summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
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<body>

<!-- There were no page numbers in the origial version of this book.
Page anchors relate to the .png image numbers used from the copy which
went through the Distributed Proofreaders site. If anybody wishes to
add linked page images in future, hopefully this should help. -->

<div class="bbox">
<p><b>Transcriber's note</b></p>

<p>The original book was printed in three different coloured inks. You
may prefer to read the colour version of this book, which attempts
to match this colour scheme as closely as possible.
<a href="folks.htm">Go to the colour version.</a></p>
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a></span></p>


<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 433px;">
<img src="images/oyf001.jpg" width="433" height="600"
alt="Front cover - Our Young Folks at Home and Abroad, showing a boy and two girls" />
</div>



<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"><!-- original location of illustration ANIMAL LIFE FROM EVERY ZONE --></a></span></p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a></span></p>


<h1 class="padtop">OUR YOUNG FOLKS<br />
<span class="tinyfont">AT ...</span><br />
HOME AND ABROAD:</h1>

<p class="center smlpadt xlrgfont"><i>Illustrated Sketches and Poems<br />
for Young People.</i></p>

<p class="center padtop smlfont">BY</p>

<p class="center">ANNIE D. BELL, CLARA J. DENTON, AMANDA M. DOUGLAS,<br />
FRANK H. SELDEN, CHAS. T. JEROME, LAURA<br />
E. RICHARDS, MRS. L. A. CURTIS,<br />
OLIVER OPTIC, ETC.</p>

<p class="center smlpadt lrgfont"><i>ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS.</i></p>

<p class="center padtop smlfont">BY</p>

<p class="center">F. S. CHURCH, E. H. GARRETT, A. S. COX, CULMER BARNES,<br />
PARKER HAYDEN, H. MOSER, H. PRUETT SHARE,<br />
MISS L. B. HUMPHREY, ETC., ETC.</p>


<p class="center padtop padbase">
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
<span class="smlfont">EDITED BY</span><br />
<span class="lrgfont">DAPHNE DALE.</span><br />
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>


<p class="center">LONDON&mdash;NEW YORK&mdash;CHICAGO:<br />
W. B. CONKEY COMPANY,<br />
PUBLISHERS.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a></span></p>

<p class="center padtop padbase">
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
<span class="smcap">Copyright 1894,<br />
W. B. Conkey Company.</span><br />
&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 456px;">
<img src="images/oyf002.jpg" width="456" height="600" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">ANIMAL LIFE FROM EVERY ZONE.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p>
<a href="#the_kittens_stepmother">THE KITTENS&rsquo; STEPMOTHER</a><br />
<a href="#how_some_seeds_are_planted">HOW SOME SEEDS ARE PLANTED</a><br />
<a href="#old_scores_repaid_or_tragedy_reversed">OLD SCORES REPAID, OR TRAGEDY REVERSED</a><br />
<a href="#tippy_the_firemens_dog">TIPPY, THE FIREMEN&rsquo;S DOG</a><br />
<a href="#nine_little_foxes">NINE LITTLE FOXES</a><br />
<a href="#what_ailed_the_bell">WHAT AILED THE BELL</a><br />
<a href="#the_hook_and_ladder">THE HOOK AND LADDER</a><br />
<a href="#little_joes_ride">LITTLE JOE&rsquo;S RIDE</a><br />
<a href="#gypsy_and_his_tricks">GYPSY AND HIS TRICKS</a><br />
<a href="#a_little_girls_wedding_gift">A LITTLE GIRL&rsquo;S WEDDING GIFT</a><br />
<a href="#do_right">DO RIGHT</a><br />
<a href="#dog_prince">DOG PRINCE</a><br />
<a href="#where_the_pretty_path_led">WHERE THE PRETTY PATH LED</a><br />
<a href="#a_letter_to_mother_nature">A LETTER TO MOTHER NATURE</a><br />
<a href="#our_may_day_at_the_south">OUR MAY-DAY AT THE SOUTH</a><br />
<a href="#berties_story_and_mine">BERTIE&rsquo;S STORY AND MINE</a><br />
<a href="#the_porcupines_quills">THE PORCUPINE&rsquo;S QUILLS</a><br />
<a href="#love_your_enemies">LOVE YOUR ENEMIES</a><br />
<a href="#the_merciful_prince">THE MERCIFUL PRINCE</a><br />
<a href="#the_opossum_in_the_hen_house">THE OPOSSUM IN THE HEN-HOUSE</a><br />
<a href="#how_roy_went_a_fishing">HOW ROY WENT A FISHING</a><br />
<a href="#a_bear_story">A BEAR-STORY</a><br />
<a href="#hear_us_sing_see_us_swing">HEAR US SING, SEE US SWING, UP IN THE OLD OAK TREE</a><br />
<a href="#sailor_babies">SAILOR BABIES</a><br />
<a href="#pretty_polly_primrose">PRETTY POLLY PRIMROSE</a><br />
<a href="#look_at_the_baby">LOOK AT THE BABY</a><br />
<a href="#an_unlucky_sail">AN UNLUCKY SAIL</a><br />
<a href="#to_strawberry_town">TO STRAWBERRY TOWN</a><br />
<a href="#flossie_and_her_shoe_boat">FLOSSIE AND HER SHOE-BOAT</a><br />
<a href="#nellies_lunch">NELLIE&rsquo;S LUNCH</a><br />
<a href="#dime_and_the_baby">DIME AND THE BABY</a><br />
<a href="#wide_awake_land">WIDE-AWAKE LAND</a><br />
<a href="#lulus_first_thanksgiving">LULU&rsquo;S FIRST THANKSGIVING</a><br />
<a href="#the_sun_kiss">THE SUN-KISS</a><br />
<a href="#the_country_week">THE COUNTRY WEEK</a><br />
<a href="#the_road_to_school">THE ROAD TO SCHOOL</a><br />
<a href="#what_sammys_monkey_did">WHAT SAMMY&rsquo;S MONKEY DID</a><br />
<a href="#bessie_in_the_mountains">BESSIE IN THE MOUNTAINS</a><br />
<a href="#paulines_strange_pets">PAULINE&rsquo;S STRANGE PETS</a><br />
<a href="#go_halves">&ldquo;GO HALVES!&rdquo;</a><br />
<a href="#little_games">LITTLE GAMES</a><br />
<a href="#what_we_found_in_our_stove">WHAT WE FOUND IN OUR STOVE</a><br />
<a href="#the_john_and_lincoln_fleet">THE JOHN AND LINCOLN FLEET</a><br />
<a href="#the_yacht_starlight">THE YACHT STARLIGHT</a><br />
<a href="#the_new_parasol">THE NEW PARASOL</a><br />
<a href="#the_man_who_was_shaken_by_a_lion">THE MAN WHO WAS SHAKEN BY A LION</a><br />
<a href="#the_laughing_jackass">THE LAUGHING JACKASS</a><br />
<a href="#the_trick_they_played_on_jocko">THE TRICK THEY PLAYED ON JOCKO</a><br />
<a href="#some_other_things_bobby_saw_at_sea">SOME OTHER THINGS BOBBY SAW AT SEA</a><br />
<a href="#the_mosquito">THE MOSQUITO</a><br />
<a href="#the_laughing_girl">THE LAUGHING GIRL</a><br />
<a href="#annies_ducks">ANNIE&rsquo;S DUCKS</a><br />
<a href="#vick_in_trouble">VICK IN TROUBLE</a><br />
<a href="#in_grandmas_attic">IN GRANDMA&rsquo;S ATTIC</a><br />
<a href="#little_girl_gracie">LITTLE GIRL GRACIE</a><br />
<a href="#a_magpie_and_her_nest">A MAGPIE AND HER NEST</a><br />
<a href="#at_the_beach">AT THE BEACH</a><br />
<a href="#farmer_gray_and_his_apples">FARMER GRAY AND HIS APPLES</a><br />
<a href="#ah_kee">AH KEE</a><br />
<a href="#dick_and_gray">DICK AND GRAY</a><br />
<a href="#the_return_of_the_birds">THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS</a><br />
<a href="#first_reward_of_merit">FIRST REWARD OF MERIT</a><br />
<a href="#four_little_mice">FOUR LITTLE MICE</a><br />
<a href="#finnette">FINNETTE</a><br />
<a href="#about_the_deer">ABOUT THE DEER</a><br />
<a href="#everybodys_dog">EVERYBODY&rsquo;S DOG</a><br />
<a href="#a_birds_nest">A BIRD&rsquo;S NEST</a><br />
<a href="#a_rainy_day">A RAINY DAY</a><br />
<a href="#the_story_of_a_cane">THE STORY OF A CANE</a><br />
<a href="#miss_lollipops_fancies">MISS LOLLIPOP&rsquo;S FANCIES</a><br />
<a href="#tommys_temptation">TOMMY&rsquo;S TEMPTATION</a><br />
<a href="#a_bear_story2">A BEAR STORY</a><br />
<a href="#annas_birthday_gift">ANNA&rsquo;S BIRTHDAY GIFT</a><br />
<a href="#ralph_and_the_butterflies">RALPH AND THE BUTTERFLIES</a><br />
<a href="#poem1">A POEM</a><br />
<a href="#toms_letter">TOM&rsquo;S LETTER</a><br />
<a href="#janeys_present">JANEY&rsquo;S PRESENT</a><br />
<a href="#good_old_rose">GOOD OLD ROSE</a><br />
<a href="#aunt_pattys_pets">AUNT PATTY&rsquo;S PETS</a><br />
<a href="#tommy_and_the_gander">TOMMY AND THE GANDER</a><br />
<a href="#a_night_visitor">A NIGHT VISITOR</a><br />
<a href="#the_night_monkey">THE NIGHT MONKEY</a><br />
<a href="#babys_nap">BABY&rsquo;S NAP</a><br />
<a href="#hurrah_hurrah">HURRAH! HURRAH!</a><br />
<a href="#moses_goes_to_a_candy_party">MOSES GOES TO A CANDY PARTY</a><br />
<a href="#fans_cards_a_christmas_hint">FAN&rsquo;S CARDS:&mdash;A CHRISTMAS HINT</a><br />
<a href="#kittys_tramp">KITTY&rsquo;S TRAMP</a><br />
<a href="#three_royal_children">THREE ROYAL CHILDREN</a><br />
<a href="#an_ostrich_plume">AN OSTRICH PLUME</a><br />
<a href="#who_killed_the_goose">WHO KILLED THE GOOSE?</a><br />
<a href="#a_temperance_horse">A TEMPERANCE HORSE</a><br />
<a href="#how_the_wind_blows">HOW THE WIND BLOWS</a><br />
<a href="#dime_and_betty">DIME AND BETTY</a><br />
<a href="#saved_from_freezing_to_death">SAVED FROM FREEZING TO DEATH</a><br />
<a href="#lilys_garden">LILY&rsquo;S GARDEN</a><br />
<a href="#where">WHERE?</a><br />
<a href="#a_goat_in_trouble">A GOAT IN TROUBLE</a><br />
<a href="#a_negro_melodist">A NEGRO MELODIST</a><br />
<a href="#time_enough">TIME ENOUGH</a><br />
<a href="#the_mouse_wedding">THE MOUSE WEDDING</a><br />
<a href="#she_had_never_seen_a_tree">SHE HAD NEVER SEEN A TREE</a><br />
<a href="#a_funny_horse">A FUNNY HORSE</a><br />
<a href="#mrs_gimsons_summer_boarders">MRS. GIMSON&rsquo;S SUMMER BOARDERS</a><br />
<a href="#as_night_came_darkly_down">AS NIGHT CAME DARKLY DOWN</a><br />
<a href="#grandmothers_clock">GRANDMOTHER&rsquo;S CLOCK</a><br />
<a href="#a_stuffed_jumbo">A STUFFED JUMBO</a><br />
<a href="#the_trees_in_silver_land">THE TREES IN SILVER LAND</a><br />
<a href="#small_beginnings">SMALL BEGINNINGS</a><br />
<a href="#garden_of_the_gods">GARDEN OF THE GODS</a><br />
<a href="#young_artist">YOUNG ARTIST</a><br />
<a href="#a_chance_word">A CHANCE WORD</a><br />
<a href="#a_little_dance">A LITTLE DANCE</a><br />
<a href="#looking_out_for_number_one">LOOKING OUT FOR NUMBER ONE</a><br />
<a href="#woodcroft">WOODCROFT</a><br />
<a href="#in_the_woods">IN THE WOODS</a><br />
<a href="#autumn_leaves_and_what_katie_did">AUTUMN LEAVES, AND WHAT KATIE DID</a><br />
<a href="#the_spinning_lesson">THE SPINNING LESSON</a><br />
<a href="#foster_parents">FOSTER PARENTS</a><br />
<a href="#haymaking">HAYMAKING</a><br />
<a href="#window_gardening">WINDOW GARDENING</a><br />
<a href="#cheer_up">&ldquo;CHEER UP.&rdquo;</a><br />
<a href="#waifs_romance">WAIF&rsquo;S ROMANCE</a><br />
<a href="#may_i_go_with_you">&ldquo;MAY I GO WITH YOU?&rdquo;</a><br />
<a href="#a_summer_at_willow_spring">A SUMMER AT WILLOW-SPRING</a><br />
<a href="#great_expectations">GREAT EXPECTATIONS</a><br />
<a href="#wheres_sophie">&ldquo;WHERE&rsquo;S SOPHIE?&rdquo;</a><br />
<a href="#if_i_can_i_will">&ldquo;IF I CAN, I WILL.&rdquo;</a><br />
<a href="#windsor_castle">WINDSOR CASTLE</a><br />
<a href="#the_little_princes">THE LITTLE PRINCES</a><br />
<a href="#the_tower_of_london">THE TOWER OF LONDON</a><br />
<a href="#mary_and_her_lamb">MARY AND HER LAMB</a><br />
<a href="#jamies_garden">JAMIE&rsquo;S GARDEN</a><br />
<a href="#camp_trio">CAMP TRIO</a><br />
<a href="#the_sentimental_fox">THE SENTIMENTAL FOX</a><br />
<a href="#earthen_vessels">EARTHEN VESSELS</a><br />
<a href="#birdies_breakfast">BIRDIE&rsquo;S BREAKFAST</a><br />
<a href="#a_battle">A BATTLE</a><br />
<a href="#grace_darling_the_heroine">GRACE DARLING, THE HEROINE</a><br />
<a href="#adam_and_eve">ADAM AND EVE</a><br />
<a href="#swinging_song">SWINGING SONG</a><br />
<a href="#how_the_days_went_at_sea_gull_beach">HOW THE DAYS WENT AT SEA-GULL BEACH</a><br />
<a href="#max_and_beppo">MAX AND BEPPO</a><br />
<a href="#pansies">PANSIES</a><br />
<a href="#come_little_bird">&ldquo;COME, LITTLE BIRD!&rdquo;</a><br />
<a href="#sirenas_trouble">SIRENA&rsquo;S TROUBLE</a><br />
<a href="#lady_violet">LADY VIOLET</a><br />
<a href="#on_trial">ON TRIAL</a><br />
<a href="#two_little_girls">TWO LITTLE GIRLS</a><br />
<a href="#helpful_words">HELPFUL WORDS</a><br />
<a href="#false_shame">FALSE SHAME</a><br />
<a href="#clara_and_the_animal_book">CLARA AND THE ANIMAL BOOK</a><br />
<a href="#anecdote1">AN ANECDOTE</a><br />
<a href="#the_unsociable_ducks">THE UNSOCIABLE DUCKS</a><br />
<a href="#putting_out_the_candle">PUTTING OUT THE CANDLE</a><br />
<a href="#sulky_archie">SULKY ARCHIE</a><br />
<a href="#a_wish_for_wings">A WISH FOR WINGS</a><br />
<a href="#consequences_a_parable">CONSEQUENCES: A PARABLE</a><br />
<a href="#comfortable_mrs_crook">COMFORTABLE MRS. CROOK</a><br />
<a href="#an_evening_song">AN EVENING SONG</a><br />
<a href="#but_then">&ldquo;BUT THEN.&rdquo;</a><br />
<a href="#anecdote2">AN ANECDOTE</a><br />
<a href="#what_the_snail_said">WHAT THE SNAIL SAID</a><br />
<a href="#only_now_and_then">ONLY NOW AND THEN</a><br />
<a href="#a_serpent_among_the_books">A SERPENT AMONG THE BOOKS</a><br />
<a href="#little_mother">&ldquo;LITTLE MOTHER.&rdquo;</a><br />
<a href="#little_scatter">LITTLE SCATTER</a><br />
<a href="#what_chicky_thinks">WHAT CHICKY THINKS</a><br />
<a href="#stop_a_while">STOP-A-WHILE</a><br />
<a href="#the_birds_concert">THE BIRDS&rsquo; CONCERT</a><br />
<a href="#only_a_boy">ONLY A BOY</a><br />
<a href="#bird_needlework">BIRD NEEDLEWORK</a><br />
<a href="#he_was_a_gentleman">HE WAS A GENTLEMAN</a><br />
<a href="#time_for_bed">TIME FOR BED</a><br />
<a href="#the_value_of_a_good_name">THE VALUE OF A GOOD NAME</a><br />
<a href="#dingfords_baby">DINGFORD&rsquo;S BABY</a><br />
<a href="#a_bed_time_story">A BED-TIME STORY</a><br />
<a href="#the_lesson_after_recess">THE LESSON AFTER RECESS</a><br />
<a href="#the_lion_at_the_zoo">THE LION AT THE &ldquo;ZOO&rdquo;</a><br />
<a href="#disobeying_mother">DISOBEYING MOTHER</a><br />
<a href="#plants_that_eat">PLANTS THAT EAT</a><br />
<a href="#the_cuckoo_clock">THE CUCKOO CLOCK</a><br />
<a href="#davys_girl">DAVY&rsquo;S GIRL</a><br />
<a href="#early_tea">EARLY TEA</a><br />
<a href="#boney">BONEY</a><br />
<a href="#catching_snow_flakes">CATCHING SNOW FLAKES</a><br />
<a href="#a_mischievous_monkey">A MISCHIEVOUS MONKEY</a><br />
<a href="#the_african_slave_boy">THE AFRICAN SLAVE BOY</a><br />
<a href="#climbing">CLIMBING</a><br />
<a href="#little_elsie">LITTLE ELSIE</a><br />
<a href="#kitty_striker">KITTY STRIKER</a><br />
<a href="#maying">MAYING</a><br />
<a href="#gracies_temper">GRACIE&rsquo;S TEMPER</a><br />
<a href="#anecdote3">AN ANECDOTE</a><br />
<a href="#the_sweet_grass_house">THE SWEET-GRASS HOUSE</a><br />
<a href="#johnnys_garden">JOHNNY&rsquo;S GARDEN</a><br />
<a href="#boy_billy_and_the_rabbit">BOY BILLY AND THE RABBIT</a><br />
<a href="#a_fish_story">A FISH STORY</a><br />
</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 600px;">
<img src="images/oyf003.png" width="600" height="59"
alt="Title - Our Young Folks at Home and Abroad" />
</div>



<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf004.jpg" width="500" height="260"
alt="Three orphans, one mourner" />
</div>

<h2><a name="the_kittens_stepmother" id="the_kittens_stepmother"></a>THE KITTENS&rsquo; STEPMOTHER.</h2>


<p>There are two little girls living nearly a hundred rods apart,
Mamie and Fannie. Each had a nice pet cat.</p>

<p>Mamie&rsquo;s cat had three little kittens. When they were about three
weeks old their poor mother was killed by a useless dog. For two
days Mamie fed her kittens with a spoon, and did all she could to
comfort them; but they would cry for their mother.</p>

<p>Fannie&rsquo;s cat had only one kitten, and it died at once. Then Mamie
took her three motherless kittens down to Fannie&rsquo;s cat to see if she
would adopt them. She took them at once, and made a great fuss
over them. Then she was allowed to raise them.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a></span>
When Mamie thought her kittens were old enough she took all
three of them home again. But their stepmother would neither eat
nor drink. She cried and looked for the kittens. At last Fannie
carried her cat up to Mamie&rsquo;s house to see the kittens. Then mother
and kittens were all happy again, and played together as if they had
never been separated.</p>

<p>When the girls saw how much the cat and kittens were attached
to each other they concluded to take Fannie&rsquo;s cat home again with
only two of the kittens; in a short time bring back one of them, and
later the last one. In this way they thought they could separate
them without any trouble.</p>

<p>Fannie&rsquo;s cat was not pleased with this plan. She began to look
for and call the third kitten. The next morning, when Mamie went
to feed her one kitten, she could not find it anywhere about the barn
or woodshed. She went down to Fannie&rsquo;s house, and there she found
her kitten. Sometime in the night Fannie&rsquo;s cat went to Mamie&rsquo;s
house, found the kitten, and carried it home. Since that time the
girls have not tried to part the cat and kittens, and they are a happy
family.</p>

<p class="author">MAMIE A. AND FANNIE H.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/oyf005.jpg" width="400" height="325"
alt="A kitten in a basket" />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 367px;">
<img src="images/oyf006.jpg" width="367" height="550"
alt="A country scene, with a boy flying a kite" />
</div>


<h2><a name="how_some_seeds_are_planted" id="how_some_seeds_are_planted"></a>HOW SOME SEEDS ARE PLANTED.</h2>


<p>Many noble oak-trees are planted by the little squirrel. Running
up the branches, this little animal strips off the acorns, and buries
them in the ground for food in the cold weather; and when he
goes to hunt them up he does not find all of them. Those he leaves
behind often grow up into great and beautiful trees.</p>

<p>The nuthatch, too, among the birds, is a great planter. After
<!-- Page 8 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a></span>
twisting off a cluster of beech-nuts this queer little bird carries them
to some favorite tree, and pegs them into the crevices of the bark in
a curious way. How, we cannot tell. After a while they fall to
the ground, and there grow into large trees.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 367px;">
<img src="images/oyf007.jpg" width="367" height="500"
alt="Trees on the bank of a stream" />
</div>

<p>Some larger animals are good seed-planters, and have sometimes
covered barren countries with trees. It is very singular that animals
and birds can do so much farm-work, isn&rsquo;t it?</p>

<p class="author">MRS. G. HALL.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf008.jpg" width="500" height="170"
alt="A cat catches a mouse" />
</div>


<h2><a name="old_scores_repaid_or_tragedy_reversed" id="old_scores_repaid_or_tragedy_reversed"></a>OLD SCORES REPAID, OR TRAGEDY REVERSED.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I met a tearful little lass;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She sobbed so hard I could not pass,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I wondered so thereat;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Oh, dry your tears, my pretty child,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pray tell me why you grieve so wild.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">&ldquo;A&mdash;mouse&mdash;ate&mdash;up&mdash;my&mdash;cat!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf009.jpg" width="500" height="289"
alt="A mouse looks at a candy cat" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf010.jpg" width="500" height="278"
alt="A mouse eating a candy cat" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;A mouse ate up your cat!&rdquo; I cried,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To think she&rsquo;d fib quite horrified;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">&ldquo;Why, how can you say that?&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her tears afresh began to run,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She sobbed the words out, one by one:<br /></span>
<span class="i2">&ldquo;It&mdash;was&mdash;a&mdash;candy&mdash;cat!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">S. ISADORE MINER.</p>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf011.jpg" width="500" height="179"
alt="Three mice examining a mousetrap" />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="tippy_the_firemens_dog" id="tippy_the_firemens_dog"></a>TIPPY, THE FIREMEN&rsquo;S DOG.</h2>

<p><span class="dcapt"><span class="dropcap">T</span></span>IPPY was a little, black dog, and he lived
at the engine-house, where the great
engines, which put out the
fires, were kept.</p>

<div class="figright" style="width: 250px;">
<img src="images/oyf012.jpg" width="250" height="211"
alt="Tippy barking" />
</div>

<p>He was a poor, miserable,
little dog, without a home until
the firemen took pity on
him and gave him one.</p>

<p>Dick was one of the horses
that helped to pull the engine. He was very large and black, with
a white spot on his forehead. He and Tippy were fine friends.</p>

<p>When it was cold the little
dog would curl close down by
Dick&rsquo;s back, and sleep all night,
as warm as could be.</p>

<p>One day, when it was Dick&rsquo;s
dinner-time, and he was very
hungry, Tippy kept running
into his stall and barking and
biting at his heels.</p>

<p>Dick did not like it, and he
wanted his dinner so much that
it made him cross. So he put
down his head, took Tippy by the back of the neck, and lifted
him over the side of the low stall, as much as to say:&mdash;</p>

<p>&ldquo;If you won&rsquo;t go out I will
put you out!&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 250px;">
<img src="images/oyf013.jpg" width="250" height="159"
alt="Tippy carrying a bucket" />
</div>

<p>Tippy soon grew to know what
the engines were for, and when
the fire-bells rang, and the great
horses came from their stalls
ready to be harnessed to the
engine, he would bark and jump
up and down, and beg to go too.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 429px;">
<img src="images/oyf014.jpg" width="429" height="600"
alt="Dick lifts Tippy over the stable door" />
</div>

<p class="caption">TIPPY, THE FIREMEN&rsquo;S DOG.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a></span>
One day he hid under the driver&rsquo;s seat, and the firemen did not
see him, so he went to the fire.</p>

<p>After that, the instant an alarm sounded, Tippy would spring on
the engine. As it dashed down the street, the bells ringing, the firemen
shouting, he would bark to let the people along the way know
he was going to help put out the fire.</p>

<p>Every day the firemen would give Tippy a basket, and a penny to
buy a bone with. He would take the basket in his mouth, and trot
across the street to the butcher&rsquo;s for the bone. The butcher would
take the penny out, and put a bone in its place, and Tippy would run
home to eat his breakfast.</p>

<p>Once in a while Tippy would be very naughty, and would have to
be punished. Then the firemen would make him sit on a chair for a
long while, until he would promise, by a bark which meant, &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo;
that he would be good.</p>

<p class="author">LOUISE THRUSH BROOKS.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 319px;">
<img src="images/oyf015.jpg" width="319" height="400"
alt="Tippy sitting on a chair" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf016.jpg" width="500" height="243"
alt="A fox and some cubs" />
</div>


<h2><a name="nine_little_foxes" id="nine_little_foxes"></a>NINE LITTLE FOXES.</h2>


<p>Tommy and Bessie, Bert, and even little Caddie, think there is no
treat like a visit to Covill Farm.</p>

<p>They all jumped for joy when, one bright afternoon in early summer,
their papa said:&mdash;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I am going out past the Covill Farm, and if any little folks want
to go along they may stop there while I do my errands.&rdquo;</p>

<p>How soon they were all ready! How busy all the little tongues
were, talking over what they would see and do!</p>

<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;ll be lots of little chickens now; and ducklings, too!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes; and we&rsquo;ll see the dear little lambs, and the little calfeys!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;And maybe we can go down to the boat-house, and have a row
on the lake!&rdquo;</p>

<p>But they never dreamed of the funny sight they really saw that
afternoon. Papa set them all down at the gate, and drove on, promising
to come back for them in an hour.</p>

<p>When he came back he tied his horse, and set out to find the little
folks. But in a few moments they saw him, and came rushing across
the yard, all talking at once:&mdash;</p>

<p>&ldquo;O papa, come! come and see!&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a></span>
&ldquo;Oh, so funny!&rdquo;</p>

<p>Little two-year-old Caddie was as much excited as the rest; she
cried:&mdash;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 481px;">
<img src="images/oyf017.jpg" width="481" height="500"
alt="Nine fox cubs" />
</div>

<p>&ldquo;Take my hand, papa! Little piggies shall not bite you!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Little piggies,&rdquo; indeed! Little foxes they were; and nine of the
cunning creatures. Only think!</p>

<p>The manager of the farm said that something had been killing his
lambs, and he had been on the watch to find out the rascal.</p>

<p>One day, when he was out with his gun, he saw something moving
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a></span>
near an old woodchuck hole; at least, there had been woodchucks
there the year before.</p>

<p>He went nearer, expecting to see a woodchuck again; but there
were these little foxes playing around. The woodchucks must have
burrowed out, and an old fox taken possession of their hole for a
den.</p>

<p>Mr. Nash lay down on the ground to count the funny little things,
and watch them tumbling over each other. Then he tried to stop
up the entrance to their den with his coat, so that he could catch
them. But a tree root lay across the hole in such a way that there
was a place left big enough for the little foxes to get in; and in they
went.</p>

<p>Then Mr. Nash went and called a man to help him. They took
spades and dug into the hole until they found them.</p>

<p>They carried them up to the farm-yard, and put them into a pen.
They were of a tawny color; and when the children saw them they
were about as large as cats, and as full of play as any kittens.</p>

<p>Mr. Nash said he did not want to kill them, because they were so
cunning. But it was a good thing that he caught them. Just think
how many chickens, and ducks, and geese, and lambs those nine foxes
might have killed, if they had grown up in their den!</p>

<p class="author">MRS. D. P. SANFORD.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/oyf018.jpg" width="400" height="189"
alt="A fox cub sitting on a table" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 600px;">
<a name="what_ailed_the_bell" id="what_ailed_the_bell"></a>
<img src="images/oyf019.jpg" width="600" height="296"
alt="Decorative title - What Ailed the Bell" title="What Ailed the Bell" />
</div>


<p>It was the first day of school after a
vacation. The children were playing in the yards.
The teachers sat at their desks waiting for the bell to strike
to call the children to the different rooms. The hands of the
different clocks pointed to a quarter before nine.</p>

<p>The bell was a sort of gong, fastened to the outside of the building,
and the master of the school could ring it by touching a knob in the
wall near his desk. It was now time to call the children into school.
The master pulled the bell and waited. Still the merry shouts
could be heard in the school-yards. Very strange! The
children were so engaged in play that they
could not hear the bell, he thought.
Then he pulled it more vigorously.
Still the shouts and laughter continued.</p>

<p>The master raised his window,
clapped his hands, and pointed to
the bell.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 308px;">
<img src="images/oyf020.jpg" width="308" height="400"
alt="The master looks out of the window" />
</div>

<p>The children rushed into line
like little soldiers, and waited
for the second signal. The
teacher pulled and pulled,
but there was no sound.
Then he sent a boy to tell
each line to file in, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a></span>
he sent another boy for a carpenter to find out if the bell-cord was
broken.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 278px;">
<img src="images/oyf021.jpg" width="278" height="500"
alt="A boy clears the empty nest away from the bell" />
</div>

<p>What do you
think the carpenter
found? A little
sparrow had built
its nest inside the
bell, and prevented
the hammer striking
against the bell.
The teacher told
the children what
the trouble was,
and asked if the
nest should be
taken out. There
was a loud chorus
of &ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Every day the
four hundred children
would gather
in the yard and
look up at the nest.
When the little
birds were able to
fly to the trees in
the yard, and no
longer needed a
nest, one of the
boys climbed on a ladder and cleared away the straw and hay so that
the sound of the bell might call the children from play.</p>

<p class="author">M. A. HALEY.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 470px;">
<img src="images/oyf022.jpg" width="470" height="500"
alt="Boys at play" />
</div>

<h2><a name="the_hook_and_ladder" id="the_hook_and_ladder"></a>THE HOOK AND LADDER.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The frosts in the door-yard maple<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Had lighted a fine red blaze,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And one of the golden twilights<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That come September days:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The neighborhood lads had gathered<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To play their usual plays.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a></span></p>

<div class="center">
<table class="tree" summary="Verses 2 to 4">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br />
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">Frankie was good at planning,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">And seeing the glowing tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s have a fire department<br /></span>
<span class="i6">And play &rsquo;tis a house!&rdquo; said he.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">&ldquo;Oh, yes, a hook and ladder,&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Cried all; &ldquo;what fun &rsquo;twill be!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">So they put the hose on the hydrant.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Searched everywhere about<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Until they found a ladder,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And then, with yell and shout<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of &ldquo;fire&rdquo; and clang of &ldquo;ding-dong,&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i4">They rushed to put it out.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The hosemen pulled their jackets<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Hastily from their backs;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">One climbed the tree like a squirrel,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">With a ball-bat for an axe<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And he hewed at the beautiful branches<br /></span>
<span class="i4">With frantic hacks and whacks.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<br /><br /><br />
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a></span>
<span class="i0">Some one turned on the water,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And the boy in the foremost place<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Got the full force from the nozzle<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Square in his little face;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And he cried for half a minute<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With the funniest grimace.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf024.jpg" width="500" height="354"
alt="One boy is soaked by another boy with a hose" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The stream flew this way, that way,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And up to the tree&rsquo;s bright top,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And back came the water splashing<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With reckless slosh and slop,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And with it showers of red leaves<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And twigs began to drop.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">This small boys&rsquo; Hook and Ladder<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Was a very good company,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And they squirted till the sidewalk<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Was like a mimic sea;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But they didn&rsquo;t put out the fire<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In the old red maple-tree.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf025.jpg" width="500" height="391"
alt="Joe, his uncle and the horse" />
</div>


<h2><a name="little_joes_ride" id="little_joes_ride"></a>LITTLE JOE&rsquo;S RIDE.</h2>


<p>&ldquo;Good Billy! nice Billy!&rdquo; said little Joe, as he patted the nose of
the old black horse. &ldquo;Say, Uncle John, can&rsquo;t I ride him to water?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I am afraid you cannot hang on to him,&rdquo; replied his uncle.
&ldquo;Did you ever ride a horse?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, uncle; but I am sure I can,&rdquo; answered Joe. &ldquo;Please let me
try. I&rsquo;ll take hold of his mane with both hands, and hang on as
hard as ever I can.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, you may try it. There is the trough, against that fence,
the other side of the barn. Look out that old Billy does not give
you a ducking.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Never fear for me,&rdquo; cried Joe, riding away in great glee.</p>

<p>He was a little city boy, and had come out to the farm to make his
uncle a visit. He thought it great fun to take a ride on horseback.</p>

<p>It did not take him long to find the trough, for old Billy knew the
way right well. Then, how it happened, Joe never could tell: Billy
put his head down quite suddenly, and right over it slid the little
boy with a great splash, head first into the water.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a></span>
Of course he was not hurt. He caught hold of the fence and
came out, dripping from head to foot.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 348px;">
<img src="images/oyf026.jpg" width="348" height="500"
alt="Joe in the water trough" />
</div>

<p>Old Billy looked on rather surprised, but got his drink. He let Joe
lead him back to the barn, and how Uncle John did laugh at him.
Joe laughed too, as he went off to get on some dry clothes. Though
he took a good many rides after that, he never forgot his first one
on old Billy&rsquo;s back.</p>

<p class="author">MRS. M. E. SANDFORD.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf027.jpg" width="500" height="395"
alt="Gypsy pulling a small two-wheeled cart" />
</div>


<h2><a name="gypsy_and_his_tricks" id="gypsy_and_his_tricks"></a>GYPSY AND HIS TRICKS.</h2>


<p>When Harry was six years old his grandfather sent him a very
nice present from the farm. You cannot
guess what it was, so I will tell you.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 294px;">
<img src="images/oyf028.jpg" width="294" height="300"
alt="Gypsy standing on his head" />
</div>

<p>A goat, with a harness and cart, for
Harry to drive him. Harry named him
Gypsy, because he was so black.</p>

<p>Gypsy and Harry had a great many
good times together. He would draw
Harry to school and then wait
very patiently under the shade
of a tree until school was out.
All the school-children were
very fond of him and would
bring him sweet apples and
cake.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf029.jpg" width="300" height="225"
alt="Gypsy bowing" />
</div>

<p>The teacher was fond
of Gypsy, too, and would
often bring sugar to
him; but she never let
Gypsy have it until he
had performed one of
the tricks the boys had
taught him. He must
either stand on his
head, bow, or dance.
Gypsy could do all
these.</p>

<p>One day Gypsy did something very funny. It was a very hot day,
and Harry thought he would unharness him and let him roam around
the school-yard.</p>

<p>What do you think Gypsy did? He walked into the school-house,
straight up to the teacher, and stood on his head. He was begging
for sugar.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 265px;">
<img src="images/oyf030.jpg" width="265" height="350"
alt="Gypsy standing on his hind legs" />
</div>

<p>The teacher laughed with
the scholars, and said, &ldquo;Gypsy,
you have learned your
lesson well; now I&rsquo;ll excuse
you, and let you go out to
play.&rdquo; And then she drove
him out.</p>

<p>One of the boys begged
leave to give Gypsy an apple,
and the teacher said he might.
Gypsy took the apple in his
mouth and made a little bow.</p>

<p>The scholars laughed so
long that the teacher had to
close the door for fear Gypsy
would do some other funny
thing.</p>

<p class="author">KATY KYLE.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a></span></p>

<div class="center">
<a name="a_little_girls_wedding_gift" id="a_little_girls_wedding_gift"></a>
<table class="gift" title="A Little Girl&#39;s Wedding Gift" summary="Verses 1 to 3">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br />
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">If I could choose a wedding gift,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I&rsquo;d climb for you the rainbow stairs<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And bring a star to bless<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This day of happiness.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">As I came down, a bird I&rsquo;d lift<br /></span>
<span class="i2">From off his nest, that his sweet airs<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And songs might you delight<br /></span>
<span class="i2">From rosy morn till night.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">But rainbow stairs are hard to mount,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The birds hide in the trees&rsquo; green shade,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And so I bring, dear friend, to you<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The flowers wet with dew.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<br />
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf032.jpg" width="500" height="573"
alt="Two little girls" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Take them, and then take me; please count<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My eyes your stars; the little maid<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who offers flowers, your bird,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whose heart with love is stirred.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf033.jpg" width="500" height="246"
alt="A little girl in a patch of flowers" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">May child love and the birds together<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Make all your life like summer weather;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">May flowers blossom in your sight,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And golden stars bring peace at night.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">MRS. E. ANNETTE HILLS.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="do_right" id="do_right"></a>DO RIGHT.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Well met, my little man!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now tell me, if you can,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The very nicest way<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To spend this long, dull day.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Well, sir, my mother says,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of all the pretty ways<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To make a dark day bright<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The best is just do right!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">M. J. T.</p>
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="dog_prince" id="dog_prince"></a>DOG PRINCE.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">&ldquo;Shake hands, Prince!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Black as a coal, and curly, too.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is the dog I introduce to you.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He gives at once his right-hand paw,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">None a softer one ever saw.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf034.jpg" width="500" height="387"
alt="Prince shaking hands with a little boy" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">&ldquo;Beg, Prince!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Up he rises on his hind legs,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Flies both little fore-feet, and begs,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not for money, nor food, nor clothes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But merely to show how much he knows.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">&ldquo;Speak, Prince!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You&rsquo;d think from that first growling note,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He&rsquo;d a bumble-bee inside his throat;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&rsquo;Tis not a bee, but only a bark;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For answer, shrill and eager, hark!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 288px;">
<img src="images/oyf035.jpg" width="288" height="350"
alt="Prince begging" />
</div>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">&ldquo;Roll over, Prince!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He&rsquo;ll do all other things you ask;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But this is a task, a dreadful task.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He hates the dust on his silky hide<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And in the fringe of his ears beside.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">&ldquo;Roll over, I say!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Such a struggle as he goes through;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He wants to do it, and don&rsquo;t want to!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He rubs one black ear on the floor,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rubs a little, and nothing more.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">&ldquo;Ah, Prince! Ah, Prince!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Do you call that minding? Yet, I find<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yours is a common way to mind:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Willing to do what you like to best,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And only half-way doing the rest.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 353px;">
<img src="images/oyf036.jpg" width="353" height="500"
alt="The children by the lily pond" />
</div>


<h2><a name="where_the_pretty_path_led" id="where_the_pretty_path_led"></a>WHERE THE PRETTY PATH LED.</h2>


<p>Little Fred went to spend his long vacation with his grandpa
and grandma in the country. Fred&rsquo;s grandpa had an old white
horse named Betsy. He had owned her ever since mamma was a
little girl, and Fred and Betsy soon became great friends.</p>

<p>Every day grandma would give Fred two biscuits, two apples and
two lumps of sugar in a little basket and he would take them over
to the pasture. Betsy soon learned to expect him, and waited for
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a></span>
him at the bars. She knew that half of what was in the basket
was meant for her.</p>

<p>A very pretty path came in at one end of the pasture. Fred
often wondered where it went, but he never dared to go in very far
alone. One day his two cousins, Alice and Frank, came to make
grandma a little visit. Grandma told Fred he must show them all
over the farm. The next morning, after he had taken them out to
lunch with Betsy, he thought it would be a good chance to go down
the little path. Alice and Frank said they would like to go very
much. Fred was still a little afraid, and kept very near Alice. But
he forgot everything else, when, at the end of the path, they came
upon a lovely little pond. It was all covered with great white lilies
and their green pads.</p>

<p>They wanted to get some lilies to take home. They tried to reach
them from the bank, but lilies have a provoking way of growing
just out of reach. Then they tried to hook them in with sticks, but
got only three or four, without stems. Then they looked for a
board to use as a raft.</p>

<p>At last Frank said they must wade for them. He and Fred took
off their shoes and stockings, pulled up their trousers, and went in.
Fred used a long stick to feel the way before him, so as not to get
into water too deep.</p>

<p>This time they were successful, and got just as many lilies as their
hands would hold.</p>

<p>Grandma was delighted with them; she said she had not had any
lilies from that old pond since grandpa used to bring them to her
years and years before.</p>

<p class="author">MRS. F. T. MERRILL.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a></span></p>

<h2 style="padding-bottom: 8em;"><a name="a_letter_to_mother_nature" id="a_letter_to_mother_nature"></a>A LETTER TO MOTHER NATURE.</h2>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><span class="dcapy"><span class="dropcap">Y</span></span>OU dear old Mother Nature, I am writing you a letter,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To let you know you ought to fix up things a little better.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The best of us will make mistakes&mdash;I thought perhaps if I<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Should tell you how you might improve, you would be glad to try.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;I think you have forgotten, ma&rsquo;am, that little girls and boys<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are fond of dolls, and tops, and sleds, and balls, and other toys;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why didn&rsquo;t you&mdash;I wonder, now!&mdash;just take it in your head<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To have such things all growing in a lovely garden bed?<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 350px;">
<img src="images/oyf037.jpg" width="350" height="317"
alt="Drinking from a lemonade spring" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;And then I should have planted (if it only had been me)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Some vines with little pickles, and a great big cooky tree;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And trees, besides, with gum-drops and caramels and things;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And lemonade should bubble up in all the little springs.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to have the coasting and the skating in July,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When old Jack Frost would never get a single chance to try<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To nip our cheeks and noses; and the Christmas trees should stand<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By dozens, loaded!&mdash;in the woods!&mdash;now, wouldn&rsquo;t that be grand?<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 350px;">
<img src="images/oyf038.jpg" width="350" height="192"
alt="Picking unusual plants" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Ah! what a world it would have been! How could you, madam, make<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Such lots of bread and butter to so very little cake?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I&rsquo;d have it just the other way, and every one would see<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How very, very, very, very nice my way would be.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;But, as I cannot do it, will you think of what I say?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And please, ma&rsquo;am, <em>do</em> begin and alter things this very day.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And one thing more&mdash;on Saturdays don&rsquo;t send us any rain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Good-by. If I should think of something else, I&rsquo;ll write again.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">SYDNEY DAYRE.</p>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf039.jpg" width="300" height="151"
alt="A boy playing a pipe to a dog" />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/oyf040.jpg" width="400" height="377"
alt="A boy and a girl" />
</div>


<h2><a name="our_may_day_at_the_south" id="our_may_day_at_the_south"></a>OUR MAY-DAY AT THE SOUTH.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Out in the woods we went to-day:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mamma and Nannie, Freddie and May,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Charlie and I, and good old Tray,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Out in the greenwood to romp and play.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To-day, you know, is the first of May;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And we meant to be so jolly and gay:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And celebrate in so merry a way<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That we could never forget this holiday.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So first we chose the loveliest queen,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The dearest and sweetest that ever was seen;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For mamma herself was Her Highness Serene,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And we crowned her with rosebuds and evergreen.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then we kneeled around and vowed to obey<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All the laws she made, not only to-day,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But all the year through. Then she waved a spray<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of lilac bloom, and bade us all be gay.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a></span>
<span class="i0">Oh the games we played, and the races we run!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The bars we leaped, and the prizes we won!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh the shouting, the singing, the laughter and fun,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It were hard to tell who was the happiest one!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then, rosy and tired, we gathered around<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our beautiful queen on the mossy ground;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The hungriest group in the land, I&rsquo;ll be bound.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As the sandwiches, cookies, and tarts went round.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf041.jpg" width="500" height="361"
alt="Enjoying games and a picnic" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When the sun was low and shadows were gray,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Down from her throne stepped our fair Queen of May,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And through the green fields led homeward our way,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While we gave her sweet thanks for this beautiful day.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">L. A. B. C.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf042.jpg" width="500" height="189"
alt="Ships near a light-house" />
</div>


<h2><a name="berties_story_and_mine" id="berties_story_and_mine"></a>BERTIE&rsquo;S STORY AND MINE.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Tell me a story about a bear,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">A great big bear who lived in a wood<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And ate little children.&rdquo; &ldquo;O, my dear,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The bears I know of were playful and good,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And lived in houses or parks or a pen,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And never ate children, or boys, or men.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;There was one snow white, a mother bear,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With two little babies cunning and queer;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who rolled and climbed and stood on their heads,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And fell over, as boys often do, I fear.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They hugged their mother, and talked in their way,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And kept still when they&rsquo;d nothing to do or say.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;No, I mean a real bear out in the woods,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Who growls and chases you, makes you run,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Half scared to death,&mdash;and a little boy lost<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Out in the woods and the night coming on;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the terrible bear with his great fierce eyes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And no one to hear the little child&rsquo;s cries!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;He runs and runs,&rdquo;&mdash;and then Bertie smiles,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">His climax reached,&mdash;&ldquo;I was only in fun;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The bear didn&rsquo;t kill him, because, you see,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">There was just behind a man with a gun,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a></span>
<span class="i0">And he shot! Bang! Down came the old bear;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&rsquo;Twas his own little boy and he saved him&mdash;there!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 482px;">
<img src="images/oyf043.jpg" width="482" height="500"
alt="Bertie and the bear" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;O, I am so glad!&rdquo; and I give him a kiss;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Then silent we sit for a moment or two.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a boy&rsquo;s story; yours, you know,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">For nice little girls very well will do.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But boys, you remember, grow up to be men,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And can fight the bears to their very den.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">AMANDA M. DOUGLAS.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_porcupines_quills" id="the_porcupines_quills"></a>THE PORCUPINE&rsquo;S QUILLS.</h2>


<p>Every animal has an instrument of defence. Some have claws,
some hoofs, some spurs and beaks, some powerful teeth and stings.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf044.jpg" width="500" height="412"
alt="A porcupine fends off a dog" title="" />
</div>

<p>The porcupine
has something
queerer than all
these. Its body
is covered all over
with two sets of
quills. One set
is long, slender,
and
curved; the other, short and straight, very stout, and with sharp
points.</p>

<p>Whenever the porcupine is chased by any animal, and finds he cannot
get out of the way, he just stops and bristles up all his quills.
Then he backs quickly upon the animal, so that the short, sharp quills
may stick into the body. If any happen to be a little loose, they stick
so fast in the flesh, like an arrow, that they often make a very bad
wound. Remember this whenever you come in the way of the porcupine.</p>

<p class="author">MRS. G. HALL.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="love_your_enemies" id="love_your_enemies"></a>LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.</h2>


<p>I was watching Willie and Grouse at play on the lawn
a few days since. I saw in the poor dumb brute a spirit
that is too seldom found in man.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf045.jpg" width="500" height="377"
alt="Willie pours water over Grouse" />
</div>

<p>Grouse is an old bird-dog,&mdash;a setter. He was bought
before Willie came to be his little master. He has soft,
brown hair, and is a very clever, good-natured dog. Willie
can do anything with him, and he never gets angry; but
when Willie hurts him he only looks up and pleads with his
large, misty eyes.</p>

<p>They had been playing a long while. Grouse got tired and
lay down on the grass. Pretty soon I saw Willie get some
water in a basin. I wondered what he was going to do with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a></span>
it. Then he walked close up to Grouse, who lay on the
lawn, and threw the water all over him.</p>

<p>It was very unkind for Willie to do so, don&rsquo;t you think
it was? I called Willie to me, and told him it was too bad
for him to plague such a good old dog. I told him he was
a very naughty boy to do so.</p>

<p>Willie said he supposed it was wrong to plague Grouse,
but he didn&rsquo;t mean to hurt him much.</p>

<p>So Willie went back to where Grouse lay in the sun drying
himself. He patted the poor dog on the head, and asked
him if he would forgive him for his unkindness.</p>

<p>Then Grouse, as if he knew what was said, licked Willie&rsquo;s
hand. He looked up forgivingly into his face with his dewy
eyes, as much as to say, &ldquo;I am one who can love his
enemies.&rdquo;</p>

<p class="author">FRANK. H. SELDEN.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="the_merciful_prince" id="the_merciful_prince"></a>THE MERCIFUL PRINCE.</h2>


<p>More than two thousand years ago, in a far-off country, a prince
was born. While he was yet a child every care was taken that he
should be made happy, and sights of sorrow were carefully kept
from him. He was of a very kind, loving, and tender disposition.</p>

<p>But the care even of a king for a prince could not keep away
all sorrowful sights. His watchful eyes sometimes saw suffering
that filled his heart with pity.</p>

<p>As he was playing with his cousin in the palace ground, a flock
of wild swans flew over their heads. His cousin drew his bow and
wounded one. It fell at his feet. The prince with pity drew the
arrow from the wounded bird, nursed it, and saved its life.</p>

<p>While his child life was one of tenderness and mercy, the years
passed by and he became a man. His heart was still filled with pity
for every suffering creature. He went from the palace, from home
and dear friends, to become poor and a wanderer, that he might
help the suffering. It is beautifully told that in his wanderings
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a></span>
he came upon a flock of sheep driven along the dusty highway.
There was one poor wounded, bleeding lamb, which he took tenderly
in his arms and carried. And so through life his pity and his
help were given to the weak, whether men or beasts. From his
tender and beautiful life, men came to worship him after his death.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 384px;">
<img src="images/oyf046.jpg" width="384" height="500"
alt="The prince helps a wounded swan" />
</div>

<p>The prince was Prince Gautama, of India, who is worshipped as
Buddha. Is not his loving and merciful life, from a little child to
an old man, a beautiful example to us?</p>

<p class="author">CHARLES T. JEROME</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_opossum_in_the_hen_house" id="the_opossum_in_the_hen_house"></a>THE OPOSSUM IN THE HEN-HOUSE.</h2>


<p>&ldquo;O George, the circus is coming! the handbills are all up, and
such pictures of horses and lions and tigers, and everything!&rdquo;</p>

<p>Ned jumped about for joy, until George said,&mdash;</p>

<p>&ldquo;But how are you going, Ned? We have no money, and papa
said he could not give us any more this month, if he gave us a
gun.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;The new gun,&mdash;so he did,&rdquo; said Ned, sadly. &ldquo;But the circus
takes so little; they would let us in at half price.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I will tell you,&rdquo; exclaimed George; &ldquo;let us sell our white Leghorns
to mamma. She wants them, I know, and the money we get
for them will take us both to the circus.&rdquo;</p>

<p>This was settled, and at dinner mamma was told of the plan.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Put them up in the hen-house to-night,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and to-morrow
I will look at them and we will fix the price.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The boys went to bed early that night, but had hardly settled
themselves to sleep when Melissa, the little servant-girl, rushed in
with a light in her hand.</p>

<p>&ldquo;O, git up, boys, git up! Sompen&rsquo;s in de hen-house, killin&rsquo; all
de fowls.&rdquo;</p>

<p>They jumped up and huddled on their clothes as fast as they
could, then ran after Melissa, who held the light while they armed
themselves with sticks.</p>

<p>There was a great stir, sure enough, in the hen-house,&mdash;fowls were
cackling and screaming with fright, and a curious snapping sound
came from one corner. When the light fell here they saw a rough,
hairy little animal, with small bright eyes like a pig, and a long
smooth tail. But, worst of all, one of the beautiful white Leghorns
lay before it, all mangled and bleeding. The horrid creature was
tearing its soft body, and would hardly stop eating when the children
attacked him.</p>

<p>At last Melissa caught up a stick, and killed the little beast with
a quick blow. She held it up in triumph by its long tail. It looked
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a></span>
very much like a little pig, and had five fingers, like toes, on each
foot.</p>

<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a &rsquo;possum,&rdquo; said Melissa, &ldquo;and very good to eat. I&rsquo;s right
glad <em>I</em> kill it, cos now &rsquo;tis mine.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 420px;">
<img src="images/oyf047.jpg" width="420" height="500"
alt="Melissa and the boys with the dead opossum" />
</div>

<p>&ldquo;You are welcome to it,&rdquo; said Ned, half crying. &ldquo;What shall we
do now our pretty Leghorn rooster is dead? We can&rsquo;t go to the
circus.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Next morning they told their tale at the breakfast-table.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; said their father; &ldquo;I think you may go, after all,
as I owe you something for killing the opossum. He would have
destroyed the rest of the fowls.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a></span>
&ldquo;Yes; but, papa, Melissa killed it; we only struck at it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, I think I must treat the whole party, as all did their best.
We will set a trap to-day for the next opossum that may come to
see us.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The boys and Melissa went to the circus, and enjoyed all they
saw, and Melissa had a fine opossum stew into the bargain.</p>

<p class="author">PINK HUNTER.</p>

<p class="place">Virginia.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="how_roy_went_a_fishing" id="how_roy_went_a_fishing"></a>HOW ROY WENT A FISHING.</h2>


<p>Roy had fished in the ditch by the side of the road a great many
times; but he had only a bent pin for a fish-hook, and a piece of
twine for a line. He never caught any fish there.</p>

<p>When he was six years old his uncle James gave him a real
fish-hook and a line, and after a good deal of coaxing his mother
said that he might go down the cow-path to the brook and fish for
trout.</p>

<p>Uncle James caught a great many trout in the brook.</p>

<p>Alice wanted to go with Roy; and Roy, who is very kind to his
sister, asked his mother to let her go.</p>

<p>Alice carried the basket,&mdash;a pretty large one. Mary, the cook,
told them to be sure and get it full of fish, so that she could fry
them for dinner.</p>

<p>How proud and happy they were! Their mother could see them
from the window all the time.</p>

<p>When they reached the brook Alice sat down on a rock. Roy
put a worm on the hook, and dropped the end of the line into the
stream. But it was a long time before he got a bite. At last he
thought he felt a nibble.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got one, Ally!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;O, such a big fellow! You
will have to come and help me pull him out!&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a></span>
They tugged away on
the line, and then they
both fell over backwards.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 307px;">
<img src="images/oyf048.jpg" width="307" height="400"
alt="Roy catches something unexpected and upsets Alice" />
</div>

<p>&ldquo;There he is!&rdquo; cried
Roy. But when they got
up and looked, it was not
a trout at all. It was
only a piece of a black
root that broke off and
gave them a tumble.</p>

<p>Roy tried again, and
after a good while he felt
another nibble. He jerked
the line out so quickly
that the hook caught in
the back of Alice&rsquo;s dress.
It pricked her shoulder so
that she had half a mind
to cry.</p>

<p>Roy could not get the hook out of her dress, and they went home
for their mother to help them.</p>

<p>Mary laughed at Roy a good deal. She told his uncle James, at
dinner-time, that Roy caught the biggest trout she ever saw, and he
had to come home for his mother to get it off the hook.</p>

<p class="author">L. A. B. C.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf049.jpg" width="300" height="124"
alt="Portrait of a child, surrounded by flowers" />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="a_bear_story" id="a_bear_story"></a>A BEAR-STORY.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;I know a new bear-story,&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I said to the little folks,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who surely as the twilight falls,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Begin to tease and coax.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 450px;">
<img src="images/oyf050.jpg" width="450" height="500"
alt="A bear at the zoo" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;And did they live in the forest,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In a den all deep and dark?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And were there three?&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Yes, three,&rdquo; I said,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;But they lived in the park.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s see! Old Jack, the grizzly,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With great white claws, was there;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a mother bear with thick brown coat,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And Betty, the little bear!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;And Silver-Locks went strolling<br /></span>
<span class="i1">One day, in that pretty wood,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With Ninny, the nurse, and all at once<br /></span>
<span class="i1">They came where the bears&rsquo; house stood.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;And without so much as knocking<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To see who was at home,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She cried out in a happy voice,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&lsquo;Old Grizzly, here I come!&rsquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;And thereupon old Grizzly<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Began to gaze about;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the mother bear sniffed at the bars,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And the baby bear peeped out.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;And they thought she must be a fairy,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Though, instead of a golden wand,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She carried a five-cent paper bag<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Of peanuts in her hand.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Old Grizzly his red mouth opened<br /></span>
<span class="i1">As though they tasted good;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the brown bear opened her red mouth<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To catch one when she could;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;And Betty, the greedy baby,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Followed the big bears&rsquo; style,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And held her little fire-red mouth,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Wide open all the while.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;And Silver-Locks laughed delighted,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And thought it wondrous fun,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And fed them peanuts from the bag<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Till she hadn&rsquo;t another one.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;And is that all?&rdquo; sighed Gold-Locks.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;Pshaw, is that all?&rdquo; cried Ted.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;No&mdash;one thing more! &rsquo;Tis quite, quite time<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That little folks were in bed!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">CLARA DOTY BATES.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 446px;">
<a name="hear_us_sing_see_us_swing" id="hear_us_sing_see_us_swing"></a>
<img src="images/oyf051.jpg" width="446" height="550"
alt="Decorative title - Hear Us Sing, See Us Swing, Up in the Old Oak Tree"
title="Hear Us Sing, See Us Swing, Up in the Old Oak Tree" />
</div>



