird came
+to keep the eggs warm.
+
+So the Fir-tree was never alone; and now he asked the birds some of the
+many questions he had once asked his mother, "Tell me, dear birdies,"
+he said, "what does the mother-tree mean? She says if I grow strong, I
+shall be taken away to be useful somewhere. How can a Fir-tree be useful
+if he is taken away from the forest where he was born?"
+
+So the birds told him how he could be useful: how perhaps men might
+take him for the mast of a ship, and fasten to him, strong and firm, the
+great white sails that send the ship like a bird over the water; or that
+he might be used to hold a bright flag, as it waved in the wind. Then
+the mother-bird thought of the happy Christmas time, for the birds
+and flowers and trees know all about it; and she told the Fir of the
+Christmas greens that were cut in the forest; of the branches and boughs
+that were used to make the houses fresh and bright; and of the Christmas
+trees, on which gifts were hung for the children.
+
+Now the Fir-tree had seen some children one day, and he knew about their
+bright eyes, and their rosy cheeks, and their dear soft little hands.
+The day they came into the woods, they had made a ring and danced about
+him, and one little girl had held up her finger, and asked the others to
+hush and hear the song he was singing.
+
+So of all the thing's the birds had told him, the sweetest to him was
+about the Christmas tree. If only he might be a Christmas tree, and have
+the children dance about him again, and feel their presents among his
+green branches!
+
+So he did all that a little tree could do to grow strong in every part,
+and each day he sang his song:&&
+
+  "Root, grow thou longer,
+   Heart, grow thou stronger;
+   Sweet sunshine, bless me,
+   Softly caress me;
+   Cold raindrops, patter,
+   Wind, my leaves scatter,
+   My roots must grow longer,
+   My heart must grow stronger,"
+
+Soon the days began to grow cold. The birdlings who had been born in
+the Fir-tree's branches had gone far away to the South. The father and
+mother bird had gone too, and on the way had stopped to say good-by to
+the brave little tree.
+
+The white snow had fallen in gentle flakes, and covered the cones and
+the glossy carpet of pine needles. All was still and shining and cold in
+the forest, and the great trees seemed taller and darker than ever.
+
+One day some men came into the wood with saws and ropes and axes, and
+cut down many of the great trees, and among these was the mother-fir.
+They fastened oxen to all the trees, and dragged them away, rustling and
+waving, over the smooth snow.
+
+The mother-tree had gone,--"gone to be useful," said the little Fir; and
+though he missed her very much, and the world seemed very empty when he
+looked up and no longer saw her thick branches and her strong trunk, yet
+he was not unhappy, for he was a brave little Fir.
+
+Still the days grew colder, and often the Fir-tree wondered if the
+children who had made a ring and danced about him would remember him
+when Christmas time came.
+
+He could not grow, for the weather was too cold, and so he had the more
+time for thinking. He thought of the birds, of the mother-tree, and,
+most of all, of the little girl who had lifted her finger, and said,
+"Hush! hear the Fir-tree sing."
+
+Sometimes the days seemed long, and he sighed in all his branches, and
+almost thought he would never be a Christmas tree.
+
+But suddenly, one day, he heard something far away that sounded like the
+ringing of Christmas bells. It was the children laughing and singing, as
+they ran over the snow.
+
+Nearer they came, and stood beside the Fir. "Yes," said the little girl,
+"it is my very tree, my very singing tree!"
+
+"Indeed," said the father, "it will be a good Christmas tree. See how
+straight and well shaped it is."
+
+Then the tree was glad; not proud, for he was a good little Fir, but
+glad that they saw he had tried his best.
+
+{Illustration: Not all firs can be Christmas trees.}
+
+So they cut him down and carried him away on a great sled; away from the
+tall dark trees, from the white shining snow-carpet at their feet, and
+from all the murmuring and whispering that go on within the forest.
+
+The little trees stood on tiptoe and waved their green branches for
+"Good-by," and the great trees bent their heads to watch him go.
+
+"Not all firs can be Christmas trees," said they; "only those who grow
+their best."
+
+The good Fir-tree stood in the children's own room. Round about his feet
+were flowers and mosses and green boughs. From his branches hung toys
+and books and candies, and at the end of each glossy twig was a bright
+glittering Christmas candle.
+
+The doors were slowly opened; the children came running in; and when
+they saw the shining lights, and the Christmas tree proudly holding
+their presents, they made a ring, and danced about him, singing.
