path: root/76071-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76071 ***





[Illustration:

    Bow, wow, wow, whose dog art thou?
    Little Tom Tinker’s dog, bow, wow, wow!]




                             Bed-Time Stories

                               A COLLECTION
                          In Verse and In Prose

                              [Illustration]

                               ILLUSTRATED

                     THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
                    CHICAGO :: AKRON, OHIO :: NEW YORK

                             MADE IN U. S. A.

                              COPYRIGHT 1914
                                    BY
                       THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.




[Illustration: The Froggie who would sing]


“Croak! Croak! Croak!” sang the frog one fine summer evening.

“Really,” he thought, “I have a very fine voice,” and the fishes putting
their heads out of the water thought so too. But fishes have no voice
at all, so perhaps that was why they thought the singing of the frog so
wonderful. Then, too, he was their next-door neighbor, and the doings of
next-door neighbors are sometimes thought more wonderful than the doings
of persons at a distance—though at other times it may be just the other
way about.

Froggie was very proud of his voice, and as he knew the fishes were
proud of it too, he thought he would be sure to charm the world with
his singing. So he set off across the fields and sang to the little
field-mouse and the mole.

[Illustration]

But the field-mouse thought her own shrill note far finer than Froggie’s
coarse croaking, and did not pay much attention to him—in fact her
attention was very much taken up with a beautiful nest she had made of
grass, to keep her little ones warm and dry; while blind mole did not
even put his head above the ground to hear the singing, he was so busy
burrowing tunnels and making his wonderful fortress.

Froggie left them in disgust, and journeyed on till he came to a garden.

“Surely,” he thought, “in this beautiful place my singing will be
welcome.”

But no one paid any attention to Froggie there; the bees were too busy
gathering nectar and pollen from the flowers to make honey and bee bread,
to feed the young bees at home in the hive.

The summer was going fast and they knew they had also to get in store
for the winter, so they had no time to pay attention even to the finest
singing; while the bumble bee was buzzing away as fast as he could to get
back to his nest on some mossy bank.

The butterflies had only a little while to live; and perhaps the only
thing they were thinking about, besides sipping some sweet juices from
the flowers, was where to find a nice leaf on which to lay some eggs, so
that when the little caterpillars were hatched they should have something
to eat. The caterpillar was just spending his life eating as much as he
could, so that he could turn into a beautiful moth by and by, and fly
about in the evening.

[Illustration]

The snail was going along very slowly, it is true, but as quickly as he
could, only thinking of finding some safe spot where a thrush could not
find him and break open his shell and eat him up. As for the spider, his
one care was to catch a passing fly or daddy-long-legs and make a good
meal.

Even the flowers themselves did not pay any attention to poor Froggie.
Their own bright colors, they thought, were finer than any singing.
Besides, they were wondering whether the sunshine would last long enough
to ripen their seeds, so that they could come up again as flowers next
year.

So in the evening Froggie hopped all the way back to his native pond,
where he found a brown bird singing a most beautiful song. It was the
nightingale.

“Really,” thought Froggie, “I am no singer after all!”

But one of the little fishes who saw his disappointment still thinks he
has a wonderful voice.




IT’S RAINING, IT’S POURING


    It’s raining, it’s pouring;
      I can’t go outdoors;
    But I don’t mind so much for, you see,
      Up here in the window
    It’s comfy and warm,
      And the rain sprites call greetings to me.

[Illustration: The Rain Sprites Call Greetings to Me]




THE WIND’S FROLIC


[Illustration]

    “Now for a frolic, a jolly good frolic,”
      The mischievous wind said in play,
    “I’m tired of staying at home in the clouds,
      I’m out for a frolic to-day.
    ”Ah! There are some girls and some boys on their way
      To school at the end of the lane,
    I’ll just give a puff, send their hats all astray,
      Then be off round the corner again.

    “Now, wasn’t that fun! How they laughed to be sure!
      Do you see those fine apples up there?
    I’ll shake them all down,
      Then when school time is o’er
    They’ll be plenty for all, and to spare.

    “Hurrah! Hip! Hurrah! Now for mother at home,
      She’s been washing all day, so I’ll see
    If I can dry her clothes with a few lively puffs,
      Then I’m sure very happy she’ll be.

    “Now, I’ll just give a blow through the wood over there,
      Fill the sails of the ship on the sea,
    And with just one big puff, make it all a bit rough,
      Then at home in two seconds I’ll be.”

                                                         Marie L. Johnson.

[Illustration]




PIP, POP, AND PEPPER


Pip, Pop, and Pepper were three little roly-poly pups. One morning Bruno,
their mother, left them fast asleep in her snug, warm kennel and went for
a walk.

Presently little Maggie came tripping along all ready for fun and
mischief, and when she reached the kennel she stooped down and peeped
inside.

“Oh, you darlings!” she cried when she saw the puppies. “Come along with
me and we’ll have some fun!”

She dragged poor Pip, Pop, and Pepper out of the kennel and put them in
her apron. The puppies didn’t like it at all. They blinked their sleepy
eyes and gave little frightened squeaks, and wondered wherever in the
world they could be going.

“Now, I think you shall walk,” said Maggie. And she sat down, and the
puppies rolled out of her apron on to the ground.

They picked themselves up, so glad to be free, and before Maggie could
stop them off they ran, each a different way!

“Come back, come back!” she cried, and raced after Pip.

But Pip didn’t mean to be caught again just yet! He scampered in amongst
some bushes, and dodged Maggie in and out for a long, long time, until at
last he was so tired that he allowed her to pick him up.

“And now, where are the other two?” said Maggie. Oh, where indeed!

Pop ran into a chicken coop. And when Mrs. Hen came up with her fluffy
babes she found a funny little furry creature fast asleep in her house.

She was very angry. She clucked, and flapped her wings, and was just
beginning to peck poor Pop when Maggie ran up and pulled him out.

Then Maggie heard a terrible noise. And looking round she saw poor Pepper
surrounded by Puss and her three little kits with their backs up, hissing
and miaouing with all their might.

“Bow-wow-wow-wow!” Off flew Puss and her kits, and scrambled up a tree.
The next moment Bruno came bounding up, and oh, wasn’t Maggie glad to
give Pip, Pop, and Pepper back into their mother’s charge!




THE SNOW MAN


    On a winter’s night, when the moon was bright,
      And the snow lay thick on the ground,
    A little snow-elf came out by himself,
      And took a good look around.