<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1">O&mdash;oh! O&mdash;oh!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Here we go,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Now so high,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Now so low;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Soon, soon,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">We&rsquo;ll reach the moon;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Hear us sing,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">See us swing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Up in the old oak-tree.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1">O&mdash;oh! O&mdash;oh!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To and fro,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Like the birds,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">High and low;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">See us fly<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To the sky;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Hear us sing,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">On the wing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Up in the old oak-tree.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">L. A. B. C.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf052.jpg" width="500" height="149"
alt="Two boats near the shore" />
</div>


<h2><a name="sailor_babies" id="sailor_babies"></a>SAILOR BABIES.</h2>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 359px;">
<img src="images/oyf053.jpg" width="359" height="500"
alt="A pair of birds" />
</div>

<p>Birds, and birds, and birds! Have you any idea how many kinds
of birds there are? I am very sorry you could not count them all.
And such queer fellows many of them are! There are butcher-birds
and tailor-birds, soldier-birds&mdash;the penguins, you
know, who stand on the sea-shore like companies of
soldiers, &ldquo;heads up, eyes front,
arms (meaning wings) at the sides&rdquo;&mdash;and
sailor-birds. It is about
one of the sailor-birds and his
babies that I am going to tell
you now. She is called the Little
Grebe, or sometimes, by her intimate
friends, the Dabchick. She
is a pretty little bird, about
nine inches long, with brown
head and back, and grayish-white
breast. She and
her husband are both
extremely fond of the
water. &ldquo;We are first
cousins to the Divers!&rdquo; they
sometimes say proudly. &ldquo;The
Divers are never happy away from the water,
and neither are we. It is very vulgar to live on
land all the time. One might almost as well have four
legs, and be a creature at once!&rdquo; (The Divers are a very proud
family, and speak of all quadrupeds as &ldquo;creatures.&rdquo;) Mr. and Mrs.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a></span>
Grebe have very curiously webbed feet, looking more like a horse-chestnut
leaf with three lobes than anything else. They are excellent
swimmers and divers; indeed, in diving, the Great Northern Diver
himself is not so quick and alert. If anything
frightens them, pop! they are under the water in
the shaking of a feather; and you may sometimes
see them in a pond, popping up and down
like little absurd Jacks-in-the-box. As they
think the land so very vulgar, of course
they do not want
to bring up their
children on it.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 349px;">
<img src="images/oyf054.jpg" width="349" height="400"
alt="Birds on the river" />
</div>

<p>Oh, dear, no!
They find a pleasant, quiet
stream, or pond, where
there are plenty of reeds
and rushes growing in the
water, and where there is
no danger of their being
disturbed by &ldquo;creatures.&rdquo;
Then they go to
work and make a raft, a
regular raft, of strong
stems of water-plants,
reeds, and arrow-heads,
plaited and woven
together with great care and skill. It is light enough to float,
and yet strong enough to bear the weight of the mother-bird.</p>

<p>While she is building it she sits, or stands, on another and
more roughly built raft, which is not meant to hold together long.
Mr. Grebe helps her, pulling up the water-plants and cutting off the
stems the right length; and so this little couple work away till the
raft-nest is quite ready. Then Mrs. Grebe takes her place on it, and
proceeds to lay and hatch her eggs. There are five or six eggs, and
they are white when she lays them; but they do not keep their
whiteness long, for the water-weeds and the leaves that cover the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a></span>
raft soon decay, and stain the pretty white eggs, so that they are
muddy brown by the time they are hatched. Well, there little
Madame Grebe sits, brooding contentedly over her eggs, and thinking
how carefully she will bring up her children, so that they will be
a credit to the family of the Divers. Mr. Grebe paddles, and dives
and pops up and down about the nest, and brings her all sorts of
good things to eat,&mdash;worms for dinner, minnows for supper, and for
breakfast the most delicate and appetizing of flies and beetles. One
day, when he brings his wife&rsquo;s dinner (a fine stickle-back), he finds
her in a state of great excitement.</p>

<p>&ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; she says, &ldquo;I am going to move. I cannot endure this
place another hour. I only waited to tell you about it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, what is the matter, my love?&rdquo; asks Mr. Grebe, in amazement.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Some creatures have been here,&rdquo; answers little madam, indignantly,&mdash;&ldquo;huge,
ugly monsters, with horns; cows, I believe they
are called. They have torn up the reeds, and muddied the water;
and, if you will believe it, Dabchick, one of them nearly walked right
over me; then I flew in his face, and gave him a good fright, I can tell
you. But the whole thing has upset me very much, and I am determined
to leave the place.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Very well, my love,&rdquo; says the dutiful Dabchick. &ldquo;Whatever you
say is always right!&rdquo;</p>

<p>Accordingly, when she has finished her dinner, Mrs. Grebe puts
one foot into the water, and paddles her raft away as skilfully as if
she were an Indian in a birch canoe. She steers it round the corners,
and paddles on and on, till she finds another quiet nook, where there
is no sign of any &ldquo;creatures.&rdquo; Then she draws in her paddle-foot,
and broods quietly again, while Mr. Grebe, who has followed her,
goes to explore the new surroundings, and see what he can pick up
for supper.</p>

<p>After a time the muddy brown eggs crack open one by one, and out
come the young Dabchicks, pretty, little, fuzzy brown balls. They
shake themselves, and look at each other, and say how-d&rsquo;-ye-do to
their mother and father; and then, without any more delay, pop!
they go into the water. &ldquo;Hurrah!&rdquo; says one. &ldquo;I can swim!&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="pretty_polly_primrose" id="pretty_polly_primrose"></a>PRETTY POLLY PRIMROSE.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Out here papa finds her,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Lifts her tenderly,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Carries her safe home again,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Never once wakes she.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf055.jpg" width="500" height="313"
alt="Polly asleep under a tree" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When the breakfast all is o&rsquo;er<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Polly opes her eyes.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">&ldquo;Surely, mamma, I did dream,&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Says she in surprise,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">&ldquo;That I went out to the Park,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Where the birdies sing.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mamma smiles; how can she chide<br /></span>
<span class="i7">The winsome little thing!<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">AMANDA M. DOUGLAS.</p>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 200px;">
<img src="images/oyf056.jpg" width="200" height="138"
alt="A pair of birds" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="look_at_the_baby" id="look_at_the_baby"></a>LOOK AT THE BABY.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">This way and that way, one, two, three.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Come if you want a dance to see;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With his chubby hands on his dress so blue,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">See what a baby boy can do.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">One foot up and one foot down;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">See him try to smile and frown;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He would look better, I do declare,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With some more teeth and a little more hair.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">One, two, three, chick-a-dee-dee!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This I take the fact to be,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That there never was, on sea nor shore,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Such a queer little dance as this before!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="an_unlucky_sail" id="an_unlucky_sail"></a>AN UNLUCKY SAIL.</h2>


<p>When little Sam was six years old, he began to go to school.
His teacher gave him a merit card whenever he was good all day.
But sometimes he whispered, or made a noise in school, and then
he did not get one.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I will give you a penny whenever you bring home a card,&rdquo; said
Sam&rsquo;s father.</p>

<p>After that Sam was very good, and brought home a card almost
every day. He saved up his pennies, and when he was seven
years old, he bought a pretty toy boat.</p>

<p>Sam&rsquo;s sister Hattie went with him to the duck-pond to see him
sail the boat. But soon she grew tired, and went back to the house.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I wish I had something to put into my boat,&rdquo; thought Sam.</p>

<p>He looked around and saw Hattie&rsquo;s doll under a tree. Hattie had
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a></span>
forgotten it when she went to the house. It was a pretty wax doll,
with long flaxen hair, and blue eyes that would open and shut. It
was dressed in pink silk, and had a little straw hat with a pink
feather.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 442px;">
<img src="images/oyf057.jpg" width="442" height="500"
alt="Sam and his sailing boat, and what happened to Miss Dolly" />
</div>

<p>&ldquo;I will give Miss Dolly a sail,&rdquo; thought Sam.</p>

<p>He put the doll in the boat, and pushed it out on the water.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Hattie, Hattie!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;come and see your doll taking a
sail.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a></span>
Just as he spoke an old duck swam against the boat, and gave it
such a push that Miss Dolly fell off into the water. Before Sam
could reach her with a long stick she sank to the bottom of the
pond.</p>

<p>Hattie cried until she had no tears left to shed, and Sam felt like
crying, too. He knew he ought not to have taken his sister&rsquo;s doll.</p>

<p>He went on saving his pennies just as he had done before he
bought the boat. And when he opened his tin bank on his next
birthday he found that he had nearly three dollars. What do you
think he bought? I am afraid you would never guess, so I will
tell you. He bought a new doll for Hattie, and it was even prettier
than the one he had drowned in the duck-pond.</p>

<p class="author">FLORENCE B. HALLOWELL.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 393px;">
<img src="images/oyf058.jpg" width="393" height="500"
alt="Hattie and Sam after the sinking" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="to_strawberry_town" id="to_strawberry_town"></a>TO STRAWBERRY TOWN.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A dear little maid, with sun-bonnet red<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tied carefully over her little brown head,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With two little bare feet, so active and brown,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Has started to travel to Strawberry town.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;And pray where is that?&rdquo; Oh dear! don&rsquo;t you know?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It&rsquo;s out in the field where the strawberries grow;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where papa, and Henry, and Sue, in the sun,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pick the sweet, big, red berries so fast, one by one.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 471px;">
<img src="images/oyf059.jpg" width="471" height="500"
alt="The maid and her kittens" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a very great ways,&rdquo; says the dear little maid,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;To Strawberry town, and I&rsquo;m so afraid.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And so as companions, to keep her from harm,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She takes two fat kittens, one under each arm.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a></span>
<span class="i0">She trudges along with brown eyes opened wide,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The kittens hugged sociably up to each side;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With ears sticking up and tails hanging down,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She carries them bravely to Strawberry town.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">MARY A. ALLEN, M.D.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/oyf060.jpg" width="400" height="316"
alt="Flossie and her shoe-boat" />
</div>


<h2><a name="flossie_and_her_shoe_boat" id="flossie_and_her_shoe_boat"></a>FLOSSIE AND HER SHOE-BOAT.</h2>


<p>Flossie took to the sea very early. She did not like to be
bathed, but she was very fond of playing in the water.</p>

<p>One day, when she was at her bath, her mother&rsquo;s back was
turned, and little Miss Flossie turned her slipper into a boat and
set it afloat in her little bath-tub. Then she pushed it about and
made believe it was sailing. By and by it got full of water and
sank, crew and all. This made her cry, and that made her mother
look round. Flossie&rsquo;s shoe-boat was taken from her, and then she
cried more. Her mother knew best, and was very firm. Miss
Flossie had to give up being a sailor, and put on her pink dress
and go downstairs.</p>

<p class="author">R. W. L.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="nellies_lunch" id="nellies_lunch"></a>NELLIE&rsquo;S LUNCH.</h2>


<p>Little Nellie lived in California. Her papa was going on a visit
to his old home in Maine, but Nellie was to stay at home with her
mamma. Just before her father left, her mother took his great-coat,
brushed it, and said, &ldquo;I have put some handkerchiefs in this pocket,
and in the other one is a nice lunch of cake and fruit.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The father and mother were so busy that they took no notice of
Nellie. But she had
heard what mamma
said. Her first
thought was that she
must put something
in papa&rsquo;s pocket, too.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 385px;">
<img src="images/oyf061.jpg" width="385" height="450"
alt="Nellie makes lunch for her father" />
</div>

<p>Her mother had
been changing Nellie&rsquo;s
clothes, and a
soiled little stocking
lay on the floor. The
child had a small
cake of maple sugar
in her hand that
she was eating. She
took up the stocking
and crammed the sugar down into the toe.
She then rolled it up tight and tucked it down
in one corner of her papa&rsquo;s pocket. No one
saw her do it. The first that was known of
what she had done was one day after her papa
had reached his old home. He was searching his pocket for something
when he felt the little stocking. He took it out, and when
he saw what it was, what a good laugh he had! And how it made
him think of his little Nellie, who was so far away!</p>

<p>Nellie&rsquo;s papa showed me the little stocking and the cake of sugar.
He said he would save them until Nellie was older, and she could then
see what a nice lunch she had put up for her papa.</p>

<p class="author">NELLIE BURNS.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 361px;">
<img src="images/oyf062.jpg" width="361" height="450"
alt="A portrait of Dime" />
</div>


<h2><a name="dime_and_the_baby" id="dime_and_the_baby"></a>DIME AND THE BABY.</h2>


<p>Bow-wow! Here I am again! I told you before that my name
is Dime; but the baby calls me &ldquo;Bow-wow.&rdquo; Do you know why?
It is because I always say &ldquo;Bow-wow.&rdquo; It is all the word I know
how to say.</p>

<p>Do you know our baby? She has big black eyes, and her mouth
looks like a pink rosebud. She is a sweet little girl. I love her
dearly. I did not like her when she first came. That was a long
time ago. My master was very fond of her. That made me feel
cross. I used to bark at baby and show all my teeth. After that
they did not let me come near her. I did not see the baby for a long
time. I did not care for that.</p>

<p>My master did not seem to like me then. When he saw me, he
said, &ldquo;Go away, Dime! Go away, bad dog! You are not good to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a></span>
the baby.&rdquo; So I was not happy. I made up my mind to bite that
baby.</p>

<p>It was a long time before I got a chance to bite her; but one day
I found her alone. She was in her little crib. I put my paws on
her crib.</p>

<p>But I did not bite her, after all. Shall I tell you why? She
was too pretty to bite. So I kissed the baby, and I have loved her
ever since.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 398px;">
<img src="images/oyf063.jpg" width="398" height="400"
alt="Dime looks at the sleeping baby" />
</div>

<p>Now, my master likes me again. He pats my head and says,
&ldquo;Good old dog! Good Dime! You love the baby, don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>

<p>I am glad I am not a cross dog now. I feel better when I am
good. Don&rsquo;t you?</p>

<p class="author">S. E. SPRAGUE.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="wide_awake_land" id="wide_awake_land"></a>WIDE-AWAKE LAND.</h2>


<p>&ldquo;Come, Freddie, time you were in bed long ago,&rdquo; said mamma.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t want to go!&rdquo; cried Fred. &ldquo;I wish I never had to go to
bed!&rdquo;</p>

<p>But in a few moments Fred was snugly tucked away. Everything
grew dim, and Fred&rsquo;s eyes began to close. Very soon he heard a
little voice from somewhere, and started up.</p>

<p>Perched on his knee was the queerest little man he had ever seen.
In one hand he held a long pin,
and this he often thrust at Fred.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What are you doing that for?&rdquo;
asked Fred. &ldquo;To keep you
awake,&rdquo; said the little dwarf.
&ldquo;You are in Wide-Awake Land,
and no one goes to sleep here.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf064.jpg" width="500" height="404"
alt="Freddie is wide awake" />
</div>

<p>Fred sat up in bed and looked
about. Was it really Wide-Awake
Land? Needn&rsquo;t he ever go to bed
again? &ldquo;O, I am glad!&rdquo; he said.</p>

<p>There were many other boys and girls in this queer land, and
most of them looked very unhappy.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; asked Fred of a little boy who was crying
hard.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a></span>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m tired and sleepy,&rdquo; sobbed the boy.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you go to sleep then?&rdquo; asked Fred.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Humph! I guess you haven&rsquo;t been here long, or you&rsquo;d know.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, I&rsquo;ve just come; I think it&rsquo;s nice.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Wait till you get sleepy,&rdquo; said the boy. &ldquo;I used to think Wide-Awake
Land would be nice. I believe Sleepy Land would be nicer
now.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf065.jpg" width="500" height="406"
alt="Freddie and the other little boys" />
</div>

<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; added Fred; &ldquo;but why can&rsquo;t you go to sleep?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Because the little men that you see everywhere carry pins.
They prick us when we try to sleep. O, I wish I hadn&rsquo;t come!&rdquo;
And the boy began to cry again. Fred thought he was very silly,
and ran off to find some other new-comer.</p>

<p>Night came at last. Big lamps were hung on the trees and made
the place as light as day. The little men were flying about to keep
the sleepy ones awake.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a></span>
Fred got sleepy at last, and began to nod. A little man thrust
a big pin into him. &ldquo;You must keep awake,&rdquo; he said. Fred tried
hard, but his eyes would shut, and then would come the wicked pin.
At last he screamed aloud.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, Fred! what is the trouble?&rdquo; and he looked up. There
was mamma.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t like Wide-Awake Land,&rdquo; cried Fred. &ldquo;I will go to
sleep when you want me to after this.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I think you are dreaming, Fred,&rdquo; replied mamma.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I was, but I am awake now.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, dear, you are in Sleepy Land now. So good night, and
pleasant dreams.&rdquo;</p>

<p class="author">ELIZA M. SHERMAN.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf066.jpg" width="300" height="295"
alt="A little girl wearing a hat" />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="lulus_first_thanksgiving" id="lulus_first_thanksgiving"></a>LULU&rsquo;S FIRST THANKSGIVING.</h2>


<p>Lulu was six years old last spring. She came to make a visit
at her grandfather&rsquo;s, and stayed until after Thanksgiving.</p>

<p>Lulu had lived away down in Cuba ever since she was a year old.
Her cousins had written to her what a good time they had on
Thanksgiving Day; so she was very anxious to be at her grandfather&rsquo;s
at that time. They do not have a Thanksgiving Day down
in Cuba. That is how Lulu did not have one until she was six
years old.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf067.jpg" width="500" height="447"
alt="The family at table waiting for the turkey to be carved" />
</div>

<p>She could hardly wait for the day to come. Such a grand time as
they did have! Lulu did not know she had so many cousins until
they came to spend the day at her grandfather&rsquo;s. It did not take
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a></span>
them long to get acquainted. Before time for dinner they felt as if
they had always known each other.</p>

<p>The dinner was the grand event of the
day. Lulu had never seen so long a
table except at a hotel, nor some
of the vegetables and kinds of
pie.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 459px;">
<img src="images/oyf068.jpg" width="459" height="600"
alt="Playing blind-man&#39;s-buff" />
</div>

<p>Lulu had never tasted
turkey before. Her
grandmother would
not have one cooked until
then, so she could say that
she had eaten her first piece
of turkey on Thanksgiving
Day.</p>

<p>After dinner they played
all kinds of games. All the uncles and aunts and grown-up cousins
played blind-man&rsquo;s-buff with them.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_sun_kiss" id="the_sun_kiss"></a>THE SUN-KISS.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h2>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In a land where summer lingers,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Far from Northern rains and snows,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where, like loving, clasping fingers,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Twines the jasmine with the rose,<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 368px;">
<img src="images/oyf069.jpg" width="368" height="450"
alt="A little girl with a bunch of flowers" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There I found a little maiden:<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Oh! her eyes were black as night,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And her tiny hands were laden<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Down with blossoms pearly white.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a></span>
<span class="i0">Sought she all along the wayside,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&rsquo;Mong the ferns and waving palms,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where the tiniest flower might hide<br /></span>
<span class="i1">From her sweet protecting arms.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;What fresh treasure are you seeking?&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Asked I of the little one,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For a myriad blooms were peeping<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Through the mosses to the sun.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Have you never heard, dear lady,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Of the sweetest flower that blooms,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It is neither proud nor stately,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Like the lily and the rose;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;But it brightens every pathway,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Springing &rsquo;neath your careless tread.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till the sun, with quickening ray,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Kisses soft its drooping head.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Then its petals quick unclosing,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Freshly sweet with morning dew,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It is left for our supposing<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That the story must be true,&mdash;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;How it shyly waits the coming<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Of the glorious King of Day,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And that hence the pretty naming<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Of a Sun-Kiss, so they say?&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">ELIZABETH A. DAVIS.</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Small purple flower; grows by the wayside in the South.</p></div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 350px;">
<img src="images/oyf070.jpg" width="350" height="78"
alt="A dragonfly and leaves" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf071.jpg" width="500" height="152"
alt="Two calves" />
</div>

<h2><a name="the_country_week" id="the_country_week"></a>THE COUNTRY WEEK.</h2>


<p>Mrs. Brown read a little article in the newspaper one evening,
about &ldquo;Country week for poor children.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Husband,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I have an idea. We have such a good
farm, and so many nice things, suppose we take some boarders this
summer, who can&rsquo;t afford to pay anything.&rdquo;</p>

<p>When she told him what she meant, Mr. Brown thought it a very
good idea, indeed.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The currants and raspberries are ripe. I&rsquo;ll see if Mrs. Anderson
knows of some nice children, who will have to stay in the hot streets
of the city all summer. We will ask them to come here.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Of course, Mrs. Anderson knew of some nice children. She belonged
to a mission-school, and knew dozens of them. So, the next
Wednesday, when Mr. Brown drove down to the station, there she
was, and two little ones with her, Lina and Carl Schmidt. Carl was
almost a baby, and went to sleep as soon as they were in the carriage;
but Lina held her breath with delight as she rode to the farm.
She was half afraid, too, and held on very tightly if old Billy went
faster than a walk. As Mr. Brown watched the bright little face he
began to think his wife&rsquo;s idea was a splendid one.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, little one,&rdquo; said Mrs. Brown to Lina, when they reached
the house, &ldquo;what do you think of the country?&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a></span>
&ldquo;Oh, I do want to take such long breaths!&rdquo; said Lina, &ldquo;I wish my
mamma could see it too.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;The first thing for these small folks,&rdquo; added Mrs. Brown, &ldquo;is
some of Brindle&rsquo;s nice milk.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf072.jpg" width="500" height="411"
alt="The family watch the cow being milked" />
</div>

<p>Carl waked up long enough to drink some, and say, &ldquo;Dood, dood.&rdquo;
Then he grew sleepy again, and Mrs. Brown laid him on a shawl
upon the grass, under the trees. The hens gathered around him,
looked at each other and clucked, as much as to say, &ldquo;What kind of a
queer creature is this?&rdquo; Young Mr. Bantie was about to peck him to
find out, when they heard a little voice calling &ldquo;Biddy, Biddy,
Biddy!&rdquo; from the barn. Off they went, half flying and half running.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a></span>
Mrs. Brown had given Lina a tin pail, with corn in it to scatter to
the hens. They came from all directions, and got around her so
closely that she was afraid to stir. She had taken out one handful
of the corn, but was afraid to throw it. Then the greedy hens began
to peck her hand, and try to get it out of the pail. She began to cry
so loud that every one ran out of the house to see what was the
matter. It was funny enough to see her, standing in the middle of
that greedy crowd of hens, with her eyes shut very tightly, and her
mouth very wide open.</p>

<p>When Carl waked up, he wanted some more milk. Mrs. Brown said,
&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll go down and see Brindle milked, and you shall have it nice and
warm.&rdquo; Lina had seen pictures of cows, but never a live one. She had
no idea they were so big. Mrs. Brown asked her if she would like to
milk; but she thought she would rather stand at a little distance.
As for Carl, he shut up his eyes, and tried to get out of sight of the
creature. However, he liked the warm milk very much.</p>

<p>Lina spent most of the next day in the garden. She helped pick the
peas and beans, and stem the currants. She went with Mr. Brown to
find the eggs, and held Billy&rsquo;s halter while he drank at the trough.
Every day was full of pleasure, and Mr. and Mrs. Brown had just as
good a time as the children. At the end of the week they couldn&rsquo;t
bear to let them go; so it came about that the children&rsquo;s week, for
Lina and Carl, lasted all summer.</p>

<p class="author">J. A. M.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 350px;">
<img src="images/oyf073.jpg" width="350" height="151"
alt="A sprig of berries" />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_road_to_school" id="the_road_to_school"></a>THE ROAD TO SCHOOL.</h2>

<p class="center">[FROM THE GERMAN.]</p>

<div class="center">
<table class="school" summary="Verses 1 to 3">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In winter, when it freezes,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In winter, when it snows,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The road to school seems long and drear,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">O&rsquo;er which the school-boy goes.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br />
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But when the pleasant summer comes,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With birds and fruit and flowers,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The road to school, how short it is!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And short the sunny hours!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But to the boy who loves to learn,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And wisdom strives to gain,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The road to school is always short,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In sunshine, snow, or rain.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">L. A. B. C.</p>
</div>
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>


<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="what_sammys_monkey_did" id="what_sammys_monkey_did"></a>WHAT SAMMY&rsquo;S MONKEY DID.</h2>


<p>Sammy Brown had a monkey. He bought
him of an organ-player. He named him Billy.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf075.jpg" width="300" height="278"
alt="Sammy and Billy" />
</div>

<p>Sammy&rsquo;s mother did not know what a naughty
monkey he was. If she had, she would not
have given Sammy the money to buy him.</p>

<p>Sammy thought he was very cunning. All
the boys at school thought so too. They all
wanted one just like him. Sammy had him out
every Saturday afternoon.
He was dressed in a gay
little uniform. He would
play on a drum. He was
fond of mischief; and
when no one was watching
him he would do some very queer things. He would take the spools
from Mrs. Brown&rsquo;s work-basket. He would carry them away and
hide them.</p>

<p>He would take her thimble and wax, and hide them too.</p>

<p>Sometimes he would bring them back again. Sometimes Mrs.
Brown would have to find them herself. This gave her a good deal
of trouble.</p>

<p>At last Billy acted so badly, that Mrs. Brown told Sammy that
she could not have him in the house any longer. One morning
Mrs. Brown went away to spend the day.</p>

<p>She thought the monkey was fastened out of the house. But he
got in through a window. When Mrs. Brown came home she did
think of Billy. She opened the door of her pantry. She saw a
dreadful sight. She knew at once that Billy had been there. He
had moved the dishes all about, from one shelf to another. He had
poured milk and sugar over the floor. He had emptied bottles of
medicine into clean dishes. He had broken up a whole loaf of cake
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a></span>
and scattered it around. He had eaten out the middle of a pie,
and turned it over in the plate. Mrs. Brown could not find her
spoons and forks anywhere. But she found them afterwards in the
cellar.</p>

<p>Now Mrs. Brown had to go right to work and clean her pantry.
After she had put that
in order, she made a fire
in the stove. All this
time Billy was not seen
anywhere.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 304px;">
<img src="images/oyf076.jpg" width="304" height="400"
alt="Billy pouring milk on the floor" />
</div>

<p>The fire had been
burning a few minutes,
when Mrs. Brown heard
a terrible scratching in
the oven, and out
jumped Billy as spry as
ever.</p>

<p>He ran out of doors.
He was not seen again
until the next morning.</p>

<p>Then Mrs. Brown told
Sammy that the monkey
had made so much
work for her, that she
could not have him any
longer.</p>

<p>Sammy saw that his mother was very much in earnest.</p>

<p>So he sold Billy to a pedler who came along the next day.</p>

<p>The pedler gave him fifty cents for Billy.</p>

<p>Sammy was sorry to let him go, but he wanted to please his
mother.</p>

<p class="author">M. M. H.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 200px;">
<img src="images/oyf077.jpg" width="200" height="101"
alt="An owl" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf078.jpg" width="300" height="87"
alt="A cottage, birds and butterflies" />
</div>

<h2><a name="bessie_in_the_mountains" id="bessie_in_the_mountains"></a>BESSIE IN THE MOUNTAINS.</h2>


<p>Bessie Lee was six years old when she went to the mountains
of North Carolina with her father.</p>

<p>What Bessie liked best of all were the nice donkey rides every
morning. The poor donkeys
didn&rsquo;t get much rest, for the
little folks kept them busy all
day. Bessie was kind to them,
but some of the children were
not. Bessie liked a donkey
named Kate best of all.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 288px;">
<img src="images/oyf079.jpg" width="288" height="350"
alt="Kate is unhappy at being ridden" />
</div>

<p>One day Bessie&rsquo;s father put
her in the saddle, and Kate
kicked up. When Bessie was
lifted off, and the saddle removed,
a great bleeding sore
was found on the poor donkey&rsquo;s
back.</p>

<p>Bessie felt very sorry for
poor Kate, and said, &ldquo;Papa,
I don&rsquo;t want to ride to-day,
but please do not send Kate back to the stables.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why not, Bessie?&rdquo; said Mr. Lee.</p>

<p>&ldquo;O, papa, the man will let her to some of the rough boys, and
they will hurt her back.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mr. Lee was pleased to see his little daughter&rsquo;s kindness to the
poor dumb donkey; but he wished to know if Bessie would deny
herself for Kate.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, Bessie,&rdquo; said her father, &ldquo;if you have any money, give it
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a></span>
to the man when he comes for the donkey. Tell him you wish to
keep Kate all day.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I have the money you gave me for ice-cream,&rdquo; said Bessie.
&ldquo;Will that pay the man?&rdquo;</p>

<p>It was enough, and was given to the man. Bessie kept the
donkey all day. She led Kate to the greenest places in the yard,
and let her eat the grass. She divided her apples with Kate, and
carried her a little pail of water.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf080.jpg" width="500" height="401"
alt="Bessie feeds an apple to Kate" />
</div>

<p>At night Bessie told her father she had been happy all day.
He made her still happier by telling her she could keep Kate every
day while she was in the mountains.</p>

<p>Bessie kissed her father and was soon fast asleep. She dreamed
of riding in a little carriage drawn by six white donkeys.</p>

<p class="author">AUNT NELL.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf081.jpg" width="500" height="230"
alt="A spray of flowers" />
</div>

<h2><a name="paulines_strange_pets" id="paulines_strange_pets"></a>PAULINE&rsquo;S STRANGE PETS.</h2>


<p>Pauline had no little brothers or sisters, and no little playmates.
Her father&rsquo;s home was away out in the country, far away from any
neighbors. Being so much alone, Pauline thought of all sorts
of queer ways to amuse herself. One day she invited her papa and
mamma to go down to see her &ldquo;Nursery,&rdquo; as she called it. It was
a little, square piece of ground, enclosed by a neat low fence, made
of narrow slats, placed close together. All kinds of flowers were
planted around it. Besides, there were some little, flat buildings all
along one side.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf082.jpg" width="500" height="202"
alt="Toads" />
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 396px;">
<img src="images/oyf083.jpg" width="396" height="600"
alt="Pauline plays outdoors with her pets" />
</div>

<p class="caption">PAULINE&rsquo;S STRANGE PETS.</p>

<p>What do you think they saw there? Toads of all sorts and
sizes, from the wee baby toads to the great big grandfathers. Then
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"><!-- location of illustration, PAULINE'S STRANGE PETS --></a></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a></span>
such a strange array of garments!&mdash;for they were all dressed.
Pauline had made for her pets all kinds of clothes. There they were,
hopping around, some in bright calico dresses, and some in the
funniest red flannel pants and coats you ever saw.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 450px;">
<img src="images/oyf084.jpg" width="450" height="251"
alt="Toads in costume" />
</div>

<p>Day after day Pauline went to her &ldquo;Nursery&rdquo; to feed and play
with her strange little pets. But one morning she ran down as
usual, after breakfast, to find all of the toad family had disappeared.
The fence that enclosed her &ldquo;Nursery&rdquo; was completely broken
down. Not a single toad was left of the funny creatures who had
lived there.</p>

<p>Pauline felt very sorry to lose them. She told her mamma
she was sure they would all die of shame when they found other
toads did not wear any clothes at all.</p>

<p class="author">H. C. LARNED.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf085.jpg" width="500" height="81"
alt="Large mushrooms" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="go_halves" id="go_halves"></a>&ldquo;GO HALVES!&rdquo;</h2>


<p>Little Fred Mason&rsquo;s father took him to an exhibition of wild
animals.</p>

<p>After they had looked at the elephants, lions, tigers and bears,
they went to see the monkeys. On the way, Mr. Mason bought two
large oranges and gave them to Fred.</p>

<p>There were six cages of small animals. One of them was for the
&ldquo;happy family.&rdquo; Fred thought the creatures in it must be called
the &ldquo;happy family&rdquo; because the dogs, cats and monkeys were all
the time teasing and plaguing one another. One monkey had a rat
in his lap. He tended it as a mother does her baby. The monkey
was happy, but Mr. Mason did not think the rat liked it very well.</p>

<p>Fred put one orange in his side pocket. He could not wait until
he got home to eat the other. As he walked along among the cages
he seemed to care more for the fruit than for the animals. He
sucked the orange with all his might till he came to a cage with
three monkeys in it.</p>

<p>One of them looked very sober and solemn. One opened his
mouth and seemed to be laughing. All of them looked at Fred and
held out their hands.</p>

<p>They could not talk; if they could they would have said, &ldquo;Go
halves!&rdquo;</p>

<p>The orange was nice and sweet; Fred did not wish to &ldquo;go halves.&rdquo;
He turned away, for he did not like to be asked for that which he
was not willing to give. The monkeys put their hands out for some
of the oranges, but Fred looked the other way.</p>

<p>Fred should have looked at the monkeys, for the one nearest to
him put out his long arm and snatched the orange from his hand.
Fred tried to get it again. While he was doing so, the solemn monkey
reached down and took the orange from his pocket. Fred did
not think how near he was to the cage.</p>

<p>Fred began to cry. The laughing monkey had no orange. He
was afraid of the solemn monkey, but he chased the one that had
stolen the orange Fred was eating all over the cage. He got it at
last.</p>

<p>Fred&rsquo;s father bought two more oranges for him, and he did not
go near the cages again.</p>

<p class="author">MARY BLOOM.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 474px;">
<img src="images/oyf086.jpg" width="474" height="600"
alt="The monkeys in the cage, and Fred eating his orange" />
</div>

<p class="caption">&ldquo;GO HALVES!&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf087.jpg" width="500" height="347"
alt="Children play ring-around-a-rosy" />
</div>

<h2><a name="little_games" id="little_games"></a>LITTLE GAMES.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Ring&mdash;a&mdash;round&mdash;a&mdash;rosy!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cheeks just like a posy;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Eyes that twinkle with delight,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Could there be a fairer sight?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Little feet that dance in glee;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Voices singing merrily.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Won&rsquo;t you stop a little while?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At my question you will smile:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Rosy I have never seen,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tell me, is she some fair queen?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Have your lily hands now crowned her,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While you formed a ring around her?<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Why &lsquo;draw buckets of water<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For my lady&rsquo;s daughter&rsquo;?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Has she spoiled her pretty dress?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ah! to wash her face, I guess!<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a></span>
<span class="i0">Very hard &rsquo;tis to unravel<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What is meant, dears, by &lsquo;green gravel.&rsquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then, you say, &lsquo;How barley grows<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You, nor I, nor nobody knows;&rsquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oats, peas, beans, too, you include:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If the question be not rude,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Darlings, tell why this is done.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Ha! ha!&rdquo; laugh they; &ldquo;it&rsquo;s such fun!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">GEORGE COOPER.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="what_we_found_in_our_stove" id="what_we_found_in_our_stove"></a>WHAT WE FOUND IN OUR STOVE.</h2>


<p>Something very strange happened at our house the other day. In
our cold country we keep a stove in our sitting-room all summer.
Sometimes we have to build a fire, even in July and August.</p>

<p>One afternoon I was surprised to hear a great scratching in the
room. After looking about a little, I found it came from the stove.
Scratch, scratch, scratch, as if some creature was trying hard to get
out. I called my boy of eight years. For a few moments all was still,
and we concluded the poor thing had got out as it had come in.</p>

<p>But we were mistaken; soon came that same clattering noise again.
We removed the top of the stove and peeped in; nothing was to be
seen in the darkness. We then made bold to open the door and poke
about; but with no better result. After listening, we decided that the
creature was between the lining and outside.</p>

<p>But how were we to get at it? Annie came in from the kitchen
armed with a poker. We took out the damper and poked out all the
soot and ashes. We brought to the front&mdash;what do you think?
Why, a little bird, a chimney swallow, chirping and fluttering, poor
thing, with fright.</p>

<p>One wing seemed to droop a little; so we took it up and put it in a
box. If we supposed it was going to stay there we were much mistaken.
Soon the bird began to recover, and with a little hop was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a></span>
upon the edge of the box cocking its head and looking with its big,
bright eyes all about, as if on the alert for any new danger.</p>

<p>A tree was the best and safest place, and Hervin carried it out and
set it gently down.</p>

<p>It rose, feebly at first, then soared away over the tops of the houses.</p>

<p>Wasn&rsquo;t that a queer place to find a birdie? You are glad it got
out, for that very night we had to have a fire.</p>

<p class="author">MRS. W. S. AMSDEN.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 319px;">
<img src="images/oyf088.jpg" width="319" height="350"
alt="Two cherubs" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a></span></p>
<h2><a name="the_john_and_lincoln_fleet" id="the_john_and_lincoln_fleet"></a>THE JOHN AND LINCOLN FLEET.</h2>


<p>John and Lincoln have a fleet of ten boats. They made these
boats themselves. They are made out of flat chips. They are
whittled round at one end and pointed at the other. Each boat
has a mast and a sail.</p>

<p>Sometimes they tie these boats together, and call them the
<i>John and Lincoln</i> fleet; they call each other &ldquo;Captain John&rdquo;
and &ldquo;Captain Lincoln.&rdquo;
They have a big boat
called the <i>Mary</i>; aunt
Mary gave it to them.
The <i>Mary</i> is their flagship.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 336px;">
<img src="images/oyf089.jpg" width="336" height="350" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">CAPTAIN JOHN AND THE MARY.</p>

<p>One day the fleet were
all out when a storm
came. The wind blew,
the rain fell, and the
waves were big. Six of
the little boats were
wrecked on a rock. But
the <i>Mary</i> only plunged
a little. It was great
fun. What, a storm at
sea great fun! Yes, because
John and Lincoln made the storm themselves. They made
the wind with the bellows; they poured the big raindrops from
the watering-pot; and they made the high waves by dragging shingles
through the water.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a></span></p>
<h2><a name="the_yacht_starlight" id="the_yacht_starlight"></a>THE YACHT STARLIGHT.</h2>


<p>The <i>Starlight</i> was in Gloucester harbor for three days, and
Rob and Phyllis went on board with mamma one day, to lunch
with Arthur and Helen and their mamma. They had never been
on a yacht before. They were surprised to find it so pretty. It
was finished in beautiful mahogany with a great deal of brass-work,
the latter brightly shining, too, for the housekeeping on
a yacht is always first-rate.</p>

<p>The ceiling of the cabin was of blue satin, and so were the curtains,
which hung before the funny little windows, and at the
doors. On each side of the cabin was a long seat covered with
blue satin cushions.</p>

<p>These cushions lifted up, and underneath were kept books,
dishes, clothes, in fact, all sorts of things. Every bit of room
on a vessel is always precious, there can be so little of it, anyway.
Helen showed Phyllis her sleeping room. It was a mite
of a place, about half as big as the bed Phyllis slept in at
home. The walls were lined with blue satin and the bed was
covered with blue satin, and it was a real blue satin nest for
a little girl, instead of for a bird.</p>

<p>Then they went on deck to watch the sailors, who were running
up and down the rigging. Arthur has been on his father&rsquo;s
yacht so much, for his father owns the <i>Starlight</i>, that he can
run up and down the ratlines almost as fast as the sailors can.
The ratlines are the rope ladders you see in the picture. There
was on board a big Newfoundland dog named Gil. Arthur&rsquo;s aunt
Lou told them a story about Gil.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 386px;">
<img src="images/oyf090.jpg" width="386" height="600"
alt="Men climb the rigging" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE YACHT STARLIGHT.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a></span></p>

<h3>THE STORY OF THE DOG ON THE YACHT STARLIGHT.</h3>

<p><span class="dcapn"><span class="dropcap">N</span></span>OW Gil once belonged to an officer in our
Navy and he sometimes went to sea with his
master.</p>

<p>Once when he went on a voyage a little
kitten went too. She was everybody&rsquo;s pet
and a very friendly kitty. She was afraid
of Gil, though, and would never let him
come near her, but would make such a loud
spitting and growling at him, when he tried
to play with her, that poor Gil had to go
away and play by himself.</p>

<p>One day kitty fell overboard and Gil saw her and plunged into
the sea to save her. Kitty thought it was bad enough to fall
into the water, but to see Gil come jumping after her was too
much, and she was ready to die with fright.</p>

<p>When he opened his great mouth to take her and hold her
above water, she felt sure that her last moment had come, and
she fought and scratched so, that Gil could not get hold of her.</p>

<p>The officers stood watching Gil and pussy. Poor little mistaken
pussy was getting very tired and would soon sink if she did not
let good old Gil save her.</p>

<p>Suddenly Gil dove down out of sight and then rose again just
under kitty, so that she stood on his back. Puss was so glad
to feel something solid under her little tired legs, that she clung
to it with all her nails. Then Gil swam slowly to meet the boat
which had been sent to pick him up.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 426px;">
<img src="images/oyf091.jpg" width="426" height="600"
alt="A child drawing on a wall, another child helping" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE YOUNG ARTIST.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_new_parasol" id="the_new_parasol"></a>THE NEW PARASOL.</h2>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 243px;">
<img src="images/oyf092.jpg" width="243" height="300"
alt="A little girl" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I&rsquo;ve got a brand-new parasol<br /></span>
<span class="i1">(Of pink silk trimmed with lace),<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But auntie says &rsquo;twill never keep<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The shine out of <em>my</em> face.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Why not, I wonder: if it&rsquo;s held<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Just in the proper place,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why won&rsquo;t it keep the sunshine out<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Of anybody&rsquo;s face?<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">She says thick clouds would hardly do<br /></span>
<span class="i1">(Much less pink silk and lace)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To keep the merry sunshine out<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Of such a dimpled face.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But mamma says, &ldquo;Go take your walk,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And never mind aunt Grace.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I &rsquo;spect I&rsquo;ll have to let the sun<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Keep shining in my face!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_man_who_was_shaken_by_a_lion" id="the_man_who_was_shaken_by_a_lion"></a>THE MAN WHO WAS SHAKEN BY A LION.</h2>


<p>He was David Livingstone. He was a missionary, and a great
traveller too.</p>

<p>He lived almost all his life in Africa. In some parts of Africa
there are lions. Once he was staying at a certain village. Every
night the lions broke into the yards and carried off a cow
or two. So a party of natives went out to hunt for them.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 309px;">
<img src="images/oyf093.jpg" width="309" height="400" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A LION.</p>

<p>Livingstone was with
them. They saw some
lions, and tried to surround
them in a circle.
But the lions got
away.</p>

<p>They were coming
home when Livingstone
saw a great lion. He
was sitting on a rock
not far away. He fired
at him, but did not hit
him. He stopped to load
his gun again.</p>

<p>He heard the men
shout. He turned and
saw the lion all ready
to spring.</p>

<p>(A lion crouches to
spring, like a cat.)</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a></span>
The lion sprang upon Livingstone, and seized his shoulder with
his great teeth. He shook him just as a cat shakes a mouse.</p>

<p>Was Livingstone frightened? He was frightened when the lion
seized him. But after he shook him he wasn&rsquo;t a bit afraid.</p>

<p>He said the lion shook the fear all out of him. He felt as if
he was in a pleasant dream. He only wondered what the lion
would do next.</p>

<p>He did not do anything next. He stood with his great paw
on Livingstone&rsquo;s head till another man fired at him. Then he
sprang on that man and bit him.</p>

<p>Then he sprang on a third man and bit him. And then&mdash;he
rolled over, dead! So Livingstone escaped.</p>

<p>Livingstone afterwards visited England. The little English children
used to ask him to tell them the story of how the lion
shook him.</p>

<p>The lion belongs to the cat family. Does not the lion in the
picture look like a big handsome cat?</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="the_laughing_jackass" id="the_laughing_jackass"></a>THE LAUGHING JACKASS.</h2>


<p>He always begins his queer cry about an hour before sunrise.</p>

<p>Then he is heard again just at noon, and again at sunset. So
he has another name. He is called the &ldquo;Bushman&rsquo;s clock.&rdquo;</p>

<p>In Australia there are great tracts of land where few white
people live. These tracts of land are called &ldquo;The Bush;&rdquo; and
the settlers on these lands are called Bushmen.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 430px;">
<img src="images/oyf094.jpg" width="430" height="600" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">LAUGHING JACKASSES.</p>

<p>The laughing jackass is a very sociable bird. He likes to watch
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"><!-- location of illustration LAUGHING JACKASSES --></a></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a></span>
the Bushman at his work. He watches him as he pitches his tent,
and builds his fire and cooks his supper. He is a kingfisher.</p>

<p>Kingfishers generally live near the water. But this great brown
fisher lives in the woods. He eats crabs and insects. He relishes
lizards very much,
and there are plenty of
lizards in Australia.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 332px;">
<img src="images/oyf095.jpg" width="332" height="400"
alt="A man wearing a headcloth" />
</div>

<p class="caption">HE LISTENS TO THE CRY OF THE LAUGHING JACKASS.</p>

<p>He hates snakes. A
great many snakes are
found in Australia, and
many of them are very
poisonous.</p>

<p>The laughing jackass
is not a bit afraid of
them. He kills them
with his long, sharp
bill.</p>

<p>When he is angry
he raises the crest on
his head.</p>

<p>His color is a fine
chestnut brown mixed
with white. His wings
are slightly blue.</p>

<p>The mother-bird lays her eggs in a hole in a gum-tree. She
does not build a nest. She lays her eggs on the rotten wood at
the bottom of the hole. Her eggs are a lovely pearl white.</p>

<p>Here is one of the black men who live in Australia. He is
listening to the cry of the laughing jackass.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_trick_they_played_on_jocko" id="the_trick_they_played_on_jocko"></a>THE TRICK THEY PLAYED ON JOCKO.</h2>


<p>Jocko was homesick. Jocko was a forest creature. He was born
to tread the ground, and climb trees, and eat sweet wild fruits.</p>

<p>Jocko liked to leap from tree to tree, and run about over
miles of woodland. Now he found himself in a cage. He called
and cried, but none of his little brown playmates answered.</p>

<p>He could see only blue waves, and the ropes and masts and
sails of the ship. He was tossed up and down. His cage swung
from side to side. The motion made him sick&mdash;seasick.</p>

<p>After many days, he saw the land again. But it was not forest
land. It was brown land&mdash;city land. No moss, no vines, no dewy
green grass, no flowers! All stone and brick! His cage was
carried into a hotel dining-room where people came and sat down
and talked in German, and ate things that Jocko knew were
not good to eat&mdash;bread and pies and cheese and sauerkraut and
meat. Oh, how Jocko wanted a fresh sweet cocoanut!</p>

<p>But by and by Jocko was not so homesick. The cook was kind
to him, and gave him sweet bits to eat. The visitors took him
up and petted him. The little girl who lived at the hotel made
him a nice bed in the little crib she used to sleep in.</p>

<p>So at last Jocko had a good time, and forgot about the woods.</p>

<p>But one day little Gretchen played a trick on him to see what he
would do. She knew he was fond of white lump sugar. So she
filled a bottle with lumps of sugar. Then she gave it to Jocko.</p>

<p>Jocko was wild with delight when he saw the sugar. He
jumped up in a chair and lifted the bottle to his mouth.</p>

<p>But Gretchen had put in a cork. The sugar would not pour out.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a></span>
It was very funny then to see what trouble Jocko was in. He
would tilt the bottle up and try to drink the sugar out of the
neck. Then he would try to shake it out at the bottom. Then
he would sit still and look at the lumps. Then he would try to
bite through the glass. Then he would jump down and run away.
Then he would come back and catch the bottle again and roll
the lumps about, and chatter and scold as he heard them rattle.</p>

<p>This went on for several days. Everybody came in to see little
Gretchen&rsquo;s monkey and his
sugar bottle.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 322px;">
<img src="images/oyf096.jpg" width="322" height="400" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">GRETCHEN.</p>

<p>But one day the cook let
a jar of olives fall. It broke,
and the olives rolled out on
the floor. Jocko gave a little
scream of joy. Like a
flash, up he sprang to a high
cupboard with his sugar bottle,
and gave it a mighty
fling. Down it came&mdash;crash!</p>

<p>Out the lumps rolled over
the floor. Down sprang Jocko.
He shouted with delight. He
had a sweet feast.</p>

<p>Oh, how he munched and
crunched and chattered! And now, what do you think happened?</p>

<p>He would seize every bottle and can and pitcher that was left
within reach. Up he would run to the top of some high cupboard
or shelf and dash it to the floor! Such mischief as he made!</p>

<p>Little Gretchen had to give him away at last because he broke
everything he could lay his roguish paws upon.</p>

<p class="center link"><a href="#Page_123">See another picture from this story.</a></p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="some_other_things_bobby_saw_at_sea" id="some_other_things_bobby_saw_at_sea"></a>SOME OTHER THINGS BOBBY SAW AT SEA.</h2>


<p>He saw the stormy petrels. They
flew about the ship almost every day.
They liked to eat the scraps the cook
threw overboard.</p>

<div class="figleft" style="width: 249px;">
<img src="images/oyf097.jpg" width="249" height="250"
alt="A petrel in flight over the sea" />
<span class="caption">THE STORMY PETREL.</span>
</div>

<p>The petrels are sooty black. Their
feet are partly webbed.</p>

<p>They sit and float upon the water.
They run about over the water. In
stormy weather they fly through the
dashing foam.</p>

<p>Bobby&rsquo;s mamma told him many things about the stormy petrel.
She told him how the stormy petrel flies far, far away from land.
His home is on the sea. He can fly all day long and not be tired.</p>

<p>The stormy petrel hardly ever goes on land except to lay her
eggs. Her nest is in a hole in some high cliff by the sea. She
hatches one little bird. It looks like a ball of fluff. The nest
smells very oily.</p>

<p>The stormy petrel is very oily, like all sea birds. He is so full
of oil that the people of the Faroe Islands sometimes use him for
a lamp. They take a dead petrel and run a wick through him.
Then they set him on end and light the wick and he gives a very
good light indeed!</p>

<p>The sailors call the stormy petrel &ldquo;Mother Carey&rsquo;s chickens.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The name of Bobby&rsquo;s ship was <i>The Jefferson</i>. Once when the
<i>Jefferson</i> was in an English port, Bobby saw something very pretty.
It was a bird&rsquo;s nest. It was built in the rigging of a ship.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a></span>
This ship had been lying in port a good while. The nest was
built in a block where some of the cordage runs. It was built
by a pair of chaffinches.</p>

<p>Now the chaffinch is not a sea bird; it is a land bird. It
builds its nest in trees and hedges. It builds a cosey little nest
out of moss and wool and hair.
It is deep and round like a cup.</p>

<p>But this pretty pair of chaffinches
found a new place in which
to build their nest. It was even
more airy than the top of a tree.
See it in the picture! Day by
day Bobby watched them as they
flew busily to and fro. Many other people watched them too.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf098.jpg" width="500" height="471" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE CHAFFINCHES&rsquo; NEST.</p>

<p>The chaffinch is a cheerful little bird. In the countries where
he lives, he is heard merrily whistling in the spring time. There
he sits singing to his mate who is keeping her eggs warm. Happy
little fellow!</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_mosquito" id="the_mosquito"></a>THE MOSQUITO.</h2>


<p>Little boys and girls
believe that all mosquitoes
sting and bite.</p>

<p>But they do not.
The male mosquito
never does. He wears
a plume on his head,
and does nothing but
dance in the sunshine.</p>

<p>It is the female
mosquito that sings
around our heads at
night and keeps us
awake. It is she who
bites us. Look at her head. This is the way it looks under a
microscope. Do you wonder that her bite hurts?</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 350px;">
<img src="images/oyf099.jpg" width="350" height="310" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">MOSQUITO&rsquo;S HEAD UNDER A MICROSCOPE.</p>

<p>She lays her eggs in a very queer way. First she finds a
puddle or a pool of warmish water. Then she fastens herself to
some stick, or sliver, or stem, or floating leaf, by her first two
rows of legs. Then she lays about three hundred tiny eggs.</p>

<p>The eggs cling together in the shape of a boat or canoe, and
float upon the water. In about three days they hatch. Then
the warm water is full of &ldquo;wigglers.&rdquo;</p>

<p>By and by these wigglers have wings. The outside skin bursts
open. They lift their heads and shoulders out of the water.
Then off they fly&mdash;a whole swarm of singing, stinging mosquitoes.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a></span>
We are all glad when the cold weather comes and the mosquito goes.</p>

<p>I suppose you think if you lived in a cold country, you would
not be troubled by mosquitoes.</p>

<p>But in Lapland, a very cold country, the mosquitoes come in
crowds and clouds. Sometimes they are so thick they hide people
in the road like a fog. What do you think of that?</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="the_laughing_girl" id="the_laughing_girl"></a>THE LAUGHING GIRL.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The bobolink laughs in the meadow;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The wild waves laugh on the sea;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They sparkle and glance, they dimple and dance,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And are merry as waves can be.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The green leaves laugh on the trees;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The fields laugh out with their flowers;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the sunbeam&rsquo;s glance, they glow and they dance.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And laugh to their falling showers.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The man laughs up in the moon;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The stars too laugh in the sky;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They sparkle and glance, they twinkle and dance.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Then why, then, pray, shouldn&rsquo;t I?<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh, I laugh at morn and at night,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I laugh through the livelong day.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I laugh and I prance, I skip and I dance.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">So happy am I and so gay.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 429px;">
<img src="images/oyf100.jpg" width="429" height="600" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE LAUGHING GIRL.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf101.jpg" width="500" height="340"
alt="Annie and her ducks" />
</div>

<p class="caption">&ldquo;CLUCK-CLUCK-CLUCK! QUAW-AW-AWK! CR-R-R-R!&rdquo; SAID THE HEN MOTHER.</p>

<h2><a name="annies_ducks" id="annies_ducks"></a>ANNIE&rsquo;S DUCKS.</h2>


<p>There were seven ducklings. The very first thing they did was
to go and tumble into a bucket of water.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Cluck-cluck-cluck! quaw-aw-awk! cr-r-r!&rdquo; said the hen-mother.
She was so frightened she made just such a noise as she does
when she sees a hawk.</p>

<p>She thought they would all drown. But they didn&rsquo;t. They
swam and dove and shook the water from their little wings.</p>

<p>One day when they were about a quarter grown, Annie found
Fluffy-dumpty lying on the ground; she was quacking faintly.
Her leg was broken! Annie ran to papa.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a></span>
&ldquo;O papa! mend her leg just as you did my arm!&rdquo; she said.</p>

<p>Papa is a doctor; and when Annie was a <em>very</em> little girl she
broke her arm and papa mended it. So he did up Fluffy-dumpty&rsquo;s
leg with a splinter, and then wound a bandage round
it. Annie took care of her. Mary used to help Annie feed her
with a spoon.</p>

<p>Fluffy-dumpty got well very fast. But when she was about
three quarters grown, she met with another accident. She fell
down a steep cellar way.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Quack-quack! Take me out! Oh, take me out!&rdquo; cried poor
Fluffy-dumpty. The other six ducks crowded around and looked
down at her.</p>

<p>&ldquo;We can&rsquo;t! we can&rsquo;t!&rdquo; they cried. &ldquo;We haven&rsquo;t got any
hands. Call a boy, do!&rdquo; So Annie called Sam, who took her out.</p>

<p>How thankful Fluffy-dumpty was! She smoothed down her ruffled
feathers and said, &ldquo;Quack-quack,&rdquo; softly. The other ducks
all talked at once.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What a narrow &rsquo;scape you had, Fluffy-dumpty!&rdquo; said one duck.</p>

<p>&ldquo;How did you happen to fall into that horrid place?&rdquo; asked
another.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What a fine boy Sam is!&rdquo; said a third duck.</p>

<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s almost too good for a boy,&rdquo; said a fourth.</p>

<p>But it all sounded as if they only said &ldquo;quack-quack!&rdquo;</p>

<p>Every day of their lives these ducks got into the garden, and ate
the lettuce and strawberries and cabbage. So the gardener put a
board over the hole under the gate.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; said big Broad-bill, &ldquo;we know more ways than
one.&rdquo; Then the seven started off in a line, and marched round
the garden till they came to another hole, and in they went.
The gardener was very angry.</p>

<p class="center link"><a href="#mary_and_annie_feed_fluffy_dumpty">See another picture from this story.</a></p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a></span></p>

<h2 style="padding-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="vick_in_trouble" id="vick_in_trouble"></a>VICK IN TROUBLE.</h2>


<p><span class="dcapb"><span class="dropcap">B</span></span>ERTIE had gone off and left Vick. He was so eager
to see the soldiers parade that he forgot all about
him. This had never happened before.</p>