+
+And the Fir-tree was very happy!
+
+
+
+
+PICCOLA.
+
+Suggested by One of Mrs. Celia Thaxter's Poems.
+
+"Story-telling is a real strengthening spirit-bath."--Froebel.
+
+
+Piccola lived in Italy, where the oranges grow, and where all the year
+the sun shines warm and bright. I suppose you think Piccola a very
+strange name for a little girl; but in her country it was not strange at
+all, and her mother thought it the sweetest name a little girl ever had.
+
+Piccola had no kind father, no big brother or sister, and no sweet baby
+to play with and to love. She and her mother lived all alone in an old
+stone house that looked on a dark, narrow street. They were very poor,
+and the mother was away from home almost every day, washing clothes and
+scrubbing floors, and working hard to earn money for her little girl and
+herself. So you see Piccola was alone a great deal of the time; and if
+she had not been a very happy, contented little child, I hardly know
+what she would have done. She had no playthings except a heap of stones
+in the back yard that she used for building houses, and a very old, very
+ragged doll that her mother had found in the street one day.
+
+But there was a small round hole in the stone wall at the back of
+her yard, and her greatest pleasure was to look through that into her
+neighbor's garden. When she stood on a stone, and put her eyes close to
+the hole, she could see the green grass in the garden, smell the sweet
+flowers, and even hear the water plashing into the fountain. She had
+never seen any one walking in the garden, for it belonged to an old
+gentleman who did not care about grass and flowers.
+
+One day in the autumn her mother told her that the old gentleman had
+gone away, and had rented his house to a family of little American
+children, who had come with their sick mother to spend the winter
+in Italy. After this, Piccola was never lonely, for all day long the
+children ran and played and danced and sang in the garden. It was
+several weeks before they saw her at all, and I am not sure they would
+ever have done so but that one day the kitten ran away, and in chasing
+her they came close to the wall, and saw Piccola's black eyes looking
+through the hole in the stones. They were a little frightened at first,
+and did not speak to her; but the next day she was there again, and
+Rose, the oldest girl, went up to the wall and talked to her a little
+while. When the children found that she had no one to play with and was
+very lonely, they talked to her every day, and often brought her fruits
+and candies, and passed them through the hole in the wall.
+
+One day they even pushed the kitten through; but the hole was hardly
+large enough for her, and she mewed and scratched, and was very much
+frightened. After that the little boy said he should ask his father if
+the hole might not be made larger, and then Piccola could come in and
+play with them. The father had found out that Piccola's mother was a
+good woman, and that the little girl herself was sweet and kind, so that
+he was very glad to have some of the stones broken away, and an opening
+made for Piccola to come in.
+
+How excited she was, and how glad the children were when she first
+stepped into the garden! She wore her best dress, a long bright-colored
+woolen skirt and a white waist. Round her neck was a string of beads,
+and on her feet were little wooden shoes. It would seem very strange to
+us--would it not?--to wear wooden shoes; but Piccola and her mother
+had never worn anything else, and never had any money to buy stockings.
+Piccola almost always ran about barefooted, like the kittens and the
+chickens and the little ducks. What a good time they had that day, and
+how glad Piccola's mother was that her little girl could have such a
+pleasant, safe place to play in, while she was away at work!
+
+By and by December came, and the little Americans began to talk about
+Christmas. One day, when Piccola's curly head and bright eyes came
+peeping through the hole in the wall, they ran to her and helped her
+in; and as they did so, they all asked her at once what she thought she
+would have for a Christmas present. "A Christmas present!" said Piccola.
+"Why, what is that?"
+
+All the children looked surprised at this, and Rose said, rather
+gravely, "Dear Piccola, don't you know what Christmas is?"
+
+Oh, yes, Piccola knew it was the happy day when the baby Christ was
+born, and she had been to church on that day, and heard the beautiful
+singing, and had seen a picture of the Babe lying in the manger, with
+cattle and sheep sleeping round about. Oh, yes, she knew all that very
+well, but what was a Christmas present?
+
+Then the children began to laugh, and to answer her all together. There
+was such a clatter of tongues that she could hear only a few words now
+and then, such as "chimney," "Santa Claus," "stockings," "reindeer,"
+"Christmas Eve," "candies and toys." Piccola put her hands over her
+ears, and said, "Oh, I can't understand one word. You tell me, Rose."