    And next, we made a large round ball
      And fixed for it a head,
    We gave him stones for eyes, and made
      His mouth with paper, red.

    A piece of wood did for a nose,
      We stuck it in all right;
    Then placed the old hat on his head,
      Oh dear! He was a sight!

    What fun we had that day! We boys
      With holly trimmed his hat,
    And then with snow we pelted him,
      Until he grew quite fat.

    We called him “Punch,” and laughed until
      It made the teardrops start.
    What games we had! Alas, next day,
      He died of “Melted Heart.”

                                                         Marie L. Johnson.

[Illustration]




WHEN THE OLD WOMAN MOVED FROM THE SHOE


[Illustration]

There was once a little goblin woman who had six sons. They were very
ugly little boys with brown, wizened faces, and eyes as black as sloes.
They had very big heads, and though they were so fat, their legs were so
thin you wouldn’t believe!

Now, the little goblin woman thought the world of her six little sons,
and she had given them all pretty flower names—Clover, Buttercup, Sorrel,
Bluebell, Cowslip, and Dandelion.

The little goblin woman was very poor, but the way she managed was
something wonderful! She and her little family lived in a hollow tree,
with a little garden round it. There were three floors inside and a
little string ladder connected the rooms. The first floor was a kitchen.
It was ever so clean and cosy, and it was here that the family had meals,
and sat in the cold winter evenings round the little twig fire, listening
to the wind and rain outside.

The next floor was a bedroom, and the top floor was the drawing-room. Its
walls were decorated with colored leaves, and it was here that visitors
were received.

Well, one cold, rainy evening the whole family was sitting round
the kitchen fire drinking broth, when the little goblin woman said,
“Dandelion, it’s your turn to fetch the water to-night, dearie.”

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

“Yes, Mum,” said Dandelion; and taking his last drink of broth he ran to
wash his acorn cup and put it away.

“You do make lovely broth, Mum,” said Clover, smacking his lips.

“Not half!” cried the other five little goblins all together.

“That’s right,” said the little goblin woman. “Good-bye, Dandelion lovie;
don’t be gone all night.”

“Good-bye, Mum,” cried Dandelion, nearly hugging the little woman’s head
off; and away he ran with the wooden bucket over his head.

He had not gone far through the forest when he heard a sound of crying.
So he took the bucket from over his head and looked about. Then it was
that he saw a great big shoe standing in a puddle, and it was from this
shoe that the sound of crying came. Dandelion crept nearer, and, looking
through a little hole in the heel, was just in time to see an old woman
smacking a wee girl about his own size.

[Illustration]

“Hi!” cried Dandelion, “stop that!”

In her astonishment the old woman stopped, and the little girl scuttled
into the toe of the shoe.

“May I come in?” said Dandelion, and without waiting for an answer he
scrambled through the hole and dropped into the shoe. The old woman
looked at him for a minute very angrily, then burst into tears.

“Oh, the little wretches!” she cried; “they do lead me a life! Oh dear!
Oh dear! Oh dear! I’ve got so many children I don’t know what to do!”

“How many?” asked Dandelion.

“FIVE, if you’ll believe me!” cried the little dame; “and them always
getting into mischief.”

[Illustration]

“There’s six of us,” said Dandelion.

“Oh, your poor ma!” cried the old woman with uplifted hands and upturned
eyes.

“She likes it,” said Dandelion.

“Don’t tell me!” cried the old woman. “I know what children are—always
disobedient. Why this very night E. and D. walked through the puddle
a-purpose.”

“Who did?” asked Dandelion, thinking he had not heard aright.

“E. and D., my dear,” answered the little woman. “I calls ’em by the
letters of the alphabet. It saves the trouble of thinking o’ names. I
called my eldest Arabella—Aida—Alice; but when they come so quick letters
was good enough.

“Now, C.,” she broke off, “back to bed at once with you or I’ll whip you
again and you shan’t have any broth to-morrow.”

[Illustration]

Dandelion turned quickly and saw five little tear-stained faces peeping
at him from the toe of the shoe.

“Perhaps,” he said softly, “if you didn’t whip ’em, they’d do as they
were told.”

The old dame looked at him in astonishment.

“And perhaps the broth isn’t so nice as what Mum makes,” added Dandelion.
“They couldn’t cry if they had a cup of her broth.”

“Dear me!” cried the old woman; “what next!”

“You come and see my Mum,” said Dandelion, “and have a talk to her. I’ll
call for you when I’ve fetched the water.”

“Well, now,” said the old dame, “it ain’t often I goes on a little
visit. It’ll be a change.” And she put on her bonnet.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

That night the old woman woke the children up and gave them each a kiss,
which surprised them very much; but they were still more astonished when
she gave them each some broth with bread.

“My dears,” she said, “you’re going to have bread in your broth every
night. And I’ve got a new soup recipe in my pocket. What’s more, we’ve
all been asked out to tea to-morrow, so I’m going to put your hair in
curl-papers.”

“Oh, no, no!” screamed the children; “you’ll pull, and then we shall cry
and you’ll beat us!”

“I ain’t going to beat you no more, my dears,” said the old woman,
kissing them all again. “I’ve learnt a lesson.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“Come in, my dear, come in!” cried Mrs. Goblin. “I’ve lit a fire in the
drawing-room, so we can have a little talk while the children play in the
kitchen. And now, my dear,” she added, when they were alone, “now you are
here what’s to hinder you from stopping?”

The old woman was crying for joy. “But so many children!” she said
presently.

“The more the merrier! We’ll all live together and be as happy as the
night is short!”

And so they did.




A SONG OF SPRING


    The sun’s shining bright,
    And the sky is blue,
    The birds are singing,
    And we sing too.

    The primroses bloom,
    And the lambkins play;
    Oh! sing for the joy
    Of a glad spring day.




JOHNNY AND THE APPLES


[Illustration]

    As Johnny was going to school one fine day,
    Some rosy-cheeked apples he saw o’er the way.
    Inviting they looked, so he climbed up the tree,
    And filled all his pockets. How naughty was he.

    He ate and he ate, till he felt a bad pain,
    Then said he would never steal apples again.
    The farmer came by with a stick in his hand,
    And said, “Master Johnny, do you understand

    Those apples are mine? You are stealing them, so
    I must punish you for it ere I let you go.”
    So he whipped him and whipped him. Poor Johnny felt sore.
    Sighed he, “Oh, I never will steal apples more!”