<p>When Uncle Ned gave Vick to Bertie mamma
said: &ldquo;Now, Bertie, you must take the care of
Vick. If a boy has a dog he must learn to care
for him. You must see that Vick is fed. You must
bathe and comb him every day; and you must give
him plenty of exercise.&rdquo;</p>

<p>But as I said, Bertie had forgotten Vick that day. Vick did
not know what to make of it. His heart was almost broken.</p>

<p>&ldquo;This is too bad!&rdquo; he howled. &ldquo;Here am I shut up with
two saucepans and a dummy. No water to drink&mdash;no bone to
gnaw&mdash;no little master to play with&mdash;wow-ow-ow-ow!&rdquo;</p>

<p>What a dismal howl it was! Mamma heard him; she was in
the kitchen making sponge cake. She could not leave it for a
moment. But as soon as it was baked she let Vick out.</p>

<p>There was Bertie just coming round the corner! He looked
quite ashamed. Yes, he had thought of Vick at last. He had
come home for him.</p>

<p>Did Vick forgive him? Doggies always forgive. They have
loving and generous hearts. He scrambled all over Bertie and
licked his hands and his face and off they went to see the soldiers&mdash;a
very happy pair.</p>

<p>Do you think Bertie ever forgot Vick again?</p>

<p>Do you ever forget to care for your pets?</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 424px;">
<img src="images/oyf102.jpg" width="424" height="600"
alt="Mother and children watch the dogs eating" />
</div>

<p class="caption">IT WAS FUN TO SEE THEM EAT.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="in_grandmas_attic" id="in_grandmas_attic"></a>IN GRANDMA&rsquo;S ATTIC.</h2>


<p>Every summer grandma Cushing has two visitors. Their names
are Blanche Cushing and Dorothy Cushing.</p>

<p>Blanche lives in Iowa. She has blue eyes and yellow hair and
is seven years old. Dorothy lives in New York City. She has
brown eyes and brown
hair and is eight years
old.</p>

<p>They love dearly to
play in grandma&rsquo;s attic.
There are queer old
bonnets and gowns and
cocked hats hanging on
the walls.</p>

<p>There are trunks full
of caps and spectacles
and old snuffers and no
end of queer things.</p>

<p>I cannot begin to tell
you everything the cousins
play. But there is
one thing they like to
play ever so much.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 302px;">
<img src="images/oyf103.jpg" width="302" height="400" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">PLAYING IN GRANDMA&rsquo;S ATTIC.</p>

<p>They like to dress up
in the queer old clothes
and play Cinderella, and Mother Hubbard, and Red Riding Hood.</p>

<p>When Blanche gets on her great-great-grandma Cushing&rsquo;s cap
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a></span>
and spectacles and long mits, she makes a very charming little
Mother Hubbard.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 298px;">
<img src="images/oyf104.jpg" width="298" height="400" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A VERY CHARMING MOTHER HUBBARD.</p>

<p>They sit in the big old chairs and tell stories. Dorothy likes
to hear about the wolves.
There are wolves where
Blanche lives.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, one day when I
was a very, <em>very</em> little girl,&rdquo;
said Blanche, &ldquo;a horrid big
wolf came up to the window
and looked in. I was
sitting in mamma&rsquo;s lap,
and he put his paws on
the window and just looked
at us horrid!</p>

<p>&ldquo;And then another time,
mamma, you know, was
going out to meet papa,
and she saw a big wolf on
the ground, and she thought
it was dead, and she was
going right up, and it
wasn&rsquo;t dead a bit. It just
got up and runned off to the woods, and mamma was awful
scared and runned away too.&rdquo;</p>

<p>When Blanche tells the wolf stories they play &ldquo;scared.&rdquo; It is
fun to play &ldquo;scared.&rdquo; They shriek and run and hide.</p>

<p>One rainy day they had been playing Mother Hubbard.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said Blanche, &ldquo;I will tell a b-eautiful wolf story. It
will make us awful scared. See if it doesn&rsquo;t!&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a></span>
So she climbed up into a big chair and began. But right in
the middle of the story they heard something go scratch, scratch,
very loudly.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, what is that, Dotty?&rdquo; whispered Blanche, clutching Dorothy&rsquo;s
arm.</p>

<p>Scratch, scratch, it went again, and then there was a great rattling.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s a wolf!&rdquo; cried Dotty; and down the attic stairs they
flew pell-mell; through the kitchen chamber and the great unfinished
chamber, and down the back stairs; through the kitchen and the
dining-room, and burst
into grandma&rsquo;s room all
out of breath.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What <em>is</em> the matter,
children?&rdquo; asked grandma.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, there&rsquo;s a wolf in
the attic,&rdquo; they both cried
out.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Nonsense! we don&rsquo;t
have wolves in Massachusetts,&rdquo;
said grandma.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Dorothy,
&ldquo;something scratched
dreadfully.&rdquo;</p>

<p>So grandma went up
to the attic to see about
it. &ldquo;Where was the
noise?&rdquo; she asked.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 330px;">
<img src="images/oyf105.jpg" width="330" height="400" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">BRIGHT-EYES AT HOME.</p>

<p>They pointed to the dark place behind the big chimneys.
Grandma went up and opened a door and out walked&mdash;a wolf!
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a></span>
no; Towser, the old cat! Blanche and Dorothy sometimes have
another visitor in the attic. It is a big rat. He lives in the barn.
He has a road underground to the house cellar. Then he comes up
to the attic through the wall.</p>

<p>The cousins never know when to expect him. He comes in
without knocking. The first thing they know there he is looking
at them with bright eyes.</p>

<p>They have named him Bright-eyes. They feed him with cake
and cheese. He is very tame. Grandma says she never heard of
such a thing as feeding a rat. She says Bright-eyes eats her
hens&rsquo; eggs. He steals them out of the nests.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="little_girl_gracie" id="little_girl_gracie"></a>LITTLE GIRL GRACIE.</h2>


<h3>BEDTIME.</h3>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So sleepy and demure is my wee Gracie,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So long and sober grows the little facie,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So silent are the red, red lips so sweet,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So quiet are the little hands and feet,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I know, yes, well I know<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My Gracie wants to go<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Into the soft, white nest where every night<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My birdie folds her wings till morning light.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And now beside my knee the pretty lisper<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her evening prayer with folded hands must whisper,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a></span>
<span class="i0">While baby sister sleeps on mother&rsquo;s breast,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lulled with our voices low to dreamy rest.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then in her nightie white,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My restless sunbeam bright<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is hidden from her shoulders to her feet,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And tucked away in slumber soft and sweet.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>


<h3>MORNING.</h3>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A merry, white-robed figure at my side,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A laughing face, with blue eyes opened wide.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Red lips that kiss me in the early dawn<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And tell me fast enough that night is gone.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ripe and ready for play,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In the early morning gray,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Restless again are the small hands and feet,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Silent no longer, little lips so sweet.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Where is the sunbeam like my Gracie&rsquo;s eyes?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Blue as the blue of summer&rsquo;s bluest skies!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What sweeter wakening could be mine than this<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The soft &ldquo;Good morning!&rdquo; of my daughter&rsquo;s kiss?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And thus each hour of day<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Girl Gracie claims for play<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till comes the &ldquo;Sand-man&rdquo; with the twilight hour<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And play has vanished &rsquo;neath his mystic power.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="a_magpie_and_her_nest" id="a_magpie_and_her_nest"></a>A MAGPIE AND HER NEST.</h2>


<p>The magpie is a very handsome bird. He knows he is handsome,
too. He has a fine broad tail. There is a band of purple
near the end of each feather, and the end is green and purple.</p>

<p>He walks about with this handsome tail perked in the air. He
does not drag it in the
dirt, not he!</p>

<p>He is a bright bird,
too. He can learn to talk,
and he is full of pretty
and naughty tricks. He
is a&mdash;thief! He steals
eggs from other birds&rsquo; nests.
He strikes his bill through
the egg and walks off with
it. And he does a worse
thing than that. He steals
the young birds and eats
them.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 314px;">
<img src="images/oyf106.jpg" width="314" height="400" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">MAGPIE AND NEST.</p>

<p>But the Magpie is very
careful to build her nest so
nobody shall steal her
eggs. In the first place
she always builds on a
high tree. She chooses a tree that has a long smooth trunk,
that the boys cannot climb easily. How do you suppose she knows
about mischievous boys? She must make a study of boys.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a></span>
She builds her nest of dry sticks and mud. She carpets it with
wool and fine roots. (Birds can always find plenty of wool sticking
on the bushes in sheep pastures. There is vegetable wool too,
like the wool on the growing ferns.) Then she makes a roof of
sticks; she leaves open a small round door at the side. So you
see it is not easy for boys or birds to steal her eggs.</p>

<p>Magpies like bright glittering things like silver spoons and rings.
They often steal them and hide them in their nests.</p>

<p>This Magpie is a European bird. There is a beautiful red Magpie
that lives in China.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 426px;">
<a name="mary_and_annie_feed_fluffy_dumpty" id="mary_and_annie_feed_fluffy_dumpty"></a>
<img src="images/oyf108.jpg" width="426" height="600" alt="" />
<span class="link"><a href="#annies_ducks">Go to story.</a></span>
</div>

<p class="caption">MARY AND ANNIE FEED FLUFFY-DUMPTY.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="at_the_beach" id="at_the_beach"></a>AT THE BEACH.</h2>


<p>The Park children went to
the beach last summer. It
was a small beach; not at
all like Nantasket Beach.</p>

<p>There were not many folks
there. There was a young woman&mdash;a
very queer young woman
indeed, Sam thought. She used
to go out on the beach and sit
in a camp chair and read!</p>

<p>&ldquo;Pshaw! who wants to read
with a whole ocean to look at?&rdquo;
said Sam.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf107.jpg" width="300" height="300"
alt="A young woman sitting in a deckchair" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE YOUNG WOMAN.</p>

<p>Such cunning little slippers as she wore! and her ruffles and hat! Oh,
my! She used to draw pictures sometimes, but Sam didn&rsquo;t know that.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a><!-- original location of illustration MARY AND ANNIE FEED FLUFFY-DUMPTY --></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a></span>
&ldquo;Halloo! there she is again!&rdquo; shouted Sam one day. She was
drawing a picture of them that moment, but they did not know
it. They were all sliding down the sand cliff.</p>

<p>They had taken off their
shoes and stockings, and
were going in bathing.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Whoo-oop! hurrah!
here we come! clear the
track!&rdquo; What a noise
they did make, to be sure!</p>

<p>But it did not disturb
anybody. Nobody heard
it but the young woman
and some cows in the pasture
near by.</p>

<p>How warm and soft
the sand was! It was
as good as coasting in
winter. It was better!</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 311px;">
<img src="images/oyf109.jpg" width="311" height="400"
alt="Children sliding down a sand dune" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE PICTURE THE YOUNG WOMAN DREW.</p>

<p>Down they went into
the water like so many
ducks. They can all dive
and swim almost as well
as ducks. Papa and mamma were off shore, taking a sail together.
They saw the slide down hill, and the plunge into the water. They
saw the brown and yellow heads bobbing about.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Do look at them!&rdquo; said mamma. &ldquo;Perfect little Arabs!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Do &rsquo;em good,&rdquo; said papa. &ldquo;Little Molly never had such rosy
cheeks in all her life.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;But think of their clothes!&rdquo; said mamma.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="farmer_gray_and_his_apples" id="farmer_gray_and_his_apples"></a>FARMER GRAY AND HIS APPLES.</h2>


<p>Farmer Gray had a load of apples to sell one day. But nobody
wanted them. People offered him such a small sum of money
for them, he said he would rather give them away.</p>

<p>So he started for home with his load of apples. He drove down
Summer street, past the
schoolhouse. The boys
were having their recess.</p>

<p>Now Farmer Gray loved
children. So when he saw
these boys he thought,
&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s just the market
for my apples.&rdquo;</p>

<p>He stopped his horse
and called out, &ldquo;Do any
of you boys know what
to do with apples?&rdquo;</p>

<p>Then there <em>was</em> a shout!
&ldquo;O yes, sir, we guess
we do!&rdquo; said all the
boys.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Come on, then!&rdquo; said
Farmer Gray.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 294px;">
<img src="images/oyf110.jpg" width="294" height="350"
alt="A boy eating an apple" />
</div>

<p class="caption">HE KNOWS WHAT TO DO WITH FARMER GRAY&rsquo;S APPLES.</p>

<p>The boys crowded around the wagon, and the farmer tossed the
apples to them.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It is well for you, boys, that I found no market for my apples
this morning,&rdquo; he said.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a></span>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s so!&rdquo; said the boys. Then they thanked him heartily.</p>

<p>Charlie Read said, &ldquo;You are the funniest man I ever saw to
stop and give us the apples.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;You would like to see another just like me to-morrow, wouldn&rsquo;t
you?&rdquo; said Farmer Gray.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, I would,&rdquo; said Charley, &ldquo;and I should like to live with
you too.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Just then the school bell rang. The boys all shouted, &ldquo;Good-by!
good-by!&rdquo; as Farmer Gray drove off.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad enough I didn&rsquo;t sell those apples this morning,&rdquo;
thought Farmer Gray.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="ah_kee" id="ah_kee"></a>AH KEE.</h2>


<p>Ah Kee is the funniest little fellow alive.</p>

<p>He can stand as straight as any boy I ever saw.</p>

<p>But the straighter he stands, the more you laugh.</p>

<p>He thinks he is very tall. He is about three feet tall.</p>

<p>He thinks he is a little gentleman, because he can drink out
of a coffee-cup and not spill a drop.</p>

<p>But Ah Kee oftener behaves like a rogue than like a gentleman.</p>

<p>There is always a look of mischief in his bright black eyes.</p>

<p>His mistress never allows him to go into the parlor by himself.</p>

<p>She knows he would sit on the brackets with the little statues.</p>

<p>She knows he would like to swing to and fro on the curtain
tassels.</p>

<p>She knows he would like to jerk the bell-pull, and bring Rose
up from the kitchen.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a></span>
She knows he would like to take the Sevres vases and walk
up and down the room with them in his arms.</p>

<p>No, Ah Kee, with his
roguish tastes, is not to be
trusted in the parlor by
himself.</p>

<p>But he sometimes comes
in when she is there. Sometimes
when she is reading
she hears a soft sound like
this, &ldquo;<i>lsp-s-s-s!</i>&rdquo;</p>

<p>She jumps up, looks all
around. Under the table, or
in a corner she sees a soft,
round, feathery ball of fur&mdash;and
one little paw raised,
all claws and motion.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 267px;">
<img src="images/oyf111.jpg" width="267" height="350"
alt="Ah Kee about to drink out of a coffee cup" />
</div>

<p class="caption">AH KEE&rsquo;S GREAT ACCOMPLISHMENT.</p>

<p>Ah, that is Ah Kee, and
Ah Kee means mischief.
Perhaps he will spring into
his mistress&rsquo; lap. Perhaps he will leap up on the piano. You cannot
be sure what he will decide to do.</p>

<p>Yes, Ah Kee is a monkey, a gay little spider monkey, with a long
tail that he likes to carry over his head in the shape of the letter S.</p>

<p>Ah Kee&rsquo;s mistress has made up her mind to do one thing. She
will buy Ah Kee a silver collar with a ring. She will buy Ah
Kee a broad blue ribbon.</p>

<p>Then, when she wants a quiet hour, she will slip the blue ribbon
through the collar ring, and tie Ah Kee to the door knob.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<div class="center">
<table class="gray" summary="Poem">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br />
<a name="dick_and_gray" id="dick_and_gray"></a>
Dick and Gray,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My bird and cat,</span><br />
Good friends are they:<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just think of that!</span><br />
Dick pecks Gray&rsquo;s paw;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gray winks and blinks.</span><br />
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not harm Dick,&rdquo;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is what he thinks.</span><br />
So on the wall,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This sunny weather,</span><br />
Chirping, purring,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They play together.</span><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_return_of_the_birds" id="the_return_of_the_birds"></a>THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS.</h2>


<p><span class="dcapd"><span class="dropcap">D</span></span>OWN in the South Land, one morning
in March, there was a great stir
among the birds. &ldquo;Spring has come
in the far North,&rdquo; they said. &ldquo;Jack
Frost is going, the ice is melting,
and now we&rsquo;ll go home-home!&rdquo;</p>

<p>Bluebirds, and robins, and bobolinks,
how glad they were! They
got up very early that morning, even for birds.
They bathed in a tiny pond, and preened their
feathers. They ate their breakfast and then they started,
straight through the air, for the North.</p>

<p>Do you wonder how they knew the way? How does
a bird know which way is north and which way is
south? There is a &ldquo;Careful Gardener&rdquo; who tells the flowers
when to bloom, and he tells the birds which way to fly.</p>

<p>They flew that day on and on; over the green fields bright
with flowers; over the trees covered with
green leaves. By and by, they came
where the grass was not yet green;
where there was snow in the hollows;
where there was ice in the brooks.
But they didn&rsquo;t mind the cold, for they
wore their very thickest feather coats.</p>

<div class="figright ipadtop" style="width: 200px;">
<img src="images/oyf113.jpg" width="200" height="108"
alt="A small flock of swallows" />
<span class="caption">ON THROUGH THE AIR.</span>
</div>

<p>That night they nestled down together, and slept in a big
pine-tree. They found some dried berries on the bushes, for
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"><!-- original location of poem starting 'Dick and Gray' --></a></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a></span>
breakfast and supper. It was very dark in the morning; it
rained. But they did not mind that; they liked it. They knew the
rain would melt the snow, and make the grass and flowers grow.</p>

<p>&ldquo;But we must put
on our waterproofs,&rdquo; they
said.</p>

<p>Do birds wear waterproofs?
Oh, yes! But
they do not carry them
in trunks. When a bird
wants to take a journey,
he just flies off. He does
not have to pack a
trunk. He has a tiny
bag of oil under the
tip of his wings. This
is his waterproof.</p>

<p>With his bill he takes
out the oil and spreads
it over his feathers.</p>

<p>The raindrops cannot
go through this oil waterproof,
but they roll quickly
off to the ground.
After they had all put
on their waterproofs, they flew on and on again, through the rain.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf114.jpg" width="300" height="450" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE LITTLE COUNTRY CHILDREN.</p>

<p>They did not stay together that day. Part of them flew to
the northeast. By and by these came in sight of a big gilded
dome.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I know where we are,&rdquo; said one old robin. &ldquo;That is Boston
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a></span>
State House, and right down there is our old nest!&rdquo; and down
they flew into the Public Gardens. The Boston little men and
women can see them there any day,
busy about their nests, and merry as
birds can be.</p>

<p>Part of the birds flew to the northwest,
to the hills and woods and fields.
They built their nests in the trees and
on the ground. They built them in
barns and in chimneys. They hid them
in the grass and in the reeds by the brooks; and the little
country children know where to find them.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 200px;">
<img src="images/oyf115.jpg" width="200" height="129" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A NEST.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="first_reward_of_merit" id="first_reward_of_merit"></a>FIRST REWARD OF MERIT.</h2>


<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With bounding step and merry laugh<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My little girl&mdash;five and a half&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Held in her hand a picture-card:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;See! mamma, see! I&rsquo;ve tried so hard;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Look and see what the letters spell;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&rsquo;Tis a reward for doing well.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have been good a whole long week;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not once, mamma, did teacher speak,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or say from recess I must stay,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Because in school I&rsquo;d tried to play.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Last week, you know, my card I lost<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For giving Charlie&rsquo;s book a &lsquo;tost,&rsquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And speaking out aloud in school;<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a></span>
<span class="i0">I did not know &rsquo;twas &rsquo;gainst the rule.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then teacher said, &lsquo;Edith come here.&rsquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I went right to her, mamma dear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And &rsquo;cause I hop-skipped down the aisle,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The scholars all began to smile.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That week I was so very good,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&rsquo;Most got a card, and think I should<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If I&rsquo;d not hop-skipped down the aisle,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And made the other scholars smile.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But if I get one once in four,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">School keeps so long, I&rsquo;ll get lots more.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 323px;">
<img src="images/oyf116.jpg" width="323" height="400" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">EDITH AT HOME.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 600px;">
<img src="images/oyf117.jpg" width="600" height="434"
alt="Jocko evades capture by climbing up to a high cupboard" />
<span class="link"><a href="#the_trick_they_played_on_jocko">Go to story.</a></span>
</div>

<p class="caption">SUCH MISCHIEF AS HE MADE.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="four_little_mice" id="four_little_mice"></a>FOUR LITTLE MICE.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Four little mice lived all alone<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where cats had been so long unknown;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They ate and slept without a fear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That any danger could be near.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One sunny day with brush and broom<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They cleaned their pantry, swept their room,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then made themselves as neat and fine<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As if invited out to dine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And then not knowing what to do,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They looked their cedar closet through<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And found their gray coats growing thin:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So sat them down some yarn to spin,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Soon, through a chink to their surprise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A cat looked in with hungry eyes&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Shall I come in and cut your thread?&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Oh, thank you, no!&rdquo; they trembling said.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 350px;">
<img src="images/oyf118.jpg" width="350" height="194"
alt="A cat looks into the mouse house" />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="finnette" id="finnette"></a>FINNETTE.</h2>


<p>&ldquo;Bow-wow-wow!&rdquo; was the first thing Winny heard that morning.
She opened her eyes and there stood Finnette. Aunt Bertha
had brought her as a birthday gift for Winny
from Paris.</p>

<p>Finnette was full of pretty tricks. She could
stand on her hind legs and dance. She could
sing.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Now, Finnette,&rdquo; Winny&rsquo;s mamma would say,
&ldquo;I will play and you shall sing.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figleft" style="width: 149px;">
<img src="images/oyf119.jpg" width="149" height="150" alt="" />
<span class="caption">WINNY.</span>
</div>

<p>So Finnette would stand on her hind legs and sing such a droll
little tune. It sounded like &ldquo;I love&mdash;I love&mdash;I love&mdash;do you?&rdquo;
Finnette always helped Winny to put her dolls to bed. It was
wonderful to see her.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Bring me Grandma Snowhair&rsquo;s cap, Finnette,&rdquo; Winny would
say. And Finnette would trot off and fetch it. She knew the
doll&rsquo;s clothes just as well as Winny did.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Now, Finnette, I will have Glorianna&rsquo;s nightgown,&rdquo; said Winny
again, and Finnette would bring it.</p>

<p>When Winny got her dolls in bed, she always sang them to
sleep, and then Finnette would sing too. &ldquo;I love&mdash;I love&mdash;I
love&mdash;do you?&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mamma used to like to peep in and see them. Winny always
put her dolls to bed at five o&rsquo;clock. Finnette always knew when
the clock struck five, and off she would run to find Winny.</p>

<p>But one day she couldn&rsquo;t find her. She searched through the
house and garden, but Winny was not to be found. So Finnette
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a></span>
lay down in the library, and waited. Once she got up and
trotted in and looked at the dolls. She barked softly, as
though she would say, &ldquo;Be patient; your mamma will be here
soon.&rdquo;</p>

<p>But the little mamma did not come; so Finnette concluded to
put the dolls to bed herself. She laid Grandma Snowhair on the
floor and then with her teeth and paws she gently drew off her
cap and gray silk dress. She put on her nightgown, but she
could not button it.</p>

<p>She undressed Glorianna, but she got her nightgown on upside
down. She put her legs into the sleeves. She did not try to
put on aunt Sukey&rsquo;s nightgown. She just wrapped her up in a
blanket.</p>

<p>She tumbled the four small dolls into their beds anyhow. How surprised
and pleased and amused
Winny was when she came
home! There were the dolls fast
asleep, and their clothes all
piled on a chair; and there
sat Finnette watching them. She
gave the happiest little &ldquo;bow-wow,&rdquo;
when she saw Winny. She
had not been able to eat or to
sleep with the care of all those
dolls on her mind. Winny
hugged and kissed her.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 250px;">
<img src="images/oyf120.jpg" width="250" height="211" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THERE STOOD&mdash;FINNETTE!</p>

<p>&ldquo;You dear old darling Finnette,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;How sweet you
have been to my children. You shall have a silver collar, for you
are my best friend.&rdquo; Then Bridget brought Finnette her supper of
bread and milk.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a></span></p>

<h2 style="padding-bottom: .75em"><a name="about_the_deer" id="about_the_deer"></a>ABOUT THE DEER.</h2>


<p><span class="dcapl"><span class="dropcap">L</span></span>OOK! look!&rdquo; said Ernest, &ldquo;see the deer! It
has got out of the deer park. I did not know
deer could run like that!&rdquo;</p>

<p>The frightened creature was running
down Washington street. He darted in
and out among the horses and carriages,
and people. He leaped over the heads
of the children.</p>

<p>Ernest and his mother stopped to look;
everybody stopped to look. On and on
he ran till he came to the river, then he
leaped into the deep water and was drowned. Was it not
a pity? The pretty deer that Ernest had fed so often on Boston Common!
He almost cried when he thought of it.</p>

<p>How many of you have ever seen deer? In many of the United
States they are still found in the woods. They are kept in almost all
public parks.</p>

<p>Deer are gentle creatures, and are easily tamed. But I think
they are happiest when they are free to roam the woods where they
like.</p>

<p>They eat the tender grass in the spring, and sometimes, if they live
near farms, they break into the corn and wheat fields.</p>

<p>In the winter they eat the seed vessels of the wild rose, the hawthorn
buds, the brambles and leaves. They like acorns, and, in the
South, they eat the persimmons. The persimmon is a yellow plum.
They feed in the night.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a></span>
In hot summer days they like to wade into the ponds and
rivers, and stand under water, all but their noses.</p>

<p>The young deer are called fawns; they are pretty spotted
creatures. The mother keeps them in a quiet place where she
thinks the hunters and dogs cannot get them; for men often
hunt the wild deer. It is a great pity to kill them for sport, is
it not?</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf121.jpg" width="500" height="357"
alt="Deer bound across the landscape" />
</div>

<p class="caption">HOW FLEET HE IS!</p>

<p>The deer hears quickly, and his scent is very keen too. When
the hunters are after him, how fleet he is! Sometimes he leaps
into the water and swims. Then the dogs lose the scent and
cannot follow him. The male deer sheds his horns every year.</p>

<p>When the horns are growing they look as if they were
covered with velvet.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 405px;">
<img src="images/oyf122.jpg" width="405" height="600"
alt="A deer and two fawns in woodland" />
</div>

<p class="caption">HAVE THEY NO LANGUAGE?</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf123.jpg" width="300" height="129"
alt="A dog lying down" />
</div>

<h2><a name="everybodys_dog" id="everybodys_dog"></a>EVERYBODY&rsquo;S DOG.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Seen me? Of course you have seen me before.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I can&rsquo;t count the times I have been at your door.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where do I live? Why, everywhere, here!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My name? Well, I own it is rather queer;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Some call me &ldquo;good fellow,&rdquo; or &ldquo;Fido,&rdquo; or &ldquo;Tray,&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But I come just the same, whatever they say.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Am I ever lonesome? How can I be<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When acquaintances everywhere whistle to me?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hungry? That&rsquo;s something I&rsquo;ve never yet known,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For friendly hands toss me sweet bits or a bone.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cold? Oh, never! for doors everywhere<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are opened to shelter my silky brown hair,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">For <em>I</em> am everybody&rsquo;s dog!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And what do I give for this treatment so kind?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I drive home the lost cattle and sheep that I find;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With the children and babies I tenderly play,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And faithfully keep them from going astray.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And many an ill-natured tramp I have sent<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Away from the game on which he was bent.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a></span>
<span class="i0">I can carry a basket or pail just the same<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As a boy, and better than some I could name.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I bark in the night when danger is near,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And if I&rsquo;m in the house no sleeper need fear.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What! be your own dog? Do you think &rsquo;twould be fair<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To stay here with you when they all need my care?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No; I&rsquo;ll come every day for a minute or two<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But now I must go for I&rsquo;ve so much to do;<br /></span>
<span class="i4">For <em>I</em> am everybody&rsquo;s dog!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="a_birds_nest" id="a_birds_nest"></a>A BIRD&rsquo;S NEST.</h2>


<p>What a wonderful thing a bird&rsquo;s
nest is! Even the simplest nests
are very wonderful. Some boys
and girls collect birds&rsquo; nests, and
that is very well, if you wait
till the eggs are hatched, and
the birds have flown.</p>

<p>The ground sparrow builds a
lovely little nest; and what a
curious nest is that of the
barn swallow.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf124.jpg" width="300" height="249" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A WEAVER BIRD AND HER NEST.</p>

<p>How many of you have seen the nest of the Baltimore oriole?
She hangs it upon the end of an elm branch, where it swings and
dances in the wind.</p>

<p>I have for you this time, the nest of an African bird. This
little bird belongs to the class called weavers. If you look at the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a></span>
nest, you will understand why this bird is called a weaver bird.</p>

<p>See how skilfully the nest is woven out of twigs, and grasses,
and fibrous roots. There are many kinds of weaver birds, and each
kind builds a different nest. Sometime I shall show you another weaver
bird&rsquo;s nest.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="a_rainy_day" id="a_rainy_day"></a>A RAINY DAY.</h2>


<p>It was the day set for the picnic by the lake. Two little
white gowns, and the boys&rsquo; best coats, and the ribbons and the
neck-ties, had been joyfully laid out the night before.</p>

<p>But next morning it was not picnic weather. The sky was
low and heavy. By nine o&rsquo;clock there were thick, dense, black clouds.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I think we might go,&rdquo; said Flossie, &ldquo;even if it does rain.
We go to school, lots o&rsquo; days, when it rains.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Just then the big black raindrops fell upon the window-panes&mdash;&ldquo;A
great pailful in every drop,&rdquo; said Tom.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I want a picnic,&rdquo; wailed Susie, &ldquo;and I can&rsquo;t have it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;You shall have it,&rdquo; said papa; &ldquo;we will have an indoors
picnic, such as my papa used to give me on a rainy day.&rdquo;</p>

<p>He led the way to the library. He took down a huge set of
maps, a great portfolio of engravings, and two or three heavy
picture books. &ldquo;We will visit India,&rdquo; said he.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Hurrah,&rdquo; said Tom. &ldquo;Tiger hunts, elephant rides, jungles,
snake charmers, jolly old idols, and the Parsee merchants.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Tom knew very well what it meant when papa gave his mind
up to turning over picture books and talking as he turned.</p>

<p>They did have a good time; and before three o&rsquo;clock it cleared
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a></span>
away, and though it was too late for the picnic they had planned,
it was the most perfect picnic weather, and as papa wanted to
trim up cedars on the knoll by the lake, they all went down.
Papa and mamma played with them for a while like an older
brother and sister. They harnessed the children in a &ldquo;four-horse
team,&rdquo; and drove up and down until the &ldquo;little colts&rdquo; had had
enough of fun and were glad to sit in the arbor and watch
papa trim trees.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf125.jpg" width="500" height="490"
alt="The family walking along together" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A PICNIC AFTER ALL.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_story_of_a_cane" id="the_story_of_a_cane"></a>THE STORY OF A CANE.</h2>


<p>Was it a shiny black cane with a gold head? No. I think
you never saw a cane like this one. It was made out of a small
balm-of-Gilead-tree. It belonged to John Reed. He taught school.
He was eighteen years old.</p>

<p>When vacation came, John walked home. It was forty miles,
and a pretty long walk. But there were no railroads in those
days, and John did not like to ride in a stage-coach.</p>

<p>He thought he could walk more easily with a cane to help
him. So he made this cane I am going to tell you about.</p>

<p>When he got home he stuck this
cane into the ground in the lane, and
then forgot all about it. But the
cane was alive! When John stuck it
into the ground it began to drink up
the water from the soil.</p>

<p>Tiny green leaves sprouted out all
over it. John saw it one day. How
surprised he was! It grew all summer
long. The next year the branches
began to grow; and year by year it
grew larger and larger till it was fifty
years old.</p>

<p>Then John Reed was sixty-eight
years old; the little children called
him &ldquo;Grandpa Reed.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 235px;">
<img src="images/oyf126.jpg" width="235" height="400"
alt="The old man sits by an open window" title="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">GRANDPA REED.</p>

<p>They called the great balm-of-Gilead-tree
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a></span>
in the lane &ldquo;Grandpa&rsquo;s cane.&rdquo; They used to like to put their
arms about it and look up into the branches. They thought it
wonderful that a cane
should grow into such a
big tree.</p>

<p>Then came the great
Civil War. Your mamma
or auntie can tell you
about it. There were a
great many wounded soldiers,
and the people used
to send bandages and
lint for their wounds.
Do you know what lint
is? It is made of linen
cloth. It is soft, like
wool.</p>

<p>Grandpa Reed had a
little granddaughter Clara.
Clara saw the women and
girls making lint, and
she wanted to make lint too. But aunt Mary said she was
not big enough to make lint.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 317px;">
<img src="images/oyf127.jpg" width="317" height="400" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">CLARA.</p>

<p>&ldquo;But I will tell you,&rdquo; said aunt Mary, &ldquo;where you can find
some nice lint;&rdquo; and she took her out to the great balm-of-Gilead-tree
in the lane.</p>

<p>Now you have all seen the soft, white pussy-willows. Well, the
pussies are the willow flowers; and the balm-of-Gilead-tree has
pussies too. But they are not soft and white; they are brown.
They look like brown caterpillars.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a></span>
After the blossoms wither the seeds come. These seeds are
covered with wool like that on the dandelion&rsquo;s ball.</p>

<p>The wind blows this wool from off the trees, and there it was
that morning. The ground was white with it.</p>

<p>&ldquo;There is the lint,&rdquo; said aunt Mary, and she gave Clara a bag
to put it in.</p>

<p>It took a great many bits of wool to fill the bag. But
Clara was patient, and worked diligently, and when the bag
was full, she went with aunt Mary to carry it to the soldiers&rsquo;
camp.</p>

<p>Clara gave it to the surgeon. He said the balm-of-Gilead lint
was much better than the linen lint. So &ldquo;Grandpa&rsquo;s cane&rdquo; and
little Clara helped the sick soldiers to get well again.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="miss_lollipops_fancies" id="miss_lollipops_fancies"></a>MISS LOLLIPOP&rsquo;S FANCIES.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Down by the seashore Miss Lollipop sat,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dropping the little white shells in her hat;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;See!&rdquo; cried the darling, and shouted with glee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;These pretty things were all waiting for me;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Waiting for me!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Creeping and curving across the gray sand,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The wavelets came dancing to kiss the fair land,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wooing with murmurs the flower-gemmed lea;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; cried Miss Pops, &ldquo;they are whispering to me,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Whispering to me!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a></span>
<span class="i0">Darting and flashing the gay sunbeams flew<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Down from a heaven of midsummer blue,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Smiling and dimpling all over the sea;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;There,&rdquo; cried Miss Pops, &ldquo;they are laughing at me,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Laughing at me!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the green meadows the tall grass stood fair,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Waving and tossing in sweet summer air,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dipping and bending around her white knee;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Look,&rdquo; cried Miss Pops, &ldquo;it is bowing to me,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Bowing to me!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 350px;">
<img src="images/oyf128.jpg" width="350" height="240"
alt="Miss Lillipop dropping shells into her hat" />
</div>

<p class="caption">HAPPY MISS LOLLIPOP.</p>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Over the hills the sweet flower bells rang,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">High in the tree tops the little birds sang.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&mdash;Tipsy-top bobolinks bent on a spree;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Hark!&rdquo; cried Miss Pops. &ldquo;They are singing to me,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Singing to me!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a></span><span class="i0">Deep in the roses the bumblebees flew,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sipping their rations of honey and dew,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With jewel-necked humming-birds gorgeous to see;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; cried Miss Pops, &ldquo;they are shining for me,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Shining for me!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sweet little Happy Heart! Pure little soul!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Earth would be robbed of its darkness and dole<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If with the faith of thy heart I could see<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How much of God&rsquo;s world is fashioned for me!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="tommys_temptation" id="tommys_temptation"></a>TOMMY&rsquo;S TEMPTATION.</h2>


<p>Mr. Allen&rsquo;s early apples were almost ripe. They were uncommonly
pretty apples&mdash;yellow, streaked with red. How tempting
they looked! Ripe apples in August are always tempting.</p>

<p>Mr. Allen knew that, so he had put up a sign to warn the
boys off. For boys were very apt to help themselves to ripe apples.
Somehow they think that taking a few apples is not stealing.</p>

<p>So, as I said, Mr. Allen put up a board with these words on
it&mdash;&ldquo;Trespassers prosecuted.&rdquo; That meant, if he caught any boy
near his apple-tree, he would carry him off to a justice of the
peace, for stealing.</p>

<p>Early one morning Tommy Tilden was walking through the
lane. He had just driven the cows to pasture and was coming
home. He stopped and looked at the apples. How good they did
look, to be sure!</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a></span>
He searched on the ground to see if any had dropped into
the lane. But he could not find one. Then he looked at the
tree again. &ldquo;I wish I had one,&rdquo; he thought.</p>

<p>Ah, Tommy, Tommy, the best thing for you to do is to run
away as fast as you can!</p>

<p>But Tommy didn&rsquo;t do any such thing. He kept looking at the
apples and wishing he had one. Then he thought, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll just
climb up and look at them.&rdquo;</p>

<p>And now, of course, you can guess what happened. Tommy
climbed up, and tried the apples with his thumb to see if they
were ripe. Then he reached out to get a fine big one, and the
branch broke, and over he went, with the branch, and the sign,
and a shower of apples, into Mr. Allen&rsquo;s garden.</p>

<p>The dog ran out barking furiously, and Mr. Allen, who was
just eating his breakfast, came out too, and little May Allen, to
see what was the matter.</p>

<p>How ashamed Tommy felt! &ldquo;Trying to steal some of my
apples, were you, eh?&rdquo; said Mr. Allen, and Tommy could not
answer a word.</p>

<p>Little May Allen felt very sorry for him. &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you give
him some apples, papa?&rdquo; she said.</p>

<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Mr. Allen; &ldquo;if he had come and asked me I would
have given him some gladly. But he ought to be ashamed to try
to get them in this way. But he can go. I sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t punish
him.&rdquo;</p>

<p>So Tommy picked up his hat and went home. He told his
mother all about it.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Tommy,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you shouldn&rsquo;t have stood and looked at
those apples, and wished for them, when they were not yours. It
is always best to run away from temptation.&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="a_bear_story2" id="a_bear_story2"></a>A BEAR STORY.</h2>


<p>When mother was a young girl, she taught school in Illinois.
Very few people lived there at that time. The settlements were
far apart. The schoolhouse was built of rough logs, and the
chinks were filled with clay and straw. Instead of glass windows,
they had oiled paper to let in the light.</p>

<p>One night mother staid late at the schoolhouse, to help the girls
trim it with evergreens. It was almost dark when she started for
home. She walked very fast, as she felt lonely. Her way lay
through a thick, tall woods, and the path was narrow.</p>

<p>All at once she saw a big animal in front of her. What was
it? A calf? No; it was a big black bear.</p>

<p>Was she afraid? Of course she was afraid. Shouldn&rsquo;t you be
afraid if you met a big bear in the woods? She had an umbrella
in her hand, and she held the point close to the bear&rsquo;s nose, and
opened and shut it as fast as she could. She called him all the
bad names she could think of, and he walked off, growling.</p>

<p>He was a brave bear, wasn&rsquo;t he, to be afraid of an umbrella?
Mother hurried on, and just as she got to the edge of the woods,
out he came again. Then she opened the umbrella at him again,
and shouted as loud as she could, and away he went.</p>

<p>Mother was so tired and frightened she almost fainted when
she got home. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe it was a bear; it must have
been neighbor Clapp&rsquo;s big heifer,&rdquo; grandma said.</p>

<p>But just as she said it, they heard a loud squeal. They ran to
the door, and there was the bear carrying off a pig. He had
jumped into the pen and got it.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 399px;">
<img src="images/oyf129.jpg" width="399" height="600"
alt="Two adult bears and two cubs next to a tree" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE BEARS AT THE ZO&Ouml;LOGICAL GARDEN.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a></span>
Aunt Stella seized the dinner horn and blew a loud blast. That
was the way they used to call the settlers together when anything
was the matter. There was a great rush for grandfather&rsquo;s house,
and when the men heard about the bear they said. &ldquo;We must
kill him as soon as possible.&rdquo;</p>

<p>So they had a great hunt for him. They hunted all that
night and the next day. They found him, at last, sitting upon
the stump of a hollow tree, and they killed him.</p>

<p>What do you think they found in the hollow stump? Three
little cubs. The hunters brought the cubs to grandfather&rsquo;s farm,
and uncle Stephen kept one of them for a pet.</p>

<p>My little daughter Anna often asks to hear the story of how
the &ldquo;Bear wanted to eat grandma.&rdquo; Last summer I took Anna
to the Zo&ouml;logical Garden. There we saw a family of bears.</p>

<p>One old bear was sitting in a tree, with his arms folded.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, how pleasant he looks,&rdquo; said Anna. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe he
would eat anybody.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t think he would,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;He is tame, and he
would rather have a sweet bun to eat than anything else.&rdquo;</p>

<hr style="width: 15%;" />

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 200px;">
<img src="images/oyf130.jpg" width="200" height="198"
alt="A lizard on a grassy bank" />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf131.jpg" width="500" height="319"
alt="Four ponies playing together" />
</div>

<p class="caption">SHETLAND PONIES AT HOME.</p>

<h2><a name="annas_birthday_gift" id="annas_birthday_gift"></a>ANNA&rsquo;S BIRTHDAY GIFT.</h2>


<p>&ldquo;Anna, Anna!&rdquo; shouted Harry. &ldquo;Come quick, do! O such a!&rdquo;&mdash;But
mamma clapped her hand right over his mouth, and he couldn&rsquo;t
say another word.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Pat, pat, pat!&rdquo; Anna heard a queer sound of feet on the
veranda, and in at the open windows trotted just the dearest
little Shetland pony all saddled and bridled. Harry was leading
it. A card hung from the saddle, and on it was printed, &ldquo;A
birthday gift for my little Anna, from Grandpa.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;There! what do you think of that?&rdquo; asked Harry.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I think,&rdquo; said Anna, as soon as she could speak, &ldquo;that no
little girl ever had such a splendid, <em>splendid</em> grandpa as mine!&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a></span>
&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t he, though!&rdquo; said Harry. &ldquo;And now I&rsquo;ll get out Boy
Blue and we&rsquo;ll ride over and thank him.&rdquo; Boy Blue is Harry&rsquo;s
pony.</p>

<p>Do you know where these lovely little Shetland ponies live when
they are at home? They live in the northern islands of Great
Britain.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="ralph_and_the_butterflies" id="ralph_and_the_butterflies"></a>RALPH AND THE BUTTERFLIES.</h2>


<div class="figleft" style="width: 123px;">
<img src="images/oyf132.jpg" width="123" height="125"
alt="A butterfly" />
</div>

<p><span class="dcaps">R</span>ALPH was walking with papa in the fields,
when he saw a red and black butterfly. It
was on a thistle.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I will catch him,&rdquo; said Ralph. So he walked
slowly up to the thistle and put out his hand
to catch the butterfly. But the butterfly spread
his wings and flew up in the air. In a moment he came back
and lighted on the thistle again.</p>

<p>Ralph wanted to try to catch him again, but papa said, &ldquo;The
butterfly is eating his dinner.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Does he eat the thistle?&rdquo; asked Ralph.</p>

<p>&ldquo;He eats the honey in the thistle,&rdquo; said papa. &ldquo;We will sit
down and I will show you the honey. Each thistle head has a
great many tiny flowers. See, like these!&rdquo; and papa pulled some
of them out. Then he took one of the blossoms between his
thumb and finger. He pressed the slender tube till Ralph saw a
wee drop of honey at the end. Then Ralph wanted to do the
same. So he pressed one after the other of the purple tubes and
found a drop of honey in each.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a></span>
&ldquo;Does the butterfly squeeze them that way?&rdquo; asked Ralph.</p>

<p>&ldquo;No; he has no thumb and finger,&rdquo; said papa.</p>

<p>&ldquo;How can he get the honey,
then?&rdquo; Ralph asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;He finds it with his long
sucker, which reaches to the
bottom of these slender tubes.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I wish he would eat this
honey, papa, now I have got
it all ready for him,&rdquo; said
Ralph. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll ask him.&rdquo;</p>

<p>So he walked slowly towards
the butterfly, holding out
the little purple blossoms.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s some honey all
squeezed,&rdquo; he said softly;
&ldquo;don&rsquo;t you want it, Butterfly?&rdquo;</p>

<p>But the butterfly opened and
shut his pretty spotted wings
and then flew away.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 295px;">
<img src="images/oyf133.jpg" width="295" height="400" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">RALPH.</p>

<p>Ralph looked sorry. &ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; said papa, &ldquo;he isn&rsquo;t used
to having little boys wait upon him. He likes to get his
dinner himself.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 150px;">
<img src="images/oyf134.jpg" width="150" height="149"
alt="Two butterflies" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a></span></p>

<div class="center">
<table class="bright" summary="Untitled poem">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<a name="poem1" id="poem1"></a>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bright the sun! gay the flowers!</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Gently falls the rain!</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O the jolly, the blithesome hours,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Summer is come again!</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eggs in my nest, snails to eat,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A whole round world for my home,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sing, I sing, so sweet, so sweet!</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Summer again is come!</span><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br />
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>

<p class="caption">A LITTLE BIRD SAT ON A TWIG.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="toms_letter" id="toms_letter"></a>TOM&rsquo;S LETTER.</h2>


<p>This is the letter a
little English boy wrote
to his American cousin
whom he never had seen.
He wrote it on his slate
in &ldquo;print letters,&rdquo; and
his sister Bess copied it
on paper in &ldquo;writing
letters.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The words were spelled
wrong on the slate. He
worked four evenings to
write it all.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 335px;">
<img src="images/oyf136.jpg" width="335" height="400" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE WAY TOM WROTE IT.</p>

<p>&ldquo;<span class="smcap">Dear cousin Dick</span>:</p>

<p>&ldquo;You thought I would
like to write letters because
I am old like
you&mdash;ten years. But I am not a school-boy, like you. I am a
home-boy. I think home-boys don&rsquo;t study regular, and learn truly
like school-boys. Mother says she will tell your mother in her letter
about how I have been sick always.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I think I would like to be a school-boy, but I wouldn&rsquo;t either.
School-boys are mean. If the new boy is lame and shy, they
think that is big fun. <em>I</em> do not see how the tricks can be any
fun then.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a></span>
&ldquo;If I was a school-boy I would not think it was fun to trip a
lame boy up. I would not think it fun to see him splash down
backward into a pool, and when he soused under and wet his
lame back ice-cold, I would not call, &lsquo;Cry-baby!&rsquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;But that is what the school-boys did that day I went.</p>

<p>&ldquo;So I can&rsquo;t write handsome letters. Do you trick new boys the
first day they come to your school in America? I have had
twelve sore throats since, and I wear a scarf in the house.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I can knit, and I can mend, and I color pictures. But that is
not learning as school-boys learn. Girls are good to me, and
there is a school where they are all girls, but I think I would
not like to go to it&mdash;would you? Write again.</p>

<p class="sig">&ldquo;Your cousin Tom.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf137.jpg" width="500" height="397"
alt="A little girl helps Tom away from the bullies" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 419px;">
<img src="images/oyf138.jpg" width="419" height="600" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">LADY FLORENCE.&mdash;<i>From the painting by G. A. Storey, A. R. A.</i></p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf139.jpg" width="500" height="356"
alt="Janey lying on the lounge, looking out the window" />
</div>

<p class="caption">HOW PLEASANT TO LIE ON THE LOUNGE.</p>

<h2><a name="janeys_present" id="janeys_present"></a>JANEY&rsquo;S PRESENT.</h2>


<p>Janey had been very sick. She had not left her room for a
month. But she was much better. Why, she was really hungry
this morning! And here comes mamma with a nice breakfast!
She looked at the pleasant room while she ate her toast and drank
her milk.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t such an old, headachy place now,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;But please
open the windows and let all the sickness out.&rdquo; Then mamma put
on the soft red wrapper and knitted slippers that auntie had made
for her to wear on this very day. How pleasant it was to lie on
the lounge with her own dearest doll Belinda Button, tucked away
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a></span>
under the afghan! She could see the children at play through the
open window and hear their merry laughter.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I am so glad to be well. I want to make
a present. May I give some things to Bobby&rsquo;s lame sister? Not
Belinda: she knows how sick I have been, and would not leave
me. But I want to give her my red leather ball, and white rabbit
and the picture book cousin George sent me. And mamma, will
you buy a new dolly who has no mother, for Nellie?&rdquo;</p>

<p>Was not that a kind thought of Janey&rsquo;s? and you may be sure
Nellie had them.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="good_old_rose" id="good_old_rose"></a>GOOD OLD ROSE.</h2>


<p>Rose is our old dog. Her hair is as curly as dandelion stems.
Her tail waves like a great feather duster.</p>

<p>When we say &ldquo;Good dog,&rdquo; it thumps like grandpa&rsquo;s cane when
he walks up-stairs. Now I will tell you why we call her &ldquo;Good
old Rose.&rdquo;</p>

<p>One day papa sent Lily to the store. Lily is six years old.
The store is just beyond the railroad track.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Rose, take care of Lily!&rdquo; said papa. Rose wagged her tail for
&ldquo;yes, sir!&rdquo; and off they went. She trotted along by Lily&rsquo;s side.
Lily felt very grand to go to the store all alone. She didn&rsquo;t
know that Rose was taking care of her.</p>

<p>All at once Rose caught Lily&rsquo;s dress in her teeth. They were
just going to cross the track.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Let me go!&rdquo; said Lily. But Rose pulled her back hard. Lily
looked up and down the track. There was no train in sight. But
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a></span>
Rose <em>heard</em> it shake the ground. &ldquo;You shall let me go!&rdquo; cried
Lily. &ldquo;Bad Rose!&rdquo; and she jerked the dress, and tore it out of
Rose&rsquo;s teeth, and ran. Then Rose jumped right at Lily and
threw her down on the ground, and dragged her back again.</p>

<p>Just that instant the train thundered round the curve. But
Lily was safe. How the men in the train cheered! how the
ladies waved their handkerchiefs! Rose hadn&rsquo;t any handkerchief,
but she waved her tail, and that is all a dog can do.</p>

<p>Wouldn&rsquo;t you pat her big head too, and call her &ldquo;good old
Rose?&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf140.jpg" width="300" height="231"
alt="Rose lying down" />
</div>

<p class="caption">GOOD OLD ROSE.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="aunt_pattys_pets" id="aunt_pattys_pets"></a>AUNT PATTY&rsquo;S PETS.</h2>


<p>Aunt Patty lives in a little bit of a house. It has only two rooms.
In summer it is covered with vines&mdash;grapevines, morning glories and
flowering beans. It is cosey as a bird&rsquo;s nest and it is brimful of pets.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 416px;">
<img src="images/oyf141.jpg" width="416" height="600"
alt="The kittens look up at the birds" />
</div>

<p class="caption">PANSY AND PICKWICK PAY A VISIT TO THE BIRDS.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a></span>
If you should call on aunt Patty, just as soon as you stepped
into the yard, out would fly Gypsy, barking furiously. But he
would not bite you. O, no! He only barks to let aunt Patty know
you are coming.</p>

<p>Then, when you opened the door, a sharp little voice would say
&ldquo;Good-morning! walk in.&rdquo; That is the gray parrot, Nick. As
you walked into the kitchen, Pansy and Pickwick would come up
to you and purr, and put up their heads to be rubbed.</p>

<p>In one window you would see two canaries in a cage. In the
other would be a cage full
of gay little African birds.</p>

<p>If it were winter there
would be a cage of big
birds. But in summer aunt
Patty keeps these big birds
in the garden near the
woodhouse.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 350px;">
<img src="images/oyf142.jpg" width="350" height="254" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">GYPSY.</p>

<p>Where did aunt Patty
get so many pets? They
were given to her. Everybody
knows that she likes
pets. A sailor cousin once brought her a turtle. It is quite big
enough for you to ride on. This turtle lives in the cellar in the
winter, and in the garden in the summer.</p>

<p>Somebody sent her a small alligator once, but she did not keep
it. She likes pretty pets.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Do your pets ever quarrel?&rdquo; I asked aunt Patty once.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Never,&rdquo; said aunt Patty. &ldquo;Pansy and Pickwick, and the birds
and Gypsy, and Methusaleh are all good friends.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Methusaleh is the turtle.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="tommy_and_the_gander" id="tommy_and_the_gander"></a>TOMMY AND THE GANDER.</h2>


<p><span class="dcapt2"><span class="dropcap">T</span></span>OMMY sometimes visits his old nurse. Nurse lives
in a tiny house and keeps geese. Tommy is
afraid of the geese. The gander hisses at him
and Tommy does not like that.</p>

<p>One day Nurse went into the goose-house and
brought out ten little goslings. Tommy took one
of them in his hands. How pretty they were with
their pink feet and fluffy white feathers!</p>

<p>&ldquo;To-morrow, they will go out and eat the tender grass,&rdquo; said
Nurse.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Then I shall catch them,&rdquo; said Tommy.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The old gander won&rsquo;t let you,&rdquo; said Nurse.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Pooh! who&rsquo;s afraid?&rdquo; said Tommy very bravely.</p>

<p>So the next day Tommy tried to catch a gosling. Nurse had
gone down cellar and the gander was in the goose-house. But
the mother-goose hissed and the gander heard her and flew out
of the goose-house after Tommy.</p>

<p>Tommy ran, but the gander caught hold of his clothes and
began to beat Tommy&rsquo;s legs with his wings. The old goose
screamed, and Tommy ran and screamed, and the gander ran
and screamed and whipped. What a noise they made! and Nurse
ran up from the cellar to see what the matter was.</p>

<p>Just as Tommy went up the steps the gander bit both his
red stockings. Nurse picked Tommy up and shut the door so the
gander could not get in. Then she kissed Tommy, and cuddled
him, and laughed, and said, &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s afraid?&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a></span>
&ldquo;I am,&rdquo; sobbed Tommy. &ldquo;And I want that old gander shut
up in the barn. He isn&rsquo;t good for anything.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes, he is,&rdquo; said Nurse, &ldquo;he takes care of the goslings.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The next day Tommy saw something very pretty. He was looking
over the gate. He did not dare to go out for fear the gander
would bite him
again. He heard a
gosling cry &ldquo;peep,
peep.&rdquo; The goose
and gander heard
it too, and ran and
looked down into a
deep hole.</p>

<p>Tommy used to
play this hole was
his &ldquo;well.&rdquo; Tommy
saw the gander
stretch his long
neck down into the
hole and lift out
a little gosling,
and put it carefully
on the grass.
Then the mother
goose was so
pleased that she
screamed outright.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 385px;">
<img src="images/oyf143.jpg" width="385" height="500" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">TOMMY&rsquo;S NURSE.</p>

<p>And Tommy
screamed too. &ldquo;O Nurse, Nurse, that gander is good for something.
He lifted a gosling right out of my well. I saw him!&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 419px;">
<img src="images/oyf144.jpg" width="419" height="600"
alt="Tommy peeps over the gate at the geese" />
</div>

<p class="caption">TOMMY DOES NOT DARE TO GO OUT.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf145.jpg" width="500" height="370" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A VAMPIRE BAT.</p>

<h2><a name="a_night_visitor" id="a_night_visitor"></a>A NIGHT VISITOR.</h2>


<p>We were all sitting in the parlor one evening last summer
when in flew a creature through the open window. Bump&mdash;bump,
he went against the wall and ceiling.</p>

<p>&ldquo;A bat! a bat!&rdquo; shrieked aunt Mary, and ran behind the door.
Mamma jumped up into a chair and gathered her skirts about her,
just as though it were a mouse. Grace and Mabel ran out of the
Room, while papa and Frank and Kate chased the bat.</p>

<p>The poor little bat fluttered about, and almost fell into the
kerosene lamp chimney. Then he got entangled in the window
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a></span>
draperies. You know a bat cannot see by a light any more than
an owl can. He finally tumbled behind the sofa where papa
caught him.</p>

<p>Mamma then got down from the chair, aunt Mary came out
from behind the door, Grace and Mabel ventured in, and we all
gathered about and looked at the bat. How he panted!</p>

<p>&ldquo;Think of being afraid of such a little creature as that,&rdquo; said
Kate scornfully.</p>

<p>&ldquo;But he bites,&rdquo; said Grace. &ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t he, papa?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think he would bite,&rdquo; said papa. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a good deal
more frightened than you were.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;What made him fly into the window then?&rdquo; asked Grace.</p>

<p>&ldquo;He is out after insects,&rdquo; replied papa. &ldquo;He was dazzled by the light
from the window, and flew towards it, as all half-blind creatures
will.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Our little bats, the bats that live in cool countries, do not harm any
one. But there is a big bat, called the Vampire bat, that will do a good
deal of mischief, if he can get a chance.</p>

<p>The Vampire bat lives in the tropics. It is very comfortable,
sleeping out of doors, in the tropics.</p>