+Then Rose told her all about jolly old Santa Claus, with his red cheeks
+and white beard and fur coat, and about his reindeer and sleigh full of
+toys. "Every Christmas Eve," said Rose, "he comes down the chimney, and
+fills the stockings of all the good children; so, Piccola, you hang up
+your stocking, and who knows what a beautiful Christmas present you
+will find when morning comes!" Of course Piccola thought this was a
+delightful plan, and was very pleased to hear about it. Then all the
+children told her of every Christmas Eve they could remember, and of
+the presents they had had; so that she went home thinking of nothing but
+dolls, and hoops, and balls, and ribbons, and marbles, and wagons, and
+kites. She told her mother about Santa Claus, and her mother seemed to
+think that perhaps he did not know there was any little girl in that
+house, and very likely he would not come at all. But Piccola felt very
+sure Santa Claus would remember her, for her little friends had promised
+to send a letter up the chimney to remind him.
+
+Christmas Eve came at last. Piccola's mother hurried home from her
+work; they had their little supper of soup and bread, and soon it was
+bedtime,--time to get ready for Santa Claus. But oh! Piccola remembered
+then for the first time that the children had told her she must hang up
+her stocking, and she hadn't any, and neither had her mother.
+
+How sad, how sad it was! Now Santa Claus would come, and perhaps be
+angry because he couldn't find any place to put the present. The poor
+little girl stood by the fireplace; and the big tears began to run down
+her cheeks. Just then her mother called to her, "Hurry, Piccola; come
+to bed." What should she do? But she stopped crying, and tried to think;
+and in a moment she remembered her wooden shoes, and ran off to get one
+of them. She put it close to the chimney, and said to herself, "Surely
+Santa Claus will know what it's there for. He will know I haven't any
+stockings, so I gave him the shoe instead."
+
+Then she went off happily to her bed, and was asleep almost as soon as
+she had nestled close to her mother's side.
+
+The sun had only just begun to shine, next morning, when Piccola awoke.
+With one jump she was out on the floor and running toward the chimney.
+The wooden shoe was lying where she had left it, but you could never,
+never guess what was in it.
+
+{Illustration: See the present Santa Claus brought me}
+
+Piccola had not meant to wake her mother, but this surprise was more
+than any little girl could bear and yet be quiet; so she danced to the
+bed with the shoe in her hand, calling, "Mother, mother! look, look! see
+the present Santa Claus brought me!"
+
+Her mother raised her head and looked into the shoe. "Why, Piccola," she
+said, "a little chimney swallow nestling in your shoe? What a good Santa
+Claus to bring you a bird!"
+
+"Good Santa Claus, dear Santa Claus!" cried Piccola; and she kissed her
+mother and kissed the bird and kissed the shoe, and even threw kisses up
+the chimney, she was so happy.
+
+When the birdling was taken out of the shoe, they found that he did not
+try to fly, only to hop about the room; and as they looked closer, they
+could see that one of his wings was hurt a little. But the mother bound
+it up carefully, so that it did not seem to pain him, and he was so
+gentle that he took a drink of water from a cup, and even ate crumbs and
+seeds from Piccola's hand. She was a proud little girl when she took
+her Christmas present to show the children in the garden. They had had
+a great many gifts,--dolls that could say "mamma," bright picture-books,
+trains of cars, toy pianos; but not one of their playthings was alive,
+like Piccola's birdling. They were as pleased as she, and Rose hunted
+about the house till she found a large wicker cage that belonged to a
+blackbird she once had. She gave the cage to Piccola, and the swallow
+seemed to make himself quite at home in it at once, and sat on the perch
+winking his bright eyes at the children. Rose had saved a bag of candies
+for Piccola, and when she went home at last, with the cage and her dear
+swallow safely inside it, I am sure there was not a happier little girl
+in the whole country of Italy.
+
+
+
+THE CHILD AND THE WORLD.
+
+     I see a nest in a green elm-tree
+     With little brown sparrows,--one, two, three!
+     The elm-tree stretches its branches wide,
+     And the nest is soft and warm inside.
+     At morn, the sun, so golden bright,
+     Climbs up to fill the world with light;
+     It opens the flowers, it wakens me,
+     And wakens the birdies,--one, two, three.
+     And leaning out of my window high,
+     I look far up at the blue, blue sky,
+     And then far out at the earth so green,
+     And think it the loveliest ever seen,--
+     The loveliest world that ever was seen!