    That night, when the children came home from the school,
    They said, because Johnny had broken the rule
    By staying away without leave, he’d to stay
    At the foot of the class through the whole next day.

                                                                     M. K.




MY KITTEN


    Oh, my kitten, my kitten,
      And oh, my puppy, my dearie,
    I could play with you all day long
      And not be the least bit weary.
    My parasol keeps off the sun,
      The flowers are sweet on the air;
    There’s no other child in Japan
      So happy and free from care.

[Illustration]




AN APRIL SHOWER


[Illustration]

One day, little Simon Brownie said to his brothers, Joe and Sam, “I
would give the world if I could grow. I wish I was a giant instead of a
Brownie.”

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Joe.

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Sam. They thought it a fine joke.

“If you want to grow so much,” said Joe, “you must eat plenty of
porridge.”

Next morning at breakfast, Simon, to his mother’s surprise, asked for a
second helping of porridge. (As a rule he scarcely finished his first.)
For a whole week he did this, but not a tiny, wee bit did he grow.

“Porridge is no use,” said Simon to Joe and Sam, “Can’t you think of
something else?”

But his brothers shook their heads. Next day however they thought of
“something else.”

Simon, tired out with play, had flung himself under a toad-stool for a
nap.

“Let’s water him,” whispered naughty Joe to Sam, “the same as mother does
the flowers—that will make him grow.”

And without wasting any more words, he ran home for his watering-can.
Presently Simon awoke all in a hurry, thinking that an April shower was
pouring down upon him. When he found out it was Joe who was watering him
with his can, he was at first quite angry.

“Don’t be cross, Simon,” laughed Joe. “I only did it to make you grow!”

And Simon who knew how to take a joke, laughed too.

Since that day he has grown, not much bigger perhaps, but certainly
wiser.




[Illustration]


    My maid Mary minds the dairy,
      Makes the butter and cheese,
    Spins the linen, tends the garden,
      And keeps a hive of bees.
    You wonder why she works so much?
      She can’t be idle—Mary’s Dutch.




A BESIEGED BROWNIE


[Illustration]

“I’m going on a voyage of discovery,” said Mr. Brownie to his wife, one
morning at breakfast. “You might pack me up a few sandwiches, my dear.”

Of course Mrs. Brownie, being a kind wife, said, “Yes, with pleasure.”

“Where are you going to, Daddy?” asked Bobby Brownie, who was rather a
pert little fellow.

“I am going,” said his father in a very grand tone, “to discover the West
Pole.”

“The West Pole!—Never heard of such a place! Where is it?” said Bobby.

“It is close to where the sun sets,” was the reply. “The exact spot is
left for me to find out.”

And shortly after breakfast Mr. Brownie started forth.

He tramped a long, long distance until at last he came to a meadow near
a farm-house. Here he saw—not the West Pole but a toad-stool which had
sprung up in the night.

“Dear me,” said he, looking at it all round, “this seems very ancient.”

When he got on the top and was looking at it in wonder, the farmer’s
geese came and had something to say to him.

“Who are you, when you’re at home?” they cried in goose language. “You
think yourself a very fine fellow, no doubt!”

And there he sat, shaking like a leaf, besieged by the geese.

When at last he did reach home in safety—after the geese had been called
to dinner—he had a wonderful story to tell.

“So you never discovered the West Pole, after all,” said Bobby.

“No,” replied Mr. Brownie, with great dignity, “but I discovered a
toad-stool and that was better than nothing.”

And to this they all agreed.




THIS IS THE WAY THE FAIRIES RIDE


    This is the way the fairies ride,
      In taxicabs with wings,
    In among the garden flowers,
      Sailing ’round in rings;
    And every one so happy that
      Each cab and driver sings.

[Illustration]




THE BROWNIES’ CHRISTMAS PUDDING


[Illustration]

[Illustration]

    Two Brownie men were Jack and Jock,
      Said one, “When Christmas comes,
    We’ll make a pudding for ourselves,
      And stuff it full of plums.”

    And so they did—they mixed it well,
      ’Twas quite a bit of fun!
    They stirred it with a long, long pole,
      And soon their task was done.

    They tied the pudding in a cloth,
      These little Brownie men,
    And then they put it in a pot,
      To boil till nearly ten.

    But later on, I grieve to say,
      They both received a shock,
    They looked but found no pudding there
      Alas, for Jack and Jock!

    ’Twas gone, but where, they never knew,
      (And ne’er a Brownie knows,)
    It vanished like a lovely dream,
      As here the picture shows.

    Two little lads, brimful of fun,
      With mischief in their eyes,
    Went fishing from a chimney top
      And stole away the prize.




MOON BABIES


[Illustration]

How it happened little Evie could not quite make out, but one minute she
was lying in bed with her eyes wide open, and the next, she thought she
was high up in the sky, sitting in the moon, with brother Robbie by her
side.

“Pleased to see you, my little dears,” said the Lady Moon, “but how did
you manage to get up so high?”

“I don’t know,” replied Evie. “I expect we climbed up on a moonbeam.”

“Well, now that you are here, I hope you will enjoy yourselves,” said the
Lady Moon, next.

“We mean to,” answered Evie, and so said Robbie. He always agreed with
his sister.

“Would you like to know our names, Lady Moon?” Evie put the question with
the sweetest little smile.

“No,” said the Moon, “it doesn’t matter in the least to me what your
names are. I shall call you Moon Babies.”

The sky now began to grow darker, and presently a bright, silvery star
peeped out and shone right over the little ones’ heads. It was just after
this that the moon babies grew sleepy.

“Those chicks will soon be in Dreamland,” said the Moon to the Star.

“No, we shan’t,” said Evie; “we are only making believe.”

But the Lady Moon knew better.

The next voice that little Evie heard in her ears was not that of either
the Moon or the Star. It was Nursie’s good-morning as she drew up the
blind to let in the sunshine.

[Illustration]




THE RUNAWAYS


[Illustration]

    The Walnut and the Cobnut run
        As hard as they can go;
    But Mr. Cracker’s legs are long,
        And nuts are rather slow.
    He’ll catch and crack them very soon,
        But cracking doesn’t hurt;
    So p’raps we’ll eat their kernels,
        With an orange, for dessert.