<p>A traveller will oftentimes swing his hammock on a tree, and
sleep in it all night. But he must be careful, and not sleep too
soundly.</p>

<p>For a Vampire bat may find him; and if he does, he will
bite the traveller&rsquo;s toe and suck his blood; and when the
traveller wakes in the morning, he will feel weak and faint from
loss of blood.</p>

<p>A bat does not perch, and tuck his head under his wing, and sleep
like a bird. He has some hooks on his wings, and he just hangs himself
up by those, and that&rsquo;s the way he sleeps!</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_night_monkey" id="the_night_monkey"></a>THE NIGHT MONKEY.</h2>


<p>Isn&rsquo;t this the very
queerest creature you ever
saw? He looks as though
he had a candle in each
eye; and just look at his
feet! His eyes are round,
like the eyes of owls.
Like the owl, this monkey
can see well only in the
night.</p>

<p>These monkeys are called
night monkeys. Most other
monkeys have long forelegs,
but this monkey&rsquo;s
forelegs are short.</p>

<p>He is very small; his
body is six inches long,
his tail is over nine inches.</p>

<p>These little creatures
sleep in the daytime, and
go out in search of food,
and to play in the night.
They eat insects, lizards
and crabs.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 296px;">
<img src="images/oyf146.jpg" width="296" height="500" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE NIGHT MONKEY.</p>

<p>They are greedy creatures. They leap at one bound on their prey.
They live in warm countries. They make very nice pets.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 347px;">
<img src="images/oyf147.jpg" width="347" height="350"
alt="Baby waking up" />
</div>

<h2><a name="babys_nap" id="babys_nap"></a>BABY&rsquo;S NAP.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now Baby&rsquo;s asleep, mamma can sew&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Rock-a-by-baby&mdash;by-lo, by-lo!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Baby&rsquo;s asleep and Tommy can tell<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of the cat that was drown&rsquo;d in the great big well.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;She had the weest, <em>teentiest</em> toes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the leastest speck of a blackish nose,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With great, great eyes&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Coo, coo! coo, coo!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Baby&rsquo;s awake&mdash;and listening too!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="hurrah_hurrah" id="hurrah_hurrah"></a>HURRAH! HURRAH!</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Hurrah for old winter, he&rsquo;s coming at last!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The snow flakes are falling so thick and so fast!<br /></span>
<span class="i13">Hurrah! Hurrah!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My skates I have mended, and painted my sled;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now, boys, you will soon see this chap go ahead!<br /></span>
<span class="i13">Hurrah! Hurrah!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I&rsquo;ve jolly thick mittens, a brand-new fur cap;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now, what does it matter if I get a rap?<br /></span>
<span class="i13">Hurrah! Hurrah!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I&rsquo;ve got such a secret! We&rsquo;ve built us a fort!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But you must tell no one, &rsquo;twould spoil all our sport.<br /></span>
<span class="i13">Hurrah! Hurrah!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Jack, Clement, and Robbie, are garrison men,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And we can defend it against any ten.<br /></span>
<span class="i13">Hurrah! Hurrah!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We&rsquo;ve made heaps of snowballs, each one round and hard,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They&rsquo;re hid away safe in the old schoolhouse yard.<br /></span>
<span class="i13">Hurrah! Hurrah!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Pell-mell through the snow rush the merry boy crowd;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While the bare woodlands echo the hearty and loud<br /></span>
<span class="i13">Hurrah! Hurrah!<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 418px;">
<img src="images/oyf148.jpg" width="418" height="600"
alt="Three deer in woodland" />
</div>

<p class="caption">SOMEWHERE IN LEAFY FORESTS THE WILD DEER ROAM AND SLEEP.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="moses_goes_to_a_candy_party" id="moses_goes_to_a_candy_party"></a>MOSES GOES TO A CANDY PARTY.</h2>


<p>&ldquo;No, I <em>won&rsquo;t</em>!&rdquo; said
Moses. He felt pretty
cross, for he did hate to
have his hair cut.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; said his
grandma, &ldquo;you can&rsquo;t go
to the candy party.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Moses thought a few
moments, and then he
jumped up and said, &ldquo;Well,
grandma, cut it, then.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Now grandma wasn&rsquo;t
much of a barber. She
was apt to cut his hair
so it hung in scallops.
But this time she wanted
to cut it very even, as
Moses was going to a
party. So she brought
out an old wooden bowl
that just fitted his head.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 321px;">
<img src="images/oyf149.jpg" width="321" height="500" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">MOSES HAS HIS HAIR CUT.</p>

<p>Then she cut his hair
straight to the edge of
the bowl, and when she took the bowl off, there it was
beautifully even, and banged right down over his forehead!</p>

<p>Then he put on the trousers and jacket grandma herself had
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a></span>
made, and his new shoes, and a blue bow where his collar met,
and went off to the party. It was Sally Poole&rsquo;s party and Sally
was one of Moses&rsquo; playmates.</p>

<p>They boiled molasses in a kettle over a fire in the big kitchen
fireplace; then they poured it into buttered pans and set them
out in the snow for the candy to cool. It was great fun pulling
it, and when Moses went home, Sally gave him two sticks
and a big braided piece.</p>

<p>&ldquo;And I think, Moses,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;your hair is banged beautiful.&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="fans_cards_a_christmas_hint" id="fans_cards_a_christmas_hint"></a>FAN&rsquo;S CARDS:&mdash;A CHRISTMAS HINT.</h2>


<p>What do you think I did with all my beautiful Christmas
cards?</p>

<p>I had saved ever and ever so many, and Easter and New
Year&rsquo;s, and Birthday cards, and a lot of Valentines. I knew I
would get more this Christmas, so I thought I would give these
away.</p>

<p>Then I thought I would paste them in a scrapbook, or tack
them up on the wall instead. Then, I thought I would just keep
them in a box forever, and show them to my grandchildren;
but, when aunt Nora told me about the sick children at the hospital,
then I thought I&rsquo;d give my cards to them. I just made
up my mind I would, and so I did.</p>

<p>Aunt Nora took me to the hospital, and I wore my new red
cloak and hat. I think I looked sweet, too. The hospital is pretty
big, and we had to go down a long hall and a long pair of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a></span>
stairs. I began to be frightened, &rsquo;cause suppose one of the doctors
made a mistake and thought I was sick!</p>

<p>So I held aunt Nora&rsquo;s hand tight until we came to a big
room where there were lots of beds and poor little sick boys and
girls in them. Some more children were playing around, and they
were sick too. One of
them, a wee little mite,
was eating bread and
molasses, and her face
was all sticky. She
wanted to kiss me.</p>

<p>A pretty nurse in a
white cap came up and
spoke to us, and aunt
Nora told her about my
cards. She said I might
give them round myself.</p>

<p>So I went up to the
first cot, and, oh dear!
there was such a sick
little girl in it. I asked
her if she would like a
card, and she seemed so
delighted that I gave
her a beauty, with red
and white fringe. Then
all the children said, &ldquo;Gi&rsquo;me one too, lady! Oh, lady! gi&rsquo;me one!&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 332px;">
<img src="images/oyf150.jpg" width="332" height="450"
alt="Fan and her cards" />
</div>

<p class="caption">&ldquo;I THINK I LOOKED SO SWEET.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Nobody ever called me &ldquo;lady&rdquo; before, but then I am most
grown up now. One child there was just as old as I am; only
he was a boy, and he had a big iron thing on his leg. When I
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a></span>
gave him a card, he said, &ldquo;Thank you marm, and merry Christmas!&rdquo;</p>

<p>Then they all waved their cards and cried &ldquo;Merry Christmas!
merry Christmas!&rdquo; as I went out of the door.</p>

<p>I hope I&rsquo;ll get ever so many cards this Christmas, so I can
give them to the hospital children. It&rsquo;s such fun!</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="kittys_tramp" id="kittys_tramp"></a>KITTY&rsquo;S TRAMP.</h2>


<p><span class="dcapo"><span class="dropcap">O</span></span>NE cold day in January Kitty Blake
had dined with grandma and was on
her way home through the fields.
Perhaps you wonder why Kitty
should walk in the fields when
the snow was so deep.
But there was a hard crust
on the snow and she could
skip along over it without
breaking through. It was
great fun.</p>

<p>Suddenly she stopped, for there
in a slight hollow in the snow
lay a tiny bird.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Poor little birdie, it must have frozen to death,&rdquo;
said Kitty softly, and a tear stood in her eye, for she
has a tender heart for all little creatures. Then she said &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo;
and gave a start that sent the tears tumbling over her muff
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a></span>
for just that instant, one of the bird&rsquo;s legs twitched and the tears
would not stay back.</p>

<p>&ldquo;P&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps it&rsquo;s still alive, after all;&rdquo; she thought, and she picked it up
and tucked it into her muff. Her muff was lined with fur.</p>

<p>She reached home quite breathless, and when she took out the
bird and laid it on mamma&rsquo;s lap, it gave one little &ldquo;Peep!&rdquo;
stood on its legs, and then flew up into the ivy that ran all
about the south bay window.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What made it make b&rsquo;lieve dead?&rdquo; asked Kitty.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It didn&rsquo;t make believe,&rdquo; said mamma. &ldquo;I think it was dizzy.
Birds sometimes are dizzy. But if you had not found it, it would
soon have frozen to death.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Kitty named him &ldquo;The Tramp,&rdquo; and he lived in the bay
window with mamma&rsquo;s plants. This bay window was shut off
from the rest of the room by glass doors. It was a sunny and
fragrant home for the little chickadee, and a lucky bird he was
to have it just then.</p>

<p>For on the first day of February it began to snow and snowed
three days, and when it cleared there were piles and piles of
snow.</p>

<p>Great flocks of birds then came about the house searching
for food.</p>

<p>&ldquo;We must feed them or they will die,&rdquo; said mamma. &ldquo;The
snow is so deep they cannot find food.&rdquo;</p>

<p>So Kitty scattered meal and hemp seed on the snow and tied
meaty bones on the lilac and rose bushes, and there wasn&rsquo;t a
moment of the day when some blue jay, or snow bird, or chickadee,
or robin, was not picking up grain, or pecking at the bones.</p>

<p>&ldquo;That is the way to have birds in winter!&rdquo; said Kitty.</p>

<p>The Tramp did not seem to care a fig about his relations
till one day in March when a flock of chickadees flew past,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"><!-- original location of illustration THE TRAMP VISITS CHARLEY --></a></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a></span>
and he fluttered against the windows and begged to be let out.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 444px;">
<img src="images/oyf151.jpg" width="444" height="600" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE TRAMP VISITS CHARLEY.</p>

<p>Mamma opened the window and off he flew! Kitty sighed and
said, &ldquo;That is the last of him, I suppose.&rdquo; But it wasn&rsquo;t.</p>

<p>One sunny May day Charley was sitting up in bed. Charley is
Kitty&rsquo;s brother. He had
been sick and the window
was open so he could
breathe the soft spring
air. Suddenly a bird
dropped upon the window
sill and began to whistle
&ldquo;Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!&rdquo; so
blithely and cock his head
at Charley.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the Tramp!&rdquo; said
Charley; and sure enough
it was! After that
he came almost every
day. If the window was
shut they opened it for
him. Charley used to hide
hemp seed and sugar under
the edge of the pillows for
the Tramp to find. He always
found it. Sometimes
he would tie sugar up in a paper and the Tramp would peck at
it until he got it out.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 338px;">
<img src="images/oyf152.jpg" width="338" height="450" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE TRAMP&rsquo;S HOME.</p>

<p>He would perch on Charley&rsquo;s shoulder and eat seeds from his
mouth.</p>

<p>He wanted to build a nest in an old letter box nailed up against
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a></span>
a wall. Ever so many birds, blue birds, wrens and sparrows
wanted to build in that box too.</p>

<p>The Tramp was a brave little fellow and a good fighter; but he
never would have driven the birds off, if Kitty hadn&rsquo;t helped
him.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I love all the birds,&rdquo; said Kitty, &ldquo;but the Tramp is my very
own bird.&rdquo;</p>

<p>So he and his mate built a nest and raised a family of birds
in peace, and now Kitty and Charley call the old letter-box &ldquo;The
Tramp&rsquo;s Home.&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf153.jpg" width="500" height="348" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A PAIR OF HORSES.&mdash;<i>From Rosa Bonheur&rsquo;s painting, &ldquo;The Horse Fair.&rdquo;</i></p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf154.jpg" width="500" height="494" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">CHILDREN OF CHARLES I.&mdash;<i>From the sketch by Verspronck, in the Louvre.</i></p>

<h2><a name="three_royal_children" id="three_royal_children"></a>THREE ROYAL CHILDREN.</h2>


<p>Here is a picture of a little prince and two little princesses
who lived about two hundred years ago. They were the children
of Charles the First, king of England. I suppose they were very
much like the boys and girls of nowadays. They played and
studied and had their pets, just as children play and study now.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 415px;">
<img src="images/oyf155.jpg" width="415" height="600"
alt="A boy watches over a flock of turkeys" />
</div>

<p class="caption">READY FOR THANKSGIVING.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="an_ostrich_plume" id="an_ostrich_plume"></a>AN OSTRICH PLUME.</h2>


<p>Matty Ellis had a new hat. It was a pretty white hat with
a long, curly white plume, and it was very becoming to her.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, I like it,&rdquo; she said to
aunt Sarah. &ldquo;But Nanny Rich
has a hat with two plumes.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;And I can tell you somebody
who wears half a dozen
or more,&rdquo; replied aunt Sarah,
&ldquo;and that somebody
is the ostrich
himself.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf156.jpg" width="300" height="172" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">OSTRICH EGGS.</p>

<p>Aunt Sarah tells Matty a great many interesting
things, and she told her about ostriches. She told
how they live in hot sandy countries like
Africa.</p>

<p>They are so tall and have such long legs they
can run as fast as, or faster than, a horse.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 352px;">
<img src="images/oyf157.jpg" width="352" height="450" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A PAIR OF OSTRICHES AT HOME.</p>

<p>They have their nests in a hollow on the ground.
The Hottentot likes ostrich eggs to eat. One ostrich
egg is as big as sixteen hen&rsquo;s eggs. So it makes
a breakfast for a number
of people. The Hottentot
breaks a hole in
the small end of the egg,
stirs up the contents with
a stick, and then sets it
over the fire to cook.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a></span>
The shell is very thick and hard, and the heat of the fire will
not break it.</p>

<p>There is somebody else who likes ostrich eggs too, and that somebody
is a kind of fox. He comes when the ostrich is away and
helps himself. Sometimes the ostrich comes home and finds him at it.</p>

<p>Many other people like to wear ostrich plumes as well as
Matty. So there is a large trade in them. The wild ostrich does
not supply feathers enough
for the market, so ostriches
are now raised like
turkeys and hens. This
business is called &ldquo;ostrich
farming.&rdquo; The ostriches
are kept in large yards,
and the plumes are taken
out every year.</p>

<p>Aunt Sarah told all this
to Matty. &ldquo;And so,&rdquo; said
Matty, stroking the long
white plume, &ldquo;this feather has ridden on the back of an ostrich
in Africa; I wish it could tell me what it has seen.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 350px;">
<img src="images/oyf158.jpg" width="350" height="259"
alt="Two foxes try to take an ostrich egg" />
</div>

<p class="caption">SOMEBODY ELSE WHO LIKES EGGS.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="who_killed_the_goose" id="who_killed_the_goose"></a>WHO KILLED THE GOOSE?</h2>

<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;">
<img src="images/oyf159.jpg" width="150" height="130"
alt="A dog wrapped in a quilt" />
</div>

<p>It was the very nicest, whitest goose of the whole flock, and
there it was&mdash;dead! Who had killed it? was the question. Everybody
said it must have been Bose; and why? Because Bose liked
to tease the geese. Sometimes he jumped from behind a bush
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a></span>
and frightened them. Sometimes when they were standing at their
trough eating, he ran at them, just for the fun of seeing them run.</p>

<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;">
<img src="images/oyf160.jpg" width="150" height="128"
alt="A dog in a basket" />
</div>

<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think he meant to kill it,&rdquo; said
the grandpa.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Very likely not,&rdquo; said the father, &ldquo;but I
must teach him not to run at the geese. Come
here, sir,&rdquo; he said to Bose.</p>

<div class="figleft" style="width: 97px;">
<img src="images/oyf161.jpg" width="97" height="125"
alt="A dog with a blanket wrapped around him" />
</div>

<p>Bose felt very badly. He crawled slowly
along. He couldn&rsquo;t say, &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t do it; please don&rsquo;t whip me,&rdquo;
as a little boy or girl can. He could only
look up to his master with soft, begging
eyes. But little Patsy was looking in at
the door. Little Patsy loves Bose dearly;
and of all the family Bose best loves
Patsy. They are always playing together.</p>

<div class="figright" style="width: 113px;">
<img src="images/oyf162.jpg" width="113" height="125"
alt="A dog sitting" />
</div>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, please don&rsquo;t whip Bose,&rdquo; cried
Patsy. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe he did it. Nobody saw him do it,&rdquo; and
she begged so hard her father said he would only tie
Bose up. He would not whip him till he was sure
he had killed the goose. That night Patsy cried herself
to sleep. It almost broke her heart to think
that on the morrow Bose might have to be whipped.
Suddenly in the night she heard a queer, soft voice say, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
believe he did it. I wouldn&rsquo;t kill a goose.&rdquo; Patsy
opened her eyes and found herself in a room full
of dogs. The voice came from a wee doggie
wrapped in an eider down quilt.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Very good reason why; you couldn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; barked
another little fellow. He had a head that looked as if it were
bald, and large soft ears, and he was peeping out of a basket.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 600px;">
<img src="images/oyf163.jpg" width="600" height="421"
alt="Bose crawls towards Father" title="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">PROSPECTIVE PUNISHMENT.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a></span></p>

<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;">
<img src="images/oyf164.jpg" width="150" height="105"
alt="A fluffy dog" />
</div>

<p>&ldquo;Raw goose, faugh!&rdquo; said a dainty doggie,
who had a blanket pinned carefully around him.
&ldquo;I like my poultry well picked and cooked.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s so. So do I,&rdquo; rejoined a fierce
scrap of a dog. He wore a collar and little
silver locket, and cocked his ears.</p>

<p>&ldquo;People are always saying dogs do things,&rdquo; said a tousled terrier,
whose hair had tumbled over his eyes, so he couldn&rsquo;t see a
thing. &ldquo;The cat ate the cream the other day and cook said I
did it. I hate cooks.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figright" style="width: 175px;">
<img src="images/oyf165.jpg" width="175" height="122"
alt="A dog lying down" />
</div>

<p>A grave-looking dog opened his mouth and spoke. He must
have been a lawyer among dogs. Patsy
thought he looked like Judge Drake. He
spoke slowly. &ldquo;If Bose had never chased
the geese even in play, his master would
never have suspected him. A great deal
depends on a dog&rsquo;s character. But I don&rsquo;t think he killed the goose.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I <em>know</em> he didn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; spoke up a big splendid dog. &ldquo;Bose is a
good fellow!&rdquo; Then all the dogs barked out, &ldquo;Hear! hear!&rdquo; so
loudly that Patsy awoke. The dogs had vanished; the morning
sun was shining. She heard her father call, &ldquo;Patsy, come and
see the fox! We&rsquo;ve trapped the rogue. It was he that killed the
goose!&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 350px;">
<img src="images/oyf166.jpg" width="350" height="230"
alt="A dog lying down" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf167.jpg" width="500" height="422"
alt="The baker and friends offer beer to the horse" />
</div>


<h2><a name="a_temperance_horse" id="a_temperance_horse"></a>A TEMPERANCE HORSE.</h2>


<p>He belongs to a baker. His master went into a restaurant to deliver
some pies. I was sitting at a window opposite. He stayed so
long in the place that I thought he had forgotten his faithful beast.</p>

<p>After a while he came out carrying a great mug full of foaming
beer. There were two other men with him. All their faces were
red, and they walked unsteadily, and they were laughing loud, and
shouting. Then the baker went up to his beautiful horse, and offered
him the beer to drink.</p>

<p>Do you suppose he took it? No, indeed! He gave it one sniff
from his smooth, brown nostrils. Then he turned his head away with
a jerk so sudden that he knocked the glass, beer and all, upon the
pavement. He looked at his master as if to say, &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t insult me
again in that way, sir!&rdquo;</p>

<p>So his bad master had to pay for both the beer and the glass.</p>

<p>Wise old horse, he was not afraid to give his opinion of beer.</p>

<p class="author">CLARA J. DENTON.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<a name="how_the_wind_blows" id="how_the_wind_blows"></a>
<img src="images/oyf168.jpg" width="500" height="230"
alt="Decorative title - How The Wind Blows - with two children flying kites"
title="How The Wind Blows" />
</div>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">High and low<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The spring winds blow!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They take the kites that the boys have made,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And carry them off high into the air;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They snatch the little girls&rsquo; hats away,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And toss and tangle their flowing hair.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">High and low<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The summer winds blow!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They dance and play with the garden flowers,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And bend the grasses and yellow grain;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They rock the bird in her hanging nest,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And dash the rain on the window-pane.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf169.jpg" width="500" height="235"
alt="A garden with beehives" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf170.jpg" width="500" height="213"
alt="Haystacks in a field" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">High and low<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The autumn winds blow!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They frighten the bees and blossoms away,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And whirl the dry leaves over the ground;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They shake the branches of all the trees,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And scatter ripe nuts and apples around.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">High and low<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The winter winds blow!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They fill the hollows with drifts of snow,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And sweep on the hills a pathway clear;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They hurry the children along to school,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And whistle a song for the happy New Year.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">M. E. N. H.</p>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf171.jpg" width="500" height="237"
alt="Children in a snowy field" />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="dime_and_betty" id="dime_and_betty"></a>DIME AND BETTY.</h2>


<p>Bow-wow! Who are you? I am only a little dog. My name
is Dime. I am not a cross dog. I have been a pet dog all my
life. Shall I tell you what I can do? I can sit up and beg. I can
shake hands. I can jump over a stick, O yes; and I can run very
fast. I can run as fast as Pomp, the baker&rsquo;s dog; and Pomp is a
big dog.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf172.jpg" width="500" height="301"
alt="Dime and Pomp racing each other" />
</div>

<p>I like to run races with Pomp. He never bites a little dog. We
like to run after birds. But we never catch any birds. They fly
away when we come near. I wonder how the birds fly. Pomp
and I cannot fly.</p>

<p>My master has a cow. Her name is Betty. She is a good cow.
She gives nice, white milk. I do not care much for milk. I like
a bone better. But old Tab, the cat, likes milk. I like to see Tab
drink milk. She laps it up very fast.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a></span>
I drive Betty to pasture every day. John goes with me to shut
the gate. John is the boy who milks the cow. I wish I could open
and shut that gate. Then John would not go to the pasture. I
should like to go all alone. I think it would be fine.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 416px;">
<img src="images/oyf173.jpg" width="416" height="550"
alt="Driving Betty to pasture" />
</div>

<p>I take good care of Betty. When any one comes near her, I
say, &ldquo;Bow-wow&rdquo; very sharply.</p>

<p class="author">S. E. SPRAGUE.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf174.jpg" width="500" height="345"
alt="Bobby and the ram" />
</div>


<h2><a name="saved_from_freezing_to_death" id="saved_from_freezing_to_death"></a>SAVED FROM FREEZING TO DEATH.</h2>


<p>When Bobby Smart was six years old, he was left to the care of
his Uncle James, who lived in the country. His aunt took him to his
future home, and at the depot he saw his uncle for the first time.</p>

<p>Bobby was lonely and sad; his uncle often treated him with
harshness and even cruelty. The cold winter had come on early.
Bobby was the only boy about the farm, and he had to work
very hard. His clothing was unfit for the winter weather, and he
often suffered from the cold.</p>

<p>Among the duties which this poor boy had to perform was that
of tending a flock of sheep. One afternoon, when there were signs
of a snow-storm, he was sent to drive the flock to the barn. He
started for the field, but his clothes were so thin that he was benumbed
by the intense cold. He sat down on a large rock to rest
himself. He felt strangely tired and cold. In a little while he
began to feel drowsy. Then he thought it was so nice and comfortable
that he would stay there awhile. In a very few moments
he was asleep, and perhaps dreaming.</p>

<p>Suddenly he was aroused by a tremendous blow which sent him
spinning from his perch on the rock to the ground. Looking about
him, he saw an old ram near by. The creature looked as though he
had been doing mischief, and Bobby was no longer at a loss to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a></span>
know where the blow came from; but he thought the attack was an
accident, and in a short time he was again in the land of Nod.</p>

<p>Again the ram very rudely tumbled him over into the snow.
He was now wide awake, and provoked at the attack of the beast.
He began to search for a stick to chastise his enemy. The ram
understood his intention, for he turned upon Bobby as if to finish
the poor boy. Bobby was forced to take to his heels, and ran
towards home.</p>

<p>The ram chased him, while the rest of the flock followed after
their leader. The inmates of the farm-house were surprised to see
Bobby rushing towards the house as fast as his little legs would
allow him. His hair was streaming in the wind, and he was very
much terrified. Close upon him was the old ram, kicking up his
heels in his anger. Behind him could be seen a straggling line of
sheep doing their best to keep up.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf175.jpg" width="500" height="274"
alt="The ram chases Bobby" />
</div>

<p>Bobby won the race, however. His uncle came out in time to
turn the flock into the barn. It was a long time before Bobby
would venture near the ram again.</p>

<p>Bobby knows now that but for the efforts of that old ram in
knocking him from his seat on that bitterly cold day he would have
been among the angels in a very short time. The sleepy feeling
which overcame him would have ended in death.</p>

<p>Bobby declares that the ram knew all the time what ailed him,
and that he butted him from the rock on purpose. I cannot explain
it, but do know that &ldquo;God moves in a mysterious way his wonders
to perform.&rdquo;</p>

<p class="author">MRS. F. GREENOUGH.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<a name="lilys_garden" id="lilys_garden"></a>
<img src="images/oyf176.jpg" width="500" height="361"
alt="Decorative title - Lily&#39;s Garden - showing Lily and a vase of dandelions"
title="Lily&#39;s Garden" />
</div>


<p>There was only a little piece of garden
belonging to Lily&rsquo;s home in the city. In
the bright spring days she went out there,
and watched to see if any flowers came up.
She felt happy when she found the first
blades of grass.</p>

<p>The poet sings that &ldquo;his heart dances with the daffodils.&rdquo; Lily&rsquo;s
heart danced, one morning, when she found a dandelion among the
grasses in her yard,&mdash;a real yellow dandelion, with all its golden
petals spread out.</p>

<p>Just then, one of her playmates looked over the fence, and put
out her hand.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Do give it to me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t like you a bit, if you
don&rsquo;t: I shall think you are just as stingy&mdash;&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;But it&rsquo;s all I have,&rdquo; said Lily; &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t give it away. I can&rsquo;t.
Wait till to-morrow, and there&rsquo;ll be some more out. They&rsquo;re growing.
There&rsquo;ll be some all round to-morrow or next week.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;To-morrow! I want it now, to-day,&rdquo; said her friend, &ldquo;to-day&rsquo;s
better than to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Lily looked at the child and then at the dandelion. &ldquo;I suppose
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a></span>
it would be mean to keep it,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;but it is so lovely&mdash;<em>can&rsquo;t</em>
you wait?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, well, keep it, you stingy girl!&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf177.jpg" width="500" height="509"
alt="The little girl asks for the dandelion" />
</div>

<p>&ldquo;Come and pick it yourself, then,&rdquo; said Lily, with tears in her
eyes.</p>

<p>The next day, when Lily went into the yard, there were a dozen
golden dandelions, like stars in the grass, and a little blue violet
was blooming all alone by itself.</p>

<p class="author">MARY N. PRESCOTT.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="where" id="where"></a>WHERE?</h2>

<div class="center">
<table class="where" summary="Poem">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br />
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">Where is the honey-bee?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Where has the swallow flown?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Only the chickadee<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Chirrups his song alone.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">Where is the bobolink,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Bubbling with merriment?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">What was the road, think,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">The gadding fire-fly went?<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">Whither flew the little wings<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Grown in green forest aisles?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Where are the pretty things<br /></span>
<span class="i6">That blossomed miles on miles?<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">MARY N. PRESCOTT.</p>
</div>
<br /><br /><br /><br />
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>


<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf179.jpg" width="500" height="415"
alt="The goat on the railroad track" />
</div>


<h2><a name="a_goat_in_trouble" id="a_goat_in_trouble"></a>A GOAT IN TROUBLE.</h2>


<p>A few weeks ago, as I was crossing a railroad track just outside
of the city, a little goat stepped before me. With a sad cry, she
seemed to ask me to stop. I turned aside to pass on, but she kept
brushing against me, until I finally decided to find out what she
wanted.</p>

<p>The goat had wandered from her usual browsing place. In crossing
the railroad track she had caught her chain on a rail, and could
not get away. I stooped down and let her loose. Then she pressed
against me as if to thank me, and bounded off quickly to her old
pasture.</p>

<p>If we would always listen to the cries of animals in distress, we
might do a great deal of good. Just after I had released the goat, a
train of cars came rushing along, and she would certainly have been
killed if I had not attended to her.</p>

<p class="author">L. B. P.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 351px;">
<img src="images/oyf180.jpg" width="351" height="500"
alt="The bird singing" />
</div>


<h2><a name="a_negro_melodist" id="a_negro_melodist"></a>A NEGRO MELODIST.</h2>


<p>It has often been remarked that in
the bird world the rule is for the males
to have the brilliant plumage, with all
the beautiful
colors and for
the females
to be the
dowdy ones&mdash;a
rule which
would entail
a revolution
in fashions,
startling and
ludicrous, if
it were to be
introduced
for variety
among our
own kind.
Again, gaily-dressed
birds
have the least
pleasing song&mdash;the
screaming
jay bearing
an unfavorable
comparison
with
the thrush&mdash;and
the modestly-attired
nightingale having furnished,
in all ages, a brilliant example
of virtue unadorned. The nightingale,
however, leaving before the climate has
become objectionable, we must praise
its musical accomplishments rather as
being those of a distinguished guest, or
foreign <i>prima donna</i>, than of an indigenous
artist. But we have another
bird who <em>is</em> always here, facing winter&rsquo;s
blasts in addition to summer&rsquo;s bloom,
who in voice stands unrivaled; no competitor
approaching any where near
him for fluency, richness, and liquid
melody of song&mdash;to wit, the blackbird.</p>

<p>This negro melodist seldom spares
his lungs at all until winter is far advanced
into its New Year months;
and even amid the bitter mornings of
January, his rich, unfaltering notes can
sometimes be heard. His coat is a
glossy black, always cleanly brushed,
and in the case of one family, sometimes
called the &ldquo;Red-wing,&rdquo; with a
gorgeous scarlet lapel on either side.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="time_enough" id="time_enough"></a>TIME ENOUGH.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Two little rabbits out in the sun;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One gathered food, the other had none.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Time enough yet,&rdquo; his constant refrain;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Summer is still just on the wane.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He roused him at last, but he roused him too late.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Down fell the snow from a pitiless cloud,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And gave little rabbit a spotless white shroud.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Two little boys in a school-room were placed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One always perfect, the other disgraced.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Time enough yet for my learning,&rdquo; he said;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;I will climb by-and-by, from the foot to the head.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Listen, my darling&mdash;their locks are turned gray;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One, as a governor, sitteth to-day.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The other, a pauper, looks out at the door<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of the alms-house, and idles his days as of yore.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Two kinds of people we meet every day;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One is at work, the other at play,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Living uncared for, dying unknown.&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The busiest hive hath ever a drone.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Tell me, my child, if the rabbits have taught,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The lesson I longed to impart in your thought.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Answer me this, and my story is done,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which of the two will you be, little one?<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="the_mouse_wedding" id="the_mouse_wedding"></a>THE MOUSE WEDDING.</h2>


<p>Dick Sly was the smartest mouse in
Mousetown. He knew any kind of a
new trap that was set to catch him, and
he always warned the rest. The houses
in Mousetown are called &ldquo;holes,&rdquo; you
know. Next to the hole where Dick
lived with his parents was the hole
where pretty Nan Spry lived. She
could run faster than any mouse in
Mousetown; even Dick could not
catch her, if she tried to run away
from him. At last it was told in Mousetown
that Dick and Nan were to be
married, and every body said, &ldquo;What a
grand pair they&rsquo;ll make.&rdquo; Judge Mouse,
who married them, put on his best
gold spectacles, and they were married
on a big wedding cake, which some
folks called a &ldquo;cheese.&rdquo; Every one in
Mousetown had a bit of it, and declared
it to be the best wedding cake
they had ever eaten.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a></span></p>

<h2 class="smcap"><a name="she_had_never_seen_a_tree" id="she_had_never_seen_a_tree"></a>She had never seen a Tree.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They took the little London girl, from out the city street,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To where the grass was growing green, the birds were singing sweet;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And every thing along the road, so filled her with surprise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The look of wonder fixed itself, within her violet eyes.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The breezes ran to welcome her; they kissed her on each cheek,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And tried in every way they could, their ecstacy to speak,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Inviting her to romp with them, and tumbling up her curls,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Expecting she would laugh or scold, like other little girls.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But she didn&rsquo;t&mdash;no she didn&rsquo;t; for this crippled little child<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Had lived within a dingy court, where sunshine never smiled;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And for weary, weary days and months, the little one had lain<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Confined within a narrow room, and on a couch of pain.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The out-door world was strange to her&mdash;the broad expanse of sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The soft, green grass, the pretty flowers, the stream that trickled by;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But all at once she saw a sight, that made her hold her breath,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And shake and tremble as if she were frightened near to death.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh, like some horrid monster, of which the child had dreamed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With nodding head, and waving arms, the angry creature seemed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It threatened her, it mocked at her, with gestures and grimace<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That made her shrink with terror, from its serpent-like embrace.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They kissed the trembling little one; they held her in their arms,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And tried in every way they could to quiet her alarms,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And said, &ldquo;Oh, what a foolish little girl you are, to be<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So nervous and so terrified, at nothing but a tree!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They made her go up close to it, and put her arms around<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The trunk, and see how firmly it was fastened in the ground;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They told her all about the roots, that clung down deeper yet,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And spoke of other curious things, she never would forget.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh, I have heard of many, very many girls and boys<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who have to do without the sight, of pretty books and toys&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who have never seen the ocean; but the saddest thought to me<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is that any where there lives a child, who never saw a tree.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="a_funny_horse" id="a_funny_horse"></a>A FUNNY HORSE.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Knock! Knock! Knock! I&rsquo;ve been before this block<br /></span>
<span class="i1">More than half an hour, I should say;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am standing in the sun, while Miss Lucy lingers on,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Talking of the fashions of the day.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It is a trick you know, she taught me long ago,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">But now I am in earnest, not in play;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the world is very wide, to a horse that isn&rsquo;t tied,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I&rsquo;ve a mind to go and ask the price of hay.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There&rsquo;s a nail in my shoe that needs fixing too,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And I want a drink more than I can say;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How I could run, with my dandy harness on!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">But it&rsquo;s such a mean thing to run away.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Rap! Tap! Tap! That&rsquo;s enough to break a nap&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">There she comes, and is laughing at the way<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I brought her to the door, when she wouldn&rsquo;t come before,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That&rsquo;s a trick worth playing any day.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="mrs_gimsons_summer_boarders" id="mrs_gimsons_summer_boarders"></a>MRS. GIMSON&rsquo;S SUMMER BOARDERS.</h2>


<p>It was recess at the school-house at
the cross roads, and three country girls
gathered round a companion, whose
unhappy face showed that something
had gone wrong.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Is this your last day at school,
Lucindy?&rdquo; asked Carrie Hess, a girl
of fifteen, and the eldest of the three
sisters.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, this is my last day, thanks to
the summer boarders. I can&rsquo;t bear to
think of them. I hate them!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Will you have to work harder than
you do now?&rdquo; asked Freda, who was
next younger to Carrie.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t mind the work so much as I
do their impudent airs, and their
stuck-up ways. I wont be ordered
around, and if Auntie thinks I&rsquo;m going
to be a black slave, she&rsquo;ll find she&rsquo;s
mistaken.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Lucindy&rsquo;s face flushed, and she appeared
to be greatly in earnest.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d be glad to have them come to
our house, they have such nice clothes,&rdquo;
said Lena, the youngest and most mischievous.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, it&rsquo;s very nice, I must say, to
go around in old duds, and have a girl
that&rsquo;s not a whit better in any way
than you, only she&rsquo;s been to a city
school and has a rich father, turn up her
nose at you, and perhaps make fun of
you, with her white dresses and her
silk dresses, and her gaiter boots.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t we come to your house any
more? Can&rsquo;t we come to play?&rdquo; asked
Carrie.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, can&rsquo;t we come?&rdquo; said the other
two, almost in a breath.</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, Auntie told me this morning,
that I must tell you and the rest of the
girls, that it wouldn&rsquo;t be convenient to
have you come, as you have done; you
are not stylish enough for Miss Hattie
Randolph to associate with, I suppose.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The girls looked really disappointed.
Lucindy was a great favorite, and a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a></span>
leader, fearless and successful in all escapades
that required originality and
coolness, and her company would be
sorely missed. Her aunt had indulged
her in all the dress and amusement she
could afford, and her companions had
always been welcome to visit at the
house, but now there was a necessity
for her services, and play could not be
indulged in so often for the rest of the
summer, as the household needed the
avails, if not the presence of summer
boarders.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Is she older than we?&rdquo; asked Carrie.</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, but she&rsquo;s lived all her life in
the city, and feels above everybody.
She and her brother and her mother
will just take possession of our piazza
and door-yard, and our swing; and I
can wash dishes, and sit on the back
door-step, and never see a girl from
one month&rsquo;s end to another.&rdquo; Here
Lucindy burst out crying.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s too bad,&rdquo; said Carrie.</p>

<p>The little Lena, ever fertile in invention,
crept near, and putting her arms
around Lucindy&rsquo;s neck, whispered:</p>

<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll come to see you on the sly,
and we can go down in the fields and
have fun, when your Auntie goes out
for an afternoon.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I wish you would,&rdquo; said Lucindy.
&ldquo;And I&rsquo;ll bring down some cake and
pickles, and some honey, and we&rsquo;ll
have a pic-nic in spite of Mrs. Randolph!&rdquo;</p>

<p>This was a solution of the unhappy
problem, and it seemed to throw a ray
of sunlight slantwise into the gloomy
picture of the coming summer.</p>

<p>The progress of the afternoon at
the school-house was not marked by
any unusual occurrence, and at the
close, the little company of schoolmates
proceeded together, until they came
to the road leading to Lucindy&rsquo;s home.
Here they parted, with many professions
of everlasting friendship; Lucindy,
walking backwards, watched her
companions until the turn in the road
hid them from view.</p>

<p>Then she sat down upon a bank by
the roadside under an old tree. Throwing
her slate and books down on the
grass, she snatched a few daisies that
grew near, and thought of many things
of a disquieting nature, pulling the flowers
to pieces.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I feel mad enough to run away!&rdquo;
she thought. &ldquo;I could earn my living
easy enough in the city, and not have
to work so hard either. Miss Hunter
can&rsquo;t teach me any thing more. I&rsquo;ve
learned all she knows. It&rsquo;s just too
bad not to be able to get more education.
I&rsquo;ll just take my own way, if
Auntie crowds me too much. I don&rsquo;t
care if she don&rsquo;t like it. If my father
and mother were alive, she wouldn&rsquo;t
be my boss. I can get on in another
place with what I know about a good
many things.</p>

<p>&ldquo;But oh, that girl that&rsquo;s coming has
so much better times than I. Those
lovely city schools! no one can help
learning there, they take such pains
with you.&rdquo;</p>

<p>She looked down the road upon which
the slanting red light of the declining
sun was shining, and there she saw a
cloud of dust. This road was not a
great thoroughfare, and she knew that
was the stage, and it probably would
bring the undesired summer guests.</p>

<p>She shrank visibly back into the
shadow of the tree as it came on, and
smoothed out her faded calico dress and
pulled her sun-bonnet farther over her
face.</p>

<p>The coach came rolling past, and a
girl in the back seat directed the attention
of a fashionably-dressed lady to
herself, she thought, and laughed as
though immensely pleased, at the same
time pointing at her. A little boy,
who sat in the front seat with the
driver, and who was playing upon a
harmonica, stopped, and looking in her
direction, laughed too.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s my outlandish sun-bonnet
they&rsquo;re making fun of,&rdquo; she thought.
&ldquo;I suppose this is the beginning of
it.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 399px;">
<img src="images/oyf181.jpg" width="399" height="600" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">SHE SAT DOWN ON A BANK BY THE ROADSIDE UNDER AN OLD TREE.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a></span>
Now this ungentle girl was mistaken
in her surmise, as she was about many
things that caused her unhappiness.
What the people in the stage were
really interested and amused with were
a couple of lambs in the field back of
Lucindy, and their playful gyrations
were a novel sight to them, and they
had come for the very purpose of being
pleased with country sights and experiences.
Lucindy felt sure these were
the summer boarders, and, taking a
short cut across the fields, arrived at her
aunt&rsquo;s just as the guests were alighting.</p>

<p>Lucindy stood at the back corner of
the house, and heard the sprightly talk
of Mrs. Randolph and the merry laugh
of the daughter, as her aunt bade them
welcome, and she knew they were being
conducted to the upper rooms that had
been prepared with such thoughtful reference
to their comfort.</p>

<p>Her aunt came down very soon, and
seeing Lucindy, bade her wash her
hands and smooth her hair, and put on
a white apron, and prepare to get ready
the tea. This duty Lucindy had always
done, and a little curiosity, mingled
with her other feelings, came to her, as
to how the boarders would like her
aunt&rsquo;s puffy biscuit, and if the cold
custard and raspberry jam wouldn&rsquo;t be
to their taste. If coffee and fricasseed
chicken would not be just the thing
after an all-day ride, and remarked to
herself: &ldquo;If they don&rsquo;t like such fare,
let them go where they&rsquo;ll get better.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The tea passed off with great good
feeling; the new people making a most
favorable impression upon her aunt, and
impressing Lucindy with the discovery
that polite manners were a recommend
to strangers, for her aunt made gratified
remarks from time to time as she came
into the kitchen. Lucindy would not
wait upon the table the first evening, a
convenient head-ache being the excuse.</p>

<p>Mrs. Gimson was a most kindly disposed
person, and endeavored, in every
way, to make the time pass pleasantly
to her guests; but all she could say in
their favor did nothing toward disposing
the mind of her niece to regard
them with any toleration. She performed
the household duties that fell
to her with a stolid indifference, or with
an openly expressed reluctance, and
her aunt bore all kindly, explaining and
smoothing away what she could, promising
Lucindy that she should have a
nice present of money when the guests
departed.</p>

<p>Hattie Randolph had not taken any
notice of her, never really having seen
her, for Lucindy had positively refused
to wait upon the table; and had kept
herself in the back-ground, thus making
her life at home more of a discipline
than was necessary. She envied
Hattie&rsquo;s graceful ways and refined conversation;
and her apparel was a revelation,
not of beauty, but of another
source of jealous envy to the country
girl, for in putting the guests&rsquo; rooms
in order, she examined, critically, the
pretty things in the wardrobe.</p>

<p>The city people found so much to
interest them in the beauties of the
surrounding neighborhood, that they
were out nearly all the time, and when
the evening came, Mrs. Randolph, with
her son and daughter, made a pleasant
addition to Mrs. Gimson&rsquo;s parlors, with
their graceful talk, and numberless resources
of entertainment.</p>

<p>Lucindy, observant and sullen, kept
herself informed of all their movements,
and was continually having the blush
brought to her cheek and the bitterness
of comparison to her heart, as she
noted the wide difference there was between
herself and them. It never once
occurred to this foolish girl, that this
difference was growing more and more
every day, by the fostering of pride and
an ignorant stubbornness, which prevented
her, utterly, from ever cultivating
their envied characteristics.</p>

<p>It was a long time since she had
seen any of her playmates from the
school, but by an ingenious contrivance,
that had been thought out by Lucindy,
a tin box had been inserted into an old
tree in a fence corner, about midway
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"><!-- original location of illustration MISS HATTIE RANDOLPH --></a></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a></span>
between her home and the school-house,
and in this they deposited their notes
to each other.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 452px;">
<img src="images/oyf182.jpg" width="452" height="600" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">MISS HATTIE RANDOLPH.</p>

<p>This was a solace to Lucindy, as all
the happenings at the school could be
reported, and many a mis-spelled, soiled
missive found its way to the eager
hands of the absent one. Not less interesting
was the news as to the doings
of the boarders. Nothing, however
trivial, that happened not to accord
with Lucindy&rsquo;s notions was overlooked
in her setting forth of grievances, and
she found ready sympathizers in the
Hess girls. Carrie Hess stood under
the old tree, one lovely morning, overstaying
her time in doing so, as the
warning bell had rung at the school-house,
reading a note she had taken
from the tree post-office. Among other
things, it communicated the welcome
news, that herself and sisters might
come to the pretty knoll behind the
house that afternoon, and that Lucindy
would take the occasion to make a
holiday for herself, as her aunt was
going, after dinner, to look up fresh
butter and eggs, and would be gone
until near tea time.</p>

<p>Mrs. Randolph had hired a team, and
with her family would be gone the
same length of time, for a ride.</p>

<p>Carrie took a race to school, very
much elated at the prospect of enjoying
Lucindy&rsquo;s company once more.
Recess came, and after eating their
very generous lunch, they prepared to
quietly put a considerable distance between
themselves and the precincts
over which Miss Hunter&rsquo;s authority
extended. They were &ldquo;skipping,&rdquo; as
they termed it, and as their parents
would not know of it, they reveled in
the forbidden freedom. They proceeded
over fences and across stubble fields,
and soon reached the coveted meeting-place.
A wide-spreading tree, with a
wreath of apples upon it, just turning
to a ruddy hue, was almost completely
surrounded at its trunk with hazel
bushes, but on one side they did not
grow; this was away from the house,
and toward the wheat field. It was a
natural bower, and into this they crept
to await the coming of Lucindy.</p>

<p>They were not kept long in suspense,
and when she appeared what a hugging
and kissing were gone through with!</p>

<p>&ldquo;Have your boarders gone for their
ride?&rdquo; asked Carrie.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, and I thought they&rsquo;d never
get off. Old Mrs. Randolph fusses so,
you&rsquo;d think she was going to a party
every time she goes to ride. I wonder
who she expects to see on a country
road?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Sure enough. How was the girl
dressed, Lu?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, she had on a light check silk,
and a lovely brown jockey, trimmed
with pink satin ribbon rosettes and
long ends at the back, and a lovely,
wide collar.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you like her better than her
mother?&rdquo; asked Lena.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, she doesn&rsquo;t put on as many
airs as her mother, and she&rsquo;s acted, two
or three times, as if she were going to
speak to me, but I managed not to let
her. I don&rsquo;t want her acquaintance.
I don&rsquo;t want any of her coming down
to me!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I suppose they have nice things,
that they&rsquo;ve brought with them, in their
rooms,&rdquo; said Carrie.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, Mrs. Randolph has an elegant
blue satin pin-cushion, with morning-glories
and apple-blossoms painted on
it, and a dressing-case with white ivory
combs and brushes, and they do your
hair up lovely, for I fixed mine in her
room yesterday with them.&rdquo; This caused
much merriment.</p>

<p>Lucindy proceeded to take from her
pocket a pack of children&rsquo;s cards, illuminated
with gaily-dressed ladies and
gentlemen, and queer-looking figures of
all kinds. These caused a sensation;
they looked incredulously at Lucindy,
as she said:</p>

<p>&ldquo;These are the things that make
them laugh evenings. If we knew how
to play them, we could have some of
their kind of fun.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a></span>
They passed them to one another
and examined them. They threw them
aside presently, and returned to the
subject of never-failing interest&mdash;the
wardrobe of the boarders.</p>

<p>Carrie and Lena intimated more than
once, that if they could only see something
that city people really considered
elegant, they would be satisfied, and forever
indebted to Lucindy for the sight.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf183.jpg" width="500" height="463" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">GRETCHEN TRAILING THE BEAUTIFUL MULL OVERSKIRT ON THE GROUND.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, dear, if that will please you so
much,&rdquo; said Lucindy, entirely willing
to gratify them, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go and get one
of Mrs. Randolph&rsquo;s prettiest dresses
and show you. It wont take me a
minute.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, do, Lucindy! we&rsquo;re just crazy
to see it! She&rsquo;ll never know it,&rdquo; said
Carrie, with eagerness.</p>

<p>Lucindy had no scruples whatever in
procuring so coveted a pleasure for her
dear friends. She ran back to the
house and up into Mrs. Randolph&rsquo;s
room. She fumbled over the dresses,
and thinking it was as well to take out
two or three, that they might feast
their eyes upon a variety, she piled
two silk dresses and an India mull upon
her arm, and hurried out.</p>

<p>They dragged considerably upon the
dusty path, but this was not noticed, and
the wild delight of the girls, when they
really had them in their hands, amply repaid
Lucindy for any risk, she thought.</p>

<p>They fingered them over, the bead
embroideries and lace trimmings, and
examined the fashion of each with untiring interest.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a></span>
&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s put them on!&rdquo; said Carrie,
&ldquo;and see how we would look in them.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll look sweetly stylish,&rdquo; said
Freda.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, do let us, Lucindy! Mrs. Randolph
wont be back until evening.
It&rsquo;ll be such fun!&rdquo; insisted Carrie.</p>

<p>&ldquo;All right, let us; I don&rsquo;t care how
much fun we have with them, the more
the better,&rdquo; returned Lucindy. No
sooner said than done; over their clothing
they stretched the dresses, and
jerked and settled them into the proper
set. Shouts of laughter greeted every
ridiculous pose and awkward stumble,
and certainly nothing could be more
provocative of merriment than their
appearance. They trailed the dresses
over the stubble in mock dignity; they
improvised a dance, and went through
all the grotesque changes they could
invent. Their comments and jokes
were most spicy and personal, and in
all Lucindy led.</p>

<p>After a good time enjoyed in this
way, the fun lost its point and novelty,
and they threw the dresses in a heap
on the grass, and sat and chatted over
the gossip connected with the school
at the cross roads. The afternoon was
wearing on, and Lucindy thought it time
to produce her good things, and taking
up the dresses, ran along to the
house.</p>

<p>In getting through the bars she
dropped the mull overskirt and did not
perceive her loss. Gretchen saw it,
and running after, brought it back.
Lucindy hung the dresses up in their
places, certainly not improved by the
airing they had had; but chancing to
look out of an upper window, she was
horrified to see down the road the
identical team that Mrs. Randolph had
hired, and as true as the world, they
were coming home!</p>

<p>She rushed down, and abandoning
the lunch, ran as fast as she could to
the field, and as she approached, this
was the sight that met her gaze:</p>

<p>Gretchen was strutting about with a
dock leaf held over her head for a parasol,
and trailing the beautiful mull
overskirt on the ground, endeavoring
to realize the feelings of a fine lady in
a trailed dress.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Gretchen! Gretchen!&rdquo; screamed
Lucindy, as loudly as she dared. &ldquo;Hide
it! hide it! Mrs. Randolph has come
home!&rdquo;</p>

<p>Carrie jumped, and lifting Gretchen
from it, secured the skirt, and Lucindy
grasped it and rolled it in a small ball
and hid it in the hazel bushes. Then
they held a hurried consultation, and
decided it was best for Lucindy to go
back immediately; but, as it was now
impossible to restore the skirt to its
place in the wardrobe, they urged her
to put it in some unfrequented spot,
until a favorable opportunity came to
get it back. Lucindy now feared her
aunt would arrive without warning, and,
although loth to part without the long
anticipated treat, they walked quickly
down the path by the fence toward the
road.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What on the face of the earth will
I ever do with this thing?&rdquo; whispered
Lucindy, for the first time betraying
fear. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t get it back to-night,
that&rsquo;s as plain as the nose on your face.
Oh, grief! she may inquire after it as
soon as I go in! It&rsquo;ll be just like my
luck for her to want to wear it to-night.
Maybe she expects some one to spend
the evening with them, and that&rsquo;s what
brought them back so early. Let me
see&mdash;Auntie will find it if I put it anywhere
about the house or barn; I must
not be found out in this, because if I
am, Auntie wont give me the present
she promised. I&rsquo;ll tell you, Carrie, you
take it and put it down the hole in the
tree, under the tin box. No one has
ever found out that place; it will
be safe there until I go for it to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>

<p>This was immediately decided upon,
and the girls went sulkily home. The
skirt was forced down into the tree,
and the tin box placed on top, and they
trudged slowly homeward.</p>

<p>As Lucindy approached the house,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a></span>
she began to see more and more the
serious dilemma in which she was
placed, and her face hardened visibly
as she thought.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll deny the whole thing if I&rsquo;m cornered;
perhaps Mrs. Randolph will
live through the disappointment of not
wearing her dress for once. I have to
live all the time without such dresses.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Just then she heard her aunt calling
her, and she knew that some unlooked-for
occasion had brought them home
before evening.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Lucindy, we must hurry up the
tea; the folks are going to spend the
evening at Judge Brander&rsquo;s. The team
is waiting to take them there. Mrs.
Randolph saw me in the village, and
told me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Lucindy did not answer, but went in
and about her duties as usual. Presently
Mrs. Randolph called for Mrs. Gimson
to come up stairs, as she wished to
speak to her. Lucindy felt that now
the discovery had been made, and
strengthening her purpose, to deny all,
worked on, quietly waiting for developments.</p>

<p>In a few moments, her aunt came
down in great excitement, and told her
that someone had been in the house,
while they were away, and had stolen
Mrs. Randolph&rsquo;s elegant India mull
overskirt, and had almost ruined her
other dresses, as the trimmings were
broken and destroyed, and some of
them were gone entirely.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It must have been when I went for
water; I noticed that there were two
tramps going down the road, a man and
woman.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, Lucindy, you should have
locked the door!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, aunt, I never lock the doors
when I go after water. I suppose
you&rsquo;ll put the blame of it on me!&rdquo;
Here Lucindy began to cry. &ldquo;I think
you are a very strange woman to leave
no one but a girl alone in a house, with
such valuable things; it&rsquo;s a wonder the
robbers didn&rsquo;t kill me; my coming in
frightened them away. I&rsquo;ve no doubt
they thought it was the hired man,&rdquo;
Lucindy continued to cry.</p>

<p>Mrs. Gimson never suspected her
niece of such systematic deception.
The well was a short distance from the
house, and that accounted for the fact
that nothing else was missing, as they
had not had time, and also that the
other dresses had been rudely dragged
to get them down.</p>

<p>She believed Lucindy&rsquo;s story. Mrs.
Randolph could not account for the
plight in which she found her clothing,
and bewailed her loss, as being particularly
annoying at this juncture.</p>

<p>Nothing more was said, and, after taking
tea, they started for the Judge&rsquo;s, leaving
Mrs. Gimson in a greatly perturbed
state of mind. She knew that this unfortunate
thing would get abroad and
discourage patrons. Desirable boarders
would avoid her house in future.</p>

<p>Lucindy, never uttering a comforting
word to her aunt, went up to her
room with an air of injured innocence
that hurt her aunt quite as much as
any thing she had undergone. During
the early part of the evening a violent
thunder storm came up, and Mrs.
Randolph did not return. The next
morning it still rained, and there was
no excuse for Lucindy&rsquo;s going out,
and the dress could not be secured.
Mrs. Randolph returned at noon, and
informed Mrs. Gimson that she had
been invited to visit, for the rest of the
summer, at Judge Brander&rsquo;s, and would
leave Mrs. Gimson&rsquo;s the next day.</p>

<p>Just as soon as Lucindy could be
spared, she ran down to the tree post-office,
put a note into the tin box, and
returned. This, Carrie Hess got as soon as
recess came, and the scheme worked
out successfully, as the event proved.</p>

<p>Barry, Hattie&rsquo;s brother, was standing
by the shrubbery gate, when a little
barefoot boy sidled up, and attracted
his attention by his curious behavior&mdash;he
finally spoke:</p>

<p>&ldquo;I say, them Hitalyans stuffed yer
mother&rsquo;s clothes inter a tree down here;
I found it this mornin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a></span>
&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; asked Barry,
not fully understanding the boy.</p>

<p>&ldquo;That ere tree, don&rsquo;t yer see?&rdquo; and
the boy pointed to the girls&rsquo; post-office,
that stood out dimly down the road.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Is it there now?&rdquo; asked Barry.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I do&rsquo;no, I seed it there this mornin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf184.jpg" width="500" height="395" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A LITTLE BAREFOOT BOY SIDLED UP AND ATTRACTED HIS
ATTENTION.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Wait till I go and tell my mother,&rdquo;
said Barry, and he ran into the
house.</p>