+
+     But by and by, when the sun is low,
+     And birds and babies sleepy grow,
+     I peep again from my window high,
+     And look at the earth and clouds and sky.
+     The night dew comes in silent showers,
+     To cool the hearts of thirsty flowers;
+     The moon comes out,--the slender thing,
+     A crescent yet, but soon a ring,--
+     And brings with her one yellow star;
+     How small it looks, away so far!
+     But soon, in the heaven's shining blue,
+     A thousand twinkle and blink at you,
+     Like a thousand lamps in the sky so blue.
+
+     And hush! a light breeze stirs the tree,
+     And rocks, the birdies,--one, two, three.
+     What a beautiful cradle, that soft, warm nest!
+     What a dear little coverlid, mamma-bird's breast!
+     She's hugging them close to her,--tight, so tight
+     That each downy head is hid from sight;
+     But out from under her sheltering wings
+     Their bright eyes glisten,--the darling things!
+     I lean far out from my window's height
+     And say, "Dear, lovely world, good-night!
+
+     "Good-night, dear, pretty baby moon!
+     Your cradle you'll outgrow quite soon,
+     And then, perhaps, all night you'll shine,
+     A grown-up lady moon!--so fine
+     And bright that all the stars
+     Will want to light their lamps from yours.
+     Sleep sweetly, birdies, never fear,
+     For God is always watching near!
+     And you, dear, friendly world above,
+     The same One holds us in His love:
+     Both you so great, and I so small,
+     Are safe,--He sees the sparrow's fall,--
+     The dear God watcheth over all!"
+
+
+
+
+WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL.
+
+OUR FROGGERY.
+
+"Turn back observantly into your own youth, and awaken, warm, and vivify
+the eternal youth of your mind."--FROEBEL.
+
+
+When I was a little girl my sister and I lived in the country. She was
+younger than I, and the dearest, fattest little toddlekins of a sister
+you ever knew. She always wanted to do exactly as I did, so that I had
+to be very careful and do the right things; for if I had been naughty
+she would surely have been naughty too, and that would have made me very
+sad.
+
+As we lived in the country we had none of the things to amuse us that
+city children have. We couldn't walk in crowded streets and see people
+and look in at beautiful shop-windows, or hear the street-organs play
+and see the monkeys do tricks; we couldn't go to dancing school, nor to
+children's parties, nor to the circus to see the animals.
+
+But we had lovely plays, after all.
+
+In the spring we hunted for mayflowers, and sailed boats in the brooks,
+and gathered fluffy pussy-willows. We watched the yellow dandelions
+come, one by one, in the short green grass, and we stood under the
+maple-trees and watched the sap trickle from their trunks into the great
+wooden buckets; for that maple sap was to be boiled into maple sugar
+and syrup, and we liked to think about it. In the summer we went
+strawberrying and blueberrying, and played "hide and coop" behind the
+tall yellow haycocks, and rode on the top of the full haycarts. In the
+fall we went nutting, and pressed red and yellow autumn leaves between
+the pages of our great Webster's Dictionary; we gathered apples, and
+watched the men at work at the cider-presses, and the farmers as they
+threshed their wheat and husked their corn. And in the winter we made
+snow men, and slid downhill from morning till night when there was any
+snow to slide upon, and went sleighing behind our dear old horse Jack,
+and roasted apples in the ashes of the great open fire.
+
+But one of the things we cared for most was our froggery, and we used to
+play there for hours together in the long summer days.
+
+Perhaps you don't know what a froggery is; but you do know what a frog
+is, and so you can guess that a froggery is a place where frogs live.
+My little sister and I used at first to catch the frogs and keep them in
+tin cans filled with water; but when we thought about it we saw that the
+poor froggies couldn't enjoy this, and that it was cruel to take them
+away from their homes and make them live in unfurnished tin houses. So
+one day I asked my father if he would give us a part of the garden brook
+for our very own. He laughed, and said, "Yes," if we wouldn't carry it
+away.
+
+Our garden was as large as four or five city blocks, and a beautiful
+silver-clear brook flowed through it, turning here and there, and here
+and there breaking into tinkling little waterfalls, and dropping gently
+into clear, still pools.
+
+It was one of these deep, quiet pools that we chose for our froggery. It
+was almost hidden on two sides by thick green alder-bushes, so that it
+was always cool and pleasant there, even on the hottest days.
+
+My father put pieces of fine wire netting into the water on each of the
+four sides of the pool, and so arranged them that we could slip those
+on the banks up and down as we pleased. Whenever we went there we always
+took away the side fences, and sat flat down upon the smooth stones at
+the edges of the brook and played with the frogs.