                                                                     F. L.




THE PRINCESS AND THE FAIRY


Once upon a time a little girl was standing at the window of a large and
beautiful room. She was a Princess; she had a crown on her head, and she
was dressed in the grandest clothes that could be bought, but she looked
very cross.

Presently a Fairy flew in at the window, and sat down on the ledge. The
Princess was not at all surprised, as there were a good many fairies
about in those days, and she had seen several before.

“A penny for your thoughts,” said the Fairy.

“If you mean that you will give me a penny if I tell you what I am
thinking about,” said the Princess, “I don’t want it. I have a purse full
of sovereigns in the ivory cabinet where I keep my toys.”

“Oh, that must be nice,” said the Fairy; “how glad that child would be
who lives in the cottage over the road if she had some of your money.”

The Princess looked quite interested at this. “How funny that you should
say that,” she said; “I was just thinking about her when you came in. I
do so wish that I were she.”

“Indeed!” said the Fairy.

“Yes,” said the Princess, “I watch her every day, and you can’t think
what a fine time she has. She can run out to play in the street whenever
she likes, and there is a dear baby for her to have games with. I mayn’t
run about out of doors for fear of spoiling my clothes, and I have no one
but grown-up people to keep me company. Then she sits on the door-step to
eat her dinner, while I have to sit on a chair covered with red velvet,
and have to be so careful not to spill anything, because the tablecloth
is made of the finest damask. And nobody scolds her when she gets dirty,
and she may kiss her mother whenever she likes. My mother says, ‘Don’t
touch me now, Josephine; can’t you see that I have just been powdered?’
And there are lots and lots of other things that make me wish that I were
that little girl. Couldn’t you make us change places?”

The Fairy looked rather grave, and said:

“Yes, my little Princess, I could make you change places, but I am not
going to do so. I quite see that your life is not so pleasant as it might
be, but I happen to know that little girl very well, and I am afraid
that you would be no happier if you were in her place.”

“Why?” asked the Princess.

“Well,” said the Fairy, “for one thing, she hardly ever gets enough to
eat, and even the little she does have, is nothing like the dainty food
that is given you every day. In the winter the wind blows right through
her poor thin clothes; she has no bed, but has to lie on the bare floor
with a few old shawls and rags to cover her, and it is very cold and
damp, as there are holes in the roof through which the rain comes. Her
only toys are those that she picked up in the gutter. I could tell you
more things about her, but I mustn’t stop any longer, as I have to go
and amuse a child who has hurt its back and has to lie still all day.
Good-bye!”

And then the Fairy spread her wings and flew away over the roofs and
chimney-pots.

Though at first the Princess was disappointed that the Fairy would not
let her change places with the poor child whom she had envied so much,
she was very interested in what she had heard. As she grew older she
found out more about the poor folk who lived in that country, and when
she became Queen she did many things to help them. She never painted or
powdered her face, so that her own children could kiss her whenever they
liked. They only wore crowns on state occasions, and the clothes in which
they played, were ones which would not spoil easily. They had a garden
where they could dig and romp without being scolded; and when they in
turn grew up, they brought up their children in the same way.

And perhaps that is why, now-a-days, the children of Kings and Queens
look just like ordinary boys and girls, and not like the ones in
picture-books.




HE WOULD THRIVE


    He that would thrive
      Must rise at five;
    He that hath thriven
      May lie till seven;
    And he that by the plough would thrive,
    Himself must either hold or drive.




PATIENT NEDDY


[Illustration]

When Bob and Tommy went to the sea-side last year they had a very happy
time.

Perhaps the thing that they enjoyed most of all was a ride on Neddy’s
back. Dear old Neddy—he was most patient. He would carry Bob and Tommy
together all along the sands and think himself well paid if a carrot was
given him at the end of the journey.

One day Bob and Tommy had a fright. They were playing on a little island
when the tide was coming in. Soon there was water all around them.

When their big sister, who was reading a book on the sea-shore, saw what
had happened, she gave a loud cry of alarm.

At this moment up came Neddy’s master, holding the donkey by the bridle.

“I think I can help you, Miss,” said the man, quick to see what was
wrong. “I’ll lead Neddy through the water, and he’ll soon bring the young
masters safe to shore.”

And true enough he did.

Dear good Neddy! He was given that day a splendid feast of carrots, and I
think he deserved them, do not you?

Father has promised that he will buy Bob and Tommy a donkey for their
very own, and they are more pleased than ever.




JACK’S CASTLE


Some children were building castles on the sands. Amongst the number was
a little boy called Jack, and his voice could almost always be heard
above the rest.

“Oh, look!” he cried, “look, Mabel, you are doing it badly! Why, it’s all
crooked; you’ll have to begin again,” and leaving poor Mabel, whose face
clouded with disappointment, he turned to a boy called Cedric.

“My word, Ceddie,” he said, “you don’t know how to build castles! why,
yours looks like a church with a spire—you ought to make a round tower.
And just look at stupid Ella! She’s hardly begun yet, and doesn’t know
a bit how to do it.” And all this time Jack’s castle was getting bigger
and bigger, and though he thought he was doing it very cleverly, really
it was not like a castle at all. He was so busy finding fault with his
playmates that he had no time to think how to do his own work properly.
At last the other children grew so tired of his grumbling that they took
no more notice of him, and he had to play alone until his nurse took him
in to dinner. As soon as he had gone they all ran to look at his castle.

“Why, it isn’t any more right than ours,” they cried, and in two minutes
they knocked it all down.

When Jack came out to play in the afternoon he cried because his castle
had been spoiled.




PUT OUT OF ACTION


[Illustration]

    My name is Captain Wooden-head;
      Of nothing I’m afraid;
    To many a gallant fight I’ve led
      The Nursery Brigade.
    One day amidst the din and strife
      (My post was always there)
    I nearly lost my precious life—
      A ball whizzed through the air!

    It put me out of action quite,
      And—hero though I be—
    No longer do I wish to fight,
      A peaceful life for me!




A Visit to Rose Cottage


[Illustration]

“Children,” said Mother, one morning, “I want you to take a basket of
eggs to Mrs. Brown at Rose Cottage, with my love.”

Tom and Effie were quite willing, for they were very fond of Mrs. Brown.
The walk there was lovely—the skies were blue and the birds were singing
their sweetest songs.

At last they reached the garden gate. “Oh,” cried little Effie, who was
carrying the basket of eggs, “just look, Tom! There’s a Billy goat in
the garden! Let us go and make friends with him.”

“So we will,” said Tom.