<p>In a moment Mrs. Randolph and Mrs.
Gimson were at the gate, but the boy
had disappeared. &ldquo;Go down, Barry,
and see if what he says is true,&rdquo; said
his mother. He ran off, and returning
after a little time, brought the overskirt,
rolled up in a soiled bundle, as
the rain had soaked it and the decayed
wood had stained it.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, I think it must have been those
tramps,&rdquo; said Mrs. Randolph. &ldquo;They
hid it there, expecting to come for the
rest of it the next day. They&rsquo;ll be disappointed.
I&rsquo;ll be gone.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The boy was Carrie Hess&rsquo;s brother,
and the ruse had worked; entirely turning
off all suspicion from Lucindy.</p>

<p>Mrs. Gimson lost her summer boarders
and Lucindy returned to school.
This unprincipled girl, however, learned
the hard lesson, in her after life, that
ingratitude to benefactors, and unfaithfulness
to trust, meet a sure retribution,
even if they appear to succeed.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 406px;">
<img src="images/oyf185.jpg" width="406" height="600"
alt="A bird tries to protect her eggs from a predator" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A MIDNIGHT ATTACK.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 398px;">
<img src="images/oyf186.jpg" width="398" height="600"
alt="As Night Came Darkly Down - birds; a woman and child; trees" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 200px;">
<img src="images/oyf187.jpg" width="200" height="104"
alt="Decoration - a cherub and birds" />
</div>


<h2><a name="as_night_came_darkly_down" id="as_night_came_darkly_down"></a>AS NIGHT CAME DARKLY DOWN.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The night came darkly down;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The birdies&rsquo; mother said,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">&ldquo;Peep! peep!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You ought to be asleep!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&rsquo;Tis time my little ones were safe in bed!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So, sheltered by her wings in downy nest,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The weary little birdlings took their rest.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The night came darkly down;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The baby&rsquo;s mother said,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">&ldquo;Bye-low!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You musn&rsquo;t frolic so!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You should have been asleep an hour ago!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, nestling closer to its mother&rsquo;s breast,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The merry prattler sank to quiet rest.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then in the cradle soft<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&rsquo;Twas laid with tenderest care.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">&ldquo;Good-night!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sleep till the morning light!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whispered the mother as she breathed a prayer.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Night settled down; the gates of day were barred<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And only loving angels were on guard.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet smcap">Josephine Pollard.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="grandmothers_clock" id="grandmothers_clock"></a>GRANDMOTHER&rsquo;S CLOCK.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It stands in the corner of Grandma&rsquo;s room;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">From the ceiling it reaches the floor;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Tick-tock,&rdquo; it keeps saying the whole day long,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;Tick-tock,&rdquo; and nothing more.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Grandma says the clock is old, like herself;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">But dear Grandma is wrinkled and gray,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While the face of the clock is smooth as my hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And painted with flowers so gay!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Backwards and forwards, this way and that,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">You can see the big pendulum rock:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Tick-tock,&rdquo; it keeps saying the whole day long,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The clock never sleeps, and its hands never rest<br /></span>
<span class="i1">As they slowly go moving around;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And it strikes the hours with a ding, ding, ding,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Ding, ding, and a whirring sound.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I wonder if this is the same old clock<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That the mousie ran up in the night,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And played hide-and-seek till the clock struck one,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And then ran down in a fright.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Backwards and forwards, this way and that,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">You can see the big pendulum rock;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Tick-tock,&rdquo; it keeps saying the whole day long,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet smcap">Nellie M. Garabrant.</p>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 200px;">
<img src="images/oyf188.jpg" width="200" height="119"
alt="Decoration - a spray of leaves and flowers" />
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 405px;">
<img src="images/oyf189.jpg" width="405" height="600"
alt="A little girl and a woman by a grandfather clock" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="a_stuffed_jumbo" id="a_stuffed_jumbo"></a>A STUFFED JUMBO.</h2>


<p>Yesterday, Alice met the stuffed
Jumbo, her former mate. She walked
slowly up to him, and then stood for a few
moments, evidently surveying him
with wonder. Then she swung
her trunk so as to reach Jumbo&rsquo;s
mouth. She also touched his
trunk in a cautious manner, and
then turning her back upon him,
gave vent to a groan that made
the roof of the garden tremble.
William Newman, the elephant
trainer, Frank Hyatt, the superintendent,
and &ldquo;Toddy&rdquo; Hamilton,
talked to her in their usual
winning way, and she again faced
Jumbo. She fondled his trunk,
looked straight into his eyes, and
again she groaned, and then
walked away as though disgusted
with the old partner of her joys
and sorrows. She went back to
her quarters and continued to
mourn. Her keeper, Scott, was
appealed to by the spectators.
He was asked whether he believed
that she recognized Jumbo,
and he replied in all seriousness,
&ldquo;Of course she did. She
told me so.&rdquo; At another time he
said, &ldquo;I can understand elephant
talk, and Alice told me she
recognized Jumbo.&rdquo; Scott seemed
very much affected by the meeting.
He was Jumbo&rsquo;s old keeper.&mdash;<i>Humane
Journal.</i></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 306px;">
<img src="images/oyf190.jpg" width="306" height="400"
alt="The elephant carrying buckets" />
</div>

<p class="caption">JUMBO MAKING HIMSELF USEFUL.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf191.jpg" width="500" height="230"
alt="Several elephants stand patiently while people look on" />
</div>

<p class="caption">SCENE AT AN ELEPHANT MARKET.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf192.jpg" width="300" height="44"
alt="Decoration - floral pattern" />
</div>


<h2><a name="the_trees_in_silver_land" id="the_trees_in_silver_land"></a>THE TREES IN SILVER LAND.</h2>


<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O softly falling flakes of snow<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That fill the wintry air,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A thickening cloud on every side,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Each flake a wonder rare.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 242px;">
<img src="images/oyf193.jpg" width="242" height="350"
alt="A woman and child look out of a window" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Are they from trees in Silver Land?&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">My child is asking me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He claps his hands, he laughs, he begs,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;One leaf from silver tree.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Such questions as he asks in vain<br /></span>
<span class="i1">About the leaf-like snow!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He might as well talk of the tides<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That strangely come and go.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Who plants those fairy trees?&rdquo; he asks,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;With tops that reach so high?&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, answer, Garden of Delight,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">All in the cloudy sky!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Who shakes those trees and sends their leaves<br /></span>
<span class="i1">On field and wood and town?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is it the Gardener living there,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Or winds that blow them down?&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O child, look up and see yourself,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The clouds are Silver Land.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who made those flakes, He scatters them;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">They fall at His command.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They fall, they melt, they come again.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And His the gardener&rsquo;s hand<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That gently shakes the silver trees<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Which grow in Silver Land.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet smcap">Rev. Edward A. Rand.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf194.jpg" width="500" height="383" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">LINCOLN&rsquo;S EARLY HOME.</p>

<h2><a name="small_beginnings" id="small_beginnings"></a>SMALL BEGINNINGS.</h2>


<p>Did you ever think of how lowly
was the start in life of many of our
great men? Read the pages of history
and you will find that fully
seven out of ten of the great men
were really poor. Bonaparte used
to be a book agent, Gould was a
surveyor, Franklin was a printer,
Garfield worked on the tow path,
Lincoln was a rail splitter, Grant was
a tanner, Poe was always in financial
distress; Crome, the great artist, used
to pull hair from his cat&rsquo;s tail to
make his brushes; Astor came to
New York with nothing as the
foundation of his fortunes. The list
is almost endless.</p>

<p>To us, there is much encouragement
in these facts. By looking into
the lives of such men we find the
secret of success. Lincoln was a
poor Illinois farmer, with no visionary
dreams of his great future. He
was poor and unlearned. Of the
poverty he was not ashamed; of his
lack of learning he was by no means
satisfied. He resolved to gain
knowledge. He studied, studied
hard, and at a time in his life when
other men felt they had passed the
age of schooling. Of his work, we
find he always tried to give an
honest day&rsquo;s labor; his motto was
to do well everything he put his
hands to. It was this trait of character
that attracted the attention of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a></span>
his neighbors, and this it was that
first started him on the road to
great success.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf195.jpg" width="500" height="389" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">GRANT&rsquo;S HOUSE, NEAR ST. LOUIS.</p>

<p>Look at the early days of Grant.
There was no indication of unusual
brightness in him. At West Point,
where he was sent to military school,
he did not stand at the head of his
classes. He only seemed an earnest
worker, with plenty of determination.
Later, when he lived on his little
Illinois farm, there was nothing
about him that pointed him out as
the future great general. It was
only when the great civil war broke
out that he had an opportunity to
show the kind of a man he was. His
only thought was to accomplish the
task assigned him, be it ever so difficult.
This naturally found him in
the line of promotion, and step by
step he climbed higher, earning by
hard work every step he gained, until
he reached the highest office in the
land.</p>

<p>Take Edison, the inventor. He
was only a tramp telegrapher, but he
was not satisfied with being anything
but the best, and many are the
stories of speed he attained in sending
or receiving messages. He was
inquisitive&mdash;wanted to know more
of the mysteries of the electricity
that carried his messages. He began
experimenting, and by close application
to his studies, has astonished
the world with his telephone, phonograph
and other inventions.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a></span>
Now, these great men are not
merely the products of chance. Not
at all. Study each of them and you
will find they were workers, gaining
by just such struggles as you and I
can make. We may not reach such
distinction as these have reached, but
rest assured there is just as great a
demand now as ever for good, earnest
men, and earnest, successful
men grow from painstaking boys.
The boy who, as clerk in the counting-house,
watches after the interests
of his employers, will be the coming
merchant; the young man on the
farm who slights not the work assigned
him, will own a farm of his own.</p>

<p>Let this lesson make an impression.
The road to success may be rugged,
but it is not so steep but that enough
steps, if in the right direction, be
they ever so short, will in time carry
you a long way toward the top.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 600px;">
<img src="images/oyf196.jpg" width="600" height="368"
alt="A mountainous landscape" />
</div>


<h2><a name="garden_of_the_gods" id="garden_of_the_gods"></a>GARDEN OF THE GODS.</h2>


<p>This, one of the grandest of
American natural sceneries, is located
along the Colorado River. The
river, in its years and years of flowing,
has washed out the soil, and
owing to the peculiar composition of
the ground has washed it away unevenly,
and these standing peaks are
so numerous and so fantastic in
form, that this location has been
called the Garden of the Gods. It
is most impressive and inspiring
grandeur. A trip will well repay a
journey from the most remote parts
of our country to see this view, only
a little of which is in the engraving.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 448px;">
<img src="images/oyf197.jpg" width="448" height="600"
alt="The artist using a friend&#39;s shadow to draw a silhouette" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A STRANGE STUDIO.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="young_artist" id="young_artist"></a>YOUNG ARTIST.</h2>


<p>Albert, the blacksmith&rsquo;s son, will
be an artist some day. While other
boys are playing ball or skating, or
other amusements, Albert is using
his time making pictures. He seems
to delight in it, and even when quite
a small boy, many were the scoldings
he received from his parents for a
too free use of his chalk and pencil,
leaving his rude drawings on wall
and fences; and in school his troubles
were only increased, for his books
always contained pictures, sometimes
of horses, or dogs, or of his friends.
This habit did not correspond with
his teachers&rsquo; ideas of tidiness, and
punishment followed punishment.
It did not help matters, though, and
his drawing continued. In time he
became quite apt and could make
pictures that very closely resembled
the objects he drew. His companions
called him the &ldquo;artist,&rdquo; and they
would have him make pictures of
them. Some of his methods were
odd enough. To make an outline of
a boy&rsquo;s face he would tack a piece of
paper on the side of a door in his
father&rsquo;s shop, and by placing the boy
between the paper and a lighted
lamp, would trace with pencil the
outline of the shadow as it fell on
the paper. Soon he tried painting
with paint and brush. At first his
efforts were crude, and to anyone
less determined and enthusiastic,
discouraging. Not so to Albert.
He worked along day after day, and
in time could paint well enough to
attract some notice in his little village.</p>

<p>About this time a great artist from
the city, spending the summer in this
part of the country, heard of Albert,
and by accident met him. Quick to
perceive the natural talent of the
boy, and being generously inclined,
he offered to take him to his city
home and give him training in his
studio. The parents, though loth to
be separated from their son, saw here
an opportunity to educate him in his
favorite study, and so accepted the
offer.</p>

<p>You can well imagine Albert&rsquo;s
surprise and delight when he first
entered the studio and saw the work
of the master. How the great paintings
filled him with wonder. He
proved an apt student, a true artist,
and year after year worked with
patience and determination, and became
a noted painter.</p>

<p>He often thinks of his early days&mdash;of
the pictures he made in the old
blacksmith shop. He thinks, too, of
the years spent since then in attaining
prominence in his calling, but no
regrets come to him.</p>

<p>The true story of how one boy
succeeded can be of use to others.
It only takes this same perseverance
and pluck to succeed in any other
calling. Had he complained because
he could not paint like the master,
and not been contented to study on
during these years, he could not now
lay claim to his present success and
eminence as an artist. Let others,
in reading this, see in it an object,
and may it bring to them new resolve
to succeed in the life work they have
started on.</p>

<p>Life is what we make it, and not a
matter of chance. By marking out
a future success we expect to accomplish,&mdash;by
sticking closely to this
one idea, and bending every energy
to attain it, we can come approximately
near accomplishing our undertaking.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 200px;">
<img src="images/oyf198.jpg" width="200" height="26"
alt="Ornamental pattern" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="a_chance_word" id="a_chance_word"></a>A CHANCE WORD.</h2>


<p>Ralph and Lily had one game of
which they never tired, and that was
&ldquo;horses.&rdquo; It was really a convenient
game, for it could be played on wet or
fine days, in the nursery or on the
road. Perhaps it was best fun on the
road, &ldquo;like real horses;&rdquo; but I am not
sure, for it was very delightful to sit on
the nursery table, with the box of bricks
for a coachman&rsquo;s seat, and from that
elevated position to drive the spirited
four horses represented by the four
chairs, to which the reins would be
fastened.</p>

<p>One day&mdash;a fine day&mdash;the two children
were playing at their usual game
on the turnpike road, and waiting for
nurse, who had gone into a cottage
near by to speak to the washerwoman.
Nurse was a long time, and Ralph, who
was horse, was quite out of breath with
his long trot on the hard road. Lily
touched him up with the whip, but all
to no avail&mdash;he could run no more.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve no breath left,&rdquo; said the poor
horse, sinking down exhausted on a
heap of stones.</p>

<p>Lily put down the whip and patted
his head to encourage him. &ldquo;Soh! soh!&rdquo;
she said, in as good an imitation as she
could manage of the way the groom
spoke to their father&rsquo;s horse; &ldquo;you are
quite done, I see. You must rest, and
have a handful of oats,&rdquo; and she dived
into her pocket and produced a bit of biscuit,
which the horse ate with great satisfaction,
and soon professed himself
ready to go on again. &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said Lily,
sagely, &ldquo;I knew you&rsquo;d be all right soon;
there&rsquo;s nothing like food and kindness
for horses when they&rsquo;re tired.&rdquo;</p>

<p>A tinker, with a cart and a poor, ill-fed
beast harnessed to it, happened to
be passing, and heard the little girl&rsquo;s
words. He stared after her, for she
seemed very small to speak so wisely,
and the tinker did not, of course, know
that she was only repeating what she
had heard her father say.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m dazed!&rdquo; exclaimed the
tinker, looking after the children;
&ldquo;wherever did little Missy learn that?&rdquo;</p>

<p>He said no more then; but Lily&rsquo;s
words stuck to him, and his poor horse
had reason to bless Lily for them, for
from that day forward he got, not only
more food, but more kindness and
fewer blows and so he became a better
horse, and the tinker the better man in
consequence.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="a_little_dance" id="a_little_dance"></a>A LITTLE DANCE.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh, it is fun! Oh, it is fun!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To dress ourselves up, as Grandma has done.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">See how we go! See how we go!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Forward and back, heel and toe.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Lighter than down, our feet come down<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mind all your steps, and hold out your gown;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Faster than that, whatever may hap,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cherry red waist and blue speckled cap.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Hi! Master John! Ho! Master John!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Don&rsquo;t go to sleep, while the music goes on;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Faster than that! Faster than that!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hold up your head, and flourish your hat!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How she trips it along, that bright little maid,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With her dainty blue skirt and spotted brocade;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And that one in yellow, who wears the red rose<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How she keeps her mouth shut and turns out her toes.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How they do spin! when they truly begin;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each dancer as airy and bright as a doll;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While the music complete, keeps time to their feet,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With its fiddle-dee-diddle and tol-de-rol-ol!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh, it is fun! Oh, it is fun!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To dance, when every duty is done;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Forward and back, or all in a ring,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A quick little dance is a very gay thing.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a></span></p>

<div class="center">
<a name="looking_out_for_number_one" id="looking_out_for_number_one"></a>
<table class="one" title="Looking Out for Number One" summary="Looking Out for Number One verses 1-3">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br />
<p class="center smlfont" style="padding-left: 8em;">OLIVE A. WADSWORTH.</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">Joey was a country boy,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Father&rsquo;s help and mother&rsquo;s joy;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In the morning he rose early,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That&rsquo;s what made his hair so curly;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Early went to bed at night,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That&rsquo;s what made his eyes so bright;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ruddy as a red-cheeked apple;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Playful as his pony, Dapple;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Even the nature of the rose<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Wasn&rsquo;t quite as sweet as Joe&rsquo;s.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">Charley was a city boy,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Father&rsquo;s pet and mother&rsquo;s joy;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Always lay in bed till late;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That&rsquo;s what made his hair so straight,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Late he sat up every night,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That&rsquo;s what made his cheeks so white;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Always had whate&rsquo;er he wanted,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He but asked, and mother granted;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Cakes and comfits made him snarly,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Sweets but soured this poor Charley.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">Charley, dressed quite like a beau,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Went, one day, to visit Joe.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; said Joey, &ldquo;let&rsquo;s go walking;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As we wander, we&rsquo;ll be talking;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And, besides, there&rsquo;s something growing<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In the garden, worth your knowing.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">&ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; said Charley, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m your guest;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Therefore I must have the best.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">All the <em>inner</em> part I choose,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the <em>outer</em> you can use.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<br /><br />
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>

<div class="center">
<table class="two" summary="Looking Out for Number One verses 4-5">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br />
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="ix">Joey gave a little laugh;<br /></span>
<span class="ix">&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;go half and half.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="ix">&ldquo;No, you don&rsquo;t!&rdquo; was Charley&rsquo;s answer,<br /></span>
<span class="ix">&ldquo;I look out for number one, sir.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="ix">But when they arrived, behold,<br /></span>
<span class="ix">On the tree a peach of gold,<br /></span>
<span class="ix">All without, fair, ripe and yellow,<br /></span>
<span class="ix">Fragrant, juicy, tempting, mellow,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a></span>
<span class="ix">And, within, a gnarly stone.<br /></span>
<span class="ix">&ldquo;There,&rdquo; said Joey, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s your own;<br /></span>
<span class="ix">As you choose, by right of guest,<br /></span>
<span class="ix">Keep your choice&mdash;I&rsquo;ll eat the rest.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="ix">Charley looked as black as thunder,<br /></span>
<span class="ix">Scarce could keep his temper under.<br /></span>
<span class="ix">&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas too bad, I think,&rdquo; said Joe;<br /></span>
<span class="ix">&ldquo;Through the cornfield let us go,<br /></span>
<span class="ix">Something there, perhaps we&rsquo;ll see<br /></span>
<span class="ix">That will suit you to a T.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="ix">&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Charles, with accent nipping,<br /></span>
<span class="ix">&ldquo;Twice you will not catch me tripping;<br /></span>
<span class="ix">Since I lost the fruit before,<br /></span>
<span class="ix">You now owe me ten times more.<br /></span>
<span class="ix">Now the <em>outer</em> part I choose,<br /></span>
<span class="ix">And the <em>inner</em> you can use.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br />
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Joey gave another laugh;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Better call it half and half.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;No, indeed!&rdquo; was Charley&rsquo;s answer,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;I look out for number one, sir!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Well I know what I&rsquo;m about,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For you, what&rsquo;s in; for me what&rsquo;s out!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On they went, and on a slope<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lay a luscious cantaloupe,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rich and rare, with all the rays<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From the August suns that blaze;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Quite <em>within</em> its sweets you find,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And <em>without</em> the rugged rind.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Charley gazed in blank despair,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Deeply vexed and shamed his air.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Joey, &ldquo;since you would<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Choose the bad and leave the good;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Since you claimed the outer part,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And disdained the juicy heart,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yours the rind, and mine the rest;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But as you&rsquo;re my friend and guest,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Charley, man, cheer up and laugh,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And we&rsquo;ll share it half and half;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Looking out for number one<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Doesn&rsquo;t always bring the fun.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf201.jpg" width="500" height="386"
alt="At work in the studio" />
</div>


<h2 class="smcap"><a name="woodcroft" id="woodcroft"></a>Woodcroft.</h2>


<p>Woodcroft to be sold!&mdash;like a knell
of doom the words fell on our ears&mdash;it
could not be! Our dear old home, the
only one we children had ever known,
to be taken from us. We sat in the
bright little sitting-room, blankly looking
at one another, in dumb astonishment.
Louise, who was always the
thoughtful one, soon roused herself
from the stupor which seemed to have
come upon us all, and going over to the
lounge, began comforting&mdash;as best she
could, poor child&mdash;our gentle little
mother, upon whom this blow had fallen
most heavily. Presently she sat up,
and in trembling tones told us, as we
clustered at her knee, the particulars
of our misfortune.</p>

<p>There were three of us&mdash;Louise, Cal
and I, who rejoiced in the quaint
cognomen of Pen, named for a rich,
eccentric, old aunt, who had never left
me any money because she never died.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Now, Marmo, out with all the
trouble and let us share it,&rdquo; said matter-of-fact
Cal. And then she told
how, after papa&rsquo;s sudden death a year
before, she had discovered a mortgage
to be on the place, small, but now due
and no money to meet it; the creditor
was pressing, and the home to be sold.
We felt sad, but cheered her up, and
talked over ways and means as never
before.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Even though he consents to renew
it, where would the yearly interest
money come from,&rdquo; she wailed.</p>

<p>We urged her to lie down and rest,
and, following Cal&rsquo;s beckoning finger,
tip-toed out of the room.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Now, girls,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;<em>something&rsquo;s</em>
got to be done, and <em>we&rsquo;ve</em> got to do it.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 472px;">
<img src="images/oyf202.jpg" width="472" height="600"
alt="Two birds perch on a sketchpad, looking at a sketch of themselves" />
</div>

<p class="caption">&ldquo;A TRIBUTE TO YOUR GENIUS, LOU,&rdquo; SAID I. &ldquo;LIKE THE FAMOUS ARTIST<br />
OF OLD, WHO PAINTED CHERRIES SO NATURALLY, THE BIRDS<br />
FLEW DOWN AND PECKED AT THE CANVAS.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a></span>
One thing after another was proposed
and rejected; we knew, if the home
were sold, after the demands were met,
there would be but a mere pittance left
for four females to live on. Finally I
broke in:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Girls, my brain is not usually fertile,
but a thought has been growing&mdash;we are
all well educated, but teaching is out of
the question, the supply is greater than
the demand, but Lou, here, is skilled
with pencil and brush, and Cal has a
genius for contrivance; now why could
you not paint and decorate some of the
dainty trifles you often make as gifts,
and <em>sell</em> them. <em>I</em> always did have a notion
for cookery, which I shall proceed
to put in practice, dismissing the servants.&rdquo;
Having delivered this little
speech, I paused, breathless.</p>

<p>Cal clapped her hands, and Lou&rsquo;s
brown eyes glowed. &ldquo;Pen, you little
duck,&rdquo; and Cal pounced on me in an
excess of joy.</p>

<p>&ldquo;But,&rdquo; faltered Lou, &ldquo;the mortgage.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I thought of that too&mdash;our lady-like
Louise shall go to that crusty old creditor,
and beg him to <em>renew</em> it, and with
what you girls earn and what we save
from the rent of the farm land (for we
must live economically) we will pay him
the interest promptly.&rdquo; I will add, that
she did that very thing, and completely
won over the hard-hearted fellow with
her sweet, earnest manner.</p>

<p>So to work we went, and the sitting-room
was converted into a studio, littered
with papers, books, gay ribbons
and glue-pots. But some exquisite creations
came out of that chaos. I had
visited the aforesaid Aunt Pen the previous
winter, in New York city, and
at the American Specialty House had
been enchanted with the many novel
and beautiful pieces of decorated work.
All would be entirely new in <em>this</em> part
of the world, and our idea was, to take
orders from the near towns for their
Holiday trade. It was now only May
and we would have plenty of time. Cal,
who, with her brusque, honest ways, determined
face, and curly, short hair, was
our man of business, took samples of
our work in to the various towns, receiving
large orders in almost every
instance.</p>

<p>Happy and busy as bees we worked,
and began to feel quite important, as
the pile grew high, of white boxes, filled
with delicate satin souvenirs for wedding
and birthdays, Christmas tokens of
lovely design, little poems with dainty
painted covers, blotters and thought
books, beautifully decorated, all of
which found ready sale. The little
mother&rsquo;s sad eyes began to brighten,
and Cal would say:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Marmo, we can take care of you almost
as good as sons, can&rsquo;t we?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;God bless my daughters,&rdquo; would be
the reply.</p>

<p>Louise had established her studio
under the old apple-tree one warm
June day, and, running out to call her
to lunch, I found she had gone down in
the garden, but I saw the cutest, prettiest
sight! I beckoned her to come
softly. There, on her sketch-book,
opened against the tree, and on which
was a half-finished painting of birds,
hopped around two brown sparrows,
peeping and twittering as contentedly
as possible. It was too cunning! as
though they had recognized their portraits
and felt at home.</p>

<p>&ldquo;A tribute to your genius, Lou,&rdquo;
said I. &ldquo;Like the famous artist of old,
who painted cherries so naturally, the
birds flew down and pecked at the canvas.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I fear I shall have to dispel the illusion,
dear. I guess they were more
eager to pick up some cake crumbs I
left than to admire my work.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Readers, you will be glad to know
that the girls&rsquo; work continued successful,
and that the &ldquo;crusty old creditor&rdquo;
turned out a good friend, from sheer
admiration of their pluck and courage.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 175px;">
<img src="images/oyf203.jpg" width="175" height="68"
alt="Two little birds" />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf204.jpg" width="500" height="405"
alt="Climbing roses" />
</div>

<h2><a name="in_the_woods" id="in_the_woods"></a>IN THE WOODS.</h2>


<p>Merryvale was not
a very lively place for
any one except a couple
of young colts,
and as many calves,
jumping around after
their mothers.</p>

<p>The bees seemed to be making a
good deal of fun for themselves, if
stinging us children amused them, and
buzzing into every pretty, bright flower,
so that no one could pick it with safety.</p>

<p>The crows, too, collected in great
gossiping parties, in the pines, over on
the shore of the pond, and they always
seemed to be congratulating themselves
over something immensely satisfactory.</p>

<p>But we children, especially the girls,
found it very dull after we had seen
the few sights of the farm. The boys
were trying to hunt and fish; but Lib
and I talked that over, and we came to
the conclusion, after much laughing
and many caustic remarks, that the
only amusement we had was, laughing
at their failures.</p>

<p>We communicated that fact to them,
but it didn&rsquo;t seem to make any difference;
off they went on the same fruitless
hunt, and left us to do what we
might, to make ourselves happy.</p>

<p>The next day, Lib and Dora and I
told them we would go into the woods
with them and see what the charm was.
Lib was the eldest of us three, and had
read a great deal, and she said:</p>

<p>&ldquo;May be we shall find the robbers&rsquo;
cave, and if we say, &lsquo;Open Sesame,&rsquo;
the great stone doors will slowly swing
open, and we can go in where the
chains of flashing gems and the heaps
of golden coin are.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I think you&rsquo;ll get into places where
you can&rsquo;t get out; &lsquo;open sesame&rsquo; will
never lift you out of a marsh hole,&rdquo;
said William Pitt Gaylord, our eldest
brother.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Mollie, you can find somebody to
have a talking match with, for there are
lots of chipmunks over in the grove,&rdquo;
remarked Hugh.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen snakes in that very woods,
too, and if you&rsquo;d holler, Lib, at that
end of the pond, as you do at this end
of the tea-table, you wouldn&rsquo;t catch
any fish,&rdquo; said William. This caused
an uproarious laugh on the part of the
boys.</p>

<p>We listened quietly to their sarcastic
remarks, knowing they were prompted
by an unreasonable desire to monopolize
the delights of the woods to themselves.</p>

<p>William Pitt remarked that &ldquo;Girls
had no business to meddle with boys&rsquo;
sports, and they&rsquo;d come to grief if they
did; you&rsquo;d see!&rdquo;</p>

<p>Next morning the August haze lay
soft on the landscape, but in a short
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a></span>
time it went off, and Father, learning
that we girls were going to spend a
part of the day in the woods, quietly
told the boys that they must escort us
to the pleasantest place, and not wander
very far off. They pouted considerably,
and had a talk at the corner of
the barn; they then came back, smiling,
and apparently good-natured.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 339px;">
<img src="images/oyf205.jpg" width="339" height="350"
alt="Walking through the fields" />
</div>

<p>Our brothers did not intend to be
unkind, but they had the common failing
of humanity&mdash;selfishness. But Lib
matched them in a dozen ways with her
good-humored retaliations; and many a
tilt she had with William Pitt since we
had arrived at the farm. In the city she
was abreast of him in all his studies;
and I noticed that Lib could get out
her Latin, and write a composition
much faster than he, and often he had
been obliged to come to her for aid.
It nettled Lib not to be able to hunt
and fish. We two younger ones modeled
after her; she was the leader, and
when she said we would go with the
boys, we went.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Hello Fred,&rdquo; said Hugh, as a
neighboring boy, a city boarder, came
through the gate, attired in base-ball
cap and knickerbockers, &ldquo;we can&rsquo;t go to
Duck Inlet to-day. Father says the
girls must have a good time, too, and
that we must devote one day to them,
at least.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Fred, &ldquo;can I go
with you? I&rsquo;ll go and get my butterfly
net, and we can go over to Fern Hollow
mill, the winter-greens and berries
are as thick there! Gracious! you can
get a quart pail full in no time.
The mill-wheel is a beautiful
sight,&rdquo; said Fred, turning to
Lib, &ldquo;and you can sketch it,
Miss Gaylord.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Lib looked upon Fred with
a little more toleration, after
he had said &ldquo;Miss Gaylord,&rdquo;
and went and ordered an
additional ration to be put
into the lunch basket. We
were glad to have Fred along
with us, for he was very funny,
and made jokes on every
thing.</p>

<p>Lib would allow no one to
carry the lunch basket but
herself, as she remarked, &ldquo;It
is safer with me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>We started, and were tempted
to loiter at all the little
nooks on the leaf-shadowed
road, and investigate the
haunts of the curious dwellers
in the rocks and bushes,
and especially were we
interested in the ducks on Fern Hollow
creek. Dora insisted upon feeding
them a piece of bread. &ldquo;Calamity,&rdquo;
the dog, was along, of course, and as
he belonged to William Pitt, who called
him &ldquo;Clam,&rdquo; he was always in that
boy&rsquo;s company. It was, &ldquo;Love me,
love my dog,&rdquo; with William; and as
he was a professional of some kind, he
was greatly prized by the boys.</p>

<p>We reached the woods and the old
mill early; I think I never was in a
more delightful place. Every thing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a></span>
seemed to grow here. Winter-greens,
with their crimson berries, shining in
the moss, and blueberries, where the
sun came; tall, white flowers that grew
in clusters in the shade, sent their perfume
all about. Back of the mill, on
some sandy ledges, grew pennyroyal
and spearmint;
raspberries and
blackberries
grew everywhere.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 339px;">
<img src="images/oyf206.jpg" width="339" height="500"
alt="A stream running through fields" />
</div>

<p>The boys
went off to
gather a
quantity for lunch,
and Lib and Dora
and I hunted for a
pleasant place to
set out our dainties.
We found it. A
natural bower, between four
trees; one being a giant of a
pine, right at the doorway. The
wild grape-vine and the woodbine
had inclosed the space so completely,
that Lib, who had thoughtfully
brought along a scissors to
cut off stubborn plants, could make
two windows in the green wall; one
looking into the woods, the other off
at the distant pond. The grass was
fine in here, and the sunbeams
dropped down in little round spots,
on the pine needles that covered the
floor.</p>

<p>&ldquo;This is certainly the fairies&rsquo; dining
hall,&rdquo; said Lib.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you what,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;this is
not far from home, and we can bring
things, and have a little parlor here. I
can make a couple of curtains out of
that figured scrim, for windows, and
that old square rug in the carriage-house
will do for the floor.
You can bring your rocking-chair,
Lib, and Dora can bring
her tea-set.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll bring our Christmas and
Easter cards, and we can fasten
them all about, on the walls,&rdquo; said
Lib, who had fallen in immediately
with the plan.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll bring Mrs. Snobley, and
all her children, and the dining
table,&rdquo; said Dora.</p>

<p>She had reference to her large
doll, and a whole dozen of little
ones, that were always brought
forward in any play that Dora
had taken a fancy to.</p>

<p>We were in such haste to
put our scheme into operation,
that we dispatched the lunch
in short order, and told the
boys of our plan. They thought
it was capital. Any thing that
would release them, after they
had eaten all that was to be had,
would, of course, be received
with acclamation. They acknowledged
the same, in a very
neat speech, which Lib said,
&ldquo;did very good for Hugh.&rdquo;</p>

<p>She fell in immediately with
our fun, and helped us to a number
of nice things, to furnish
our greenwood bower. We
worked tremendously that afternoon,
and after Betty had washed
the dinner dishes, she helped us. Before
sun-down every thing was complete.
The boys, who had taken themselves a
mile away, to hunt, came round to visit
us on their way home. They agreed
that it was just perfect, and inquired if
we hadn&rsquo;t put in an elevator, to reach
the second story, with numerous other
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a></span>
inquiries, intended to be funny; and
then asked where we kept our cranberry
tarts.</p>

<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re not going to allow any boys
in this play-house after to-day,&rdquo; said I;
&ldquo;your feet are muddy, and you&rsquo;re so big,
you fill it all up.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Our visitor, Fred, looked at his feet,
and blushed. &ldquo;Not after to-day? How
are you going to keep any one out?&rdquo;
inquired William Pitt.</p>

<p>&ldquo;We will draw this portiere across
the doorway, and no <em>gentleman</em> would
think of entering,&rdquo; said Lib.</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, they wouldn&rsquo;t, sure enough,&rdquo;
said Hugh. &ldquo;How are you going to
prevent our looking in the windows?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Only rude boys would look in windows,&rdquo;
said Fred, &ldquo;and I don&rsquo;t know
of any hereabouts.&rdquo;</p>

<p>They laughed at this, and Lib laughed
too, and made the sly remark, that
&ldquo;Hunting on the duck-pond transformed
some people mighty soon.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Fred said he&rsquo;d try to be on his good
behavior if we&rsquo;d let him make a formal
call on us the next afternoon. We
consented to this; then they all said
they&rsquo;d call.</p>

<p>The next day we busied ourselves in
preparing a spread of good things for
our reception, and Betty took it over,
and on returning, said every thing was
just as we had left it. We dressed
ourselves up in our best, to receive the
gentlemen, a little time after dinner.
The woods were never so lovely, we
thought, and to add to our personal
charms, we made wreaths and garlands
of ferns and wild-flowers to adorn our
persons and hats.</p>

<p>I had sauntered along considerably
in advance, and as I approached the
bower I was not a little surprised to
see from a distance that the door-curtain
was drawn half open. I stopped
to listen, but there was no sound, only
a wild bird piping its three little notes,
down by the mill. I cautiously went
up, and peeped into the little window,
and there stood a man on the rug! He
seemed to be looking about. I think I
never was so frightened. I ran back,
and whispered to the rest the dreadful
state of things. They looked horror-stricken.
Lib changed color, but just
stood still. Then she said,&mdash;&ldquo;There&rsquo;s
plenty of help over at the mill.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, let us go no nearer, but get
home as fast as we can,&rdquo; I said.</p>

<p>Lib raised her hand in warning for us
to keep still, and we crept along, softly,
behind the bower; and when we had gotten
so far, we all turned around and ran
for dear life into the woods again.</p>

<p>&ldquo;This is nonsense,&rdquo; said Lib. &ldquo;You
were mistaken, Mollie, I&rsquo;m sure.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I said I&rsquo;d go back with her, and she
could see for herself. We crept to the
back of the bower, and Lib leaned over
and looked in. Lib turned pale, caught
hold of my hand and Dora&rsquo;s, and ran
quite a distance toward the mill.
Then she stopped, and said, as true as
she was alive, there was a man in there;
he stood with a large stick resting on
his shoulder, upon which was slung a
bundle, tied up in a red handkerchief,
his clothing was ragged, and his hat
was very dilapidated.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, Lib, I&rsquo;m going to run for it,&rdquo;
said I.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Wait a minute,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
hear any noise. Let&rsquo;s think; if we
didn&rsquo;t have to go right in front of the
door, we could get to the mill.&rdquo;</p>

<p>All this time we were edging ourselves
as far away from the dangerous
precincts as we conveniently could.
She stood again, perfectly still. &ldquo;I
won&rsquo;t go another step,&rdquo; she said. That
moment&rsquo;s reflect had re-instated her
courage. &ldquo;He don&rsquo;t come out; I should
say that was making an informal call
when the ladies were out. He&rsquo;s a
beautiful-looking specimen anyway,&rdquo;
said Lib, with fine irony; and as she
said this, she frowned, and put her
head back.</p>

<p>No sound was heard, and no demonstrations
from the interloper were made.
The sight of the mill-wagon, going
slowly down the road, gave us heart,
and Lib said:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"></a></span>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go and order him out, be the
consequences what they may. Mollie,
you&rsquo;re good at screaming, you can
bring the miller here if we have to get
help.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t! Don&rsquo;t! I would rather he
stole all our things; let him have the
tarts and the cocoanut cake, and the
jam, and the pickles, and the cheese,
and the sandwiches! Let him have
them in welcome! I&rsquo;m going to fly
home!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I want Mrs. Snobley!&rdquo; sobbed
Dora.</p>

<p>Lib never said another word. She
walked up to the entrance, and pulled
aside the curtain, and there stood the
semblance of a man. In his extended
hand was a card, on which was very
badly printed:</p>

<div class="finebox">
<p class="center">&ldquo;<i>I&rsquo;m a poor b&rsquo;y,&mdash;I want a home.</i>&rdquo;</p>

<p class="center">&ldquo;<i>References exchanged.</i>&rdquo;</p>

<p class="center">&ldquo;<i>I&rsquo;ll scrape the mud off me
boots, if ye&rsquo;ll let me in.</i>&rdquo;</p>
</div>

<p>Lib called, &ldquo;Come here, Mollie, it&rsquo;s
a trick of those boys.&rdquo;</p>

<p>We went in, and there we found the
interloper to be a scarecrow from a
neighboring field, ingeniously arranged
so as to appear very human.</p>

<p>At that moment, a loud laugh above
our heads betrayed the presence of the
boys in the trees, who clambered down
with hilarious expedition, and fairly
rolled themselves upon the ground
with delight. They had seen all our
perturbation; had heard my cowardly
cries and expressions; Lib&rsquo;s looking in
the window, and her fearful hesitation
and scamper behind the fairy bower!
The best thing to do was to laugh, and
that we did right heartily; we girls, were
internally thankful that the intruder was
only a scarecrow after all.</p>

<p>We ordered the boys take their silly
joke out, and to come in like gentlemen,
and make a formal call, and
probably they would be invited to take
some refreshments.</p>

<p>This news caused them to work with
great alacrity. They were dressed up
too; Fred having chosen to wear his
school uniform, with a gorgeous crimson
sash and his sword.</p>

<p>We were never so delighted with
any thing as with that afternoon&rsquo;s adventure.
For hours we chatted and
laughed, and ate our refreshments,
until the western light began to take
on a ruddy hue, and we closed our little
bower and proceeded homeward.</p>

<p>What was our surprise, when we
reached there, to find that three young
friends from the city with their servant
had come to visit us. Merryvale
was not dull after that, I can assure you.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 263px;">
<img src="images/oyf207.jpg" width="263" height="450" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE NEW SERVANT AT MERRYVALE.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="autumn_leaves_and_what_katie_did" id="autumn_leaves_and_what_katie_did"></a>AUTUMN LEAVES, AND
WHAT KATIE DID.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">ALEX DUKE BAILIE.</p>


<p>&ldquo;Oh, Bessie! I&rsquo;ve such an idea, <em>such</em>
a good one, and <em>so</em> sure, you can&rsquo;t think
how it came either, if you guessed and
tried for a week!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Child, you are always having ideas,
but they amount to nothing; you have
enough to do at home, without continually
fretting your head about what
you cannot carry out.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;But, Bessie, this is <em>just splendid</em>,
and it came to me all of a sudden, and
I&rsquo;m sure as sure can be that it is a real
<em>good</em> idea. Now wont you listen!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I suppose I must, if I want any
peace; but I&rsquo;m very tired, so if it is
like your latest&mdash;to catch fish and sell
them in the town, or to have your curls
cut off and let some city hair-dresser
pay you for them&mdash;there will be no use
to tell it to me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Tain&rsquo;t neither, Bessie dear, it&rsquo;s a
real clever idea, and I know you wont
say &lsquo;no&rsquo; to it. I was looking over
some of the old picture papers this
morning, and I found a funny picture
of a gentleman that had gone fishing
with, oh! the greatest lot of lines, and
a fine rod, and a basket swung at his
back, and he looked ever so nice; but
he hadn&rsquo;t caught any thing and he was
ashamed to go back to the city with an
empty basket; and then there was another
picture where he was buying a
great string of fish from a bare-footed
little country boy, that had caught
them all, and had only a rough old
pole and an old line on it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;So it <em>is</em> the fishing idea, again,&rdquo;
said Bessie, &ldquo;but the present variation
does not improve on the last.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, it just ain&rsquo;t the fishing idea
any more; it&rsquo;s this: you know all the
excursion parties that come up here,
are coming all the time now; well, the
ladies all gather autumn leaves, lots
and lots, handsful and handsful of
them. But they get tired of carrying
so many after a while, and by the time
they get ready to go back to the cars,
their leaves are thrown away, and they
are empty-handed. Now just listen!
If I go to work and pick out the <em>very</em>
prettiest leaves and do them up in the
<em>very</em> sweetest bunches, and tie them so
they are easy to carry, and meet them
when they are starting to go home, I&rsquo;m <em>sure</em>
they will buy them, just like the gentleman
did the fish from that boy.
Now, ain&rsquo;t that a <em>real good</em> idea?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I believe there is something in it,
Katie,&rdquo; answered the eldest sister.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I knew you would,&rdquo; cried Katie,
joyously, &ldquo;and may I try it?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;If you will be very careful and not
talk too much to the people you know
nothing of, I have no objections; it
can do no harm, at all events,&rdquo; and
poor, tired Bessie sighed as she looked
at her bright young sister and thought
of the time when she too was young
and full of hope and gay spirits.</p>

<p>There was quite a family of these
Wilsons in the little house at the foot
of the mountains, in Pennsylvania.
The widowed mother, sickly and almost
blind; Bessie, a young lady, the
eldest daughter, aged twenty-three,
who taught a very large school for very
small pay; then Katie not quite
twelve, and Robbie, the baby, the pet,
the boy, who was only five.</p>

<p>Three years before, their father had
been living, and they had enjoyed all that
wealth could bring them. Suddenly
he sickened and died, and then came
the dreadful knowledge that he left
nothing for his family; he was deeply
in debt to his partner, with whom he
had worked a large coal-mine, and this
Mr. Moore was what all people called
a &ldquo;hard man,&rdquo; he was old and crabbed,
and always wanted and would have
every cent coming to him. Bessie
was to have been married to his son,
Philip, but when poverty came to her,
the old man refused to let Philip see
her more, and the girl was too proud
to go into a family where she was not
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"></a></span>
wanted, and, beside, she had her poor
mother, who had given up and failed
fast after her misfortunes, she had her
to look after. So Bessie taught school;
Katie attended to the little home into
which they had moved from the great
house on the hill, a noble little housekeeper
she was; Robbie did about as
he pleased and was well content with
life, except when neat Katie would
seize him and wash his face with plenty
of soap in his eyes, and comb his tangled
curls with a comb that &ldquo;allus
pulled,&rdquo; as he cried.</p>

<p>It was hard for them to pay the rent,
to get food and the many delicacies
Mrs. Wilson had always been used to,
and now needed more than ever. Bessie&rsquo;s
small wages from her school were
taken, every cent, for these, and Katie
was continually bothering her young
head with &ldquo;ideas&rdquo; as to how <em>she</em> could
make money to help them all. The
autumn leaves were the latest, and it
really did seem as though there were
something in it.</p>

<p>The next day was Saturday, Bessie
was free from school duties, and so her
little sister had more time at her disposal.
Friday evening she and Robbie
gathered a great quantity of bright-colored
leaves; the next morning,
bright and early, they were out again;
the little back porch was filled with
them.</p>

<p>With her own natural good taste,
aided by Bessie&rsquo;s more cultivated judgment,
they made up many neat, beautiful
bunches of those bright-colored
droppings from the forest trees. These
she placed in a large but pretty basket
that once had been sent, filled with
rare fruit, to Bessie, from Philip, and
the older girl sighed when she gave
it to her sister.</p>

<p>Then Katie started, leaving Robbie
behind crying; and with a trembling
heart and a big lump in her throat, but
bravely as a little soldier, she made
her way to the path by which the excursion
parties would have to return to
the cars. Soon they began to come
along, all tired, trying to be merry
ladies and gentlemen.</p>

<p>Katie stood with her basket on her
arm. She did not know how pretty
she looked, with her brown curls floating
out from beneath her big sun-bonnet,
her pure white apron, her dark
dress which Bessie had made from one
of her own, with delicate bits of lace at
the wrists, a bright bit of ribbon about
her throat and a plain little breast-pin
clasping it. Her big black eyes looked
longingly at the passers-by, her red
lips tried, many times, to utter some
words that would help her sell her
wares, but she could not speak, she
could only up her hand and <em>look</em>
her wants.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What lovely leaves!&rdquo; cried a young
lady, &ldquo;these of mine seem all faded by
the carrying, and I&rsquo;m tired of the great
load anyhow,&rdquo; and she threw away a
great lot tied round with her handkerchief,
and hastened toward the little
merchant.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What a pretty girl,&rdquo; said the young
man with her.</p>

<p>&ldquo;How much are these?&rdquo; inquired
the lady.</p>

<p>Bessie had not thought of what she
would ask for her bunches, and now,
between pleasure and fright, she could
not think of any price to put upon
them.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Whatever you please, Miss,&rdquo; she
faintly murmured.</p>

<p>&ldquo;How lovely they are,&rdquo; said the
lady, and taking three bunches, she
gave two to the young man with her, telling
him: &ldquo;Harry, you must carry
these, and pay the child,&rdquo; the third
one she kept in her own hand.</p>

<p>The gentleman put his hand in his
pocket, drew it out, and dropped into
Katie&rsquo;s basket a silver dollar.</p>

<p>The tears almost blinded the little
girl&mdash;tears of joy over her first success&mdash;she
could hardly see what the coin
was, but when she picked it up she
managed to stammer that she &ldquo;had no
change.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t want any, little one,&rdquo; said
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a></span>
the young man pleasantly, &ldquo;the sight
of you is worth all the money and
more.&rdquo; Then the couple hurried
away.</p>

<p>But their stopping had attracted
many more, and a dozen bought of
Katie, and, though few were as generous
as her first customers, she soon
disposed of most of her stock at ten
cents a bunch, having gained courage
to fix and state her price. Quite a
number gave her more than that sum,
and she began to feel a very rich little
girl, indeed.</p>

<p>More than half her stock was sold,
when an old gentleman and a young
lady came along. The lady, as usual,
was the first to admire the bright
bunches, she took two, the old gentleman
giving Katie fifty cents and telling
her that &ldquo;was right.&rdquo; He seemed
a cross old man, but still spoke pleasantly.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s your name, child?&rdquo; he
asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Katie Wilson, sir,&rdquo; replied the little
girl, faintly.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Um! um! Come along Helen,&rdquo;
said he, hastily, and hurried away.</p>

<p>These were the last of the excursion
parties, except an elderly lady having
in charge a dozen children, all dressed
alike; little ones from a soldiers&rsquo; orphan
school, for whom some kind person
had provided a day&rsquo;s pleasure.
They were tired and worn out with
romping, and dragged along slowly;
they looked at Katie&rsquo;s bright face and
longingly at the pretty leaves in her
basket. The girl&rsquo;s heart was touched;
timidly she held out a bunch to a little
boy who half stopped in front of her,
he took it eagerly; in a moment the
others were about her. By good fortune,
she had enough to give on to
each and an extra bunch to the lady.</p>

<p>With the thanks of these poor children
in her heart, an empty basket and a
happy jingle in her pocket she ran
nearly all the way home, burst in on
Bessie, put her arms about her neck
and sobbed for happiness.</p>

<p>When the elder sister at last succeeded
in calming her, she told the
whole story of her afternoon&rsquo;s work.</p>

<p>Together they counted the money&mdash;three
dollars and eighty-five cents&mdash;just
think of it!</p>

<p>If ever there was a happy, excited
little girl, it was Katie that night. She
could not sleep or eat. When she <em>had
to</em> go to bed, she lay awake long, long
hours, thinking how <em>she</em> would buy
back the big house, how mother should
have doctors and every thing she
needed, how Bessie should stop teaching
and have a horse and little carriage,
and pretty dresses, and a piano, like
she used to, and how Robbie should go
to school and college and grow up to
be a great man and finally be President.
She never thought of herself,
except that <em>she</em> was to do all this, and
when she fell asleep she dreamed the
whole thing over again, and that it had
turned out just as she planned.</p>

<p>All through the excursion season
Katie sold her leaves, and though she
never made as much as on the first
day, yet when people stopped coming
she had over one hundred dollars in
Bessie&rsquo;s hands, all made by herself, all
made by being up early and attending
to her household duties and working
hard so as to have her bunches ready
by the time that visitors were returning
to the train.</p>

<p>She was brave, and true, and unselfish,
and her reward was great.</p>

<p>It was one chill November evening,
toward Thanksgiving day, that she
and Robbie had wandered out among
the mountain paths; the little fellow
was wild as a colt and ran here and
there until it was all Katie could do to
keep track of him. Finally she caught
him; both were tired out, and when
she looked around, to her great terror,
she could not make out just where they
were. They wandered along and at last
came to a road, but she did not know
which way to go. Robbie was cross
and sleepy; she could not carry the
heavy boy, and he <em>would</em> lay down;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"></a></span>
at last she let him rest. He dropped
by a fallen log and in a moment was
asleep. She covered him with a little
cloth cape she wore, and sat down beside
him; her eyes were heavy, she
nodded, and very soon was as sound as
he.</p>

<p>Along the road came a thin, old, but
active man; he stepped out firmly and
aided his steps with a stout cane. It
was after dusk of the evening. He
spied something in the gloom, on the
other side of the road, something unusual;
he crossed over; it was a little
girl leaning against a big, fallen tree
and a small boy stretched on the
ground beside it; both were fast
asleep. He touched the girl&rsquo;s shoulder;
she sprang up. &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she gasped,
&ldquo;don&rsquo;t hurt Robbie! We weren&rsquo;t doing
any harm, indeed we weren&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;What are you doing here any how?&rdquo;
he inquired.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It was Robbie, no, it was me, he
was so sleepy and so was I, and we
were just resting until we could start
and try to find home again.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Um! so you&rsquo;re lost, are you?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, sir, I guess not only&mdash;only we
don&rsquo;t know the way.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, I should say that&rsquo;s pretty
near being lost. Where do you live?
What&rsquo;s your name?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;We live in the old Mill cottage,
and my name&rsquo;s Katie Wilson, and
Robbie&rsquo;s is Robert T. Wilson.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Um! um! Yes; well, I know where
you live; come along, I&rsquo;ll put you right.
Come! wake up here, young man!&rdquo;
and he gently poked Robbie with his
cane. But Robbie was sleepy and cross,
and cried and kicked, and it was all Katie
could do to get him on his feet and
moving. Then as they went slowly
on, she holding her brother&rsquo;s hand, her
own in that of the stranger, he asked
her: &ldquo;Weren&rsquo;t you frightened to be out
all alone?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, no, sir,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;I
was frightened for mother and Bessie
being worried, but not for us; I just
said my prayers and covered Robbie,
and then I fell asleep and didn&rsquo;t know
any thing until you woke me up.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Um! said your prayers, did you!&rdquo;
and the old man stopped and looked
at her.</p>

<p>&ldquo;See here, Katie!&rdquo; he said, in a
very gentle voice, &ldquo;say your prayers
for me, I&rsquo;d like to hear them.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The child looked at him in astonishment
and trouble. Could it be that
the gentleman could not say his
prayers for himself, that he did not
pray himself! &ldquo;Oh, sir!&rdquo; she said,
with choking voice and tears in her
eyes, &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t say them to you, only to
Bessie or mother: It&rsquo;s just God bless
mother, and Bessie and Robbie and me,
and take care of us in the night and
day, and&mdash;and that&rsquo;s all, sir.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, never mind now, little Katie,
come along, we must get Robbie home
to the mother and Bessie soon, or
they&rsquo;ll think the bears have eaten you
both,&rdquo; and the old man&rsquo;s voice was
still more gentle, and he hurried as
fast as the little ones could go. He
knew the roads well, and in half an
hour they were on a path that the children
were well acquainted with, and
near home.</p>

<p>There was a cry of joy, and Bessie
sprang upon the little ones at a bend
in the road and gathered them in her
arms, and kissed and scolded and petted
them, all at the same time.</p>

<p>The old gentleman hurried away as
soon as he saw they were safe; but he
did not go far; he stepped back in the
dark and heard Katie tell the tale of
adventure and take all the blame herself,
and excuse Robbie, and talk about
the kind gentleman who had found
them and brought them home, and
wonder where he had gone so quickly
before she had time to thank him. He
followed them at a distance; he saw
them enter their home, and he watched
outside until the lamp was lighted in
the little sitting-room; then he came
near the window and looked in; he
watched while the sick, half-blind
mother cried over her children; he saw
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></a></span>
pale, sweet-faced Bessie comforting all;
he stood there an hour without noticing
the cold and wind that grew about
him. He saw brave, hard-working
Bessie, and true Katie, and the little
boy, and the mother of all, kneel at
their chairs, and he thought he could
hear the prayers of thanks that came
from the hearts of all and the lips of
the older sister, and he felt drops upon
his cheek, not rain, but tears&mdash;tears. It
had been many years since his eyes
had been wet with tears, but they
were there and they softened the heart
of &ldquo;hard old man&rdquo; Moore, and he
turned away at last with a strange resolution
in his mind.</p>

<p>Three days after he was in the sitting-room
of that cottage; with him
was his son Philip, by Philip&rsquo;s side was
Bessie, looking ever so much younger
and prettier, and <em>so</em>, <em>so</em> happy, and
standing by the side of &ldquo;hard old man&rdquo;
Moore was little Katie, wondering to
see such an old man wipe the tears
from his eyes, wondering at the way
in which he held one arm close around
her, and wondering still more why he
should keep saying, all the time, &ldquo;You
did it, little Katie, you did it all.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The Wilsons are comfortable and
happy now. Bessie is Mrs. Philip
Moore; the mother has doctors and
luxuries; Robbie is at school and learning
fast; Katie, <em>our</em> Katie, is learning
fast also, but she is still the same
Katie as of old; she did not have to
sell bunches of leaves another season;
but there are always great bouquets
of the beauties in the house, and old
Mr. Moore, &ldquo;hard&rdquo; no longer, calls her
nothing but his little &ldquo;Autumn leaf.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 275px;">
<img src="images/oyf208.jpg" width="275" height="74"
alt="Birds on a twig" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="the_spinning_lesson" id="the_spinning_lesson"></a>THE SPINNING LESSON.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.</p>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">You will not mind, if I sit me down<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And watch you spin, in your velvet gown?<br /></span>
<span class="i2">You need not fear,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">You can trust me here.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I think I can learn to spin, if I<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Could watch you work. Will you let me try?<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">You spin and weave, but I cannot see<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Just how &rsquo;tis done, and it puzzles me.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">For you have no loom<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In your little room.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No silken skein, no spinning-wheel,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No bobbin and no winding reel.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Please tell me what you use instead?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And where do you hide your shining thread,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">As soft as silk<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And as white as milk?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I think, Mrs. Spider, it must be<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A secret, or you would answer me.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 451px;">
<img src="images/oyf209.jpg" width="451" height="600"
alt="Three kittens in a hammock look down at a puppy" />
</div>

<p class="caption">TREED.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 447px;">
<img src="images/oyf210.jpg" width="447" height="600"
alt="The boys look after the baby bird" />
</div>

<p class="caption">FOSTER PARENTS.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="foster_parents" id="foster_parents"></a>FOSTER PARENTS.</h2>