+
+Here we used to watch our gay young polliwogs grow into frogs, one leg
+at a time coming out at each "corner" of their fat wriggling bodies. We
+kept two great bull-frogs,--splendid bass singers both of them,--that
+had been stoned by naughty small boys, and left for dead by the
+roadside. We found them there, bound up their broken legs and bruised
+backs, and nursed them quite well again in one corner of the froggery
+that we called the hospital. In another corner was the nursery, and here
+we kept all the tiniest frogs; though we always let them out once a
+day to play with the older ones, for fear that they never would learn
+anything if they were kept entirely to themselves. One of our great
+bull-frogs grew so strong and well, after being in the hospital for a
+while, that he jumped over the highest of the wire fences, which was
+two feet higher than any frog ever was known to jump, so our hired man
+said,--jumped over and ran away. We called him the "General," because he
+was the largest of our frogs and the oldest, we thought. (He hadn't any
+gray hairs, but he was very much wrinkled.) We were sorry to lose the
+General, and couldn't think why he should run away, when we gave him
+such good things to eat and tried to make him so happy. My father said
+that perhaps his home was in a large pond, some distance off, where
+there were so many hundred frogs that it was quite a gay city life for
+them, while the froggery was in a quiet brook in our quiet old garden.
+(If I were a frog, it seems to me I should like such a home better than
+a great noisy stagnant pond near the road, where I should be frightened
+to death half a dozen times a day; but there is no accounting for
+tastes!)
+
+{Illustration: "We were sorry to lose the General."}
+
+But what do you think? After staying away for three days and nights
+the General came back safe and sound! We knew it was our own beloved
+General, and not any common stranger-frog, because there was the scar
+on his back where the boys had stoned him. My little sister thought that
+perhaps the General was born in Lily Pad Pond, on the other side of the
+village, and only went back to get a sight of the pond lilies, which
+were just in full bloom. If that was so, I cannot blame the General; for
+snow-white pond lilies, with their golden hearts and the green frills
+round their necks, are the loveliest things in the world, as they float
+among their shiny pads on the surface of the pond. Did you ever see
+them?
+
+All our frogs had names of their own, of course, and we knew them all
+apart, although they looked just alike to other people. There was Prince
+Pouter, Brownie, and Goldilegs; Bright-Eye, Chirp, and Gray Friar;
+Hop-o'-my-Thumb, Croaker, Baby Mine, Nimblefoot, Tiny Tim, and many
+others.
+
+We were so afraid that our frogs wouldn't like the froggery better than
+any other place in the brook that we gave them all the pleasures we
+could think of. They always had plenty of fat juicy flies and water-bugs
+for their dinners, and after a while we put some silver shiners and tiny
+minnows into the pool, so that they would have fishes to play with as
+well as other frogs. You know you do not always like to play with other
+children; sometimes you like kittens and dogs and birds better.
+
+Then we gave our frogs little vacations once in a while. We tied a long
+soft woolen string very gently round one of their hind legs, fastened it
+to a twig of one of the alderbushes, and let them take a long swim and
+make calls on all their friends.
+
+We had a singing-school for them once a week. It was very troublesome,
+for they didn't like to stand in line a bit, and it is quite useless to
+try and teach a class in singing unless the scholars will stand in a row
+or keep in some sort of order. We used to put a nice little board across
+the pool, and then try to get the frogs to sit quietly in line during
+their lesson. The General behaved quite nicely, and really got into the
+spirit of the thing, so that he was a splendid example for the head of
+the class. Then we used to put Myron W. Whitney next in line, on account
+of his beautiful bass voice. We named him after a gentleman who had once
+sung in our church, and I hope if he ever heard of it he didn't mind,
+for the frog was really a credit to him. Myron W. Whitney behaved nearly
+as well as the General, but we could never get him to sing unless we
+held the class just before bedtime, and then the little frogs were so
+sleepy that they kept tumbling out of the singing-school into the pool.
+That was the trouble with them all; they never could quite see the
+difference between school and pool. It seems to me they must have known
+it was very slight after all.
+
+Towards the end of the summer we had trained them so well that once in a
+long while we could actually get them all still at once, and all facing
+the right way as they sat upon that board. Oh! it was a beautiful sight,
+and worth any amount of trouble and work! Twenty-one frogs in a row, all
+in fresh green suits, with clean white shirt fronts, washed every day.