They had a goat at home and so were not in the least afraid.

But Billy looked very fierce as the children drew near, as much as to
say, “Who are you?”

Then he made a sudden rush at them. Effie in her fright, nearly flew
towards the gate, dropping her eggs on the way. Poor Tom, however, did
not escape so easily. The goat butted him into the air and soon the poor
little fellow lay sprawling on the ground.

Mrs. Brown, hearing their cries, quickly came to their help, and soothed
away their fears.

“How dare you be so rude, naughty Billy?” she said to the goat.

And Billy looked quite ashamed of himself, as well he might.

Since that day, he has learnt better manners, and now he is very pleased
to see the little pair when they come to pay a visit to Rose Cottage.




[Illustration: The Story of the Three Bears]


Once upon a time there were three bears. They lived in a cottage by the
wood.

First you saw a little green gate opening on to a garden path with a
box-border on either side. Behind the box-border were all sorts of sweet
flowers—pinks, gilly-flowers, and pansies, boy’s-love, rosemary, and
sweet lavender. Behind the flowers grew gooseberry and currant-bushes,
and behind the currant bushes cabbages, carrots and onions for dinner.

The straight path led to the cottage door all covered with roses and
honeysuckle. Such pink roses and such sweet honeysuckle, just the sort
the bees love best, for bears like honey, and the bee-hives were behind.

The door stood open to let in the air and the sunshine, and because doors
were made, in those days, to let people in, and not keep them out.

[Illustration]

Inside was the nicest, cleanest kitchen you ever saw, with a table in the
middle, as white as soap and scrubbing could make it. Against the wall
stood a tall dresser covered with bright pewter plates, hanging cups and
jugs, and all things such as bears might use. A pepper-pot, you may be
sure, and a tureen with string and odd things in it.

The three chairs just suited, for there was a great, huge arm-chair for
Mr. Bear, who was big and heavy; a middling-sized chair for Mrs. Bear,
who was middling-sized; and a small, wee chair for little Master Bear,
who was small and wee.

The fireplace, with its open chimney (it had a green frill on a string
under the mantle-shelf) was the cosiest in all the land, as Mr. Bear very
well knew when he smoked his pipe there on a winter night.

In one corner of the kitchen was a door that opened on to the stairs, and
up the stairs they went to bed every night. The bedroom had three beds
in it that any one might like to see. A great, huge one for Mr. Bear, a
middling-sized one for Mrs. Bear, and a small, wee one for little Master
Bear. All was sweet and airy, and the window looked out into the garden,
and the roses looked in at the window, and the wind whispered in the
trees outside.

[Illustration]

Now it happened one summer morning that Mrs. Bear got up earlier than
usual to make the porridge for breakfast, and it happened, too, that
when she put it out to cool in three willow-pattern bowls on the table
(a great, huge bowl for Mr. Bear, who was so big; a middling-sized bowl
for Mrs. Bear, who was middling-sized; and a small, wee bowl for little
Master Bear, who was small and wee) that she went to the foot of the
stairs, and called aloud to Mr. Bear: “Make haste down, and we will go
for a walk in the wood while the porridge is cooling.”

“Very well, my dear,” said Mr. Bear, in his great rough voice; and then
down he came, with little Master Bear scrambling down behind him.

Now when great, huge Mr. Bear came down the stairs, you can be sure that
he caused every board in the cottage to creak, and the thud of each tread
was so very heavy that all the cups on the dresser shook. That tells you
how huge and big he was.

Mrs. Bear heard him coming and took her bonnet from its peg, and when
the strings were tied beneath her chin, and Mr. Bear had taken his thorn
stick from the corner, and little Master Bear had found his butterfly
net, they all set off in the wood for a walk, clicking the gate behind
them.

Such a lovely June morning for an early walk. The birds sang, the breeze
fluttered Mrs. Bear’s skirts and Master Bear’s butterfly net, and the dew
was on the grass and hung all shimmering in the cobwebs.

As to the wood, it was cool and shady, and the three bears were soon out
of sight.

[Illustration]

Then there came to the gate a little girl named Silverhair. She was hot
and tired, and said to herself: “Here is a sweet cottage; perhaps the
good woman who lives here will give me some milk and a rest. I’ll knock
at the door and see.”

So up the straight path she walked, with the box-border on either side.

“Rat-a-tat,” she knocked.

But nobody said “come in.”

“Rat-a-tat-a-tat” once more, but nobody said “come in.”

[Illustration]

Then again louder than before, but all was still. So, being very hungry,
and not so shy as she ought to have been before such a sweet, open door,
in she peeped, and then in she went, and the very next minute she was
tasting Mr. Bear’s porridge. But it was too hot, and she let the spoon
fall with a clatter on the table. Then she tried Mrs. Bear’s porridge,
but that was too cold, and then she went to little Master Bear’s
porridge, and that was so nice, neither too hot nor too cold, that she
ate it all up till she could see the blue pattern at the bottom of the
bowl quite plain.

That was sad, for it was not her porridge! Little Silverhair was quite
naughty now!

[Illustration]

After her breakfast she felt how tired she was, so she sat down in Mr.
Bear’s arm-chair, but that was too hard. Then she sat down in Mrs. Bear’s
chair, but that was too soft; she thought it quite stuffy for so warm
a morning, and she was now hard to please, for Mrs. Bear’s chair was
covered with pretty white chintz with rose-buds on it, and what more
could she want?

But she was very naughty now! She sat down quite roughly in little Master
Bear’s chair, and sat the bottom out, and was not dismayed! No, up she
jumped, and looked about till she saw the door in the corner. Then she
tripped upstairs, and threw herself down on Mr. Bear’s bed. But that was
too hard. Then on Mrs. Bear’s bed, but that was too soft. And last of all
she tried little Master Bear’s little wee bed, and that was neither too
hard nor too soft, but just right.

[Illustration]

In two minutes she was fast asleep, with the breeze from the window
blowing on her soft silver hair.

Now between conversation and butterflies the three Bears had let the time
pass, till suddenly Mrs. Bear saw by the shadows of the trees on the
grass that the porridge must be cool.

“We must turn, and walk faster home,” she said.

“Very well, my dear,” said Mr. Bear in his great, huge voice. But the
birds in the wood did not flutter, for they knew quite well what a kind
heart he had, and how he kept crumbs on his window-sill.

