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diff --git a/5835-h/5835-h.htm b/5835-h/5835-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..532ea95 --- /dev/null +++ b/5835-h/5835-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4702 @@ +<?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> + “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. + </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, “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.” + </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,—all + longing to be introduced to Bright-Eye, Fine-Ear, Kind-Heart, and + Sweet-Lips,—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 “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!” + </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, “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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </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 “Young America,” 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 “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.” + </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, “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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>I</i> KNOWED he'd come!” + </p> + <p> + 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! + </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 “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:&& + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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.” + </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> + “The very brooding of a voice on a word,” says George Macdonald, “seems to + hatch something of what is in it.” + </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> + “We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love; And even as these are well and + wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.” + </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. + “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.” + </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 “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. + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It's queer for a tree to laugh,” said Bright-Eye. + </p> + <p> + “But queerer if it didn't laugh, with such lovely blossoms hanging all + over it,” 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. “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.” + </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 “Avaunt! cold fact! What have thou and I in common!” + </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 “whited sepulchre,” and that he was being instructed within an inch + of his life? + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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 “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 + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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.” + </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 “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. + </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 “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!” + </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 “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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&& + </p> + <p> + “What do you suppose they found?” + </p> + <p> + “FI' CENTS!!” shouted Benny in a transport of excitement. “BET YER THEY + FOUND FI' CENTS!!” + </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 “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. + </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, “When I was a + little girl.” + </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, “the one poor word that includes all our best + insight and our best love.” + </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—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, “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. + </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> + “See how each boy, excited by the actual event, is all ear.”—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 “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, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “So snug and so warm, so cosy and neat, + To start at their housekeeping all complete.” + </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 “If you + please,” 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? “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. + </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, “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. + </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?—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! + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </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 “Yip, yip, yip!” + </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?——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. + </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> + “O Tommy, here's a hang-bird's nest, such a funny one! there's nobody + here, let's get it,” 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, “It's no matter, they're + only birds, they don't care.” + </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> + “In order to be especially beneficial and effective, story-telling should + be connected with the events and occurrences of life.”—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 “Richard,” his baby sister Dot would cry, “Mamma, don't scold + Dicky.” + </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:&& + </p> + <p> + “Darlings, you haven't any father now, but the dear God will help your + mother to take care of you!” + </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:&& + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “Why, little girl, what's the matter?” 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:&& + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I've lost my darling little brown dog, and I can never get him back!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, has somebody poisoned him—is he dead?” said Dicky. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Dicky, “let us go and see the pound-man. Do you know where he + lives?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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:&& + </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, “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. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” said he, in a gruff voice, for he did seem rather + cross. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + At this Lola began to cry again, and Dicky said quickly:&& + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you 'd know him soon as anything,—he has such a cunning curly + tail and long silky ears. His name is Bruno.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” snapped the man, “where's your money? Hurry up! I want my + breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Money!” cried Dicky, looking at Lola. + </p> + <p> + “Money!” whispered little Lola, looking back at Dicky. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said he, “of course! Give me a dollar and I will give you the dog.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” answered Lola, “I haven't a bit of money; I never have any.” + </p> + <p> + “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:&& + </p> + <p> + “Here's your dollar—give us the dog!” + </p> + <p> + The man looked much surprised. Not many little eight-year-old boys have a + dollar in their trousers pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: “Here's your dollar—give us the dog'”} + </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. “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,&& + </p> + <p> + “No, no, you poor darlings! I haven't come for you; I want my own Bruno.” + </p> + <p> + “Sing for him, and may be he will come,” said Dicky; and Lola leaned her + elbow on the window sill and sang:&& + </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—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> + “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.” + </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.—K. D. W.} + </p> + <p> + “This standing above life, and yet grasping life, and being stirred by + life, is what makes the genuine educator.”—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 “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. + </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, “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.” + </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> + “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. + </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—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> + “We tell too few stories to children, and those we tell are stories whose + heroes are automata and stuffed dolls,”—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 “Moufflon,” 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> + “That's a very fine poodle,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed he is,” cried Lolo. “But you should see him on Sundays when he is + just washed; then he is as white as snow.” + </p> + <p> + “Can he do any tricks?” asked the gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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. + </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, “Oh, I want + the dog. Let me have the dog!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed I can't,” said Lolo, “he is my own Moufflou, and I cannot let + you have him.” + </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> + “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. + </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:&& + </p> + <p> + “No, don't take the dog to-day, your aunt doesn't like him; leave him here + with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave Moufflou?” said Lolo, “why, I never leave him; he wouldn't know + what to do without me all the afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Why, where is my Moufflou?” he said. + </p> + <p> + The mother had been crying, and she looked very sad and did not answer him + for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Where is my Moufflou?” asked Lolo again, “what have you done with my dear + Moufflou?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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, “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. + </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—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. + </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,&& + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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, + “Love will find out the way.” + </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> + “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. + </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, “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. + </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> + “I wonder,” said Benjy, “if that dog we killed last night is really up + there.” + </p> + <p> + The Man in the Moon looked down on him just then, and, to his surprise, + said:&& + </p> + <p> + “This is Beastland. Won't you come up and see if the dog is here? Can you + climb?