<p>Strolling down back of the barn,
and seeing a fluttering of wings near
the ground, Fred and John discovered,
upon coming closer, that a poor
little bird had fallen from its nest in
the bough of a tree that stood near
them. The bird was young, too
young to fly, and seemed more dead
than alive from the fall. The boys
took the bird, fondly caressed it,
stroked its feathers, and were glad to
see that it showed signs of life and
that it was only stunned by the fall
it had received. The boys were kind-hearted,
they were boys full of life,
the first-most in a race, in climbing a
hill they among the first who stood
on its top. Yet in all their sports
they were never cruel. So with the
bird, they only thought of how to
care for it. The tree was too tall to
climb with safety, and then they
were forbidden to climb this tree because
John had once ventured to the
first of its branches and by some accident,
such as will happen to boys,
he lost his hold and tumbled to the
ground and he still remembered the
days of pain it caused.</p>

<p>Said Fred, &ldquo;Why can we not take
the bird home and care for it?&rdquo;</p>

<p>So, with this suggestion, they
brought it to the house and placed
it in a small basket. The basket was
one they used to carry their dinners
to school in, and, of course, this
could not be used to keep it in all
the time. John said, &ldquo;It will be
best to make a cage for it. We can,
with our knives, soon whittle out
sticks for bars and with the saw and
some boards make a cage.&rdquo; They
labored on this for two days, and
then, with Uncle Ben&rsquo;s help, for he
could drive nails better than they,
the cage was completed. Some cotton
was shaped into a nest and the
bird was placed in it and the cage
was its home.</p>

<p>They fed it on berries and crumbs
and it grew rapidly. It soon learned
to perch on one of the boy&rsquo;s fingers
and pick its food from his hand.
When it had eaten enough it would
fly to his shoulder and seem quite
contented. In due time it became
full grown, and though it seemed to
know and appreciate the attention
given it by the boys, yet it seemed
to long for more freedom than the
little cage afforded. The boys noticed
this, and with sad hearts concluded
it would be cruel to keep it
confined and so gave it its freedom.
For some time it lingered around
the house, in branches of the trees,
but finally it flew away to the woods.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="haymaking" id="haymaking"></a>HAYMAKING.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Many a long hard-working day<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Life brings us! And many an hour of play;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">But they never come now together,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Playing at work, and working in play,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As they came to us children among the hay,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In the breath of the warm June weather.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oft, with our little rakes at play,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Making believe at making hay.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With grave and steadfast endeavor;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Caught by an arm, and out of sight<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hurled and hidden, and buried light<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In laughter and hay forever.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now pass the hours of work and play<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With a step more slow, and the summer&rsquo;s day<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Grows short, and more cold the weather.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Calm is our work now, quiet our play,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We take them apart as best we may,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">For they come no more together!<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet smcap">Dora Greenwell.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 350px;">
<img src="images/oyf211.jpg" width="350" height="242"
alt="A collection of leafy plants" />
</div>


<h2 class="smcap"><a name="window_gardening" id="window_gardening"></a>Window Gardening.</h2>


<p>Many a home, now dark and cheerless,
might be made bright and cheery by
a few plants in the window, or bunches
of ferns and bright autumn leaves,
fastened on the wall, or on the pictures.</p>

<p>Homes cannot be made too bright
and home-like for the husband and the
children; and these little things cost
little or nothing, and add much to the
general appearance.</p>

<p>A novel and pretty window ornament
can be made in this way: Take a white
sponge of large size, and sow it full of
rice, oats and wheat. Then place it, for
a week or ten days, in a shallow dish,
in which a little water is constantly
kept, and as the sponge will absorb
the moisture, the seeds will begin to
sprout before many days. When this
has fairly taken place, the sponge may
be suspended by means of cords from
a hook in the top of the window where
a little sun will enter. It will thus become
a mass of green, and can be kept
wet by merely immersing it in a bowl
of water.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="cheer_up" id="cheer_up"></a>&ldquo;CHEER UP.&rdquo;</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">BY ANNA ELIZABETH C. KELLY.</p>


<p>&ldquo;Oh, it is too bad; too bad! that
mother should be so troubled for the
want of a little money,&rdquo; said Mabel.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Cheer up! Cheer up!&rdquo; rang out
a voice close at hand, &ldquo;pretty Poll;
cheer up!&rdquo; and a bright green parrot
with a yellow breast began to beat
against the bars of his cage as if he
would like to get out.</p>

<p>&ldquo;That is a good omen, Polly,&rdquo; said
Mabel, as she rose and opened the
door of the cage, &ldquo;but it is not Poll
who ought to &lsquo;cheer up&rsquo; but I, you
pretty bird.&rdquo; Poll hopped out and
perched upon her finger and looked
so knowingly at her, that it almost
broke down the resolution she had
formed. Mabel was accustomed to take
Poll out and talk to her, and brother
Ben, who was an amateur photographer,
had taken a picture of the pretty pair,
so Polly was already immortalized.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Poor Ben! Poor Ben!&rdquo; said Polly.
&ldquo;&lsquo;On Linden when the sun was low&rsquo;&mdash;ha!
ha! ha! ha! ha! Poor Ben! Poor
Ben!&rdquo; laughed and shouted Polly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></a></span>
&ldquo;Poor Ben, indeed!&rdquo; said Mabel,
&ldquo;though the Ben you first heard about
was another Ben, and used to break
down with his recitation and be laughed
at. I wonder where he is now, and
whether he is dead, my brave soldier
uncle! If he were alive, and should
come back, what would he think to
find another Polly just like the one he
left behind, who had learned some of the
things his Polly used to say. Mamma
says your predecessor died of old age,
Polly; I wonder if that will be your
destiny. I shall never know; for I am
going to sell you to the lady up at the
hotel, who saw you hanging outside,
and wanted you for her little girl. She
said she would give me five dollars, and
when I refused she offered me ten. I
could not let you go, Polly, but now I
<em>must</em>. I must say &lsquo;good-bye&rsquo; to you
now, Polly, for I shall never take you
out of the cage again.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Cheer up! cheer up!&rdquo; sang Polly,
as Mabel put her back, and closing the
cage, left the room.</p>

<p>The boys were leaving the sitting-room
when she went down stairs, and
as Ben passed her, she said, &ldquo;Do not
go to bed till I come up again. I want
to speak to you. Wait in my room.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mrs. Ross was getting ready to go up
to her room when Mabel entered.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Are you going up, mamma?&rdquo; said
she, &ldquo;I will not keep you long; but I
want to tell you, that I think I know a
way for you to get some money. I wish
to keep it a secret for the present; but
I think I can safely promise you some.
The last thing before I came down,
Polly called, &lsquo;cheer up, cheer up,&rsquo; and
it is a good omen; so I say the same to
you, mamma.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;You are a good girl, Mabel, but I
am afraid you are too sanguine. How
can you hope to succeed where I have
failed?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;You will believe me when you see
the money, shall you not, mamma?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;There would not be much merit in
that, dear, but I will <em>trust</em> you, and
whatever happens I will believe you
did what you thought was right, and
that God does every thing for the best.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Thank you, mamma. Good night,
and pleasant dreams.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Good night, dear.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mabel went softly up stairs. &ldquo;Ben,&rdquo;
said she, when she reached her room,
but Ben had fallen asleep, and she had
to shake him up.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What kept you?&rdquo; said Ben, in a
sleepy tone.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, I was not long, Ben. Do
you now the name of that little girl
who took such a fancy to Polly?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Ben. &ldquo;It is Eva Granby.
What do you want to know for?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I shall tell you sometime, you are
too sleepy to talk to-night, so I shall
let you go. Good night, Ben.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Good night,&rdquo; said Ben, not sorry to
be dismissed.</p>

<p>Mabel lay awake some time. She was
sorry to part with her parrot, but after
all it was only a bird. Mamma and Ben
and Walt and dear little Joe should
not suffer that she might keep it.</p>

<p>She could hear the music, from the
great hotel on the hill, borne on the
breeze, and that, with the happy frame
of mind produced by the approval of
her conscience, soon had the effect of
sending her into a sound sleep, from
which she awoke in the morning, refreshed
and quite happy. She went
about her accustomed duties with a
light heart and singing like a lark.
Mrs. Ross wondered, to hear her; what
could be the source of her high spirits.</p>

<p>She was on the alert for a chance to
put her plan into execution, and when
she found her mother occupied over
the details of the breakfast table, she
went up to her room, and covering the
parrot&rsquo;s cage and herself with a light
water-proof cloak, which the chill of
of the May morning seemed to warrant;
she went out of the house and
through the back gate, and took the
road to the hotel.</p>

<p>Mrs. Granby had just risen, and was
delighted that Mabel had come to
terms after all, as her little daughter
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></a></span>
had been longing for the parrot continually.
Mabel told her story and
Mrs. Granby was deeply affected. She
promptly agreed to Mabel&rsquo;s condition,
to sell her the bird back again, if she
could get together ten dollars of her
own to redeem it, and gave Mabel her
address in New York.</p>

<p>Mabel was at home again just as the
boys were getting their breakfast, and
wondering what had become of her.
She said she had been taking a walk for
her health and refused to gratify them
further.</p>

<p>Soon they were through and went
out, and when she saw little Joe in the
swing, and Ben and Walt sitting on
the bench of Walt&rsquo;s making, under the
apple-tree, and knew by their gestures
they were discussing Perry&rsquo;s colt&mdash;she
drew from her pocket the crisp, bright,
ten-dollar bill, and laid it beside her
mother&rsquo;s plate. Her mother&rsquo;s fervent
&ldquo;Thank God,&rdquo; amply rewarded her for
the loss of the parrot.</p>

<p>&ldquo;But, Mabel,&rdquo; began Mrs. Ross&mdash;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Now, mamma,&rdquo; interrupted Mabel,
&ldquo;you know you promised to trust me.
You will soon know all about it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mabel went to school that day with
a happy heart.</p>

<p>That evening a portly, middle-aged
gentleman stood at the gate, and as she
looked up, he said:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Can you tell me if this is Mrs.
Ross&rsquo;s?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Mabel, wondering
who he could be. As she turned and
faced him, he caught his breath quickly,
and exclaimed:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Alice!&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mabel&rsquo;s heart gave a great bound.</p>

<p>&ldquo;That is mamma&rsquo;s name, mine is
Mabel.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Lead me to her,&rdquo; he said, hoarsely.</p>

<p>Mabel quickly ran before him into
the house exclaiming:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, mamma! I think it is Uncle
Ben.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mrs. Ross would have fallen had she
not been caught by the strong arms of
the stalwart brother whom she had not
seen for twenty years. And then it all
came out. Mabel&rsquo;s secret was a secret
no longer.</p>

<p>Captain Ben Grayson, old soldier,
and retired ranch owner, had come
back after twenty years of life in the
west to hunt for his sister, his only
known relative, whom he had last seen
when she was a girl like Mabel. He
had been told a Miss Grayson had died
from the ravages of an epidemic that
swept through the school she had been
placed at; and so, when the war ended,
he went out west instead of returning
to New York as he should have done
but for that false report. But he had
lately heard, from an old school-friend,
he had come across, that she was living,
had married, and become a widow, and
that was all the information he could
get.</p>

<p>By the simplest chance he had
stopped at Fairmount. Shortly after
rising that morning, he was startled by
a parrot hung outside the window of the
room next to his, calling out,&mdash;&ldquo;Cheer
up! cheer up!&rdquo; and shortly after,&mdash;&ldquo;&lsquo;On
Linden when the sun was low,&rsquo; ha!
ha! ha! ha! ha! Poor Ben!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Uncle Ben, &ldquo;you can
imagine the effect. I knew my parrot
could not be living yet; but I thought
to myself, <em>that</em> parrot must have learned
from my old one or from you, Alice,
and I hastened to make the acquaintance
of my next-door neighbor, and so
<em>I have found you</em>.&rdquo;</p>

<p>And Mabel bought her parrot back
again, which was now doubly dear, as it
had been the means of finding Uncle
Ben. And quiet brother Ben was made
happy by an artist&rsquo;s outfit, and had the
satisfaction of doing Mabel and the
parrot in colors, as he had long ago
done them with the camera.</p>

<p>When the last gift had been given,
the boys, with one accord, threw up
their hats and cried,&mdash;&ldquo;Hurrah, for Uncle
Ben!&rdquo;</p>

<p>As for Mrs. Ross, her measure of
happiness was full; she had her long
lost brother Ben.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="waifs_romance" id="waifs_romance"></a>WAIF&rsquo;S ROMANCE.</h2>


<p>Several years ago the beautiful
Shenandoah valley in West Virginia
was the scene of a great freshet. The
river overflowed its banks, and the
usually placid stream became a mighty
torrent, rushing along with frightful
velocity, carrying away houses, barns
and cattle. Buildings were washed
from their foundations by the resistless
current, and sent whirling down the
stream with the terrified occupants
clinging to the roofs. They had not
had timely warning, and many perished,
while whole flocks of sheep, and hundreds
of cows, horses and oxen were
drowned. The writer visited the valley
several years afterward, and could
see articles of clothing and even furniture
still lodged in the branches of
trees, they had been caught and
lodged by the receding waters, twenty
feet from the ground.</p>

<p>During this visit a most interesting
story was told of a poor little kitten
who lost home and friends, and was
carried by the surging flood far away
to find a new home and a genuine
lover. It is a true romance of the
flood, and it has never been told in
print so far. For all gentle lovers of animals,
this beautiful romance of Woggy
and Waif is given to the world.</p>

<p>In this beautiful valley there lived
a lovely family, consisting of father,
mother and two children. Edwin was
a tall and manly lad of sixteen, and
Florence was one year younger. They
were children of refined and cultivated
parents, and the members of this little
home circle displayed such charming
affection and thoughtfulness in their intercourse
with each other, that it was
beautiful to behold. Edwin was passionately
fond of out-of-door sports,
and Florence had deep love for all
that was beautiful and interesting in
nature. She loved animals, birds and
flowers, and it was her delight to ramble
with her brother through the
woods, gathering the modest wild flowers,
or the delicate maiden hair ferns.
She took great delight in pets of all
kinds, and had numerous rabbits, birds
and squirrels that her brother had trapped;
she made them all love her; even
the tiniest bird or animal can appreciate
tenderness and kindness; and
Florence&rsquo;s pure little heart was overflowing
with love and kindness toward
all God&rsquo;s dumb creatures.</p>

<p>The constant companion of the
brother and sister in their rambles
was a very frolicsome and handsome
dog, which was so remarkable for
sagacity and intelligence, that he
was known through all the countryside;
he was devoted to his young
mistress, and, though he was not
a very large animal; he had enough
of the Shepherd&rsquo;s breed in him to
make him very fierce and courageous
in her defense whenever she
seemed to need it.</p>

<p>At the time of the great freshet, a
homeless family, whose house had been
swept away by the flood, had been harbored
at Florence&rsquo;s home. Her
time and mind was fully occupied by
her additional home duties, which to
her gentle nature, were labors of love,
even if the overflowed valley had prevented
her accustomed excursions;
but not so with Woggy, he had no
duties to keep him, and no wet ground
or body of water could keep him from
taking his usual runs about the country.
For several days after the great
flood, he was noticed to leave the house
regularly in the morning and not return
until evening. This was something
unusual; generally his runs were
finished in one or two hours; but when
he was observed one day to take in his
mouth the best part of his breakfast
and trot off with it, Edwin&rsquo;s curiosity
was excited, and he resolved to unravel
the mystery of Woggy&rsquo;s regular absences;
he followed his tracks over the
wet ground for nearly two miles, until
he came to a good sized pond left by
the receding waters in a hollow near
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></a></span>
the river. The first thing that attracted
his attention was a partially
submerged fir tree near the center of
the ford, and lodged against it was a
chicken coop. Were there chickens
in it, do you ask? No; if there had
been when the angry waves picked it
up there were none now, but instead,
the sweetest little <em>kitten</em> you ever saw;
and crouched down on the trunk of the
tree, with his aristocratic paws resting
on the end of the coop, was the mysterious
Woggy, gravely contemplating the
kitten, as it minced at the food the generous
dog had brought it. How proud
Edwin felt of Woggy as he looked and
understood the scene. How Woggy,
in his solitary rambles, must have discovered
the forlorn kitten, who had
been suddenly torn from her home, far
up the valley perhaps, and borne, half
drowned and thoroughly frightened,
on the rushing torrent, until her box,
in which the rising waters had found
her taking her afternoon nap, had
lodged against the tree. Edwin wanted
to rescue her, and take her home.
This was his first impulse, but how?
The pond was wide and deep, and he
had no boat, nor any other means of
reaching her; so he decided to wait
until the water got lower, until he
could devise some plan. He returned
home in great amazement, and told the
story of Woggy&rsquo;s wonderful doings.
Florence was all excitement and sympathy
in a moment, and wanted to go
at once but could not. But what a
delicious hugging and petting Woggy
got when he returned home that night.
When Edwin found them, the kitten
was snuggled up as close to her brute
protector as the slats would allow;
she would put her tongue through and
lick his paws, which process seemed to
give him the liveliest satisfaction. Edwin
whistled to him to come home
with him, but he only wagged his
bushy tail and looked at his frail charge
as much as to say, &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t go just
now.&rdquo; Just think of the idea of protection
entering the head of a dog!
but it did. Some animals seem almost
to reason. We all know a perfect horror
of water all cats have, they will not
go into water voluntarily. This poor
little thing, surrounded by water, must
have died of starvation had not kind-hearted
Woggy found and cared for
her.</p>

<p>The next day, Edwin, provided with
a long board and other means of rescuing
the distressed stranger, started for
the pond. Just as he left the house,
with Florence calling out from the
porch some parting injunctions of carefulness,
what was their astonishment
to see Woggy coming along the road
with the kitten in his mouth; the sagacious
dog had evidently thought that
his keepless little charge needed more
care than he could give her, and
brought her unharmed to his mistress.
When he had deposited the kitten at
her feet, he looked up in her eyes as
though he wanted to tell her something,
and he really looked as if he
could almost talk. When Florence
took up the pretty thing she exclaimed,
&ldquo;You poor little waif! Where did you
come from?&rdquo; The little waif could
not tell, but looked as if she wanted to.
She was pure white in color, with a
water-stained ribbon and tiny silver
bell around her neck. Edwin said she
should be called Waif, and Waif she
was ever after called in that house.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="may_i_go_with_you" id="may_i_go_with_you"></a>&ldquo;MAY I GO WITH YOU?&rdquo;</h2>


<p>&ldquo;May I go with you, Auntie?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, Jo, I do not wish for any company
this morning; here&rsquo;s a kiss, and
you may feed my poodle if you like.&rdquo;
So saying, Aunt Millie, who was spending
her vacation at the farm, tied on her
garden hat, and sallied forth for a walk,
leaving behind her a very disappointed
little swain, for Jo generally accompanied
her in her rambles, and he and
Aunt Millie were sworn allies. Lately
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></a></span>
she had run off several times without
him, and he certainly felt quite disconsolate
to-day. But he could not doubt
her love and goodness, so he whistled
away his blues.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 349px;">
<img src="images/oyf212.jpg" width="349" height="550"
alt="Portrait of a child" />
</div>

<p>Jo was only five years old, and it is
no wonder he soon forgot his grievances.
About lunch-time he thought
he would go down in the meadow, to
see if the first strawberries were ripening,
as he intended them for mamma&rsquo;s
birthday.</p>

<p>Threading his way carefully through
the tall grass and nodding daisies, he
suddenly came upon
the queerest looking
&ldquo;machine&rdquo;&mdash;as he
called it&mdash;in front of
which sat Auntie.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, Jo!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Aunt Millie, what
<em>are</em> you doing?&rdquo; as he
caught sight of a photograph
of himself, and
a large copy on the
easel.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I am crayoning&mdash;and&rdquo;
(this last a trifle
averse) &ldquo;I <em>had</em> intended
it as a surprise
for mamma, to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The big blue eyes
raised to hers had a
suspicion of tears in
them&mdash;she bent down
quickly and gathered
the little fellow in her
arms.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Never mind, pet! I
was a bit vexed, that
you had discovered my
secret.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Is it a <em>secret</em>?&rdquo; in
an awed tone; &ldquo;well,
I&rsquo;ll <em>keep</em> it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Do you think you
really can, Jo?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and
<em>you</em> can keep my strawberries,&rdquo;
forgetting he
had told her a dozen
times before.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll trust
you.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Would you believe
it, the child <em>did</em> keep
his word, although burning many
times to tell; and he succeeded in surprising
Aunt Millie, as much as he did
mamma.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="a_summer_at_willow_spring" id="a_summer_at_willow_spring"></a>A SUMMER AT WILLOW-SPRING.</h2>


<p>The trunks were strapped on the
back of the carriage; we children, with
Nurse, were bundled inside; the door
shut&mdash;the driver snapped his whip&mdash;and
without any time for last good-byes,
we were whirled away to the
station. How excited and glad we
were, for Papa and Mamma were to follow
us next day, and we left the
city far behind to spend the whole
beautiful summer at Willow-spring.
The very first day after our arrival, we
were out&mdash;Willie, my brother, Elsie, our
little four-year-old sister, and myself&mdash;scouring
the premises, and I guess
there were not a nook or corner we had
not visited by night. It was a lovely
place, with broad shady walks through
which we raced, or Willie drove us as
two spirited young colts, for like most
boys he was rather masterful.</p>

<p>I wish I could tell you of the grand
time we had that summer. We formed
the acquaintance of several little neighbor
children, who proved pleasant playmates,
and together we would wander
through the cool leafy woods, or roam
the sunny meadows gathering sweet
wild strawberries and armsful of golden-eyed
daisies, and taking our treasures
home, would have a little treat on
the shady veranda, and garland ourselves
with long daisy chains, making
believe we were woodland fairies.
Once in a while the rabbits from the
near wood ran across the garden path,
timid and shy little creatures at first&mdash;they
grew quite tame from our feeding&mdash;and
Elsie dearly loved her bunnies,
as she called them.</p>

<p>Rapidly the days flew by, and the
time for our departure was at hand.
We felt sorry to leave, but Mamma, to
console us in part, planned a little out-door
feast for the day before our going,
to which our little friends were all
invited, and a happy, merry band of
children played out under the trees,
and ate the goodies so generously provided.
Just before breaking up, we all
joined in playing our favorite game of
&ldquo;snap the whip,&rdquo; and with screams
and laughter, one after another of the
weakest ones rolled over in the soft
grass. The last night at Willow-spring
wound up with a grand frolic, in which
all took part.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="great_expectations" id="great_expectations"></a>GREAT EXPECTATIONS.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Every little grape, dear, that clings unto the vine,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Expects some day to ripen its little drops of wine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Every little girl, I think, expects in time to be<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Exactly like her own mamma&mdash;as sweet and good as she.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Every little boy who has a pocket of his own,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Expects to be the biggest man the world has ever known.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Every little lambkin, too, that frisks upon the green,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Expects to be the finest sheep that ever yet was seen.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Every little baby colt expects to be a horse;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Every little puppy hopes to be a dog, of course.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Every little kitten pet, so tender and so nice,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Expects to be a grown-up cat and live on rats and mice.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Every little fluffy chick, in downy yellow dressed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Expects some day to crow and strut or cackle at his best.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Every little baby bird that peeps from out its nest,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Expects some day to cross the sky from glowing east to west.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now every hope I&rsquo;ve mentioned here will bring its sure event,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Provided nothing happens, dear, to hinder or prevent.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="wheres_sophie" id="wheres_sophie"></a>&ldquo;WHERE&rsquo;S SOPHIE?&rdquo;</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sophie climbed the garden trellis,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Plucked the finest grapes in view;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How they shone with red and amber,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">As the sun came glinting through.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">She was taking painting lessons,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And she paused and gazed at them;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;a pretty picture,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Grapes and green leaves on a stem.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;I will leave them here, unbroken,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Close beside the garden walk;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Look!&rdquo; she said, to Cousin Mary,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;Just anear this broken stalk.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Off they went through pleasant pathways;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Staying longer than they knew,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By a russet, leaf-strewn border,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With its asters, pink and blue.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then their friendly gossip over,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Homeward as they turned to go;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Oh, the grapes!&rdquo; said Sophie, quickly,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;We must go for those, you know.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When they reached the precious cluster,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Five bold sparrows pertly stood,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pecking at the grapes beside them,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Chattering in a wanton mood.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Look! Oh, look!&rdquo; said cousin Mary,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;Sparrows at your luscious store!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Shoo!&rdquo; said Sophie, &ldquo;was there ever<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Such a piece of work before?&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Pilfering sparrows, you have taught me,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">By this loss, a lesson true;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When a bunch of grapes I gather,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Just to keep them safe from you.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="if_i_can_i_will" id="if_i_can_i_will"></a>&ldquo;IF I CAN, I WILL.&rdquo;</h2>


<p>I knew a boy who was preparing to
enter the junior class of the New York
University. He was studying trigonometry,
and I gave him three examples
for his next lesson. The following
day he came into my room to demonstrate
his problems. Two of them he
understood; but the third&mdash;a very
difficult one&mdash;he had not performed.
I said to him,&mdash;&ldquo;Shall I help you?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, sir! I can and will do it, if you
give me time.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I said: &ldquo;I will give you all the time
you wish.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The next day he came into my room
to recite another lesson in the same
study.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, Simon, have you worked that
example?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;but I can
and will do it, if you will give me a
little more time.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Certainly, you shall have all the
time you desire.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I always like those boys who are determined
to do their own work, for they
make our best scholars, and men too.
The third morning you should have
seen Simon enter my room. I knew
he had it, for his whole face told the
story of his success. Yes, he had it,
notwithstanding it had cost him many
hours of severest mental labor. Not
only had he solved the problem, but,
what was of infinitely greater importance
to him, he had begun to develop
mathematical powers which, under the
inspiration of &ldquo;I can and I will,&rdquo; he
has continued to cultivate, until to-day
he is professor of mathematics in one
of our largest colleges, and one of the
ablest mathematicians of his years in
our country.</p>

<p>My young friends, let your motto
ever be,&mdash;&ldquo;If I can, I will.&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="windsor_castle" id="windsor_castle"></a>WINDSOR CASTLE.</h2>


<p>This ancient and splendid pile is a fitting
residence for the sovereigns of
England. It impresses one with the
idea of supreme grandeur and formidable
strength, but it has reached its present
magnificence by constant embellishments
and additions by successive
sovereigns.</p>

<p>It owes its origin to William the
Conqueror, that bold and progressive
Norman, who created here a fortified
hunting seat, where he and his brave
barons could enjoy themselves after
the &ldquo;hunting of the deer&rdquo; in the wild
glades of Windsor forest.</p>

<p>The castle stands upon a hill on the
bank of the river Thames, twenty-three
miles from London, with which it is connected
by railway. It is surrounded on
all sides, except to the east, by a noble terrace
above two thousand five hundred
feet in extent, faced by a strong rampart
of hewn stone, and having, at intervals,
easy slopes leading down to the park.</p>

<p>The terrace is a most delightful walk,
commanding charming views of the extensive
domain and the surrounding
country. Everywhere are evidences of
royal expenditure, of watchful care and
tasteful ornamentation.</p>

<p>The park abounds in woodland scenery
of exquisite beauty, and it does
seem as if the &ldquo;English sunshine&rdquo; was
nowhere more satisfying or refreshing
than in these delightful avenues. The
deer roam at will, and streamlets trickle
and English violets and other wild flowers
blossom, the praises of whose delicate
perfumes and beauties have been
sung by Wordsworth and Keats.</p>

<p>There is a stately walk, three miles
long, bordered by double rows of trees,
which leads from the lodge to these
delightful precincts, and at the entrance
stretch away in gorgeous array,
the Queen&rsquo;s gardens, in which very
beautiful and rare productions of floral
culture find a congenial home.</p>

<p>The castle consists of two courts,
having a large, round tower between
them, and covers more than twelve
acres of land, being defended by batteries
and towers. The upper court is a
spacious quadrangle, having a round
tower on the west, the private apartments
of the sovereigns on the south
and east, the State apartments and St.
George&rsquo;s Hall and the chapel royal on
the north.</p>

<p>The royal apartments are reached by
an imposing vestibule. The first room,
the Queen&rsquo;s guard chamber, contains a
grand array of warlike implements, and
glittering weapons, and its walls are
rich in paintings.</p>

<p>The Queen&rsquo;s presence chamber contains
the rarest furniture and hangings,
with an array of artistic works by the
most celebrated masters.</p>

<p>The ball-room is hung with tapestry,
representing the twelve months of the
year, and upon its ceiling is pictured
Charles II, giving freedom to England.
There is here an immense table of solid
silver.</p>

<p>In the Queen&rsquo;s bed-chamber is the
State bed, said to have cost $70,000,
designed for Queen Charlotte. The
Queen&rsquo;s dressing-room, hung with British
tapestry, contains the closet in
which is deposited the banner of France.
The same closet contains the tea-equipage
of Queen Anne.</p>

<p>An elegant saloon is called the &ldquo;Room
of Beauties,&rdquo; and contains fourteen portraits
of ladies who were &ldquo;most fair&rdquo; in
the court of Charles II. Their lovely
faces and rich apparel, quaint and oddly
fashioned, make the most delightful and
instructive study.</p>

<p>The audience chamber contains the
throne and is enriched with historical
paintings of events in the reign of
Henry III. Another guard chamber
contains an immense collection of warlike
instruments, fancifully arranged,
and also the flag sent by the Duke of
Wellington in commemoration of the
battle of Waterloo.</p>

<p>St. George&rsquo;s Hall, which is one hundred
and eight feet long, is set apart for
the illustrious &ldquo;Order of the Garter.&rdquo;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></a></span>
It is superbly decorated with allegorical
paintings. The chapel is a fine specimen
of the florid Gothic. The roof is
elliptical and is composed of stone; the
whole ceiling is ornamented with emblazoned
arms of many sovereigns and
knights of the Garter. The stalls of
the sovereigns and knights exhibit a
profusion of rare carving. The chapel
is the burial place of many royal and
illustrious persons; Edward IV, Henry
IV, Henry VIII and Charles I having
been interred here.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="the_little_princes" id="the_little_princes"></a>THE LITTLE PRINCES.</h2>


<p>Among the sad episodes in the illustrated
history of English sovereigns,
not one is more pathetic or impressive
than the story of the two little Princes,
sons of Edward IV. This King had an
ambitious and unscrupulous brother,
called Richard, Duke of Gloucester.</p>

<p>At the time of the King&rsquo;s death, this
man was at the head of an army in
Scotland, which was entirely devoted to
him, and he felt strong and equal to
undertaking any bold and unlawful
measure to obtain the crown, which
rightfully belonged to Edward&rsquo;s son,
the young Prince of Wales.</p>

<p>Upon receiving the news of his brother&rsquo;s
death, Richard clothed himself and
his large retinue in deep mourning and
proceeded in great haste to London,
taking the oath of loyalty on the way,
and making many protestations of interest
and affection for the fatherless
boys.</p>

<p>The young Prince of Wales received
him with many expressions of regard
and respectful consideration, as befitted
a paternal uncle, and placed undoubted
faith in his suggestions; the Duke thus
found it an easy matter to direct his
movements, and the selection of his
counselors and servants. Two of these,
who were favorite and loyal friends, he
caused to be seized on a frivolous accusation,
and they were taken to a distant
castle as prisoners. Other measures
were taken to isolate him, and in
a few days the young King was completely
in the hands of the terrible
Duke of Gloucester.</p>

<p>From one high-handed act of usurpation
to another, assisted by unprincipled,
ambitious men, he proceeded, evidently
aiming to secure the crown for
his own head.</p>

<p>Under pretense of placing the Prince
in greater safety, and removing him
from persons who might influence him,
to the detriment of the peace and welfare
of the kingdom, he was conducted,
in great state, to the Tower; his uncle
assuming the office of Lord Protector
of the King.</p>

<p>Upon gaining the entire custody of
the royal lad, he sent a large number of
dignitaries to the royal mother, to persuade
her to allow the other little boy
to be taken to the Tower to keep his
brother company. The Prince was allowed
to proceed thither, and Richard,
now having them both at his mercy, determined
upon their death.</p>

<p>The Governor of the Tower was, it
seems, a man of at least human feelings,
and when he was ordered by
Richard, &ldquo;In some wise to put the children
to death,&rdquo; utterly refused to perform
so dangerous and horrible an act.</p>

<p>Richard then sent for the keys of the
Tower, to keep in his possession twenty-four
hours, and gave them, and the
command of the Tower for that time,
to Sir James Tyrrel, his master of horse.</p>

<p>This man procured two assassins,
who proceeded, at dead of night, to
the chamber of the sleeping Princes.
They lay in each other&rsquo;s arms, as though
they had fallen asleep comforting one
another; and the assassins, falling
upon them with their ruffian strength,
smothered them with the bed-clothes,
&ldquo;Keeping the feather pillows hard upon
their mouths.&rdquo;</p>

<p>When the deed was done, Tyrrel
stepped into the chamber, to take a
hasty view of the dead bodies, which
were then, by his orders, buried at the
stair-foot, under a heap of stones.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a></span>
Richard, Duke of Gloucester, had no
further obstacle in assuming the purple,
and was crowned King of England with
all pomp and ceremony, and known to
unenviable fame as Richard III.</p>

<p>This account has come down to us
with all the authority of historical
verity, and subsequent evidences of its
accuracy have been discovered. The
age was characterized by inhumanity of
the most barbarous kind, and this crime
was in keeping with it.</p>

<p>The English people in this nineteenth
century rejoice in a sovereign
who is noble in the highest sense; beloved
by her subjects, achieving for
herself the universal plaudit of a &ldquo;most
humane and gracious lady.&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="the_tower_of_london" id="the_tower_of_london"></a>THE TOWER OF LONDON.</h2>


<p>This ancient edifice is situated on
the north bank of the Thames, at the
extremity of the city of London.</p>

<p>The antiquity of the building has
been a subject of much inquiry, but
the present fortress is believed to have
been built by William the Conqueror,
and garrisoned with Normans to secure
the allegiance of his subjects; although
it appears that the Romans had
a fort on this spot, if a dim tradition
can be credited. The building is governed
by the &ldquo;Constable of the Tower,&rdquo;
who, at coronations and other State ceremonies,
has the custody of the regalia.</p>

<p>The principal entrance is on the west,
and consists of two gates, at which are
stationed guards. The keys are kept,
during the day, at the warder&rsquo;s hall, but
deposited every night at the Governor&rsquo;s
house. Cannon are placed at intervals
around the great wall, and command
every avenue leading to Tower
Hill.</p>

<p>On the south side is an arch, called
&ldquo;Traitors&rsquo; Gate,&rdquo; through which State
prisoners were formerly brought from
the river. Near the Traitors&rsquo; Gate is the
&ldquo;Bloody Tower,&rdquo; in which it is supposed
the two young Princes, Edward
V and his brother, were smothered by
order of Richard III.</p>

<p>In the south-west angle of the inclosure
were the royal apartments, for
the Tower was a palace for nearly five
hundred years, and only ceased to be
so on the accession of Elizabeth.</p>

<p>The principal buildings within the
walls are the church, the white tower,
the ordnance office, the jewel office,
the horse armory. The church is called
&ldquo;St. Peter in Vincules,&rdquo; and is remarkable
as the depository of the headless
bodies of numerous illustrious personages
who suffered either in the
Tower or on the hill. Among these
were Anna Boleyn, Thomas Cromwell,
Catharine Howard, the Duke of
Somerset and the Duke of Monmouth.</p>

<p>The jewel office is a strong, stone
room, in which are kept the crown
jewels, regalia, such as the golden orb,
the golden sceptre with the dove, St.
Edward&rsquo;s staff, State salt-cellar, sword
of mercy, golden spurs, the golden
eagle and golden spoons, also the silver
font used at the baptism of the
royal family, the State crown worn by
her Majesty in Parliament. A large
collection of ancient plate is also kept
here.</p>

<p>The horse armory is a brick building
east of the white tower, adorned with
suits of armor of almost every description;
but the most striking are the effigies
of the English kings on horseback,
armed cap-a-pie. The line of
mounted celebrities commences with
William the Conqueror and ends with
George II. Several of the cuirasses
and helmets taken at Waterloo are kept
here. In the armory are also shown a
representation of Queen Elizabeth in
armor; the axe which severed the head of
Anna Boleyn, as well as that of the
Earl of Essex; the invincible banner
taken from the Spanish Armada, and the
wooden cannon used by Henry VIII at
the siege of Boulogne.</p>

<p>The Beauchamp Tower is noted for the
illustrious personages formerly confined
within its walls.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="mary_and_her_lamb" id="mary_and_her_lamb"></a>MARY AND HER LAMB.</h2>


<p>This is the title of one of the most
familiar poems in the English language,
but few people know its history.</p>

<p>Most of our young readers will be
surprised to hear that the well-known
nursery song of &ldquo;Mary had a Little
Lamb&rdquo; is a true story, and that
&ldquo;Mary&rdquo; is still living, says an exchange.</p>

<p>About seventy years ago she was a
little girl, the daughter of a farmer in
Worcester county, Mass. She was
very fond of going with her father to
the fields to see the sheep, and one day
they found a baby lamb, which was
thought to be dead.</p>

<p>Kind-hearted little Mary, however,
lifted it up in her arms, and as it
seemed to breathe she carried it home,
made it a warm bed near the stove,
and nursed it tenderly. Great was
her delight when, after weeks of careful
feeding and watching, her little patient
began to grow well and strong,
and soon after it was able to run about.
It knew its young mistress perfectly,
always came at her call, and was happy
only when at her side.</p>

<p>One day it followed her to the village
school, and not knowing what else to
do with it, she put it under her desk
and covered it with her shawl.</p>

<p>There it stayed until Mary was
called up to the teacher&rsquo;s desk to
say her lesson, and then the lamb
walked quietly after her, and the other
children burst out laughing. So the
teacher had to shut the little girl&rsquo;s
pet in the woodshed until school was
out. Soon after this, a young student,
named John Rollstone, wrote a little
poem about Mary and her lamb and
presented it to her. The lamb grew to
be a sheep and lived for many years,
and when at last it died Mary grieved
so much for it that her mother took
some of its wool, which was as &ldquo;white
as snow,&rdquo; and knitted a pair of stockings
for her, to wear in remembrance of
her darling.</p>

<p>Some years after the lamb&rsquo;s death,
Mrs. Sarah Hall, a celebrated woman
who wrote books, composed some verses
about Mary&rsquo;s lamb and added them to
those written by John Rollstone, making
the complete poem as we know it.
Mary took such good care of the stockings
made of her lamb&rsquo;s fleece that
when she was a grown-up woman she
gave one of them to a church fair in
Boston.</p>

<p>As soon as it became known that
the stocking was made from the fleece
of &ldquo;Mary&rsquo;s little lamb,&rdquo; every one
wanted a piece of it; so the stocking
was raveled out, and the yarn cut into
small pieces. Each piece was tied to
a card on which &ldquo;Mary&rdquo; wrote her full
name, and these cards sold so well that
they brought the large sum of $140 in
the Old South Church.&mdash;<i>Our Sunday
Afternoon.</i></p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="jamies_garden" id="jamies_garden"></a>JAMIE&rsquo;S GARDEN.</h2>


<p>&ldquo;I shall have the nicest kind of a garden,&rdquo;
said Jamie, one morning. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
going to make it in that pretty little
spot just over the bank. I mean to
have some flowers in pots and some in
beds just like the gardener; and then
you can have fresh ones every day,
mamma. I&rsquo;m going right over there
now.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Jamie started off bravely with his
spade on his shoulder; but when, after
an hour, mamma went to see how he
was getting on, she found him lying on
the grass, with the ground untouched.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, Jamie, where is your garden?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I was just lying here, and thinking
how nice it will look when it is all
done,&rdquo; said Jamie.</p>

<p>Mamma shook her head. &ldquo;But that
will not dig ground, nor make the flowers
grow, little boy. No good deed was
ever done by only lying still and thinking
about it.&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="camp_trio" id="camp_trio"></a>CAMP TRIO.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">A. DE G. H.</p>


<p>Hurrah! Hurrah! only two days
more to vacation, and then!&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>If the crowning whistle, and energetic
<em>bang</em> with which the strapped
books came down, were any indication
of what was coming after the &ldquo;then!&rdquo;
it must be something unusual. And so
it was&mdash;for Ned, Tom and Con, who
were the greatest of chums, as well as
the noisiest, merriest boys in Curryville
Academy&mdash;were to go into camp
for the next two weeks, by way of
spending part of their vacation. They
could hardly wait for school to close,
and over the pages of Greenleaf danced,
those last two days, unknown quantities
of fishing tackle, tents, and the
regular regalia of a camping out-fit.
They talked of it by day and dreamed
of it by night.</p>

<p>At last the great day dawned&mdash;dawned
upon three of the most grotesque-looking
specimens of boyhood,
arrayed in the oldest and worst fitting
clothes they could find; for, as
they said, in the most expressive boy
language&mdash;&ldquo;We are in for a rattlin&rsquo;
good time, and don&rsquo;t want to be togged
out.&rdquo; They and their effects were taken
by wagon over to the Lake Shore, about
four miles distant, to establish their
camp under the shadow of old Rumble
Sides, a lofty crag or boulder.</p>

<p>Boys, I wish you could have seen
them that night, in their little woodland
home; really, it was quite attractive.
They worked like beavers all
day&mdash;cutting away the brush, driving
stakes to tie down the little white
tent, digging a trench all around in
case of rain, and building a fire-place
of stone, with a tall, forked stick on
which to hang the kettle. A long board,
under the shady trees, served as table.</p>

<p>Too tired to make a fire that night,
they ate a cold lunch, and threw themselves
on their bed&mdash;which was a blanket
thrown over pine boughs&mdash;untied
the tent flaps to let in air, and slept a
happy, dreamless sleep.</p>

<p>The next morning, early, they were
up, and, after taking a cold plunge in
the lake, built a brisk fire, boiled coffee,
and roasted potatoes for breakfast.
They then bailed out the punt, which
was their only sailing craft, and put off
for an all-day&rsquo;s fishing excursion. Several
days, with fine weather, passed,
and the boys declared they were having
a royal time, and that camping was
the only life to lead.</p>

<p>They had much difficulty to settle
upon a name, but finally decided that
&ldquo;Camp Trio&rdquo; was most appropriate.</p>

<p>One night they were suddenly awakened
by a deep, roaring sound; the
wind blew fiercely, it rained hard, but
the noise was not of thunder, it seemed
almost human; nearer and nearer it
came! The three lads sat up in the
semi-darkness, and peered at each other
with scared faces.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Old Rumble broke loose and
coming down on us,&rdquo; said Con, in a
ghostly whisper. &ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; and the
trio clutched in a cold shiver, as a
crackling of twigs was heard outside,
a heavy tread, a long, low moan, a horrible
silence.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It was the Leviathan, I guess,&rdquo; said
Tom, with a ghastly attempt at smiling,
as the early morning light stole
through the flaps. At length they
moved their stiffened limbs and peeped
out. Oh, how it did pour! No fire, no
fishing, no any thing to-day. Pretty
soon a shout from Ned, who had been
cautiously prowling around to find the
cause of their late fright.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, boys, it&rsquo;s too rich! Why, it was
Potter&rsquo;s old cow, down here last night,
bawling for her calf that was after our
towels, as usual&mdash;look here!&rdquo; and he
held up three or four dingy, chewed-looking
articles, which had hung on a
tree to dry, and might have been towels
once. The boys broke into a hearty
laugh at their own expense. The day
was very long and dull, and the next,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"></a></span>
stories and jokes fell flat, cold victuals
didn&rsquo;t relish, they began to feel quite
blue. The third day Farmer Potter
appeared upon the scene.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What on airth ye doin&rsquo; here; trespassin&rsquo;
on other folks&rsquo; grounds? Mebby
ye don&rsquo;t know it&rsquo;s agin the law!&rdquo;</p>

<p>The boys felt a trifle uneasy, but answered
him politely.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Hevin&rsquo; <em>fun</em>, be ye! Wall, I&rsquo;ll vow,
settin&rsquo; in the wet, eatin&rsquo; cold rations,
haint <em>my</em> idee of <em>fun</em>.&rdquo; And away he
stalked.</p>

<p>The boys looked at each other.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I say, fellers,&rdquo; said Con, &ldquo;a piece of
pie and a hunk of fresh bread <em>wouldn&rsquo;t</em>
go bad&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>

<p>The two answered with a hungry
look.</p>

<p>&ldquo;But let&rsquo;s tough it out over Sunday,
or they&rsquo;ll all laugh at us.&rdquo; And so they
did; but it was the longest, dreariest
Sabbath they ever spent.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d rather learn ten chapters in
Chronicles,&rdquo; Tom affirmed, &ldquo;than put
in another such a Sunday.&rdquo;</p>

<p>They had, in the main, a jolly time,
but the ending was not as brilliant as
they had looked for. They never regretted
going, but the next year took
a larger party, and went for a shorter
time.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="the_sentimental_fox" id="the_sentimental_fox"></a>THE SENTIMENTAL FOX.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Oh, beautiful wild duck, it pains me to see,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">You flying aloft in that gone sort of way,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sweet one, fare you well. I could shed many tears,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">But my deepest emotions I never betray.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve always admired you, wonderful bird,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">By the light of the sun and the rays of the moon;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I tell you &rsquo;tis more than a fox can endure,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To know that you take your departure so soon.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;I snatched a few feathers, in memory of you;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I desired a whole wing, but you baffled my plan;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, what a memento to hang in my den!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And in very hot weather to use as a fan.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Descend, O, thou beautiful creature, to earth!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">There&rsquo;s nothing I would not perform for your sake;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If once in awhile I could see you down here,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I&rsquo;d never get tired of the shores of this lake!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Cheer up, Mr. Fox,&rdquo; said the duck, flying higher,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;The parting of such friends is sometimes a boon;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When they get far away, and have time to reflect,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">They see that it came not a moment too soon.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;You wanted a wild wing to fan yourself with;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">You see if I granted that favor to you,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&rsquo;Twould have left me but one, which is hardly enough,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">As I find it convenient, just now, to have two.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then she faded away, a dark speck on the sky.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a very shrewd bird,&rdquo; said the fox in dismay!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;I shall have to look round for my dinner, again,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And I fancy it will not be wild duck to-day.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="earthen_vessels" id="earthen_vessels"></a>EARTHEN VESSELS.</h2>


<p>Spring time had come, with its blossoms
and birds; and Mrs. Rossiter
threw up the sash of the east window,
and pushed open the blinds, and drew
a long deep breath of morning air, and
morning sunshine.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I think, Bridget,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that
we might venture to bring the house-plants
out-doors to-day. There can
hardly be another frost, this year.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh! may I help?&rdquo; asked little
Charley, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be very careful.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;On that condition, that you be very
careful, you may bring the little ones,&rdquo;
answered his mother.</p>

<p>The work progressed safely and
rapidly for awhile. Geraniums, roses,
fuchsias, heliotropes, and so following,
came forth in profusion, many in
bloom, and were placed in rows along
the garden borders, ready to be transferred
to the beds, for the summer. At
last the little ones were all brought by
Charley, and only larger ones remained.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll carry just this one big one,&rdquo;
he said to himself: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m stronger
than mother thinks I am.&rdquo; But the
pot full of earth, was heavier than Charley
had thought it, and before he
reached the place to set it down it had
grown very heavy indeed; and, glad to
get it out of his aching arms as quickly
as possible, he placed it on the curb so
suddenly, that with a loud crash it
parted in the middle and lay in pieces
at his feet. Glancing quickly at his
mother and seeing in her face impending
reproach, he forestalled it by exclaiming:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, that pot broke itself very
easily. What&rsquo;s it made of, any how?&rdquo;</p>

<p>The mother couldn&rsquo;t help but smile
at this attempted shifting of the blame
to the pot, but she answered, in a moment,
gravely:</p>

<p>&ldquo;The pot, Charley, was made of clay;
the same weak material from which
little boys are made; who, when they
forget to obey their mothers, are as
likely to meet disaster as the earthen
pot.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Charley didn&rsquo;t care just then to discuss
disobedient boys, so he turned at
once to the subject of the pot.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Made of clay,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;well,
I&rsquo;d like to see a man make a thing like
that of clay.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;And so would I,&rdquo; said sister Mary,
who, from an upper window, had listened
to the conversation.</p>

<p>&ldquo;And so you shall, if I have no further
reminders of this sort, that my
children are made of the same unreliable
material.&rdquo;</p>

<p>That afternoon, the three, started
for the pottery works. Mr. Sands, the
proprietor, kindly received them, and
fully explained all his processes. First
he pointed out what seemed to Charley
a heap of dry hard common dirt; taking
a little piece of this he dipped it
into a basin of water and then squeezing
and pressing it in his hand it soon
became soft, and plastic, so that it
could be wrought to any shape. He
then led the party to another room
where a young man was engaged in
thus softening large masses. He would
first crumble the hard earth into fine
pieces; then wet and pack it together
into a &ldquo;loaf,&rdquo; so Charley called it, and
then raising it over his head throw it
again with all his might upon the table
before him until it became soft and
smooth through all its bulk. This, Mr.
Sands said, was called &ldquo;wedging the
clay,&rdquo; and that it was now ready for
&ldquo;throwing&rdquo; into shape.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Will it come into shape if you just
throw it?&rdquo; said Charley.</p>

<p>Mr. Sands laughed heartily at this,
and answered, &ldquo;come and see;&rdquo; and
taking up one of the softened &ldquo;loaves,&rdquo;
to use Charley&rsquo;s word for them, he led
the way to the next room. The young
man who had been &ldquo;wedging&rdquo; now
followed and placed himself at a large
wheel which was connected by a strap
or belt with a table at which Mr. Sands
seated himself.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 445px;">
<img src="images/oyf213.jpg" width="445" height="600"
alt="Different stages in the process of making pots" />
</div>

<p class="caption">HOW POTS AND PANS ARE MADE.</p>

<p>Upon the table was another little
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"><!-- original location of illustration HOW POTS AND PANS ARE MADE --></a></span>
table, round and low, and upon this
Mr. Sands placed his &ldquo;loaf.&rdquo; Then
the young man began to turn the
wheel and the loaf began to spin round
very rapidly. Mr. Sands next pressed
his finger right through the middle of
the clay, so farming the hole which we
always see at the bottom of flower-pots.
Then, as it spun round, he
worked the clay gradually upwards and
sloped it outwards, using both hands,
and holding the edges with his fingers
and thumbs.</p>

<p>Before Charley could express his surprise,
the little roll of clay was changed
into a flower-pot. With a square iron
tool called a <i>rib</i> it was smoothed outside,
and then the pot was lifted on a
board. One after another followed till
a long row was ready and they were
carried off to be dried.</p>

<p>&ldquo;How do you know when to leave
off stretching it?&rdquo; asked Mary of the
potter.</p>

<p>He laughed, and pointed to a small
iron gauge on the table. As soon as
the pot reached this he knew he must
leave off stretching it out. This iron
is of course put higher or lower according
to the size required.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Now I&rsquo;ll make you a pitcher, missie,&rdquo;
said the good-natured man, and
with the same kind of clay, just rounding
it a bit and giving a cunning little
pinch to form the spout, he made quite
a pretty jug.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s the handle?&rdquo; asked Charley.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, that can&rsquo;t go on yet, sir! We
must wait till the jug is dry, for we
could not press it tight enough to make
it stick.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Bread-pans and washing-pans are
made in exactly the same way as flower-pots,
being moulded by the hand into
different forms. When the pots and
pans leave the potter&rsquo;s wheel they are
taken, as we saw, to dry, and great care
is required to keep them at a certain
heat, for if the frost gets to them now
they crack and are useless.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a comical little pot!&rdquo; exclaimed
Charley, holding up a wee one.</p>

<p>&ldquo;We call them <i>long Toms</i>,&rdquo; said Mr.
Sands. &ldquo;They are mostly used by nursery-gardeners,
because they take so
little room.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;How long do they take to dry?&rdquo;
asked Mary, looking longingly at her
little jug.</p>

<p>&ldquo;About a day; so we will leave your
jug with the others, and go to the kiln
to see how they will be burnt to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The kiln was round, with a big doorway,
called a wicket.</p>

<p>The pots and pans are put inside,
great care being taken that they should
not touch each other, or they would
stick like loaves of bread. Pans are
first glazed with a mixture of blue or
red lead. The fire is burning below,
and there are holes to allow the flames
to pass upwards amongst the pottery.
When the kiln is full the wicket is
bricked up and daubed over with road-mud.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Fancy using such dirty stuff!&rdquo; said
Mary.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The manure in it makes it stick,
just as hair does in mortar. Clay would
crack with the heat. So you see, dear,
there&rsquo;s nothing so dirty or so common
that it may not be of some use in the
world.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;How do you know when they are
cooked enough?&rdquo; asked Charley.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll show you,&rdquo; said Mr. Sands, and
he immediately led us to a small door,
which opened some way up the kiln.</p>

<p>&ldquo;This is called the crown,&rdquo; said Mr.
Sands.</p>

<p>It was a flat surface, with four holes
which showed the red heat below, and
looked like little volcanoes in a good
temper.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Do you see those iron rods hanging
like walking-sticks in the furnace?&rdquo;
asked our guide. &ldquo;Well, those are
called <i>trials</i>, and at the end of each is
a lump of clay and glaze. If the glaze
is burnt enough we suppose that the
whole batch is done, but we sometimes
make a mistake and spoil a lot.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"></a></span>
&ldquo;What is done next?&rdquo; asked Charley.</p>

<p>&ldquo;If they are properly burnt, they are
allowed to cool gradually, and are then
ready for sale.&rdquo;</p>

<p>By this time all were pretty well
tired, and so they said good morning to
Mr. Sands and went home.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Mother,&rdquo; said Charley, as they sat
down to dinner, &ldquo;I shall ask how it&rsquo;s
done oftener than ever, now, for I like
going over factories. What&rsquo;s to be the
next one, I wonder.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Bread,&rdquo; exclaimed Mary, as she cut
a big slice for herself. &ldquo;Shall it be
bread, mother?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, if you like, but I propose we
go to see the flour made first. So the
next place we explore will be a flour-mill.&rdquo;</p>

<p class="author">E. M. W.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="birdies_breakfast" id="birdies_breakfast"></a>BIRDIE&rsquo;S BREAKFAST.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.</p>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Take your breakfast, little birdie,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cracker-crumbs, and seeds so yellow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bits of sponge-cake, sweet and mellow;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Come quite near me;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Do not fear me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I can hear your happy twitter,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Although winter winds are bitter;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Take your breakfast, little birdie.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come! Oh, come and tell me birdie!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All night long the snow was falling;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Long ago, I heard you calling;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Tell me, dearie,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Are you weary?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Can you sleep, when winds are blowing?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Frosts are biting, clouds are snowing?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Come! Oh, come and tell me, birdie!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Take your food, and trust me, birdie;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Daily food the Father giveth;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bread to every thing that liveth.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Come quite near me;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Do not fear me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Come each day, and bring your fellow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For your bread, so sweet and mellow;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Take your food, and trust me, birdie.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="a_battle" id="a_battle"></a>A BATTLE.</h2>


<p>Do you like accounts of battles?
Here is one for you. I shall have to
tell of a well-disciplined army, and some
hard fighting, as well as of a victory.</p>

<p>The scene is a quiet country district,
with fields and hedge-rows, not looking
a bit like war and bloodshed, and the
time is a summer afternoon, hot, for it
is July, and a haze is over the mountains,
which rise a little way behind,
as silent witnesses of the fray. The
sun begins to decline, and as the air
grows cooler the army has orders to
start. There is a short delay of preparations,
and then the warriors pour
forth; not in confusion, but in a compact,
unbroken column, each keeping to
the ranks in perfect order, and never diverging
from them. At first the army
follows the high road, but ere long
it passes through an opening in the
hedge, and crosses the field on the
other side. Still the soldiers march on,
never hindered, never straggling out of
place. It must have been a clever commander-in-chief
to have trained them
into such admirable obedience.</p>

<p>Presently a fortress rises before them&mdash;<em>that</em>
is the object of their expedition;
rather, it is something within the citadel
that they are sent to get, and have
it they <em>will</em>. Not without a struggle,
though, for the enemy is on guard, and
when he sees the hostile army approaching,
he sallies out to battle. He
has no idea of surrendering without a
fight for it.</p>

<p>The invaders gather up their forces
and charge bravely up the hill, and in
an instant, hand to hand, or something
very like it, the foes are locked together
in desperate conflict. Neither have
they any guns, but they carry sharp
weapons with them, and soon the field
is strewn with the dead and dying.</p>

<p>The fight thickens&mdash;the issue is
doubtful, but not long&mdash;the defenders
are routed, and the assailants press forward
to the citadel. Most skillful are
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"></a></span>
they, for with neither cannon nor battering-rams
they speedily make a breach
in the walls, and in they rush, pouring
through the street and lanes of the devoted
city. Yet they do not destroy it&mdash;they
do not kill the inhabitants&mdash;they
do not even stay within the walls
so hardly won. In a very short space
of time they return as they came, save
that each bears a portion of the spoil
for which they came. They form in
order once again, they march in line,
they regain their own quarters, but
each one carrying&mdash;would you believe
it?&mdash;a <em>young slave</em>.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf214.jpg" width="500" height="368"
alt="Ants heading out on an expedition" />
</div>