+The General and Myron W. Whitney always looked as if they were bursting
+with pride, and as they were too fat and lazy to move, we could
+generally count upon their good behavior.
+
+We thought that if we could only get them to look down into the pool,
+which made such a lovely looking-glass, and just see for once what a
+beautiful picture they made,--sitting so straight and still, and all so
+nicely graded as to size,--they would like it better and do it a little
+more willingly.
+
+We thought, too, the baby frogs would be ashamed, when they looked in
+the glass, to see that while the big frogs stayed still of their own
+free will, THEY had to be held down with forked sticks. But we could
+never discover that they were ashamed.
+
+So when everything was complete my little sister used to "let go" of
+the baby frogs (for, as I said, she had to hold them down while we were
+forming the line), and I would begin the lesson. Sometimes they would
+listen a minute, and then they would begin their pranks. They would
+insist on playing leap-frog, which is a very nice game, but not
+appropriate for school. Tiny Tim would jump from the foot of the class
+straight over all the others on to Myron W. Whitney's back. Baby Mine
+would try to get between Croaker and Goldilegs, where there wasn't any
+room. Nimblefoot would twist round on the board and turn his back to me,
+which was very impolite, as I was the teacher. Finally, Hop-o'-my-Thumb
+would go splash into the pool, and all the rest, save the good old
+General, would follow him, and the lesson would end. I suppose you have
+heard frogs singing just after sunset, when you were going to bed? Some
+people think the big bull-frogs say, "JUGO'RUM! JUGO'RUM! JUGO'RUM!" But
+I don't think this is at all likely, as the frogs never drink anything
+but water in their whole lives.
+
+We used to think that some of the frogs said, "KERCHUG! KERCHUG!" and
+that the largest one said, "GOTACRUMB! GOTACRUMB! GOTACRUMB!" Perhaps
+you can't make it sound right, but if you listen to the frogs you can
+very soon do it.
+
+We thought the frogs in our froggery the very best singers in all the
+country round. After our mother had tucked us in our little beds and
+kissed us good-night, she used to open the window, that we might hear
+the chirping and humming and kerchugging of our frogs down in the dear
+old garden.
+
+As we wandered dreamily off into Sandman's Land, the very last sound we
+heard was the cheerful chorus of our baby frogs, and the deep bass notes
+of Myron W. Whitney and the old General.
+
+
+
+
+FROEBEL'S BIRTHDAY.
+
+"The whole future efficiency of man is seen in the child as a germ."--
+FROEBEL.
+
+
+On this day, children, the twenty-first of April, we always remember our
+dear Froebel; for it was his birthday.
+
+We bring flowers and vines to hang about his picture, we sing the songs
+and play the games he loved the best, and we remember the story of his
+life. We thank him all day long; for he made the kindergarten for us, he
+invented these pretty things that children love to do, he thought about
+all the pleasant work and pleasant play that make the kindergarten such
+a happy place.
+
+On this very day, more than a hundred years ago, the baby Froebel came
+to his happy father and mother. He was a little German baby, like Elsa's
+brother and Fritz's little sister, and when he began to talk his first
+words were German ones.
+
+But the dear mother did not stay long with her little Friedrich, for she
+died when he was not a year old, and he was left a very sad and lonely
+baby. His father was a busy minister, who had sermons to write, and sick
+people to see, and unhappy people to comfort, from one end of the
+week to the other, and he had no time to attend to his little son; so
+Friedrich was left to the housemaid, who was too busy herself to care
+for him properly. She was often so hurried that she was obliged to shut
+him up in a room alone, to keep him out of her way, and then it was very
+hard work for the child to amuse himself.
+
+The only window in this room looked out on a church that workmen were
+repairing, and Friedrich often watched these men, and tried to do just
+as they did. He took all the small pieces of furniture, and piled one
+on top of the other to make a big, big church, like the one outside;
+but the chairs and stools did not fit each other very well, and soon
+the church would come tumbling about his head. When Froebel grew to be a
+man, he remembered this, and made the building blocks for us, so that we
+might make fine, tall churches and houses as often as we liked.
+
+Rebel's home was surrounded by other buildings, and was close to the
+great church I told you about. There were fences and hedges all around
+the house, and at the back there were sloping fields, stretching up a
+high hill.