When they got to the gate that they had clicked behind them, it was open,
and Mr. Bear hurried on to see who had come. He hurried on till, when
Mrs. Bear and the little one came in, he was standing before his porridge
bowl with a sad face, and his spectacles pushed on his forehead.

“Someone has been at my porridge,” he said, very loud indeed.

[Illustration]

Poor Mrs. Bear! She looked at her own bowl, threw up her hands, and
said in her middling-sized way, “Oh, deary me, someone has been at my
porridge!”

Then little Master Bear tossed his butterfly net into the corner and ran
to the table, but though he tipped up his bowl till the pattern was plain
to see on the bottom, not so much as one drop of milk could he get from
out of it, and he cried in his shrill little voice, “Someone has been at
my porridge, and has eaten it all up!”

Then there was great uneasiness in the mind of Mr. Bear, and he turned to
his chair and saw how it was pulled from the wall in a very unusual way.
“Someone has been sitting in my chair,” he said.

Mrs. Bear turned to hers, and saw that the cushions were all in disorder.
“Oh, deary me!” she said, “someone has been sitting in my chair.”

[Illustration]

Then Master Bear, leaving his empty bowl, hustled up to see; and now it
was “Oh, deary me,” and no mistake, for when he saw his little chair all
broken and spoiled he cried out at the top of his wee voice, “Someone has
been sitting in my chair, and has sat the bottom out!”

No time was to be lost in such sad straits, and Mr. Bear had his foot on
the stairs before Mrs. Bear had so much as decided how the little chair
could be mended. She felt sorely puzzled, but, picking up her gown in
front, she followed Mr. Bear up the stairs, while little Master Bear
clambered, heavy-hearted, up behind her, holding on very tight to the
back breadth of her skirt, for who could tell what would happen next!

[Illustration]

Once in the room, they all went to the big bedstead that had been made so
strong for Mr. Bear by the village carpenter, who knew how to please his
customers.

When they saw the clothes so tumbled, it was no wonder that Mr. Bear
should thunder out, “Someone has been sleeping on my bed!”

Poor Mrs. Bear! she turned round to look at her own white bed, with its
pretty dimity curtains, and she called out in her middling-sized way,
“Oh, deary, deary, deary me, someone has been sleeping on my bed!” Her
feelings and the counterpane were sadly ruffled.

Master Bear then left go of her gown, and crept away to his own little
corner.

[Illustration]

And what did he find? Fast asleep, with her hand tucked under her cheek,
and her hair all tossed about on the pillow, lay little Silverhair,
dreaming of porridge and broken chairs. How pleased the wee Bear was! He
piped out in his small, wee voice, “Someone has been sleeping on my bed,
and here she is fast asleep!”

But the last word sounded so loud in Silverhair’s ear, that it woke her
with a start, and before the three Bears could tell what to do next, she
had jumped out of bed and then out through the window, brushing the dew
off the roses as she went; and those three Bears never, never, never saw
her any more.

[Illustration]




BABY BLUE EYES


One night when the moon was big and round, Baby Blue-eyes was lost. Dear,
oh, dear, there was a terrible upset in Babyland!

Said Chubby-face, the Infant Queen, “I’m not going to rest till Blue-eyes
is found.”

And starting forth with Rosy-cheeks, her little maid-of-honor, she began
her search.

At last—oh, what joy filled her heart!—she found little Blue-eyes fast
asleep near a toad-stool!

“We won’t waken her, she is sleeping so sweetly,” she said.

And so the pair of them, (Chubby-face perching herself on the roof of the
toad-stool,) kept guard till Blue-eyes awoke with a smile.

[Illustration]




SWINGING


    Watch us go,
        —John and I—
    Down so low,
        Up so high!
    All the Summer weather,
        While the birds are singing,
        John and I are swinging,
    —John and I together!

[Illustration]




[Illustration]


    This is the house that Jack built,
      A bird house for the lawn.
    It’s finished now—all but the paint—
      Jack’s worked since early dawn.




THE ADVENTURES OF KITTY

Told by Herself—and Quite True


My name is Kitty. If you ask, “Who gave you that name?” I am sure I could
not tell you.

I hardly know where I was born, but they told me that I first saw the
light in a wood-shed. I never remember my father, but I have very happy
memories of my kind, gentle, gracious, good mother. Her name was Fluffy.
There were four of us altogether—I mean four kitten-babies—and I was the
youngest—at least, so I was told.

I was only about three weeks old when a great sorrow came into my
life. One morning a big, burly, but ever so kind gentleman came to the
wood-shed and said something about his pretty daughter, who had recently
“gone to housekeeping,” and that, being alone all day, she would dearly
love to have a bright little kitten for company. And I was chosen, so off
I had to go.

I was taken gently by the neck and lifted into what looked like an
egg-basket, and in a few minutes I was brought to a sweet little home.
I fell in love with my new mistress at first sight, and as for my new
master, he treated me ever so kindly, and I learned to love him very
sincerely.

I had never tasted milk—in fact, I didn’t know what it was, whether it
was blue, grey, white, brown, or red.

Soon after my arrival my new mistress (who bore the sweet name of Lily)
brought me some white liquid in a saucer. I wondered what it was. As
she watched and waited, I did the same. At last she took my wee little
head in her long, thin, white hand and dipped it in the white liquid.
I thought it was rude. My mouth, nose, and lips being covered with the
white stuff, I quickly licked it off. What else could I do?

[Illustration]

When I tasted the fluid I found out how nice it was, and began to lap it
up at a great rate. Then it was I found out it was milk she had given me.
I got quite fond of it, and had a regular supply night and morning. And I
always said “Thank you, ma’am,” by giving a gentle purr.

Then at dinner-time my young master, Mr. Fred, gave me some choice,
dainty bits off his plate, which I greatly enjoyed.

When I arrived at this pretty cottage, I was so small, I looked just like
a bundle of grey worsted; but day by day I was getting bigger, fatter,
and nicer-looking—I was indeed. Don’t think I’m vain—I’m not; but when a
sweet young mistress says “Pretty Kitty” twenty-seven times every day,
what can I think but that I am a fascinating, good-looking little puss?

[Illustration]

Soon after my home-coming, another big sorrow came into my kitten life.
My dear young mistress was taken seriously ill, and had to go to bed—and
stay there. The doctor was called, and came nearly every day. I was
nearly broken-hearted, and every chance I got I rushed upstairs, so as to
tell, in my simple, loving way, how sorry I was for all the trouble that
had come to my dearest earthly friend. I sprang on to the bed, walked
over the counterpane, and reached the white pillow on which lay the head
of my sweet young mistress. I purred very gently, rubbed my nose against
her cheek, and said, in the best possible way (to a kitten), “How sorry I
am! Do make haste and get well again; I do miss you so!”