<p>Yes, the army did not care to conquer
the strange city; the expedition
was organized solely and entirely that
they might steal the young and bring
them up in their own colony as slaves.
For, through the long influence of evil
habits, the race to which these warriors
belong have lost their natural
powers, and so have now to be waited
on, fed, and altogether taken care of by
its slaves. With food before them they
would starve unless the slaves put it
into their mouths.</p>

<p>If they want to change their abode,
the slaves must make the new habitation
ready, and then carry their masters
on their backs to reach it. If the
children have to be taken care of, the
slaves must be the nurses. In fact,
<em>fighting</em> is the one single thing they
<em>can</em> do, and that, as we have seen, they
do well. As the supply of slaves is
necessary to their existence, every now
and then they have to go and help
themselves in the way we have just
seen them do; and though the idea of
slavery is abhorrent to every mind, we
must allow that they are brave soldiers,
and under excellent discipline.</p>

<p>Now, can you tell me who the soldiers
are? Go back to your history stories
and think. Some old Roman race,
perhaps, or the early inhabitants of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"></a></span>
Britain, when people knew no better?
Or some tribe of savages in America,
or the South Sea islands at the present
time? Nay, you must guess again, or
shall I tell you? Yes, you give it up.
Well, then, it is a people &ldquo;not strong;&rdquo;
small and insignificant, yet wise, for
this is what the Bible says, &ldquo;Go to the
<small>ANT</small>, consider her ways and be wise.&rdquo;&mdash;Prov.
vi:10.</p>

<p>This race of warriors is none other
than the slave-keeping ant, (<i>Polyergus
rufescens</i>). I do not think you would
meet with it in our woods, but in Switzerland
and other countries it is common.
Huber, who wrote so much about bees
and ants, first witnessed an attack near
Geneva. I should tell you that the
young which they carry off are the
larva or young grubs, which, transferred
to the nests of the conquerors,
soon become ants, and live the rest of
their lives in serving them, and waiting
on them, as slaves or servants would
their masters.</p>

<p>How extraordinary! Do they pine
for their own kind? Are they happy
in their bondage? We do not know,
but as far as we can judge they render
a willing and cheerful service, forgetting
themselves in what they do for
others. Then, of course, they are happy;
we need not repeat the question; we
are only lost in wonder at this strange
and interesting page in Nature&rsquo;s book.</p>

<p class="author">M. K. M.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="grace_darling_the_heroine" id="grace_darling_the_heroine"></a>GRACE DARLING, THE HEROINE.</h2>


<p>I presume most of you have heard of
Grace Darling, the brave girl who lived
with her father and mother at Longstone
light-house. On the 6th of September,
1838, there was a terrible storm,
and W. Darling, knowing well that
there would be many wrecks, and much
sorrow on the sea that dark, tempestuous
night, waited for daybreak; and
when at last it came, he went to look
out. About a mile away he saw a ship
in great distress, but the storm was so
awful he had hardly courage to venture
through it for their relief. His daughter
Grace, who was watching the wreck
through a glass, could no longer bear
to see the poor fellows clinging to the
piece of wreck which remained on the
rocks where it had been broken, and
make no effort to help them. She
knew they must be lost. So she implored
her father to launch the life-boat
and let her go with him to the rescue.
He consented, and father and
daughter, she taking the oars while he
steered, went pulling away for the
wreck; and I can fancy how the poor
fellows watched the life-boat like a
speck on the waters, counting each
minute as it neared them, then fearing,
as it seemed to be almost lost amid the
mountains of hissing and boiling waves,
lest it should never come to them at
all. But at last they are alongside; the
sufferers hesitate not a moment, but
jump for the life-boat, and so nine precious
lives were saved from a watery
grave.</p>

<p>Every one sang the praises of brave
Grace Darling. A sum of $3,500 was
presented to her as a testimonial, and
she was invited to dine with the Duke
of Northumberland. She died at the
early age of twenty-seven, of consumption.</p>

<p>Now, my readers cannot all be Grace
Darling, but they can come to the help
of the perishing; those that are weary
and ready to die. They can all do
something, by working, by little efforts
of self-denial, and by praying for those
who are in danger of being lost; and
then one day they will hear those wonderful
words, &ldquo;Inasmuch as ye have
done it unto the least of these, ye have
done it unto me.&rdquo; A testimonial
worth having indeed!</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="adam_and_eve" id="adam_and_eve"></a>ADAM AND EVE.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Adam and Eve are my two pet doves,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">They live in a cot in the maple tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They coo and coo as other doves do,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And I know they are fond of me.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Eve is a dear little milk-white dove,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Her eyes and feet are of coral red.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She wears a quill of gray in her wing,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And a small white cap on her head.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Adam is bold, and he struts about,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In coat and vest of chocolate brown;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Eve is as sweet as a dove can be,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And Adam will sometimes frown.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Adam and Eve are my two fond doves,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Their cottage stands in the maple tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They coo and coo, as other doves do,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And often take lunch with me.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet smcap">Mrs. S. J. Brigham.</p>
</div>


<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="swinging_song" id="swinging_song"></a>SWINGING SONG.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Swinging! Swinging!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Up where the bees and the butterflies are,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Winging! Winging!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their flights &rsquo;mong the blossoms that shine near and far.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ringing, Ringing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Song of the blue-bird and bobolink&rsquo;s call,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Singing, Singing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Up in this beautiful world are they all!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Clinging, clinging,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In this green shadow, the clematis swings.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Bringing, bringing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hints of strange odors, and dim woodland things.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Flinging, flinging,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The snow-ball, its white, pretty blossoms on me,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Springing, springing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The damask rose climbs to the lattice to see!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Backward my hair is floating and swaying,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Here o&rsquo;er the garden-walk softly I sing;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Far more delightful, than wearily straying,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Is it to dream here, while gently I swing.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf215.jpg" width="500" height="274"
alt="Children at the beach" />
</div>

<h2 class="smcap"><a name="how_the_days_went_at_sea_gull_beach" id="how_the_days_went_at_sea_gull_beach"></a>How the Days Went at Sea-Gull Beach.</h2>


<p>No school! And the beautiful summer
days coming so early in the
morning, that none of us children ever
could get awake to see the sun rise, and
staying so long that we grew quite
tired of being happy; and some of us,
Gracie and Jimmie in particular, were
so little, that they couldn&rsquo;t stay awake
through the whole of it, and went off
into a nap every day after dinner.</p>

<p>But this was in the city, and when we
arrived at the beach we didn&rsquo;t get tired
or cross the whole day long. There
were many children at the hotel, and
when we came, with our dolls and toy
boats, our fishing-tackle and spades,
and pails, we made a host of friends
immediately.</p>

<p>Reginald and Willie, our older brothers,
did not always go with Gracie and
Jimmie and me, but made the acquaintance
of the men that went out to sea
to fish for the great hotels; and they
went oftentimes with them, and we
used to enjoy seeing the little boats
launched; they almost stood on end
when they went over the breakers,
making us scream with excitement and
delight. And as the little fleet grew
less and less, and at last disappeared,
we girls thought it was a grand thing
to have such brave brothers.</p>

<p>I was the elder girl, being ten, and
Gracie seven. Our Gracie was a lovely
little sister; she had large blue eyes,
and wavy brown hair, and was very
gentle and obedient, and people called
her &ldquo;Pet,&rdquo; almost as soon as they became
acquainted with her.</p>

<p>Mother had blue flannel suits made
for us, and dressed in these, with
sailor hats that had little tapping ribbons
at the sides, we scurried along
the beach, climbed the rocks, or waded
out into the salt water.</p>

<p>But we had on our very prettiest
dresses in the evening, for the children
were allowed to have the grand
parlor, and dance to the music of the
band until nine o&rsquo;clock. This was a
privilege we older ones talked of continually,
and looked forward to all day.
We were so dainty, genteel, and good-mannered
for an hour, that it impressed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"></a></span>
even ourselves; and boys and girls became
models of gentleness and polite
behavior, and the effect of those delightful
evenings has given growth and
direction to many graces in our character.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf216.jpg" width="500" height="333"
alt="Two children dancing together" />
</div>

<p class="caption">DANCE TO THE MUSIC OF THE BAND.</p>

<p>But the little ones, like Gracie and
her friends, really couldn&rsquo;t stand the
excitement, and rolled around in odd
corners on the floor, or sought the
grateful obscurity behind the sofas, to
indulge in naps, long before nine
o&rsquo;clock. I found Gracie, in her pink
silk dress and violet slippers, lying
curled up under the table, with her
head on the back of Bosin, the great
Newfoundland dog that had stolen into
the parlor against rules.</p>

<p>Nelson Faber was a little boy, not
much older than Gracie, and they
seemed to enjoy each other&rsquo;s society
very much. He too oftentimes succumbed
to sleepiness when we wanted
him to do his sailor dance; but when
the morning came, they were as rosy-cheeked
and bright-eyed as ever, and
trotted along the pleasant walks with
their hoops and pails, inseparable
friends. It was fortunate for Gracie, too,
that he preferred to play with her,
rather than to go off with the boys, for
one day after a boisterous night, the
sea came up higher on the beach than
we had ever before seen it; and unsuspecting
Gracie was caught by a wave
and thrown down, and as it retired it
seemed to drag her along with it; we
older ones lost our presence of mind
entirely, and screamed and cried, and
did nothing, but that heroic little fellow
ran into the boiling surf and caught her
dress, and with the dog&rsquo;s assistance,
dragged her to a safe place. She said
he was, &ldquo;Very nice and dood.&rdquo;</p>

<p>One day, some of my girl companions
proposed to visit the rocks that
lay at the mouth of Green river, just
where it gently met the ocean. Right
there, no end of sea-weed and shells,
and things thrown up by the ocean,
could be found; and there were such
curious rocks, with nooks and basins,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"></a></span>
where the water stayed in tiny pools,
and there we went fishing, and brought
lunch, setting it out on the most convenient
flat rock we could find. I tell
you, cold chicken, pickles, cheese, and
sponge cake, with milk, tasted as they
never did
before or
since, to
our party
of hungry
children.
We climbed
and fell,
and laughed,
and
chatted,
with the
salt breeze
lifting our
hair, and
fanning
our brown
faces, and
going out
far on the
point, we
came upon
a little
shining
lake, surrounded
by
rocks, upon
which we
could sit,
and dabble
our feet in
the water.
It was no
place more
than a foot
deep, and
we decided
to wade
round in it.
It was a comical sight to see us navigating
ourselves in procession through
that water, but it was a very questionable
joke, when Milly Sayre
jumped and screamed, and ran like a
frantic creature from the pool, and up
the rocks.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter, Milly,&rdquo; we cried.
&ldquo;Are you hurt? What did you see?&rdquo;
we breathlessly shouted.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh! oh!&rdquo; was all she could gasp,
pointing to a place she had just left.
We all scrambled out instantly, and
peered
over the
rocks into
the water.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 379px;">
<img src="images/oyf217.jpg" width="379" height="500"
alt="Nelson and Gracie walking together" />
</div>

<p class="caption">INSEPARABLE FRIENDS.</p>

<p>What
should we
see but a
little creature,
grotesque
and
hideous,
that made
its way
round in
the water,
with astounding
celerity,
throwing
out legs
or claws,
or whatever
they
were, from
every point
of its circumference.
Its
body was
flat and
was a green
color above
and pink
under, and
to add to
its alarming
appearance,
it
looked at
us with two black eyes, in a very sinister
and uncanny manner. We looked at
each other with blanched faces and
speechless horror, and then kept a sharp
lookout, lest it might take it into its
head (we couldn&rsquo;t tell if it had any
head, for the place where the eyes were,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"></a></span>
did not seem different from any other
part of its body,) take it into its &ldquo;internal
consciousness,&rdquo; to crawl out on to
the rocks and chase us. It got through
the water in a distracting manner,
which was really quite amusing after a
few moments, and from being horribly
frightened, we became interested when
we found it did not attempt the offensive.
We gave it some lunch and
called it &ldquo;Jack Deadeye,&rdquo; and for the
whole afternoon he was the center of
attraction.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Let us take him back with us,&rdquo; I
proposed. &ldquo;We can get him into a
pail, and then we can have him in some
pool nearer home, and see what he&rsquo;ll
turn into. I don&rsquo;t believe but what
he&rsquo;ll be something else in a few days.&rdquo;</p>

<p>My knowledge of natural history had
always been lamentably meager, and
more than once I had brought the
laugh upon myself by my ignorance.
So I forbore to predict what would be
his ultimate form of beauty.</p>

<p>&ldquo;A whale!&rdquo; said Susie Champney.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, dear, no; whales don&rsquo;t have
legs and claws,&rdquo; said Estella Bascom.
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a tadpole.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re mistaken there,&rdquo; said Mamie
Fitz Hugh; &ldquo;tadpoles are just the
little jokers that do have tails. I&rsquo;ve
seen hundreds of them, and this creature
has no tail.&rdquo;</p>

<p>We all rushed again to the edge of the
rocks to look at him, with added wonder.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, we&rsquo;ll take that tad home on
a pole, any way,&rdquo; said Nannie White,
who was the cutest girl to say things
in the whole crowd. She immediately
ran off to secure a piece of drift that
was tumbling about on the wet sand.
But how to get him into a pail was the
next problem. A committee of the
whole was called. I thought we could
obstruct his path by putting the mouth
of the pail in front of him, and then
when he sailed into it, we could instantly
pull him out. This was decided
upon; but how to get it down to him
without falling in? A bright idea struck
me. I whipped off my flannel sash, and
running it through the handle, dashed
it into the water; but that proceeding
only frightened him&mdash;we must move
more cautiously. We worked for an
hour and had him in twice, but were so
excited both times that he escaped.</p>

<p>First time, Totty Rainsford shouted,
&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve got him!&rdquo; and immediately
rolled off the rocks, head first, into the
water. We were all so scared, with the
water splashing, and she screaming at
the top of her voice, &ldquo;Save me! Save
me!&rdquo; that Jack got away. She scrambled
out pretty lively, and when we got
him in again, we were all seized with
another fit of laughing at Totty, who,
in her moist predicament, was jumping
round to dry herself, because she didn&rsquo;t
want to go home, that he crawled out
as leisurely as possible. But we secured
him at last, safe in the pail; and
to prevent his crawling out, I clapped
my sailor hat over the top of it, and the
elastic kept it down tight. We put the
pole through the handle and Estella
and myself took hold of the ends, and
we came near losing him every few
minutes, owing to the inequalities of
the ground. The pail would slide down
to either end, as the pole inclined, and
Estella would drop it and scream when
she saw the pail traveling noiselessly
toward her, and if it hadn&rsquo;t been for
my happy thought of putting the hat
over him, he&rsquo;d have got away to his
&ldquo;happy hunting grounds,&rdquo; or rather,
waters, in short order.</p>

<p>We arrived at the hotel at last, with
Jack all safe, and the rest of the girls
went to dress for dinner, and left me
to find the boys, to help me deposit
him in a secure place, for we were sure
we should very greatly astonish the
boarders and achieve renown as having
discovered a new species of marine
beast.</p>

<p>The boys were in a perfect ecstacy
of curiosity to see what the girls had
caught. When I carefully took off the
hat, I found the water had all leaked
out, and his monstership lay kicking
and crawling at the bottom.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></a></span>
&ldquo;Ho! ho! ho!&rdquo; shouted Willie, &ldquo;is
that what-cher call a curiosity?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, Flossie! you have been dreadfully
taken in,&rdquo; said Regy.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s this wonderful
animal that&rsquo;s been &lsquo;taken in,&rsquo; and
he&rsquo;s going to be kept in, too.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I began to feel, though, that
there was a great laugh somewhere
in the future, and that it was coming
at our expense.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, Flossie! it&rsquo;s nothing but
a baby crab,&rdquo; said Regy. &ldquo;I can
get a peck of them in an hour, over
in the river.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I felt greatly chagrined, and
blushed with mortification. The
boys kept bursting out laughing
every few minutes, asking such questions
as:</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 550px;">
<img src="images/oyf218.jpg" width="550" height="479"
alt="The children look at the crab" />
</div>

<p class="caption">HOW MANY GIRLS DID IT TAKE TO LAND HIM?</p>

<p>&ldquo;How many girls did it take to land
him?&rdquo; &ldquo;Was he gamey, Flossie?&rdquo;
&ldquo;Did ye bait him with a clam-shell, or
an old boot? they&rsquo;ll snap at any thing.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh! I&rsquo;d given away my dinner to
have been there!&rdquo; and then Regy
would stir him up with a stick, and
turn him on his back, all of which
caused me to scream every time, and
sent tremors all over me.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What-cher goin&rsquo; to do with him?&rdquo;
inquired Willie.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I shall study his habitudes, and improve
my knowledge of the crustacea,&rdquo;
said I, giving him a sentence directly
out of my text-book. &ldquo;I shall look at
him every day.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, and he&rsquo;ll look at you every
night. I have read a book that told
about a traveler that offended a crab
once, and he informed the other crabs,
and they all made for him at night, and
twenty thousand of them came that
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></a></span>
night and crept under his tent,
and sat there and looked at him.
And there he was in the middle
of them, and you know their
eyes are fastened in their heads
by a string, and they can throw
them out of their heads and
draw them back again; and, at
a signal, they all threw their
eyes at him. He was so horrified
that night, that he got insane
and had to be sent to a lunatic
asylum.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve heard your stories before,
Regy, and I simply don&rsquo;t credit
them. We girls are going to
hunt up a pond to put him in,
where we can pet him, and educate
him.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;d best hunt up a frying
pan to put him in; he&rsquo;s
capital eating for breakfast,
well browned, with hard-boiled
eggs and parsley
round him,&rdquo; said Reginald.</p>

<p>I told him if he couldn&rsquo;t
do any better than to lie
there and make an exhibition
of his bad taste and
ignorance, he&rsquo;d
better get up and
work off the fit.
I insisted upon
his helping me
to fill the pail
with salt water,
and hang him
upon the rocks
until we could
make a future,
permanent disposal
of him.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 426px;">
<img src="images/oyf219.jpg" width="426" height="600"
alt="A little boy with the crab, and sailing boats" />
</div>

<p class="caption">&ldquo;WHERE WE CAN PET AND EDUCATE HIM.&rdquo;</p>

<p>That evening
our parlor manners
were
somewhat
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a></span>
less decorous and elegant, owing to
the fact that Reginald and Willie had
been industriously circulating the episode
of the morning, with such additions
as they thought would add point
and piquancy, among the rest of the
boys, and there was no end of innuendo
and witticism indulged in, that
caused the young gentlemen to retire
in groups and laugh; and we could
hear such remarks as, &ldquo;Dick, there
was a whale hooked on this coast this
afternoon, did you know it?&rdquo; Or, &ldquo;I
think Jack Deadeye is the most comical
character in Pinafore, he&rsquo;s so crabbed.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The girls of our party stood it as they
best could; and in the morning we
stole out to look at our prize, after the
boys had gone off, but the tide had
swept Jack and the pail out to sea.</p>

<p>It was a long time before we heard
the last of it, however.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 250px;">
<img src="images/oyf220.jpg" width="250" height="171"
alt="A small sailing boat" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="max_and_beppo" id="max_and_beppo"></a>MAX AND BEPPO.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Down by the lake they trotted,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">All the summer day;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Max and Beppo never plotted<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Yet, to run away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Two little donkey pets, Oh, I loved them so!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I was in Switzerland, just a year ago.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How they liked bananas!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And our apples sweet;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They had lovely manners,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Every thing they&rsquo;d eat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then, I&rsquo;d rub their furry ears, and they&rsquo;d shake their bells,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While old driver Raspar, funny stories tells.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Max turns round and winks so pretty,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Little, sharp round eyes;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beppo sings a jolly ditty,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Quite to our surprise.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then we mount, and off we go, up and down the mall,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Never do they careless trip, never make a fall.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Once, a princess royal<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Wanted little Max;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How to part those friends so loyal,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Her little brain she racks.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She would give her gold and silver, in a little purse,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then throw in for measure good, her scolding English nurse!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then she cried, and chattered<br /></span>
<span class="i1">All her pretty French,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And her little feet she pattered,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">On the rustic bench.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;My papa is king,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;d have you know,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I shall have the donkey, and to prison shall you go.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How their tiny feet would scamper,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Up the valley blue,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Carrying each his generous hamper,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And his rider, too.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sure of foot, they&rsquo;d clamber round the mountain spur<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where the foot-sore tourist scarcely dared to stir.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In this bright, sunshiny weather,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I remember with a sigh,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We no more can play together,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Beppo, Max and I.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Never dearer friends exist, in this world below,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Than I made in Switzerland, just a year ago.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></a></span></p>

<div class="center">
<a name="pansies" id="pansies"></a>
<table class="pansies" title="Pansies" summary="poem">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<h2 class="smcap" style="padding-left: 6em;">PANSIES.</h2>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">As I walked in my garden to-day,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">I saw a family sweet.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Many wee faces looked up,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">From their cool and shady retreat.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Some had blue eyes and golden curls,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Some dark eyes and raven locks,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Some were dressed in velvets so rare,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">And some wore quaint, gay frocks.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I asked these babies so dear,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">To come and live ever with me!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Then laughing so gaily they said;<br /></span>
<span class="i6">&ldquo;We are <em>Pansies</em>, don&rsquo;t you see?&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet">MRS. L. L. SLOANAKER.</p>
</div>
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br />
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="come_little_bird" id="come_little_bird"></a>&ldquo;COME, LITTLE BIRD!&rdquo;</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Come, little bird, I have waited some time,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Light on my hand, and I&rsquo;ll give you a dime.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have a cage that will keep you warm,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Free from danger, and safe from storm.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;No, little lady, we cannot do that,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not for a dime, nor a brand new hat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We are so happy, and wild, and free,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Fly, pretty bird, fly down, and take<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Just a crumb of my Christmas cake;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Santa Claus brought it to me, you know,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Over the snow. Over the snow.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Yes, we know of your home, so rare,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And stockings hung in the fire-light there;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We peeped through the window-blinds to see.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;We were on the button-ball tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Closer than we were thought to be;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Soon you may have us in to tea,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="sirenas_trouble" id="sirenas_trouble"></a>SIRENA&rsquo;S TROUBLE.</h2>


<p>Adalina Patti was a doll of most
trying disposition. You wouldn&rsquo;t tell,
when she woke up, what distracting
thing she&rsquo;d do first. I&rsquo;ve known her,
when seated at the breakfast table, in
her high chair, next to Sirena, her little
mamma, I have known her to jerk
suddenly forward, and plunge her face
right into a plate of buttered cakes and
syrup.</p>

<p>This necessitated the removing of
her from the table and a good deal of
cleansing and re-dressing on the part of
Bidelia, the hired girl.</p>

<p>She had movable eyes; they were
very lovely, but, if you&rsquo;ll believe it,
she&rsquo;d screw them round, just to be contrary,
so that she&rsquo;d look cross-eyed for
hours together. No sweet persuasion
or threat of punishment could induce
her to look like a doll in her right mind.</p>

<p>This was not quite so bad though,
as the outlandish noises she made
when she didn&rsquo;t want to say &ldquo;mamma,&rdquo;
which she could do very distinctly when
she first arrived, at Christmas.</p>

<p>But a crisis in her petulant obstinacy
came, when she wouldn&rsquo;t sit still to
have her hair combed, and it looked
like a &ldquo;hurrah&rsquo;s nest,&rdquo; her brother Bob
said. All her naughtiness came right
out then. She rolled one eye entirely
up in her head, and left it there, and
stared so wild with the other, that
Sirena gave her a pretty lively shake,
but she only dropped that eye and
rolled up the other.</p>

<p>This made her little mamma pause
and meditate. She got provoked as
she looked at her, and then she gave
her a double shake; then that bad doll
rolled up both her eyes, and nothing
could induce her to get them down
again.</p>

<p>Oh, dear! How many dreadful things
she looked like. There was a vicious
parrot in the park that made its eyes
look just like Adalina&rsquo;s did, just before
it stuck its head through the bars of its
cage to bite people. And there was a
stone lady, that was named &ldquo;Ceres,&rdquo;
on one of the paths in the same park,
and she kept her eyes rolled up all the
time, greatly to the terror of Sirena
and Bidelia, who had to pass her in
coming home in the twilight. And
down street there was a tobacconist&rsquo;s
sign that represented a fairy queen,
with butterfly wings, taking a pinch of
snuff, and the weather had taken all
the paint off her eyes and she looked
simply hideous; and Sirena grasped
Bidelia very tight, till they got round
the corner. Now here was her lovely
French doll looking like them and cutting
up worse. She&rsquo;d go to mamma
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></a></span>
with this trouble as she did with all
others.</p>

<p>She put her doll down with her face
against the carpet, and taking hold of
her pink kid arm, dragged her, not
very gently, over the carpet to her
mother.</p>

<p>At that moment in bounced Rob,
who, immediately taking in the situation
of affairs, exclaimed,&mdash;&ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t
be so cruel to Adalina! Is she just
horrid? You know, Rena, that&rsquo;s what
you are, sometimes, yourself. What&rsquo;s
the matter any way? What makes
you look so glum?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;This doll is acting dreadful; just
look at her eyes!&rdquo; said Sirena.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t tell any thing by any
one&rsquo;s eyes, yours look like the 4th of
July, now, and you&rsquo;re a delightful little
girl, everybody says; you don&rsquo;t
whack things round, and scream, when
the flowers bloom in the spring.&rdquo;</p>

<p>He was to be repressed immediately.
Sirena looked at her mother.</p>

<p>&ldquo;He wants to be funny, Sirena,&rdquo;
said her mother, soothingly.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Then he isn&rsquo;t funny; he&rsquo;s never
funny,&rdquo; said Sirena, drawing herself up
with dignity.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Totty Belmont says you&rsquo;re the teasenest,
hatefulest boy she knows! So
there,&rdquo; remarked Sirena.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, ho! I don&rsquo;t wonder the doll
is scared. Why don&rsquo;t you treat that
pretty creature with some consideration?
Dragging her over the carpet,
and spoiling her pretty dress! Now
you&rsquo;ll see, just as soon as she comes to
me, because I&rsquo;m good-looking and nice,
she&rsquo;ll put her eyes down and smile at
me as lovely as ever.&rdquo;</p>

<p>He took the doll and jumped it up
and down in the air, dancing about and
singing, &ldquo;Tra-la.&rdquo;</p>

<p>As sure as the world! Down came
the eyes, and Adalina was her charming
self again.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Now you see,&rdquo; said Rob, &ldquo;if you
want people to be good to you and love
you, you must not be rude and ill-natured
yourself. This doll is French,
and particular, and she just won&rsquo;t look
at cross little girls; so there!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I think,&rdquo; said her mamma, &ldquo;that
Sirena will not get so angry with her
doll again. She looks as if she were
ashamed of it now. However disagreeable
we may think people are, it&rsquo;s
best to watch ourselves, lest in finding
fault with them, we fall into the same
errors.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 443px;">
<img src="images/oyf222.jpg" width="443" height="600"
alt="Sirena slouched in an armchair with her doll" />
</div>

<p class="caption">SIRENA.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="lady_violet" id="lady_violet"></a>LADY VIOLET.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My little love, with soft, brown eyes,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Looks shyly back at me,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beneath the drooping apple bough,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">She thinks I do not see.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I cannot choose, I laugh with her,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I catch her merry glee;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or stay you near, or go you far,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, little love, how sweet you are!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A hue, like light within a rose,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Is dimpling on her cheek,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It wins a grace, it deepens now<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With every airy freak;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A love-light in the rose like this,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Ah, you may vainly seek;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It shines for me, no shadows mar,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, little love, how fair you are!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My heart clings to her pretty words,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">They will not be forgot;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My happy brain will not discern,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">If they be wise or not.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To ever be so charmed, so blessed,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Ah, this were happy lot.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My own, shine ever like a star<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Upon my life, so true you are.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></a><!-- original location of illustration SIRENA --></span></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 445px;">
<img src="images/oyf223.jpg" width="445" height="600"
alt="Papa and his two daughters" />
</div>

<p class="caption">PAPA&rsquo;S PETS.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="on_trial" id="on_trial"></a>ON TRIAL.</h2>


<p>Little Hal Keys was pretty sure to
throw a stone at every pussy cat he
saw, and so all the cats around used to
have a great deal to say about him as
they sat together on the back fences,
or when they had a party in the big
barn. At last the cats determined to
do something about it, and so they
said: &ldquo;We will have him up for trial
before Judge Thomas White.&rdquo; He was
the wisest and oldest of all the cats in
town, and wore spectacles that made
him look even wiser than he was.
Eleven of the most learned cats said
they would be lawyers, and get other
cats to be witnesses, to tell what Hal
had done, and try to get him punished.
One of the eleven said: &ldquo;For the sake
of Hal&rsquo;s mother, who has always been
kind to me from the time I was a little
kitten, I will be his lawyer, and try to
get his punishment made as light as I
can.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf224.jpg" width="500" height="376"
alt="The courtroom" />
</div>

<p class="caption">DOLLY VARDEN ACCUSING JACK WITH CRUELTY.</p>

<p>Twelve cats had to be found who
could say that they were not quite sure
that Hal was such a bad boy as he
seemed to be. They were stay-at-home
cats, who did not know what was going
on outside of the comfortable houses
where they lived. These twelve cats
were to be the jury, and it was their
duty to hear all that the lawyers and
the witnesses had to say about Hal&rsquo;s
doings, and then to tell whether or not
they thought he ought to be punished.</p>

<p>At last the day of the trial came;
Judge Thomas White sat down in his
big chair and took his pen; the lawyers
took their places; the twelve jury
cats were brought in, and put in a high
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></a></span>
box, so they could not jump out and
run away. Hal was brought in and
put in the prisoner&rsquo;s box, as they call
it; and Christopher Gray, his mother&rsquo;s
old cat, took his place beside Hal.
Three cats, called &ldquo;reporters,&rdquo; came
in with pockets full of paper and pencils,
to write down all that is said; to
print in the newspapers, for all cats in
the world to read.</p>

<p>The first witness to tell all the bad
she knew about Hal was his sister
Alice&rsquo;s little Dolly Varden. How
saucy she looked, with the blue ribbon
tied around her neck, as she sat on the
witness stand telling how Hal chased
her from cellar to garret; and stepped
on her tail; and gave her saucer of
milk to the dog Jack whenever he got
a chance. &ldquo;Cruel, cruel boy,&rdquo; said
Dolly Varden, &ldquo;he teases his sister almost
as much as he teases me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Hal trembled from head to foot when
he heard what Dolly Varden said, for
he knew it all was true, and he was
much afraid that a very hard punishment
would be given to him. Then
the old black cat, on whom Hal had
thrown a dipper of hot water, was
called to the witness stand. Poor old
thing! the hot water had taken the
fur off his back. Then came another
cat, limping up to the witness stand,
whose leg had been broken by a stone
which Hal had thrown. There were so
many witnesses that it would make my
story too long to tell about them all.
All that Christopher Gray could say in
Hal&rsquo;s favor was: &ldquo;He has a good
mother.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;The more shame for him,&rdquo; said
one of the lawyers.</p>

<p>When the jury had heard all that was
to be said, they went out of the room
together; in five minutes they came
back; all agreed that Hal should be
punished. Then Judge Thomas White,
in his most solemn tone, said: &ldquo;Albert
Keys, you are found guilty of great
cruelty to good cats everywhere. I
must, therefore, pronounce sentence
upon you. You must go with us to
Cat town for two days and one night.&rdquo;</p>

<p>There were tears in Hal&rsquo;s eyes, but
the Judge had no pity on him, and he
called in some of the strongest cats to
take him. Oh! what a long, hard way
it was; over fences, under houses, and
through the barns. It was hard work
for Hal to keep up with them, but they
made him. What a time he had after
he got to Cat town. All of the cats
gathered around him, and howled at
him, and scratched his face and hands,
and made him wish he was any place
but there. At last when he was set
free, he never could have found his
way home, if pretty little Dolly Varden
had not forgiven him, and shown
him the way back.</p>

<p>Hal was never known after that to
throw a stone at a cat, or to treat one
badly in any way.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="two_little_girls" id="two_little_girls"></a>TWO LITTLE GIRLS.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They don&rsquo;t know much, these little girls,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I&rsquo;ll tell you why &rsquo;tis so,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They played away their time at school,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And let their lessons go.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">One took a slate to cipher,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And all went very well,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Until she came to four times eight,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And that she could not tell.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The other would make pictures<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In her copy book at school,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of boys and girls and donkeys<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Which was against the rule.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But nothing good could come of it,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And this is what befell;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She tried to write to papa,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And found she could not spell.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The teacher said, &ldquo;Of all sad things,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I would not be a dunce,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But would learn to write and cipher,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And begin the work at once.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="helpful_words" id="helpful_words"></a>HELPFUL WORDS.</h2>

<div class="center">
<table class="helpful" summary="Text of stories">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">
<p style="padding-top: 16em; margin-left: 18em;">A great astronomer was, once in his
early days, working hard at mathematics,
and the difficulties he met with, made
him ready to give up the study in despair.
After listlessly looking out of
the window, he turned over the leaves
of his book, when the lining at the
back attracted
his attention.
Looking at it
closely, he found it was part
of a letter written to a young man,
apparently, like himself, disheartened
with his difficulties. &ldquo;Go on, sir, go
on,&rdquo; was the counsel; &ldquo;the difficulties
you meet will disappear as you advance.&rdquo;</p>

<p style="margin-left: 18em;">This short sentence seemed to give
the student fresh courage. Following
out these simple words he applied himself
with renewed energy to his studies,
and ultimately became one of the most
learned men of his day.</p>

<p class="author">D.</p>
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="false_shame" id="false_shame"></a>FALSE SHAME.</h2>


<p>Do not be ashamed, my lad, if you
have a patch on your elbow. It is no
mark of disgrace. It speaks well for
your industrious mother. For our part,
we would rather see a dozen patches
on your clothes than to have you do a
bad or mean action, or to hear a profane
or vulgar word proceed from your
lips. No good boy will shun you or
think less of you because you do not
dress as well as he does, and if any one
laugh at your appearance, never mind
it. Go right on doing your duty.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf226.jpg" width="500" height="494"
alt="Five deer" />
</div>


<h2><a name="clara_and_the_animal_book" id="clara_and_the_animal_book"></a>CLARA AND THE ANIMAL BOOK.</h2>


<p>Clara was a little western girl. She
had lived in San Francisco until she
was nine years old, when her dear
mamma and papa brought her east to
live with Aunt Mary and Cousin Charlie,
and they were growing very fond of
her indeed, for she was so sweet and
kind and always obedient.</p>

<p>One day she was sitting out under the
blossoming trees on the old Worden
seat, her book lying, unread, in her lap,
and her eyes having a dreamy, far-away
look in them, when, from the
balcony overhead, sounded a piping
little voice:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Clara, Tousin Clara! has oo dot
my Animal book?&rdquo; and a small, rosy-cheeked
boy came running to her, rubbing
his sleepy, dark eyes.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, Charlie, have you finished
your nap so soon? yes here is your
Animal book, and what shall I read
about?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, about the deers, wiz their dreat
big horns, and&mdash;and&mdash;<em>every</em> sin,&rdquo; and
he nestled close, satisfied he would
hear all he wished. So she read a short
sketch of the deer, its haunts and habits,
when he interrupted:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Has oo ever <em>seen</em> a deer&mdash;a real <em>live</em>
one?&rdquo; and his black eyes opened wide.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes; and when we were coming
east, across the plains, whenever
the train drew near a wooded stream,
often the screaming whistle would startle
a herd of deer from their covert,
and they would rush up through the
trees, antlers erect, and sleek brown
bodies quivering with alarm, and followed
by the soft-eyed, gentle fawn.
It was quite a pretty picture.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Tell me more; what tind of a city
did oo live in?&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 431px;">
<img src="images/oyf227.jpg" width="431" height="600" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">CLARA AND THE ANIMAL BOOK.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a></span>
&ldquo;A very beautiful city, Charlie. You
should see our noble bay, with the
great ships riding at anchor; our fine
parks and stately buildings. Then if
you should go down in Market street,
where most of the business is done,
you would see some funny sights. All
kinds of people are there&mdash;Ranchmen,
Indians, Spaniards, English, Americans
and lots of queer little Chinamen,
and they have small, dark shops full of
curious things, and besides spread their
wares on the walk.&rdquo;</p>

<p>After telling about the orange groves
and vineyards, the lovely flowers, especially
the fuchsia, which winds its
branches like a vine over the porches,
often reaching the upper story of a
house, Charlie thought it must be a
wonderful country, and expressed his
intention of <em>living</em> in California when
he became a man.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><a name="anecdote1" id="anecdote1"></a>
In a Chinese village during a time of
drought a missionary saw a row of idols
put in the hottest and dustiest part of
the road. He inquired the reason and
the natives answered: &ldquo;We prayed
our gods to send us rain, and they wont,
so we&rsquo;ve put them out to see how they
like the heat and dryness.&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="the_unsociable_ducks" id="the_unsociable_ducks"></a>THE UNSOCIABLE DUCKS.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Three meadow birds went out in great glee,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">All in the sunshiny weather;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Down by the pond, with the reeds waving free,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Where the ducks were all standing together.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Good day Mrs. Duck,&rdquo; said the three meadow birds,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;From all the news we can gather,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You&rsquo;re a very good friend, of very few words.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Then one flew away with a feather.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Quack!&rdquo; said the duck, &ldquo;That feather is mine,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I see through your ways altogether;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You want our feathers, your own nests to line,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">All in the bright summer weather.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;What shall we use?&rdquo; said the three meadow birds,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no good in moss or in heather.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t care a straw,&rdquo; said the old blue drake,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;If you line all your nests with sole leather.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Quack! Quack! Quack! You must think we are slack!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">You talk too polite altogether;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We&rsquo;ve had quite enough of your high-flown stuff,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And we know, you are birds of a feather.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf228.jpg" width="500" height="335"
alt="Dickens and his cat" />
</div>


<h2 class="smcap"><a name="putting_out_the_candle" id="putting_out_the_candle"></a>Putting out the Candle.</h2>


<p>Charles Dickens, for that is the
name of the gentleman you see sitting
by the table, wrote many books and
stories. Some of his stories are about
little children for grown folks to read,
and others are for the children themselves.
Mr. Dickens had a pet cat,
that was always in his library. Strange
to say, it had no name. That was no
matter, because the cat could not hear.
He was deaf. But he liked very much
to be petted, and plainly showed sometimes
that he was not pleased to have
his master do any thing else. One evening,
when Mr. Dickens was sitting at
the table reading, his candle suddenly
went out. He did not know why it
should have done so, but he got up
and lighted it. In a few moments it
began to get dark again, and he looked
up quickly at the candle, and saw puss
just raising his paw to put it out.
&ldquo;What did he do?&rdquo; He gave the cat
a loving little pat and went on with
his reading. What a sly cat was that to
find a way to make his master notice him.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="sulky_archie" id="sulky_archie"></a>SULKY ARCHIE.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">BY C. MANNERS SMITH.</p>


<p>&ldquo;It must be nice to be a sailor, and I
wish I was one. Every thing goes
wrong and mother is always
scolding me, and
father is never done
growling; I am getting
tired of it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The speaker was a
little, round-cheeked lad,
of about nine years of age.
He was standing, with
a tall, fair-haired girl,
evidently his sister, on
the edge of the river
Wyncombe. He was not
a lively boy. He was
one of those thoughtful,
gloomy little boys who
are always dreaming; always
thinking and
imagining some fancied
injury from either father
or mother.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 343px;">
<img src="images/oyf229.jpg" width="343" height="500"
alt="Archie sitting on a wall" />
</div>

<p class="caption">&ldquo;NOBODY CARES.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Archie Phillips was
the little boy&rsquo;s name,
and he and his sister
had got a holiday and
were watching a party of
older children from the
Wynne High School,
who had come down to
the river to spend the
afternoon. There was
Algernon Wright with a
large model yacht, and
Willie Schofield, the
Mayor&rsquo;s son, with a new
silver-mounted fishing
rod. They were all as
happy and full of frolic
as all boys in the spring-time of life
ought to be. Little Archie was, however,
of a morose temperament, and
did not share in any of the amusements.</p>

<p>The village of Wynne is a fishing village,
and is approached from the sea by
a beautiful cove on the Cornish coast.
The town is built on the slopes of the
hills reaching down to the water&rsquo;s edge,
and the river Wynne empties itself
into the sea near by.</p>

<p>It is, indeed, a pleasant place. At
the time of this story all the boys of
Wynne, young and old, were crazy after
maritime pursuits and sports. They
spent the bulk of their holiday time
either in sailing about the bay, or in
fishing, bathing, or holding model yacht
races in the cove.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t I have a yacht in the
place of a silly ball? Why don&rsquo;t I have
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></a></span>
boys to play with instead of Lucy and
Gyp? What do girls or dogs know
about a top or a cat hunt? I&rsquo;m disgusted!
I&rsquo;ll go for a sailor! I&rsquo;ll run
away; there!&rdquo;</p>

<p>The girl took no notice of this discourse.
It was no new thing for her
to hear grumbling from her brother, and
she was accustomed to bear it without
murmur or dissent. Presently she ran
away, along the river bank, with her
doll, to a shady place, where she knew
the sun was not strong, and where some
rushes overhung the path. There she
could put her doll to sleep. It was no
use asking Archie to join her. He was
too old and too much of a man to enter
into any such stupidity.</p>

<p>Presently Archie sat down in the
shade, on the balustrades of the churchyard
and watched the glee of the High-Schoolboys
with a sulky envy.</p>

<p>It was a glorious summer afternoon.
The sky overhead was one vast, inverted
field of blue, without a single
speck of cloud. The hot sun was beating
down almost perpendicularly, and
the rays penetrated the leaves, shedding
a lattice-work pattern on the
ground.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I know Ben Huntly, the boat-builder,
will tell me how to go to sea. He has
been a sailor himself, and I know he
will tell me all about it. Nobody cares;
well, mother might, perhaps, a bit, but
then, I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Then he paused in his musings and
thought of all the injustice done to him
by his mother. He thought, like all
gloomy, wretched little boys, of all that
was ill. He didn&rsquo;t for one moment remember,
how, that very morning, the
self-same, unjust mother, after packing
up his little lunch-basket, had put her
arms round his neck, and a little red-cheeked
apple in his pocket, and told
him to keep away from the river. Oh,
no, he seemed to have quite forgotten
all that.</p>

<p>Then the sun went behind a cloud
and Archie felt the cool wind, which
blew from the cove, on his cheek, so he
jumped down from his musing place
and sped away as fast as his legs would
carry him toward the house of the
boat-builder. He ran across the green,
down the grassy slopes and across a
stretch of shingly beach, to the cottage
of his friend.</p>

<p>Ben Huntly, the boat-builder, was a
good-hearted fellow, and was extremely
fond of all the children of the village.
He had that method possessed by few
people of searching into the heart of
a child and arguing with him in a
manner suitable for a child&rsquo;s understanding.</p>

<p>Archie had often sought Ben&rsquo;s counsel
when things seemed to go wrong,
and it was seldom that the boat-builder
had failed to convince the boy, even to
his satisfaction, that he was wrong.</p>

<p>It was an off day for the boat-builder.
He was sitting, smoking his pipe, in
the cottage porch, and reading a well-thumbed
copy of &ldquo;Gray&rsquo;s Master Mariner.&rdquo;
He welcomed Archie with a secret
delight, for he knew, by his little
friend&rsquo;s face, that he was brooding over
some fancied injury, and it gave the
boat-builder pleasure to talk his little
friend out of his troubles.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Well, Archie, what&rsquo;s new in the
wind,&rdquo; said Ben, as he greeted the
boy with a grasp of the hand. &ldquo;It
seems almost an age since I saw you, my
boy.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Little Archie sat down on a large
stone bench in the porch, and told Ben
his story. His mother had been vexed
with him that morning. She had asked
him to call at the rectory with a message
for Doctor Hart, and he wanted to
cut grass at the time, and objected.
His mother did not scold him, oh, no,
Ben, she sent Carrie, who willingly
took the message, and his father had
called him a name. Then, again, he
had no toys like other boys. Some had
a pony; he couldn&rsquo;t have one. His
father always answered his request for
a pony with the reply that he couldn&rsquo;t
afford one just then and he would see
about it some day. If Ben would only
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"><!-- original location of illustration AND DISCUSSED LITTLE ARCHIE'S PURPOSED FLIGHT --></a></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></a></span>
tell him how to go to sea he would certainly
run away the next day.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 469px;">
<img src="images/oyf230.jpg" width="469" height="600"
alt="Ben and Archie" />
</div>

<p class="caption">&ldquo;AND DISCUSSED LITTLE ARCHIE&rsquo;S PURPOSED FLIGHT.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Now, Ben knew the character of little
Archie better, perhaps, than his own
mother did; so, when he had given the
little boy a draught of cool milk from
the cottage kitchen, Ben lit his pipe
afresh, and took down an old telescope,
a relic of his sea-faring days, from the
wall. The young man and the boy then
strolled across a low, level tract of sand,
to a grassy hillock, formed by the current
of the Wyncombe. Here they
sat down in the fast waning twilight,
and discussed
little Archie&rsquo;s
purposed flight.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, Archie,&rdquo;
said Ben, &ldquo;a sailor&rsquo;s
life is well
enough, if you
don&rsquo;t mind hard
beds and harder
words. If you
can eat salty
meat and mouldy
bread it&rsquo;s a fine
life, Archie.
There is no life
I&rsquo;d like better if
they&rsquo;d give you
fresher water and
not quite so
many cruel blows.
But, if you&rsquo;ve
made up your
mind, Archie, and
think you can
go to bed nights
in a rolling, tossing sea, with the wind
howling and the rain pouring, and your
mother thousands of miles away, looking
at your little empty bed, I should
think very seriously about it.&rdquo; Archie
looked thoughtful, as the gloom deepened
on his face, and silence fell on the
pair for a time.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 285px;">
<img src="images/oyf231.jpg" width="285" height="350"
alt="Archie as an adult" />
</div>

<p class="caption">ARCHIE THINKING OF BEN&rsquo;S STORY.</p>

<p>Suddenly Ben spied a French frigate
looming against the darkening sky and
showed it to Archie through the telescope.
He explained all the parts of
the ship and dwelt long in his answers
to the lad&rsquo;s questions. He told little
Archie how, early one stormy morning,
he had been awakened from his bed in
the cottage by the sound of guns away
at sea, how he had descended to the
beach with a lot of the villagers, to find
the waves beating mercilessly over a
great broken ship. He told how they
had all stood, in the leaden morning,
stricken with dread at the sight of the
disaster they were all powerless to prevent;
leaning hard against the wind,
their breath and vision often failing
as the sleet and spray rushed at them
from the great
mountain of
foaming sea
which kept breaking
on the rocks
in the cove. He
told farther, how,
before all their
eyes, the vessel
had given one
great heave backwards
and sank
beneath the
waves forever;
how they could
faintly hear the
heart-rending
screams of women
and children
above the storm
as the great waste
of waters covered
the struggling
vessel. He told
Archie that, on
the following evening, while he was
mending a boat down the bay, he came
across something lying amongst a
mass of sea-weed, and on turning it
over had found it to be the dead body
of a sailor&mdash;a fair, curly-headed youth.</p>

<p>&ldquo;He was clad,&rdquo; said Ben, &ldquo;in a pair
of linen trowsers and a sea shirt, and
the weeds and sand were all tangled in
his hair. I raised him up from the
beach and a small bundle fell out of his
bosom. I laid him in my boat and
went for Doctor Hart. It was the talk
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></a></span>
of the village for days. Dr. Hart found
the bundle to contain a packet of letters
written in a feeble hand and signed
by the dead sailor&rsquo;s mother. They
were loving letters of expected joy at
her boy&rsquo;s return.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Ben would have gone on with the
story, but he was attracted by the appearance
of Archie. The little lad was
sitting, with his pale face turned up to
Ben, and with two great tears, as large
as horse beans, in the corners of his
eyes. On meeting Ben&rsquo;s gaze he broke
down thoroughly and burst into a flood
of tears, throwing his arms round the
honest boat-builder&rsquo;s neck, sobbing on
his breast.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, Ben, I don&rsquo;t want to leave
mother; I am a wicked boy. If she
were to die, Ben, what should I do?
Do you think she is alive now, Ben?
I don&rsquo;t want to go away, Ben.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The boat-builder soothed the little
lad and smiled at the success of his purpose
to divert the boy&rsquo;s mind.</p>

<p>It was now nearly night, and time
for Archie to go home, so Ben took
him on his shoulders and carried him to
Mr. Archer&rsquo;s house, where the family
were all waiting supper for the little
boy.</p>

<p>Archie ran to his mother as soon as
he got in and kissed her over and over
again. He told her his little story,
making the good woman&rsquo;s heart overflow
with love for her little son.</p>

<p>Ben stayed to supper with the family
that night, and all was bright and happy
as the merry party sat round the board
laughing and joking to their heart&rsquo;s
content.</p>

<hr style="width: 15%;" />

<p>Archie is a young man now, and has
outgrown his gloomy, brooding disposition.
He is a clerk in the office of a
rich corn merchant in Oxbridge, the
nearest market to Wynne, and shows
every tendency to become a successful
and respected business man.</p>

<p>Occasionally, when things do not happen
to his satisfaction, and he feels the
old spirit of discontent rising, he checks
it by reflecting on his early unhappiness.
If his mother or father are harsh
or angry with him, or if Mr. Gayton,
his employer, speaks quickly or loudly
to him, he stifles any tendency to sulk
and become angry by thinking of Ben
Huntly and the story of the wreck.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="a_wish_for_wings" id="a_wish_for_wings"></a>A WISH FOR WINGS.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O dear little birdie, how nice it must be<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To be able to fly<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Far away to the sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or to sit on the toss-away top of a tree.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I wish you would lend me your wings for a day.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I have two little feet<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That can run on the street,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One step at a time, but I can&rsquo;t fly away.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I would fly to the woods if I only had wings;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Over house-top and tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Like a bird or a bee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And sit by the side of the thrush while she sings.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I would count the blue eggs in her snug little nest;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I would stay all day long,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To hear her sweet song,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And bring home a feather of gold from her breast.<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet smcap">Mrs. S. J. Brigham.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="consequences_a_parable" id="consequences_a_parable"></a>CONSEQUENCES: A PARABLE.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The baby held it in his hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">An acorn green and small,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He toyed with it, he tossed it high,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And then he let it fall!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He sought for it, and sorely wept,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Or did his mother know<br /></span>
<span class="i0">(Though sweet she kissed and clasped her boy)<br /></span>
<span class="i1">What loss had grieved him so.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then he was borne to other lands,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And there he grew to man,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And wrought his best, and did his most,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And lived as heroes can.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But in old age it came to pass<br /></span>
<span class="i1">He trod his native shore,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet did not know the pleasant fields<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Where he had played before.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Beneath a spreading oak he sat,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">A wearied man and old,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And said,&mdash;&ldquo;I feel a strange content<br /></span>
<span class="i1">My inmost heart enfold.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;As if some sweet old secret wish<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Was secretly fulfilled,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As if I traced the plan of life<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Which God Himself has willed!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Oh, bonnie tree which shelters me,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Where summer sunbeams glow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I&rsquo;ve surely seen thee in my dreams!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Why do I love thee so?&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet smcap">Isabella Fyvie Mayo.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 441px;">
<img src="images/oyf232.jpg" width="441" height="600"
alt="A little girl selling matches" />
</div>

<p class="caption">MATCHES.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="comfortable_mrs_crook" id="comfortable_mrs_crook"></a>COMFORTABLE MRS. CROOK.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">BY RUTH LAMB.</p>


<p>If Mrs. Jemima Crook happened to
be in a very good temper, when taking
a cup of tea with some old acquaintance,
she would sometimes allude to
her private affairs in these words: &ldquo;I
don&rsquo;t deny it; Crook has left me comfortable.&rdquo;
This was not much to tell,
for Mrs. Crook was not given to confidences,
and a frequent remark of hers
was: &ldquo;I know my own business, and
that is enough for me. I don&rsquo;t see that
I have any call to fill other people&rsquo;s
minds and mouths with what does not
concern them.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Seeing, however, that Mrs. Crook&rsquo;s
own mind and heart were entirely filled
by Mrs. Crook herself, it was, perhaps,
as well that she should not occupy too
much of the attention and affection of
her neighbors.</p>

<p>It is a poor, narrow heart, and a small
mind, that find self enough to fill them;
but these sorts are not unknown, and
Mrs. Crook was a sample of such.</p>

<p>When she spoke of having been left
&ldquo;comfortable&rdquo; by her deceased partner,
there was a look of triumph and
satisfaction on her face, and a &ldquo;No-thanks-to-any-of-you&rdquo;
kind of tone in
her voice, that must have jarred on the
ear of a listener.</p>

<p>No one ever saw a tear in Mrs. Crook&rsquo;s
eye, or heard an expression of regret
for the loss of &ldquo;Crook&rdquo; himself. He
had been dead and out of sight and mind
almost these ten years past. He was
merely remembered as having done his
duty in leaving his widow &ldquo;comfortable.&rdquo;
People were left to speculate as
they chose about the amount represented
by the expression. It would
not have been good for the man or
woman who had ventured to ask a direct
question on the subject, but everybody
agreed that Mrs. Crook must have
something handsome. Surely &ldquo;comfortable&rdquo;
means free from care, both
as regards to-day and to-morrow: not
only enough, but a little more, or else
anxiety might step in and spoil comfort.
If Mrs. Crook had more than
enough, she took care not to give of
her abundance. Neither man, woman
nor child was ever the better for the
surplus, if such there were. One of
her favorite expressions was, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
care for much neighboring; I prefer
keeping myself to myself.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a><!-- original location of illustration MATCHES --></span></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"></a></span>
&ldquo;And you keep every thing else to
yourself,&rdquo; muttered one who had vainly
tried to enlist her sympathy for another
who was in sickness and trouble.</p>

<p>Mrs. Crook had a pretty garden, well-stocked
with flowers, according to the
season. She was fond of working in
it, and might be seen there daily, with
her sun-bonnet on, snipping, tying and
tending her plants.</p>

<p>Children do so love flowers, and,
thank God, those who live in country
places have grand gardens to roam in,
free to all, and planted by His own
loving hand. But in town it is different,
and Mrs. Crook lived just outside
one; far enough away from its
smoke to allow of successful gardening,
not too far to prevent little feet
from wandering thither from narrow
courts and alleys, to breathe a purer
air, and gaze, with longing eyes, at the
fair blossoms. It always irritated Mrs.
Crook to see these dirty, unkempt little
creatures clustering around her gate,
or peeping through her hedge.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What do you want here?&rdquo; she
would ask, sharply. &ldquo;Get away with
you, or I will send for a policeman.
You are peeping about to see if you
can pick up something; I know you
are. Be off, without any more telling!&rdquo;</p>

<p>The light of pleasure called into the
young eyes by the sight of the flowers
would fade away, and the hopeful look
leave the dirty faces, as Mrs. Crook&rsquo;s
harsh words fell on the children&rsquo;s ears.
But as they turned away with unwilling,
lingering steps, heads would be
stretched, and a wistful, longing gaze
cast upon the coveted flowers, until
they were quite lost to sight.</p>

<p>There was a tradition amongst the
youngsters that a very small child had
once called, through the bars of the
gate: &ldquo;P&rsquo;ease, Missis, do give me a
f&rsquo;ower.&rdquo; Also that something in the
baby voice had so far moved Mrs. Jemima
Crook, that she had stooped to
select one or two of the least faded
roses among all those just snipped
from the bushes, and given them to the
daring little blue eyes outside, with
this injunction, however:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Mind you never come here asking
for flowers any more.&rdquo;</p>

<p>This report was long current among
the inhabitants of a city court, but it
needs confirmation.</p>

<p>Mrs. Crook objected to borrowers
also, and perhaps she was not so much
to be blamed for that. Most of us
who possess bookshelves, and once delighted
in seeing them well filled, look
sorrowfully at gaps made by borrowers
who have failed to return our treasures.
But domestic emergencies occur
even in the best regulated families,
and neighborly help may be imperatively
required. It may be a matter of
Christian duty and privilege too, to
lend both our goods and our personal
aid. Mrs. Crook did not think so.
Lending formed no part of her creed.
If other people believed in it, and liked
their household goods to travel up and
down the neighborhood, that was their
look-out, not hers.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I never borrow, so why should I
lend?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Crook. &ldquo;Besides,
I am particular about my things. My
pans are kept as bright and clean as
new ones, and if my servant put them
on the shelves, as some people&rsquo;s servants
replace theirs after using, she
would not be here long. No, thank
you. When I begin to borrow, I will
begin to lend, but not until then.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mrs. Crook&rsquo;s sentiments were so well
known that, even in a case of sickness,
when a few spoonfuls of mustard were
needed for immediate use in poultices,
the messenger on the way to borrow it,
passed her door rather than risk a refusal,
whereby more time might be lost
than by going farther in the first instance.</p>