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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:&& + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't say that I have,” said Benjy, “but I have a good deal of string + in my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” said the spider, “that is all right; whether it's in your + pocket or your stomach it is all the same.” + </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: “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.” + </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> + “Now, what has the Boy done?” asked the Lion. + </p> + <p> + “He stones and drowns dogs, and he hurts and kills cats,” shouted the + beasts all together. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Rough kills the cats,” said Benjy, because he was frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the Lion, “we will send some one down for Mr. Rough.” + </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> + “Mr. Rough,” said the Lion, “Benjy says it is you, and not he, who tease + and kill the cats.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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:&& + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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, + “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. + </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> + “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. + </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,—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:&& + </p> + <p> + “Oh! dear, dear Hirschvogel! I am so glad to get back to you again; you + are every bit as good as the summer time.” + </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, “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.” + </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—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:&& + </p> + <p> + “It is time for you all to go to bed, children. Father is very late + to-night; you must not sit up for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just five minutes more, dear Hilda,” they begged. “Hirschvogel is so + warm; the beds are never so warm as he is.” + </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, “Take the + children to bed, daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Karl stayed, curled up before the stove. When Hilda came back, the father + said sadly: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda gave a cry. “Oh, father! the children, in the middle of winter!” and + she turned as white as the snow outside. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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. “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:&& + </p> + <p> + “Dear Karl, you must be frozen. Karl! do look up; do speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said poor Karl, “it will never be warm again.” + </p> + <p> + Soon after some one knocked at the door. A strange voice called through + the keyhole,&& + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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: + “Child, is it true your father is selling that big painted stove?” + </p> + <p> + Karl nodded his head, and began to sob again. “I love it! I love it!” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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, “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!” + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: “Oh let me stay please let me stay”} + </p> + <p> + Next some one turned the round handle of the brass door, and poor little + Karl's heart stood still. + </p> + <p> + “What is this?” said the man. “A live child!” + </p> + <p> + Then Karl sprang out of the stove and fell at the feet of the man who had + spoken. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let me stay, please let me stay!” he said. “I have come all the way + with my darling Hirschvogel!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Can't I stay with Hirschvogel?” he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to be a painter,” cried Karl. “I want to be what Hirschvogel was. + I mean the potter that made my Hirschvogel.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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,—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> + “Nature and life speak very early to man.”—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,—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. + </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> + “A great spiritual efficiency lies in story-telling.”—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—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. + </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,—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!—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> + “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. + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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. + </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,—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 “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. + </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 “fields and little running brooks.” + </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 “heaven, their dearest country.” + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the Pilgrim mothers, “let us have a great Thanksgiving party, + and invite the friendly Indians, and all rejoice together.” + </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 + “rejoiced together” 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> + “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. + </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 “Hero,” 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, “You can't cut me down, and you + needn't try.” + </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,—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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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,—“Valiant” + and “Magnolia” and “Chinkling” and “Ajax,”—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. “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. + </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> + “Story-telling must please children, so that it will influence, + strengthen, and elevate their lives.”—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, + “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. + </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, “Dear Bessie! I should like to see her, too!” + </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, “Mother-tree, + won't you let me go down by the Violet and be cool?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “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. + </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, “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. + </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, “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. + </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. “I shall take your pretty Fauntleroy collar off,” she + said; “it doesn't match your disposition.” + </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> + “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. + </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,—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,—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, “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.” + </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. “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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. + + “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.” + </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, “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?” + </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:&& + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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,” + </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,—“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. + </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, “Hush! + hear the Fir-tree sing.” + </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. “Yes,” said the little girl, + “it is my very tree, my very singing tree!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” said the father, “it will be a good Christmas tree. See how + straight and well shaped it is.” + </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 + “Good-by,” and the great trees bent their heads to watch him go. + </p> + <p> + “Not all firs can be Christmas trees,” said they; “only those who grow + their best.” + </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> + “Story-telling is a real strengthening spirit-bath.”—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—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! + </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. “A Christmas present!” said Piccola. “Why, what + is that?” + </p> + <p> + All the children looked surprised at this, and Rose said, rather gravely, + “Dear Piccola, don't you know what Christmas is?” + </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 “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. + </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,—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, “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.” + </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, “Mother, mother! look, look! see the + present Santa Claus brought me!” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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,—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. + </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,—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!” + </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> + “Turn back observantly into your own youth, and awaken, warm, and vivify + the eternal youth of your mind.”—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 “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. + </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, “Yes,” 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 “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!) + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: “We were sorry to lose the General.”} + </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,—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. + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “The whole future efficiency of man is seen in the child as a germ.”— + 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,—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,—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,—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> + “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. + </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. 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