Once or twice I’m afraid I woke her out of a sweet sleep, but how should
I know she was asleep? Nobody told me. So I was seized by my neck, and
put out of the room a good many times. But every time the kind nurse
opened the door, I rushed in again, sprang on the bed, and said, “I’m so
sorry,” ever so many times. And sometimes, in the dark night, or early
hours of the morning, I would creep up to the bedroom door, and cry as
loudly as I could.

At last a crisis came, and to me it was a big crisis—my third trouble,
and I was only six weeks old! I was to be sent away, because I was so
troublesome. I thought it was very, very hard, and I cried about it for
three and three-quarter minutes, and thirteen long seconds after that.
Wherever was I to be sent?

One evening a tall, kindly-looking gentleman came to our house, and my
young master said to him, “Father, can you take charge of Kitty for a
few days, until Lily gets better?”

“All right, my boy,” was the cheery reply. I liked his voice and manner.
My fears were soon set at rest, for I felt sure he would make my short
visit as cosy and comfortable as he possibly could. A few minutes later
he took me up by my neck, laid me gently on his arm, and took me out into
the dark and stormy night. But I wasn’t afraid, not one little bit, for
all the way my new master kept saying, “Poor little Kitty.” But it was
the way he said it that made such an impression on me.

We had not far to go—only about three minutes’ walk. My new home was, if
possible, even better than the one I’d left—so cosy-comfy like. Having
had my supper, I lay down on the hearthrug before a big fire, and was
soon fast asleep. But I got a rude awakening, and nine times as big a
fright!

I had only been asleep about a quarter of an hour when I felt something
cold touching my nose. I wondered what on earth it was. Looking up, I
saw a big Tom-cat staring at me wildly and jealously. He seemed to say,
“What are you doing here? Don’t you know you’re sleeping in my place?
This is my home, not yours!”

I sprang to my feet and faced Impy. He was a big, black fellow, eight or
ten times as big as I was, with eyes flashing like automobile lights.
And yet, strange to say, I wasn’t a bit afraid, that is, not after the
first startling. I stared at him, put my little back up, and spat at
him—real hard! Yes, and I frightened him too, for after a low growl he
turned away, scowling at me, and went off to the kitchen to tell Nellie,
the maid, all about me. So I lay down to sleep again, and enjoyed a good
night’s rest.

[Illustration]

The next day I had another fright. At my new home lived a big collie dog,
called Bunty, and the next morning I had to be introduced. Bunty and I
were soon fast friends. Instead of scowling at me as Impy had done, he
came and looked at me ever so kindly, and kissed me, as if to say, “I
like the looks of you; let’s be friends.” And we were, all the time I
stayed there. He often gave me warm kiss-licks, and loved to have me play
with his long, shaggy tail, climb over his back, and lie by his side and
purr.

It was very nice, and I shall love Bunty all the days of my life. If ever
I get married—and I don’t see why I shouldn’t—I shall dearly love to have
Bunty come and stay with us, and make his visit as long as he possibly
can. He will always be a welcome guest.

[Illustration]

But one day I nearly lost his love and affection. It came about in this
way. Wandering in the kitchen one day, early after dinner, I saw Bunty
busy enjoying a mutton-bone feast. I did long for a bit. So I made a dash
for Bunty’s bone, yes, and I got it, too! Off I ran into the dining-room
with the bone in my mouth, the big collie chasing me. How I managed to
carry it I don’t know, for the bone was nearly as big as I was. I hid,
but Bunty found me, and got his bone; the wonder is, he didn’t bite me
for being so greedy. As it was, he only growled, and was ever so kind and
forgiving—later on.

I soon found out that my new master was a big tease. He used to tumble me
over on my back and tickle me so earnestly, I had to scratch and bite him
real hard, so as to defend myself. But he did not seem to mind—not he!

One night I got lost. When the front door was opened I ran out into the
road and had a merry scamper. I tried to find my way back, but couldn’t.
What was I to do? It was a cold, bitter night, and I was a stranger in
those parts. Still, I felt I ought to do my best. So I ran up to what I
thought was my new master’s front door and cried. A kind little girl let
me in, and I soon found I was in the wrong house. I did not mind that so
much, so long as I had got in somewhere. They were very kind to me, gave
me some milk, and said “Pretty Pussy” a good many times.

[Illustration]

The next morning Nellie, the maid, called over the garden wall, “Has a
stray kitten come to your house?”

“Yes,” replied the little girl, Kathleen. “Do you want her?”

Of course they did, and soon I was safely lodged at Jasmine Villa. But
when my dear young mistress got well, I joyfully went back, and said how
grateful I was to get home again.




A COMFORTER


    Don’t cry, little brother;
    I know that you fell,
    But the place isn’t bleeding—
    It soon will be well.

    Dry your eyes, little brother;
    You’re growing so tall
    And it’s only a baby
    Who cries at a fall.

    But hark, little brother,
    I hear the birds sing!
    —We’ll play I’m a Duchess,
    And you are a King!

    So come, little brother,
    I’ll make you a crown
    Of the pretty white daisies
    That grow on the down.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: A DUTCH VILLAGE.]


There is a little Dutch village called Volendam. Most of the men are
fishermen, and wear tight blouses of crimson or blue, and large, baggy
trousers coming down to their ankles.

The little boys, even the tiniest ones, are dressed just like their
fathers and their big brothers. Sometimes they are to be seen walking
up and down the narrow streets of the village with their hands in their
pockets, trying to look like the men.

The women and girls wear white lace caps and a great many woolen
skirts—sometimes as many as eight or ten; and the more they wear the more
they are admired by their neighbors. Even the tiny girls of two or three
years old are dressed just like their mothers.

All the people wear wooden shoes, and as most of the streets are paved
with tiles the people make a great noise as they clatter up and down.
These wooden shoes look very big and clumsy, but the children manage to
run about in them just as easily as you do in yours.

[Illustration]

Nearly every woman and girl in Volendam wears a necklace of coral beads.
And nearly every man and boy wears two big silver buttons; the richer a
man is, the larger are his silver buttons.