+
+When the little boy grew old enough to walk, he played in the garden
+alone, a great deal of the time; but he was not allowed to go outside
+at all, and never could get even a glimpse of the world beyond. He could
+only see the blue sky overhead, and feel the fresh wind blowing from the
+hills.
+
+His father had no time for him, his mother was dead, and I think perhaps
+he would have died himself, for very sadness and lonesomeness, if it had
+not been for his older brothers. Now and then, when they were at home,
+they played and talked with him, and he grew to love them very dearly
+indeed.
+
+When Friedrich was four years old, his father brought the children a
+new mother, and for a time the little boy was very happy. The mother was
+quite kind at first; and now Froebel had some one to walk with in the
+garden, some one to talk with in the daytime and to tuck him in his
+little bed at night. But by and by, when a baby boy came to the new
+mother, she had no more room in her heart for poor Friedrich, and he was
+more miserable than ever. He tried to be a good boy, but no one seemed
+to understand him, and he was often blamed for naughty things he had not
+done, and was never praised or loved.
+
+When he had learned to read he was sent to school, though not with other
+boys, for his father thought it better for him to be with girls. The
+school was pleasant and quiet, and Friedrich liked the teacher very
+much. Every morning the children read from the Bible, and learned sweet
+songs and hymns which the little boy remembered all his days.
+
+The life at home grew no happier, as Friedrich grew older; indeed, he
+seemed to be more in the way and to get into trouble more often.
+
+When he was ten years old his uncle came to visit them, and seeing
+Friedrich so unhappy, and fearing he would not grow up a good boy unless
+some one cared for him, the good uncle asked to be allowed to take the
+child home with him to live.
+
+Now, at last, Friedrich had five happy years!
+
+His uncle lived in a pretty town on the banks of a sparkling little
+river. Everything was pleasant in the house, and Friedrich went to
+school with forty boys of his own age. He jumped and ran with them in
+the playgrounds, he learned to play all kinds of games, and he was happy
+everywhere,--at school, at home, at church, playing or working.
+
+When these five pleasant years had gone by, Froebel had finished school,
+and now he must decide what he would do to earn his living. He had
+always loved flowers, since the days when he played all alone in his
+father's garden, and he liked to be out-of-doors and to see things
+growing; so he made up his mind to be a surveyor, like our George
+Washington, you know, and to learn, besides, how to take care of trees
+and forests.
+
+He studied and worked very hard at these things, and gained a great deal
+of knowledge about flowers and plants and trees and rocks.
+
+By and by he left this work and went to college, where he studied a long
+time and grew to be very wise indeed. There were numbers of things he
+had learned to do: he could measure land, take care of woods, and draw
+maps; he could make plans of houses, and show men how to build them;
+he knew all about fine stones and minerals, and could sort and arrange
+them; but he found, at last, that there was nothing in the world he
+liked so well as teaching, for he loved children very much, and he liked
+to be with them. When Froebel was a grown man, thirty years old, a great
+war broke out in Germany, and he went away to fight for his country;
+like our George Washington again, you see. He marched away with the
+soldiers, and fought bravely for a year; and then the war was over, and
+he went back to his quiet work again.
+
+For the rest of his life Froebel went on teaching all kinds of
+people,--boys and men, and young girls and grown-up women; but he never
+was quite happy or satisfied till he thought of teaching tiny children,
+just like you.
+
+He remembered very well how sad and miserable he was when a little boy,
+with no one to love him, nobody to play with, and nothing to do; so he
+thought of the kindergarten, where there are pleasant playmates, pretty
+work, happy play for everybody, and teachers who love little children.
+
+He was an old man when he thought of the kindergarten; but he was never
+too old to play with children, and people who went to his country home
+used to see him, with the little ones about him, playing the Pigeon
+House, or the Wheel, or the Farmer, or some of the games he made for us.
+
+He was often very poor, and he worked very hard all his life; but he
+did not care for this at all, if he could help other people and make
+children happy. And when, at last, it was time for him to die, and to go
+back to God, who sent him to us, he was quiet and happy through all his
+sickness, and almost the last words he said were about the flowers he
+loved so well, and about God who had been so good to him.
+
+So this is the reason, little ones, that we keep Rebel's birthday every
+year,--because we want you to remember all he did for little children,
+and to learn to love him just as he loved you.
+
+"Come, let us live with our children; so shall their lives bring peace
+and joy to us; so shall we begin to be, and to become wise."-- FROEBEL.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story Hour, by
+Nora A. Smith and Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
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