The Dutch people keep their houses and streets very clean. They are
always scrubbing their houses inside or out, and the little girls have to
help in this as well as their big sisters.




THE BIRTHDAY PARTY


    “Will you please come to my party,” wrote Margaret to Nell,
    To Dorothy and Frederick and Baby May as well.
    Also to Jack and Marjory, to Barbara and Kate,
    And many other friends besides whose names I won’t relate.

    “And as it is my birthday and at last I shall be six,
    We are to have a conjurer to show us wondrous tricks.
    Some games and dancing after that, so please do not forget
    To come quite punctually at four—your loving Margaret.”

    The invitations were sent round, and as you well may guess,
    The answers soon came pouring in, and every one said “Yes.”
    The time seemed long to wait, and when the glad day came at last,
    They all arrived at four o’clock and not a moment past.

    And everybody brought a gift to little Margaret,
    Because it was her birthday, and because she was a pet.
    Of dolls and toys and picture books she soon had quite a store
    Piled up around her on the chairs, and some upon the floor.

    That was a splendid party, and the conjurer was grand,
    I really think he must have come direct from Fairyland.
    And how the children romped and played, with all their might and main,
    Till it was time to go—then they wished they could begin again!




THE WANDERING DUCKLINGS


[Illustration]

    Six little Ducklings went waddling away
    Over the common one fine summer day;
    Six little Ducklings went plump in the pond,
    For of the water you know they are fond.

    Six little Ducklings went swimming about,
    Each with their yellow webbed feet turning out.
    One little Duckling took fright at a cat,
    Puss would not hurt him—he did not know that.

    One little Duckling went wand’ring away,
    Nobody found him until the next day.

    Four little Ducklings were left then you know,
    Home o’er the common deciding to go.
    Two little Ducklings then found a big snail
    Just by the well-side, at back of the pail,

    Catching and eating him took them some time,
    They lost their way back, ’twas dusk and past nine.
    One little Duckling was caught with great joy
    Bobby Bright fancied that he was a toy.

    One little Duckling arrived home forlorn,
    Poor old Duck mother was hunting ’till dawn;
    Five little Ducklings were found the next day,
    Never again will they wander away.

                                                              Kate Ashley.

[Illustration]




THE DOLLIES’ REVENGE


Eveline, Arabella, and Peg were having a great discussion, seated on a
large cushion where their mistress had left them when she went to bed.

“It isn’t fair!” exclaimed Arabella, shaking herself. “Here I can
scarcely bend because she has stuck a pin right through me. It goes in at
my waist and out at my back, and the bit that sticks out at my back, she
hung my sash on and thought it wonderful!”

[Illustration]

“Yes, she treats our nice, soft bodies just like pin-cushions,” agreed
Eveline. “And her mother has given her a nice work-basket with needles,
scissors, and a thimble in, and plenty of tapes and buttons, and she is
always trying to make her sew neatly, yet just look at us!”

“But what about me?” chimed in wooden Peg. “My master hasn’t a
work-basket, and when he wanted to stick this piece of cloth on my head
for a cap, he just got a tack and hammered it in! And there it will
remain until he wants a tack again, and then he’ll know where to find it.”

“Well, of course your feelings are not so keen as ours,” sniffed Eveline.
“I am not very big, but I have five pins in me, and one is to keep my
stocking up, and she has tied a piece of cotton so tightly round the
other that it’s cutting into my leg.”

“Well,” said Arabella, “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. To-morrow when she
picks us up we will make all these pins scratch her; we will scratch her
so much that she will be glad to take them all out and put buttons on.”

The next day when Doris picked up Eveline she suddenly screamed, “Oh,
mother, see how I have pricked myself on this nasty pin! Oh, it does
hurt!”

Mother looked grave.

“If my little girl would try to sew as mother wants her to, there would
be no nasty pins, dear.”

Doris thought a moment and then picked up Arabella. There was another
cry, and a scratch on her wrist. “Oh, mother,” sobbed Doris, “they have
hurt me all over. Now I won’t put any more pins in, I won’t really! I’ll
start now and learn to sew, mother.”

So Doris put tapes on all her dollies’ clothes. Indeed, she even put
tapes on Peg’s hat and tied it under her chin for her, and Jim was very
glad, because he was wanting the tack.

                                                          Isabel Rayfield.




A JOLLY FROG


[Illustration]

    A jolly little frog was he,
      Whose heart was always gay,
    He never looked the darkest side,
      However dull the day.

    When other frogs in weary tones,
      Declared the weather hot,
    He croaked his happy little song,
      And chose a shady spot.

    One day he nearly came to grief
      When swimming in the pool,
    A naughty, horrid little boy
      Stood by the waters cool.

    At Master Frog he threw a stone,
      “I’ll make you hop!” said he,
    He missed his aim, and Froggie hopped
      In safety home to tea.

    If any harm had come to him,
      I think I should have cried,
    For he was quite his mother’s pet,
      His daddy’s joy and pride.

    He never once forgot to do
      The thing that he was bid,
    Did e’er you meet such little frog?
      I’m sure you never did!




WAS EVER HEARD SUCH NOISE?


    Was ever heard such noise and clatter?
      Billy’s got a drum.
    Guess we’ll have to leave this flat or
      Bribe him to keep “mum.”

[Illustration: BILLY’S GOT A DRUM]




THE MAN IN THE MOON


[Illustration]

    The Man in the Moon looked down at the earth,
      With a smile that was gay but pensive;
    “I’d like to visit that place,” he said,
      “But traveling’s so very expensive.”




THE GRASSHOPPER


    Old Daddy Grasshopper’s keeping a school,
      Funniest ever was seen;
    All the wee grasshoppers stand, as a rule,
      Dressed in their jackets of green.

    No little grasshopper’s ever a dunce,
      Plenty of leisure for play.
    Old Daddy Grasshopper shows him but once,
      Then he goes hopping away.

            Learning to hop, hoppity hop!
            Hoppity, hoppity, hoppity hop!
            Out in the sun, isn’t it fun,
            Learning to hoppity hop!

    Grasshoppers learn to sing as they go,
      Clapping their green shiny wings;
    Though it is funny, ’tis true, as you know,
      That’s how the grasshopper sings.

    All in the summer-time, under the grass,
      Or where the wild flowers grow,
    If you but listen, you’ll hear as you pass,
      Singing and hopping they go.

                                                         Marie L. Johnson.



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76071 ***