<p>Many were the invitations Mrs. Crook
received to take part in the work of different
societies. One lady asked her
to join the Dorcas meeting.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You can sew so beautifully,&rdquo; she
said. &ldquo;You would be a great acquisition
to our little gathering.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282"></a></span>
The compliment touched a tender
point. Mrs. Crook was proud of her
needlework, but to dedicate such skill
in sewing to making under-clothing for
the poorest of the poor: The idea was
monstrous!</p>

<p>Mrs. Crook answered civilly, that she
could not undertake to go backwards
and forwards to a room half a mile off.
It would be a waste of time. Besides,
though it was probably not the case in
that particular meeting, she had heard
that there was often a great deal of
gossip going on at such places. The
visitor was determined not to be offended,
and she replied, gently, that
there was no chance of gossip, for, after
a certain time had been given to
the actual business of the meeting,
such as planning, cutting out, and apportioning
work, one of the ladies read,
whilst the rest sewed. &ldquo;But,&rdquo; she
added, &ldquo;if you are willing to help us a
little, and object to joining the meeting
at the room, perhaps you would
let me bring you something to be made
at home. There is always work for
every willing hand.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Then Mrs. Crook drew herself up and
said she did not feel inclined to take in
sewing. She had her own to do, and
did it without requiring assistance, and
she thought it was better to teach the
lower classes to depend upon themselves
than to go about pampering poor
people and encouraging idleness, as
many persons were so fond of doing now-a-days.
No doubt they thought they
were doing good, but, for her part, she believed
that in many cases they did harm.</p>

<p>The visitor could have told tales of
worn-out toilers, laboring almost night
and day to win bread for their children,
but unable to find either material for a
garment or time to make it. She could
have pleaded for the widow and the orphan,
if there had seemed any feelings
to touch, any heart to stir. But Mrs.
Crook&rsquo;s hard words and looks repelled
her, and she went her way, after a mere
&ldquo;Good-morning. I am sorry you cannot
see your way to help us.&rdquo;</p>

<p>No chance of widows weeping for the
loss of Mrs. Crook, or telling of her
almsdeeds and good works, or showing
the coats and garments made for them
by her active fingers!</p>

<p>It was the same when some adventurous
collector called upon Mrs. Crook
to solicit a subscription. She had always
something to say against the object
for which money was asked. If it
were for the sufferers by an accident in
a coal mine or for the unemployed at a
time of trade depression:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t they insure their lives
like their betters? Why don&rsquo;t they
save something, when they are getting
good wages? I am not going to encourage
the thriftless, or help those
who might help themselves, if they
would think beforehand.&rdquo;</p>

<p>At length every one gave up trying
to enlist her services, or to obtain contributions
from her, for the support of
any good cause. And Mrs. Crook bestowed
all her thoughts, her affections,
her time and her means, on the only
person she thought worthy of them all&mdash;namely
Mrs. Crook herself.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="an_evening_song" id="an_evening_song"></a>AN EVENING SONG.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">BY COUSIN ANNIE.</p>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Twilight dews are gath&rsquo;ring,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The bright day&rsquo;s done;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Upon thy downy couch<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Rest, little one.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Each tiny bird&rsquo;s hieing<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Home to its nest;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each flower-head&rsquo;s nodding<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Upon its breast.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Be still now, little heart,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Until the morrow<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Brings again its share<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Of joy and sorrow.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">May angels round thy couch<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Be ever nigh,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And over thy slumbers chant<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Their lullaby.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 550px;">
<img src="images/oyf233.jpg" width="550" height="548"
alt="A little girl in thoughtful pose" />
</div>


<h2 class="smcap"><a name="but_then" id="but_then"></a>&ldquo;But Then.&rdquo;</h2>


<p>It was a queer name for a little girl,
and it was not her real name&mdash;that was
Lizzie&mdash;but everybody called her &ldquo;But
Then.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;My real name is prettier, <em>but then</em>,
I like the other pretty well,&rdquo; she said,
nodding her short, brown curls merrily.
And that sentence shows just how she
came by her name.</p>

<p>If Willie complained that it was a
miserable, rainy day, and they couldn&rsquo;t
play out of doors, Lizzie assented
brightly,&mdash;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes; <em>but then</em>, it is a real nice day
to fix our scrapbooks.&rdquo;</p>

<p>When Kate fretted because they had
so far to walk to school, her little sister
reminded her,&mdash;</p>

<p>&ldquo;<em>But then, it&rsquo;s all the way through the
woods, you know</em>, and that&rsquo;s ever so
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284"></a></span>
much nicer than walking on pavements
in a town.&rdquo;</p>

<p>When even patient Aunt Barbara
pined a little because the rooms in the
new house were so few and small compared
with their old home, a rosy face
was quietly lifted to hers with the suggestion,&mdash;</p>

<p>&ldquo;<em>But then</em>, little rooms are the best
to cuddle all up together in, don&rsquo;t you
think, Auntie?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Better call her &lsquo;Little But Then,&rsquo;
and have done with it,&rdquo; declared Bob,
half-vexed, half-laughing. &ldquo;No matter
how bad any thing is, she is always
ready with her &lsquo;but then,&rsquo; and some
kind of consolation on the end of it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>And so, though no one really intended
it, the new name began. There
were a good many things that the
children missed in their new home.
Money could have bought them even
there; but if the money had not gone
first, their father would scarcely have
thought it necessary to leave his old
home. They had done what was best
under the circumstances; still the boys
felt rather inclined to grumble about it
one winter morning when they were
starting off to the village on an errand.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Just look at all the snow going to
waste, without our having a chance to
enjoy it,&rdquo; said Will; &ldquo;and the ice too&mdash;all
because we couldn&rsquo;t bring our sleds
with us when we moved.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;<em>But then</em>, you might make one yourself,
you know. It wouldn&rsquo;t be quite so
pretty, but it would be just as good,&rdquo;
suggested Little But Then.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Exactly what I mean to do as soon
as I get money enough to buy two or
three boards; but I haven&rsquo;t even that
yet, and the winter is nearly half gone.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;If we only had a sled to-day, Sis
could ride, and we could go on the
river,&rdquo; said Bob. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s just as near
that way, and we could go faster.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;It is a pity,&rdquo; admitted the little girl.
&ldquo;<em>But then</em>, I&rsquo;ve thought of something&mdash;that
old chair in the shed! If we
turned it down, its back would be almost
like runners, and so&mdash;&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Hurrah! that&rsquo;s the very thing!&rdquo;
interrupted the boys; and the old chair
was dragged out in a twinkling, and
carried down to the river. Then away
went the merry party, laughing and
shouting, on the smooth road between
the snowy hills, while Gyp followed,
frisking and barking, and seeming to
enjoy the fun as much as any of them.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Now we&rsquo;ll draw our sled up here,
close under the bank, where nobody
will see it, and leave it while we go up
to the store,&rdquo; said Bob, when they had
reached the village.</p>

<p>Their errand was soon done, and the
children ready to return; but as they
set forth Will pointed to a dark spot a
little way out on the ice.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What is that? It looks like a great
bundle of clothes.&rdquo;</p>

<p>It was a bundle that moved and
moaned as they drew near, and proved
to be a girl, a little bigger than Lizzie.
She looked up when they questioned
her, though her face was pale with
pain.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I slipped and fell on the ice,&rdquo; she
explained, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;m afraid I&rsquo;ve broken
my leg, for it is all twisted under me,
and I can&rsquo;t move it or get up. I live in
the village. That&rsquo;s my father&rsquo;s carpenter
shop where you see the sign. I
could see it all the time, and yet I was
afraid I&rsquo;d freeze here before any one
saw me. Oh dear! it doesn&rsquo;t seem as
if I could lie here while you go for my
father.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, you needn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; began Bob;
but the girl shook her head.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t walk a step, and you two are
not strong enough to carry me all the
way. You&rsquo;d let me fall, or you&rsquo;d have
to keep stopping to rest; and putting
me down and taking me up again would
almost kill me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, but we&rsquo;ll only lift you into the
chair, just as carefully as we can, then
we can carry you easy enough,&rdquo; said
Will.</p>

<p>And in that way the poor girl was
borne safely home; and the children
lingered long enough to bring the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285"></a></span>
surgeon and hear his verdict that &ldquo;Young
bones don&rsquo;t mind much being broken,
and she will soon be about again, as
well as ever.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 456px;">
<img src="images/oyf234.jpg" width="456" height="550"
alt="Two girls sitting and talking" />
</div>

<p class="caption">&ldquo;BUT THEN, IT&rsquo;S ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS, YOU KNOW.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;But I don&rsquo;t see how you happened
to have a chair so handy,&rdquo; said her
father to the boys. And when they explained
that they were using it for a
sled, he said, with a significant nod of
his head,&mdash;&ldquo;Your sled, was it? Well,
I shall be surprised if my shop does not
turn you out a better sled than
that, just by way of thanks for your
kindness.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286"></a></span>
&ldquo;<em>But then</em>, wasn&rsquo;t it good that it was
only the old chair that we had to-day?&rdquo;
asked Little But Then, as she told
the story to Aunt Barbara at home.
&ldquo;Oh Auntie, I had the nicest kind of a
time!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I believe you had,&rdquo; answered Aunt
Barbara, smiling; &ldquo;for a brave, sunny
spirit, that never frets over what it has
not, but always makes the best of what
it has where it is, is sure to have a good
time. It does not need to wait for it to
come&mdash;it has a factory for making it.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 295px;">
<img src="images/oyf235.jpg" width="295" height="400"
alt="A little girl and boy" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><a name="anecdote2" id="anecdote2"></a>
&mdash;The following is an Arabic proverb
taken from the mouth of an Oriental:
&ldquo;Men are four. 1. He who knows not,
and knows not he knows not. He is
a fool; shun him. 2. He who knows
not, and knows he knows not. He is
simple; teach him. 3. He who knows,
and knows not he knows. He is asleep;
wake him. 4. He who knows, and
knows he knows. He is wise; follow
him.&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="what_the_snail_said" id="what_the_snail_said"></a>WHAT THE SNAIL SAID.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;You little chicks, tho&rsquo; you peck at my dress,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I will not get angry at that;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I know you would gobble me up if you could,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">As quick as a worm or a gnat.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Say, little snail, you had better go on,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">They may try the same trick upon you.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; said the snail, with his hard coat of mail,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care a rush if they do.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Little girl, there&rsquo;s no harm to cause me alarm,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I&rsquo;ll sit here and watch them a spell,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But as soon as they pounce, I&rsquo;ll cheat them at once,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">By getting right into my shell.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;But listen, wise snail, the old hen in the coop<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Has her eye very closely on you;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And if she gets out, it may put you about,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Now mind, what I tell you is true.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;But dear little girl, she is fast in her house;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">No, no, she can&rsquo;t touch me, no, no.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But if that respectable fowl should get out,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Oho!&rdquo; said the snail. &ldquo;Oho!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="only_now_and_then" id="only_now_and_then"></a>ONLY NOW AND THEN.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Think it no excuse, boys,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Merging into men,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That you do a wrong act<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;Only now and then.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Better to be careful<br /></span>
<span class="i1">As you go along,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If you would be manly,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Capable and strong.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Many a wretched sot, boys,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That one daily meets<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Drinking from the beer-kegs,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Living in the streets,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or at best, in quarters<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Worse than any pen,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Once was dressed in broadcloth<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Drinking now and then.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When you have a habit<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That is wrong, you know,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Knock it off at once, lads,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With a sudden blow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Think it no excuse, boys,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Merging into men,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That you do a wrong act<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;Only now and then.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="a_serpent_among_the_books" id="a_serpent_among_the_books"></a>A SERPENT AMONG THE BOOKS.</h2>


<p>One day, a gentleman in India went
into his library and took down a book
from the shelves. As he did so, he
felt a slight pain in his finger, like the
prick of a pin. He thought that a pin
had been stuck, by some careless person,
in the cover of the book. But soon
his finger began to swell, then his arm,
and then his whole body, and in a few
days he died. It was not a pin among
the books, but a small and deadly serpent.</p>

<p>There are many serpents among the
books now-a-days; they nestle in the
foliage of some of our most fascinating
literature; they coil around the flowers
whose perfume intoxicates the senses.
People read and are charmed by the
plot of the story, and the skill with
which the characters are sculptured or
grouped, by the gorgeousness of the
wood-painting, and hardly feel the pin-prick
of the evil that is insinuated.
But it stings and poisons.</p>

<p>Let us watch against the serpents
and read only that which is healthy,
instructive and profitable.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 441px;">
<img src="images/oyf236.jpg" width="441" height="600"
alt="Two little girls going upstairs to bed" />
</div>

<p class="caption">GOOD NIGHT.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="little_mother" id="little_mother"></a>&ldquo;LITTLE MOTHER.&rdquo;</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">BY JULIA HUNT MOREHOUSE.</p>


<p>It was Judge Bellow&rsquo;s big, fine house,
that stood on the corner by the park.
Every body knew that, but every body
did <em>not</em> know that the one little girl
who lived in that house was restless
and unhappy and often cross.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why do you roam about so, Nell?
Why don&rsquo;t you settle down to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288"><!-- original location of illustration GOOD NIGHT --></a></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289"></a></span>
something?&rdquo; her mother asked, one bright,
spring day.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, I am sick of everything. I
have read all my books, and I hate my
piano. The croquet isn&rsquo;t up, and there
is nobody to play with me, if it was.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you find some kind of
work to do?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;That is just the trouble. There&rsquo;s
nothing that needs to be done; servants
for every thing; and what does
crocheting amount to, and plastering
some little daubs of paint on some
plush! Why, I believe that little Dutch
girl that sells things out of her big
basket, on our corner, every morning,
is a good deal happier than I am. I
mean to ask her sometime what makes
her so.&rdquo;</p>

<hr style="width: 15%;" />

<p>A few weeks more and the hot summer
came on, and Nell missed the little
Dutch girl on the corner. It really
worried her that the bright, womanly
face did not come any more, but she
supposed she had moved to a better
stand or perhaps left the city.</p>

<p>One morning Nell took a walk with
her teacher; a long walk, for they
found themselves outside the city,
where there were open holds and every
house had green grass and trees close
around it.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What a little, <em>little</em> house! That
one with the woodbine all over it&mdash;and
I do believe&mdash;yes, it really <em>is</em> my little
Dutch girl scrubbing the steps,&rdquo; and
away she bounded and was soon beside
the little worker.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh! I&rsquo;m so glad to find you again!
Why don&rsquo;t you come to our corner any
more?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Baby&rsquo;s been sick a long, good
time,&rdquo; explained Lena, wiping her hands
on her apron. &ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you ladies please
to walk in, if you please, ma&rsquo;am?&rdquo;</p>

<p>It was a queer little figure that
showed them into the cool, clean room;
short and broad and dumpy. Her
shoes were coarse, her dress of faded
black, with a white kerchief at the
neck, so like an old woman. Her face
too, was short and broad; her nose was
<em>very</em> short and her eyes very narrow.
So you see she was not pretty, but her
face was all love and sunshine. She
sat down on a low stool and took up
the baby in such a dear, motherly way,
smoothing its hair and dress and kissing
it softly.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t mean that you live here
all alone?&rdquo; asked Nell.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, no; there is Hans and baby
and me, and there is old Mrs. Price in
the other part.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;But your father and mother?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Mother died a year ago. Oh, she
was one such good mother, but baby
came in her place. Baby looks like
mother, and now I have to be her little
mother, you see,&rdquo; and she set the little
dumpling out upon her knee, with such
pride and tenderness.</p>

<p>&ldquo;And your father?&rdquo;</p>

<p>The little Dutch girl dropped her
head and answered very low, &ldquo;Father
has been gone a long time. They say
he is shut up somewhere. He don&rsquo;t
come home any more.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, how very dreadful! I don&rsquo;t
see where you get money to buy things
with.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Hans is fifteen and works in a
shop. He gets some money, and he
will get a good deal, by-and-by. The
rest <em>I</em> get from the flowers. You see
I raise them myself, mostly.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;But do you get enough for clothes
and playthings, and do you always
have enough to eat?&rdquo; persisted Nell.</p>

<p>&ldquo;<em>I</em> don&rsquo;t have any clothes, I make
over mother&rsquo;s. We have Kitty for
playthings. Enough to eat? <em>Baby</em>
always has enough, don&rsquo;t she, lovie?&rdquo;
cuddling her up close.</p>

<p>A new world was opening up to Nell.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Excuse me, but don&rsquo;t you have any
pleasure trips, or birthday parties, or
Christmas?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;No; I don&rsquo;t just know what those
things are, but we have nice beef and
apples for dinner on Christmas.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290"></a></span>
&ldquo;And are you always happy as you
seem&mdash;really happy?&rdquo;</p>

<p>The &ldquo;little mother&rdquo; opened her
eyes wide in wonder. &ldquo;Why, <em>of course</em>.
What else should we be? Mother always
told us it was wicked to be cross,
and that we must not fret much, even
over her going away to heaven.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Nell did some hard thinking on her
way home, and being a sensible little
girl, she made up her mind that one
way to be happy is to be <em>busy</em>, and not
only busy, but useful, and she set about
the new way in earnest.</p>

<p>She learned that it is possible to be
unselfish and happy <em>any where</em>; she in
her wealthy home, and the &ldquo;little
mother&rdquo; in her one room, with her
baby and her flowers.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="little_scatter" id="little_scatter"></a>LITTLE SCATTER.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">MRS. JEANE A. WARD.</p>


<p>She was her mother&rsquo;s darling, and
a very good little girl in most things.
With her yellow hair, big blue eyes
and rosy cheeks; in the pretty blue
dress and red sash; nice little slippers
on her plump feet, she made the
whole house lively and bright, and
sometimes she made plenty of work
for every one in it, too, for she was a
terrible Nelly to scatter playthings.
The dolly would be on the chair, her
torn picture-books over the floor, her
ball kicking about everywhere, and
her blocks any where.</p>

<p>What could mother do with such a
girl? When she would talk to her,
Nelly would promise not to do so
any more, and would pick up the dolly
and the pictures, and the ball and the
blocks, and her other toys, and take
them to her own corner play-house and
fix them all in order, and be real good
for a little while.</p>

<p>But the &lsquo;real good&rsquo; would last only
a little while and then out all would
come again, and Little Scatter would
have them around just as before.</p>

<p>That is the way she came to be given
that name, and she was old enough to
know she well deserved it, and to be
ashamed of it; yet she could not
break off the bad habit.</p>

<p>She had a kind, good mother, who
saw that she would have to, in some
way, cure her little daughter of such
slovenly habits or else she would grow
up to be a very careless, untidy woman,
and the mother was wise enough to
know that it is more easy to correct
such matters when children are young
than when they grow older.</p>

<p>She did not want to punish Nelly
severely, and so, whenever Little Scatter
had gotten all her toys over the
floor, tables, sofa and chairs, mamma
would call her and say:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Now, Nelly, every thing you have
is lying about, it is time for my Little
Scatter to get gathered in close;&rdquo; and
then Miss Nelly would have to go
close to the wall and be shut in by a
chair and stand there until mamma&rsquo;s
watch said half an hour had passed.
This was very hard on a little girl that
loved to run around so much as Nelly
did, and though she knew she deserved
all the punishment, yet she used to beg
very hard and promise, but she always
had to stay the full time; then she
would come out, get her mamma&rsquo;s kiss
and forgiveness, pick up her toys and
be happy.</p>

<p>It did not take many such punishments
before Nelly began to think
before she acted so carelessly, and in
a short time she was almost as neat
about such matters as she was sweet
and good in every thing else. If ever
there were a few of her things lying
about, mamma had only to call her
&lsquo;Little Scatter,&rsquo; to make her remember,
and so hard did she try to correct
herself of this bad habit that in a few
months she and those about her almost
forgot that she had ever been known
by such an untidy name.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291"></a></span></p>

<h2 class="smcap"><a name="what_chicky_thinks" id="what_chicky_thinks"></a>What Chicky Thinks.</h2>


<p>Seems to me I must be growing big
very fast. I don&rsquo;t believe I could get
back into that little house if I should
try. I don&rsquo;t want to go back, either.
I had to work too
hard to get out
the first time.
There was no
door, so I had to
break the house
all in pieces with
my little beak. I
couldn&rsquo;t stand
up, you know,
when I was inside.
I got very
tired sitting on
my little legs. I
wonder how I
knew enough to
break open my little house?
Nobody ever told me that it was
prettier in the garden than in my
house. &rsquo;Tis rather cold out here. I
never was cold
before; seems to
me some little
chick has carried
off a part of my
house. If I see
him, with it, I&rsquo;ll
tell him he&rsquo;s a
thief. Oh, dear,
dear! something
is scratching my
back. May be it&rsquo;s
the little thief!
I wish I could
look and see who
it is.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/oyf237.jpg" width="300" height="243"
alt="A just-hatched chick" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="stop_a_while" id="stop_a_while"></a>STOP-A-WHILE.</h2>


<p>There is growing in Africa a thorn
called &ldquo;Stop-a-while.&rdquo; If a person once
gets caught in it, it is with difficulty he
escapes with his clothes on his back,
and without being greatly torn,
for every attempt to loosen one part of
his dress only hooks more firmly another
part. The man who gets caught
by this thorn is in a pitiable plight ere
he gets loose. You would not like&mdash;would
you, boys? to be caught in this
thorn. And yet many, I fear, are being
caught in a worse thorn than &ldquo;Stop-a-while.&rdquo;
Where do you spend your
evenings? At home, I do hope, studying
your lessons, and attending to mother&rsquo;s
words; for if you have formed a
habit of spending them on the streets
with bad boys, you are caught in a
thorn far worse.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/oyf238.jpg" width="500" height="355"
alt="Birds perching on plants" />
</div>


<h2><a name="the_birds_concert" id="the_birds_concert"></a>THE BIRDS&rsquo; CONCERT.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">MRS. L. L. SLOANAKER.</p>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There&rsquo;s going to be a concert<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Out in the apple trees;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When the air is warm and balmy,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And the floating summer breeze<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Waft down the pale pink blossoms<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Upon the soft green grass:&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A lovely place to sit and dream,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">For each little lad and lass!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The concert will open early<br /></span>
<span class="i1">When the sun lights up the skies:&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You&rsquo;ll miss the opening anthem<br /></span>
<span class="i1">If you let those sleepy eyes<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Stay closed, and do not hasten<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Out &rsquo;neath the orchard trees,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where the pink and snowy shower<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Is caught in the morning breeze.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The robins will swing in the branches,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And carol, and whistle and sing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The thrush, who is coming to-morrow,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Will a charming solo bring.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The wrens will warble in chorus,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Rare music, so touching and sweet;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The orioles sent for their tickets,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And will surely give us a treat.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The concert will open at sun-rise,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">All the June-time sweet and fair;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There&rsquo;ll be a grand full chorus,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">For <em>all</em> the birds will be there.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The concert is free to the children,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And is held in the apple trees,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the birds will sing in a chorus,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;O come to our concert&mdash;please!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="only_a_boy" id="only_a_boy"></a>ONLY A BOY.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Only a boy with his noise and fun,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The veriest mystery under the sun;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As brimful of mischief and wit and glee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As ever a human frame can be,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And as hard to manage as&mdash;what! ah me!<br /></span>
<span class="i4">&rsquo;Tis hard to tell,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Yet we love him well.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Only a boy with his fearful tread,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who cannot be driven, must be led!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who troubles the neighbors&rsquo; dogs and cats,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And tears more clothes and spoils more hats,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Loses more kites and tops and bats<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Than would stock a store<br /></span>
<span class="i4">For a week or more.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Only a boy with his wild, strange ways,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With his idle hours or his busy days,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With his queer remarks and his odd replies,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sometimes foolish and sometimes wise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Often brilliant for one of his size,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">As a meteor hurled<br /></span>
<span class="i4">From the planet world.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Only a boy, who may be a man<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If nature goes on with her first great plan&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If intemperance or some fatal snare,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Conspires not to rob us of this our heir,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our blessing, our trouble, our rest, our care,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Our torment, our joy!<br /></span>
<span class="i4">&ldquo;Only a boy!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="bird_needlework" id="bird_needlework"></a>BIRD NEEDLEWORK.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">MAY R. BALDWIN.</p>


<p>There is a class of workers in India
who have always held to needlework,
useful and ornamental, through the
changes of the long years, and have
never had the help of machines.</p>

<p>These workers are &ldquo;Tailor Birds.&rdquo;
Specimens of their handiwork have excited
the admiration of many travelers
in the country where they are found.</p>

<p>Their needlework is seen in the construction
of their nests, which vary in
size and appearance.</p>

<p>The beak of the bird answers for a
needle; and for thread&mdash;and this is the
wonderful thing about sewing&mdash;they
use the silken spiders&rsquo; webs.
These threads are made secure by fastening
them with silken buttons, made
by twisting the ends. Think of that!
spiders&rsquo; webs for thread! How marvelous
would the work of the fair ladies
all over the land seem, if the door
screens and the window hangings and
the dresses and the laces were decorated
with designs worked with spider&rsquo;s
web thread!</p>

<p>Sometimes, it is true, these birds use
the silk from cocoons for their work;
and even such common material as bits
of thread and wool are used. One
traveler states that he has seen a bird
watch a native tailor as he sewed under
a covered veranda; and, when he had
left his work for a while, the watchful
bird flew to the place, gathered some
of the threads quickly, and then flew
away with his unlawful prize to use it
in sewing together leaves for his
nest.</p>

<p>Imagine one of these bird homes.
Could any thing be more fairy-like?
The leaves are joined, of course, to the
tree by their own natural fastenings.
But who taught the first bird home-maker
how to bring the leaves together?
And who gave the first lessons in sewing?
And how did it come to choose
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294"></a></span>
its delicate spider web thread and twist
it into strength, and fasten it with
silken buttons?</p>

<p>The great art leader, John Ruskin,
who has written so many books to
teach people that all beautiful things
have their use, and that things that are
not truthful can never be beautiful,
would say, I think, that the workmanship
upon the tailor bird&rsquo;s nest exactly
fitted his idea of the &ldquo;true and the
beautiful,&rdquo; because there is no ornament
which has not its use. The silk
buttons are not placed there for show;
they fasten the silken lacing.</p>

<p>We could not say as much for many
a fine lady&rsquo;s dress, where dozens of
buttons that fasten nothing are seen.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="he_was_a_gentleman" id="he_was_a_gentleman"></a>HE WAS A GENTLEMAN.</h2>


<p>Some amusing stories are told of the
wit and wisdom of London school children.
A class of boys in a Board
School was being examined orally in
Scripture. The history of Moses had
been for some time a special study, and
one of the examiners asked,&mdash;&ldquo;What
would you say of the general character
of Moses?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;He was meek,&rdquo; said one boy.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Brave,&rdquo; said another.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Learned,&rdquo; added a third boy.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Please, sir,&rdquo; piped forth a pale-faced,
neatly dressed lad; &ldquo;he was a gentleman!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;A gentleman!&rdquo; asked the examiner.
&ldquo;How do you make that out?&rdquo;</p>

<p>The boy promptly replied, in the
same thin, nervous voice,&mdash;&ldquo;Please,
sir, when the daughters of Jethro went
to the well to draw water, the shepherds
came and drove them away; and Moses
helped the daughters of Jethro, and
said to the shepherds,&mdash;&lsquo;Ladies first,
please, gentlemen.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="time_for_bed" id="time_for_bed"></a>TIME FOR BED.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ding-dong! ding-dong!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The bells are ringing for bed, Johnnie&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The bells are ringing for bed.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I see them swing,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I hear them ring,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And I see you nod your head.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The bells are ringing for bed, Johnnie&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">They are ringing soft and slow;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And while they ring,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And while they swing,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">It&rsquo;s off to bed we&rsquo;ll go.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="the_value_of_a_good_name" id="the_value_of_a_good_name"></a>THE VALUE OF A GOOD NAME.</h2>


<p>Samuel Appleton, a distinguished
Boston merchant, was once sued for a
note, found among the papers of a deceased
merchant tailor, and signed with
his name. The handwriting was exactly
like his own, but he declared it to
be a forgery, albeit his own brother
said he could not positively say it was
not Mr. Appleton&rsquo;s writing, though he
believed it could not be genuine. The
Judge was against Mr. Appleton, but
the jury found a verdict in his favor,
because they were confident that nothing
could induce him to dispute the
payment of a note unless certain that
he did not owe it. Some years later
Mr. Appleton discovered proof that the
actual signer of the note was a ship-master
of the same name, who had been
dead many years. Thus, the finding of
the jury was justified. It was based on
his good reputation and it illustrates
the truth of the proverb, which says:
&ldquo;A good name is rather to be chosen
than great riches.&rdquo; The root of Mr.
Appleton&rsquo;s good name was his good
conduct. He was honest and honorable
in all things.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="dingfords_baby" id="dingfords_baby"></a>DINGFORD&rsquo;S BABY.</h2>


<p>That little brother of Hetty Dingford
was the funniest baby on the
coast; and there were a good many of
them, right around the river mouth.</p>

<p>Flora thought so too, or rather she
looked upon him in the light of a
puppy, as she had just raised a small
family herself, and the baby had associated
so much with the little dogs, that
she thought she owned him too. She
seemed to regard him as her especial
charge, and used to rush between
him and cattle on the roads, and bark
away strollers from the door-yard;
but she seemed to love it most on
the beach.</p>

<p>Whenever she thought of it, she
would leave the other children, in
whose charge the baby had been placed,
and rush up to the little one, and lick its
face all over, and bark with a very
funny sound. The baby would pick up
a handful of gravel and throw it at the
dog, but it never hit him, and then they
would both laugh together.</p>

<p>One afternoon, Tony Dingford said
he was going a crabbing, and then
Hetty and Polly and Janey and the
baby all wanted to go and see him off.
Janey took a lovely little boat, that
had been made for her by her uncle,
and Polly took her spade and pail to
dig for shells. Hetty took the baby,
and she had to carry him every step of
the way, and she was only eight years
old; he was a year and a half old and
couldn&rsquo;t walk very steady, but he could
creep. Oh, how he could get over the
ground! He could go sidewise and
backwards, like a crab, Tony said. He
thought he could talk, too, and such a
lot of curious sounds as he used to
make. He looked very odd, winking
his eyes and sticking his tongue between
his four little teeth, and he was
up to all sorts of tricks.</p>

<p>After awhile they came to the beach,
right opposite the light-house&mdash;a most
delightful spot, and Hetty proceeded
to deposit the baby on the ground,
when he came to the conclusion that
he didn&rsquo;t want to be put there, and he
caught hold of her curly locks and held
on for dear life, and screamed like a
sea-gull.</p>

<p>This made Hetty cry out, but nothing
could induce that baby to let go,
until a pail with some shells changed
the current of his thoughts. Hetty
jumped away, and ran with the children,
a few steps, to see Tony&rsquo;s boat.</p>

<p>He threw in his basket and crabbing
net and then, getting in himself, he
pulled out into the bay. The children
wandered along, watching Tony as he
grew a lessening speck out in the sunshine.
It was such fun to jump on
the stones, over the water; the shells
looked more beautiful here, because
they were wet.</p>

<p>They staid longer than they thought,
and on going back, they found the pail
and the shells, but no baby! They
called, they looked about, but the baby
was gone! Every one of them cried
bitter tears; they searched behind
rocks and under bushes; his little pink,
spotted cap could not be seen, but the
marks of his hands and feet showed
plainly in the sand, and they led down
to the water!</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, baby,&rdquo; said Hetty in her agony,
&ldquo;you may pull out all my hair if you
like&mdash;where are you?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oo may whack my boat all to pieces,
baby&mdash;come back to Janey!&rdquo; said her
sister. No sound answered, and the
gulls sailed over them, and the blue
waters lapped the stones. The tide
was rising, as it was past the middle
of the afternoon. Nothing was to be
done, but to carry the dreadful news to
mother.</p>

<p>As the children approached the
cottage, they saw their father returning
with the dog, Flora, and as the father
caught sight of them he saw that
something had happened. Hetty approached,
and, with heart-broken sobs,
told her story. The mother cried and
wrung her hands.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296"></a></span>
&ldquo;Husband, he&rsquo;s drowned! he&rsquo;s
drowned!&rdquo; she cried. The father
brushed his hand roughly across his
eyes, for the tears would come; and
the dog staring from one to the other,
looked painfully alert and interested.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go to the beach and search all
night; maybe he&rsquo;ll be washed up at the
bend,&rdquo; he said.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Father,&rdquo; said the weeping wife,
&ldquo;maybe he has not been drowned; oh,
let us hope he has not! Let us take
Flora; perhaps she will find the baby.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The father looked at the dog, which
seemed to understand every word, and
went into the house and picked up a
little Indian moccasin that the child
had worn, and calling Flora, gave it to
her. She looked at it, smelled of it,
and throwing her nose into the air,
rushed toward the beach.</p>

<p>The short, sharp barks of the dog
guided them to the different spots to
which the child had crept. But he
was not found. The dog bounded
away again, this time in the direction
of some holes that had been worn in
the face of the rocks by the tides. The
water was fast coming up to them, and
they would be entirely filled before the
tide turned. The despairing mother
was about returning with her children
when the father caught a distant sound,
a joyful barking that Flora always
made when she had been successful in a
hunt. He bounded over the rocks that
were bathed in the red light of the
setting sun. He found Flora barking
and wagging her tail, at the mouth of
the first little cavern; he stooped and
looked in, and there on the white sand
lay the baby, asleep. Its little cap was
gone, and it dress torn and soiled with
seaweed.</p>

<p>The father reached for his little
treasure, and hugged him to his heart.
The baby laughed, and made most frantic
efforts to talk, and immediately
twisted both hands tight in his father&rsquo;s
hair. This was the baby&rsquo;s way, you
know, when he wanted to be carried.
You would have cried for joy, to have
seen the baby&rsquo;s mother when she
snatched him from his father and covered
him with kisses, and the little girls
clinging to their mother, trying to get
a look at him.</p>

<p>They went home very happy, to find
Tony with his basket full of crabs, and
when he heard the story, he said,&mdash;&ldquo;Flora
shall have a new brass collar,
if I have to earn it for her.&rdquo; There was
one little girl that learned a serious
lesson. Hetty says,&mdash;&ldquo;I never will
neglect my duty again.&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="a_bed_time_story" id="a_bed_time_story"></a>A BED-TIME STORY.</h2>


<p>Mamma dear, tell us a pretty story;
tell us of what you and papa saw when
you were traveling; and my sturdy
Harold, and his wee baby sister, tired
with their play, sank at my feet at the
close of the long summer day. Kissing
the hot up-turned faces, and lifting
the little one to my lap, I began an oft
repeated simple tale of how papa and I,
while in Switzerland, drove, one evening,
from the village where we were
stopping, way out in the country, over
green wooden bridges and sparkling
streams, past dazzling white villas,
through shady lanes bordered by high,
thorny hedges; where it was so lifeless
and still, the sound of our shaggy
pony&rsquo;s hoofs could hardly be heard.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 441px;">
<img src="images/oyf239.jpg" width="441" height="550"
alt="A little girl sitting on the doorstep" />
</div>

<p>Coming to a low, brown, thatched
cottage, the door stood open, and we
drove slowly; inside could be seen the
table, spread with its frugal repast of
oaten cakes and milk; a high, old-fashioned
dresser, with its curious jugs of
blue delf; a distaff, with the flax still
attached, and on the broad door-step
sat the prettiest little blue-eyed maiden,
wearing a quaint white cap over her
yellow locks, a striped kirtle and black
waist over a snowy blouse. Like a
picture she sat, eating her oat-cake,
while tame gray and white doves circled
about her or lit on the stones, hoping
to get a crumb. Farther on, we stopped
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297"></a></span>
at a more pretentious house, called a
Swiss chalet, to buy a drink of goat&rsquo;s
milk. Here they were quite well-to-do
gardeners; and while the peasant wife
was gone for the milk, the little daughter,
who was rather sweetly dressed,
and was very bright and talkative,
showed us, with much pride, the heap
of garden produce her father was to
take to market, early the next morning.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298"></a></span>
A pretty sight it was too&mdash;the great
wooden table, loaded with the fresh
greens and reds of the vegetables, and
at one end, guarded by a tall pewter
flagon, polished till it glowed like silver;
an old oaken cabinet on the wall, bearing
glittering decanters and brass candle
sticks; the chattering little maiden,
and over all, the golden rays of fading
sun-light stealing through the deep
tiny-paned windows. We&mdash;ah, my darlings
are asleep.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 448px;">
<img src="images/oyf240.jpg" width="448" height="550"
alt="A little girl showing off garden produce" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/oyf241.jpg" width="400" height="317"
alt="A little boy asleep on the ground" />
</div>


<h2><a name="the_lesson_after_recess" id="the_lesson_after_recess"></a>THE LESSON AFTER RECESS.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A bright little urchin out west,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thought going to school was a pest.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He said, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I just won&rsquo;t stay there,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I&rsquo;ll have a good time like the rest.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll run off at recess,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They&rsquo;ll never once miss me, I guess;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">A fellow can&rsquo;t stop<br /></span>
<span class="i2">When he&rsquo;s got a new top.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There&rsquo;ll just be one good scholar less.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now the &ldquo;rest&rdquo; was a crowd of rough boys,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who with rudeness and mischief and noise,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Made one afraid<br /></span>
<span class="i2">To go where they played,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But their riotous play he enjoys.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So away from his lessons he ran,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This promising western young man.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">They pushed him down flat,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Tore the rim off his hat,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Said, &ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing so healthy as tan.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And they did what was very much worse;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They stole his new knife and his purse.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">They gave him a shake,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And they called him a &ldquo;cake;&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Said, &ldquo;Next time, bub, come with your nurse.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Near sundown this urchin was found<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fast asleep on some very hard ground;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He looked tired and grieved;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He&rsquo;d been so deceived,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And quite ready for home, I&rsquo;ll be bound.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The primary teacher, Miss Small,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When she heard his sad fate, forgave all,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">&ldquo;My teacher&rsquo;s a daisy!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I&rsquo;m through being lazy.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He said, &ldquo;School&rsquo;s not bad after all.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_lion_at_the_zoo" id="the_lion_at_the_zoo"></a>THE LION AT THE &ldquo;ZOO.&rdquo;</h2>


<p>In the jungles, where the sun is so
fierce at noonday that the black natives,
themselves, cannot endure it, but
hide in huts and caverns and in the
shadows of rocks, dwelt this lion.</p>

<p>He did not mind heat, or storm, or
the tireless hunters. He was braver
and stronger than any other creature in
that tropical wilderness, and his very
appearance and the sound of his terrible
roar had sent many a band of hunters
flying back to their safe retreats.</p>

<p>He prowled about the fountains at
night, and woe to any belated native or
domestic animal that happened to be
near; he would leap upon them, and
kill them with one blow of his huge
paw.</p>

<p>One day a bushman sighted a fine
deer, and incautiously separated himself
from his companions; the ardor of
the pursuit led him into the pathless
wilderness, and farther and farther from
help, if he should need any.</p>

<p>Pausing a moment, he looked about
him; he could not believe his eyes!
He saw, not forty rods from him, this
creature, regarding him! intense excitement
flashing from his eyes, his tail
swaying from side to side, and striking
the ground with a heavy thud.</p>

<p>The bushman fled in wild terror, and
with a bound the lion began the chase.
No match, indeed, could any one man
hope to be for such an enemy&mdash;no outrunning
this fleet patrol of the forest;
roaring and foaming he came up with
the doomed hunter and struck him
down and killed him.</p>

<p>The roaring over his success was
something too terrible to hear. The
other creatures of the forest fled to their
dens and coverts, and the party of hunters,
dimly locating the lion&rsquo;s whereabouts,
betook themselves to other
grounds, not caring to encounter so
formidable a foe. Little did they suspect
the fate of their comrade, and
they never knew of it until, a long time
afterward, they found the remains of
his hunting gear. The beast had torn
him to pieces and devoured him.</p>

<p>The devastations of this scourge of
the wilderness became so great in time,
that he depopulated whole villages, and
the superstitious natives, believing him
to be a demon, became so stricken with
fear that they would not attempt to
hunt him, and thus rid the forest of
him.</p>

<p>Some agents of a business firm in
Holland, who negotiate for the purchase
of these ferocious wild animals
for menageries, secured, by promises
of great help and large reward, a band
of intrepid native hunters, to procure,
if it were within the range of possibility,
this famed lion, alive.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 250px;">
<img src="images/oyf242.jpg" width="250" height="245" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A BEAUTIFUL DEER.</p>

<p>White men joined in the hunt. Brave
Englishmen and fearless Americans
attached themselves to the party, and
many were the hair-breadth escapes
and critical situations that crowded
upon their path.</p>

<p>On reaching the lion&rsquo;s neighborhood,
they took counsel as to the best way
of coming upon him, not knowing just
where his lair might be; but soon
they were guided to him by a distant
roaring. The advance hunters caught
their first glimpse of him before he was
aware of their presence. He had slain
his prey&mdash;the pretty creature lay near
the jungle lake, the sword grass and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"></a></span>
the poisonous marsh flowers flaunting
their lush growth all about. The animal&rsquo;s
smooth coat was brown and
glossy, and its black hoofs shone
bright in the sunshine. The lion repeated
the same expressions of gratified
savagery he had indulged in when
he had devoured the native. He strode
about, lashing his tail and roaring.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 401px;">
<img src="images/oyf243.jpg" width="401" height="550"
alt="A huge lion" />
</div>

<p class="caption">HE WAS FINALLY CAGED.</p>

<p>The fearful encounter began! Many
of the natives were killed. One young
English nobleman was thought to have
received his death wound, when they
came to close
quarters. The
creature was
overcome by
numbers and
heroic bravery
at last. He
was maimed,
disabled and
secured, in the
deft and expeditious
way
they have
learned in dealing
with these
animals. He
was finally
caged, and the
rejoicings of
the natives
knew no
bounds; the
exploit was
celebrated
with feasting,
dancing and
wild observances,
the
women and the
children joining
in the uncouth
festivities.</p>

<p>He was removed
by his
foreign purchasers,
and
eventually secured
by a
City Park Commission,
and
was liberated
to walk about a
spacious cage, to delight the thousands
who visit the menagerie, that
affords so much instructive amusement.
He usually lies down in one
corner, and although he has lost much
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302"></a></span>
of his magnificent appearance, he
is still worthy to be called the &ldquo;Forest
King.&rdquo;</p>

<p>If you happen to be in his section
when he gets hungry and calls for his
dinner, you will be greatly astonished,
if not frightened, at the sound of his
voice. It is like nothing else in nature.
It vibrates to the roof of the vast structure,
and the windows rattle in their
frames. He tramps about and lashes
his tail against the bars and stamps his
feet, and his keeper hurries to throw
him his ration of raw meat. When he
is satisfied, he lies down and purrs as
good-naturedly as a pussy cat, and looks
you in the eyes with an unwinking
stare.</p>

<p>You and I most earnestly hope that
he may never contrive to escape.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 275px;">
<img src="images/oyf244.jpg" width="275" height="177"
alt="A kitten asleep in a slipper" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="disobeying_mother" id="disobeying_mother"></a>DISOBEYING MOTHER.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;I think, little goslings, you&rsquo;d better not go.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You&rsquo;re young, and the water is chilly, you know;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But when you get strong,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You can sail right along&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Go back in the sunshine, or walk in a row.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;No, no! we will go,&rdquo; said those bold little things,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Except one little dear, close to mother&rsquo;s warm wings.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Out went all the rest,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On the water with zest;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They said, &ldquo;We will venture, whatever it brings.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Their mother looked out, so kind and so true,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Adown where the rushes and lily-pads grew;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They looked very gay,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As they paddled away,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With their bright, yellow backs, on the water so blue.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Come back!&rdquo; cried their mother, &ldquo;come back to the land!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I fear for my dear ones some evil is planned.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But they ventured beyond<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The shore of the pond,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And laughed at her warnings, and spurned her command.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Farewell, to the goslings! their troubles are o&rsquo;er;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They were pelted with stones, by boys on the shore.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Afar from the bank,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They struggled and sank,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Down deep in the water, to come up no more.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh, see what it cost them, to have their own way;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their punishment came without stint or delay;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But the sweet one that stayed,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And its mother obeyed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lived long, and was happy for many a day.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 442px;">
<img src="images/oyf245.jpg" width="442" height="600"
alt="Two boys and a dog playing a game" />
</div>

<p class="caption">PLAYING BARBER.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="plants_that_eat" id="plants_that_eat"></a>PLANTS THAT EAT.</h2>


<p>These plants are so constructed as
to attract insects, capture them in
various ways, and feed
upon them. Perhaps the
best known of the group is
<i>Venus&rsquo; Fly-Trap</i>. The
leaves vary from one to six
inches long, and at the extremities
are placed two
blades, or claspers. On the
inner walls of these claspers
are placed six irritable
hairs; the slightest touch
from an insect on any one
of which is sufficient to
bring the two blades together
with such rapidity
as to preclude any possibility
of the fly escaping.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 182px;">
<img src="images/oyf246.jpg" width="182" height="275" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">LEAVES OF THE
FLY-TRAP OPENED
AND CLOSED.</p>

<p>This plant readily discriminates
between animal
and other matter; thus, if
a small stone or piece of wood be
dropped into the trap, it will instantly
close, but as soon as it has found out
its mistake&mdash;and it only takes a few
minutes&mdash;it begins to unfold its trap,
and the piece of
wood or stone falls
out. On the other
hand, should a piece
of beef or a bluebottle
fly be
placed in it,
it will remain
firmly
closed until
all the matter
is absorbed
through the
leaf. It will
then unfold
itself, and is
ready for another
meal.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 178px;">
<img src="images/oyf247.jpg" width="178" height="250" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">AUSTRALIAN PITCHER PLANT.</p>

<p>Another species is called the <i>Vegetable
Whiskey Shop</i>, as it captures its
victims by intoxication. The entire
shop is shaped after the manner of a
house, with the entrance projecting a
little over the rim. Half-way
round the brim of the
cavity there are an immense
number of honey glands,
which the influence of the
sun brings into active operation.
This sweet acts as
a lure to passing insects,
and they are sure to alight
on the outside edge and
tap the nectar.</p>

<p>They, however, remain
there but a brief period, as
there is something more
substantial inside the cavity
in the shape of an intoxicating
liquid, which is
distilled by the plant. The
way down to this beverage
is straight, as the entrance
is paved with innumerable fine
hairs, all pointing to the bottom, and
should the fly walk crooked its feet become
entangled in them.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 176px;">
<img src="images/oyf248.jpg" width="176" height="225" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">AMERICAN SIDE-SADDLE FLOWER.</p>

<p>When the fly has had its first sip, it
does not stop and fly right out, as it
could do,
but it indulges
until it comes
staggering
up and
reaches
that portion
where
the hairs
begin; here
its progress
outward
is
stopped,
owing to
the points
of the hairs
being placed against it. The fly
is now in a pitiable plight; it attempts
to use its wings, but in doing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305"></a></span>
so only hasten its
destruction. It inevitably
gets immersed
in the liquid,
and dies drunk.</p>

<p><i>Australian Pitcher
Plant</i> is a beautiful
little object. Its
pitchers are at the bottom of the principal
stem of the plant.</p>

<p>One species distils an intoxicant of
its own; but owing to its small orifice,
it excludes the majority of insects, and
admits but a select few. The individual
pitchers somewhat resemble an
inverted parrot&rsquo;s bill, with a narrow
leaf-like expansion running along the
top. The color is light green, beautifully
shaded with crimson. The inside
of the pitcher is divided into three
parts: The first, nearest the entrance,
is studded with minute honey glands,
and is called the attractive surface; a
little farther down the inside, very
minute hairs are situated with
their extremities all pointing to
the other chamber. This is the
conducting surface.</p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 438px;">
<img src="images/oyf249.jpg" width="438" height="500" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="caption">THE PITCHER PLANT OF
MADAGASCAR.</p>

<p>Lastly, the small hairs give
place to the longer ones, amid
which are placed secreting pores,
which give forth the intoxicating
nectar. This is termed the detentive
surface. When the
pitcher has caught a sufficient
number of insects, the nectar
gives place to a substance which
enables the plant more readily to digest
its food.</p>

<p>Another variety is the <i>Mosquito
Catcher</i>. It grows about one foot high,
and the leaves, after reaching a certain
height, divide into long, narrow spathes,
covered with hairs, each coated with a
bright gummy substance. This, during
sunshine, gives to the plant a most
magnificent appearance. If a plant be
placed in a room where mosquitoes
abound, all the troublesome pests will
in a brief period be in its steady embrace.</p>

<p>It is most interesting to watch the
method by which it secures its prey.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306"></a></span>
Immediately the fly alights on the leaf,
it may be that only one of its six legs
stick to the sweet, viscid substance at
the extremity of the hairs; but in struggling
to free itself, it invariably touches
with its legs or wings the contiguous
hairs, and is immediately fixed.</p>

<p>These little hairs meantime are not
idle; they slowly but surely curl round
and draw their victim into the very center
of the leaf, thus bringing it into
contact with the very short hairs, which
are placed there in order to facilitate
the process of sucking the life-blood
from the body.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="the_cuckoo_clock" id="the_cuckoo_clock"></a>THE CUCKOO CLOCK.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">The clock is Swiss,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a curious thing it is,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Set like a flower against the wall,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">With a face of walnut brown<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Twelve white eyes always staring out,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And long weights hanging down.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">But there is more<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the top is a little close-shut door.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And when &rsquo;tis time for the hour-stroke,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And at the half-stroke too,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It opens wide of its own accord,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And, hark,&mdash;&ldquo;Cuckoo, cuckoo!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">What do you see?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why, with a trip and a courtesy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As if to say,&mdash;&ldquo;Good day, good day,&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Out steps a tiny bird!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And though no soul were near to hear<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He&rsquo;d pipe that same blithe word.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Through all the night,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through dawn&rsquo;s pale flush, and noon&rsquo;s full light,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And even at twilight, when the dusk<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Hides all the room from view,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Out of his little cabinet<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He calls,&mdash;&ldquo;Cuckoo, cuckoo!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Though but a toy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet might the giddiest girl or boy<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Learn three most pleasant truths from it:<br /></span>
<span class="i2">How patiently to wait,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How to give greeting graciously,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And never to be too late.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">&rsquo;Tis sweet to hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though oft repeated, a word of cheer;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So this little comrade on the wall,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">This bird that never flew,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is an hourly comfort, with his call,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">&ldquo;Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<p class="poet smcap">Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.</p>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="davys_girl" id="davys_girl"></a>DAVY&rsquo;S GIRL.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">ALEX. DUKE BAILIE.</p>


<p>She was only five years old, hardly
that, but a stout, healthy little creature,
full of love and fun, but often hard to
manage.</p>

<p>Maggie was her name, but she would
call herself nothing but &ldquo;Davy&rsquo;s girl.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Davy, her brother, a brave, good boy,
about fifteen years of age, was all she
had to cling to, and she was his only
treasure. They were orphans; their
father had been drowned, with many
other poor fishermen, when Maggie
was a wee baby, and the mother, soon
after, died, from worry and hard work.</p>

<p>So these two were all alone in the
world, but they did not feel lonely, for
each one was all the world to the other.</p>

<p>They lived with an old fisherman
and his wife, on the shores of the ocean,
in New Jersey; and in the inlets and
about outside, Davy used to go with the
men, in the boats, and help them fish;
sometimes he would work in-shore, for
the truck farmers; sometimes help to
gather the salt hay from the marshes.
He would work hard at any thing so as
to make money to keep his little sister
comfortable and to give her all it was
well for her to have.</p>

<p>In winter he would tramp through
cold and snow and storms, several miles,
to the little town where the school was,
and so, every year, he gained a few
weeks of instruction.</p>

<p>The people among whom these orphans
lived were rough, but kind-hearted,
and Davy always had enough
work to enable him to earn money sufficient
to keep Maggie and himself in
the simple way in which every body
about them lived.</p>

<p>Whenever he had an idle half-day,
or even a few hours, he would take the
little girl and his books, and go down
to the shore, and getting into one of
the boats always to be found drawn up
on the sand, he would study hard to
learn, for he was anxious to get on in
the world, not only for his own, but his
sister&rsquo;s sake, and Maggie would take
one of the books, and open it, and run
her little fat finger over the page, and
move her lips, and make believe that
she, too, was studying her lessons and
she would keep still as a little mouse,
until, after a few minutes of nodding,
her eyes would close, then her head
would drop on Davy&rsquo;s knee, and she
would be off&mdash;sound asleep, until it
was time for him to go.</p>

<p>It happened, one afternoon, as Davy,
with Maggie, was going to the boat,
which was his favorite place of study, a
farmer drove along and asked him if he
could not go and help with some work.</p>

<p>They were very near home yet, and
when Davy said, &ldquo;Maggie, will you run
right home?&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;&rsquo;Es;&rdquo;
so the brother saw her start off towards
the house, which was in sight, then
jumped in beside the farmer, and they
drove off.</p>

<p>It was several hours before the boy returned.
He went directly home, and as
soon as he entered, called, &ldquo;Maggie!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Maggie aint here,&rdquo; said Mrs. Baker,
who was busy cleaning up the floor,
&ldquo;she hasn&rsquo;t been here since you took
her out with you.&rdquo;</p>

<p>If ever there was a frightened boy,
it was Davy, then. He knew how careless
his little sister was, and how she
loved to go down and splash in the
water, and play around the deep pools.
He could look, from the door, all along
the beach and out on the sea, and there
was no sign of his little girl. Mrs.
Baker was frightened, too, when he
told her all. They ran to the few
houses about, and while some of the
children had seen Maggie, it was hours
before; since then she had disappeared
entirely.</p>

<p>It was a terrible blow to the poor
boy, and he blamed himself as he
thought that perhaps his dear little sister
was dead under the great waves,
or her body was being washed away far
beyond his reach. He ran up and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308"></a></span>
down, everywhere calling her name
as loudly as he could, but no answer
came.</p>

<p>Almost blind, with the tears in his
eyes, he stood still for a moment to
think, when he caught sight of a little
paper book. He knew it at once; he
had made it for Maggie so that she
would not soil or tear his own. In a
moment he was running as fast as his
feet would carry him to the boat on
the sand, a considerable distance off;
quickly he reached it, and climbed up
the side. No Maggie yet.</p>

<p>The great sail lay in a heap before
him; he walked around it, and there,
all curled up, fast asleep, was his runaway
girl.</p>

<p>How his heart did jump for joy as he
picked her up, and kissed and petted
her.</p>

<p>But Maggie cried, and said he hurt her.</p>

<p>Then he found that in climbing into
the boat to &ldquo;study her lessons,&rdquo; she
had sprained her ankle, and she had
been very miserable all by herself, and
cried and called for him until she fell
asleep.</p>

<p>The books, all but one, were lying on
the other side of the boat, on the sand.
Davy never minded them, precious as
they were to him, but taking his little
sister on his strong back, he carried
her home, her arms about his neck and
her cheek close to his; and Maggie had
to stay in the house, with her foot bandaged,
for a week. But Davy never forgot
that fright nor left her to herself
again until she was much older; and
the little girl never thought of disobeying
his orders after that. They had
both learned a hard lesson.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2 class="smcap"><a name="early_tea" id="early_tea"></a>Early Tea.</h2>


<div class="figcenter" style="width: 267px;">
<img src="images/oyf250.jpg" width="267" height="325"
alt="A cat pushes a pram containing another cat" />
</div>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Five little pussies<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Sitting down to tea;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pretty little pussies,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Happy as can be!<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Three little pussies,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">All in a row,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ranged on the table,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Two down below.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Five little pussies,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Dressed all in silk,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Waiting for the sugar,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Waiting for the milk.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Dear little pussies,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">If you would thrive,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Breakfast at nine o&rsquo;clock,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Take tea at five.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="boney" id="boney"></a>BONEY.</h2>


<p>Boney was not a thin cat by any
means, as his name would suggest.
He was very stout for his age; this
could be explained by the fact that
he had always looked out for number
one, and had managed to secure a great
many nice things to eat in the course
of his short life.</p>

<p>His coat, which was striped, gray and
black, had an infinite number of shades
in it and was so beautiful, that more
than one lady wanted to buy him.</p>

<p>Boney was not his whole name. A
lovely romance could be written, I&rsquo;ve
no doubt, out of the adventures of this
cat, before Fannie found him, one cold
morning, in the summer-house. He
was covered with dust and leaves, and
moaning piteously. Fannie said,&mdash;&ldquo;Pussy,
pussy,&rdquo; to him; and he tried
to get up and come to her, but he
couldn&rsquo;t make any progress, and John
Henry came up at that moment, and
taking up the cat by the back of the
neck, looked at it critically, and said,&mdash;&ldquo;That
cat ain&rsquo;t a-going to die&mdash;he&rsquo;ll
come out all right in a few days; he&rsquo;s
been pelted with stones by those children
that live at the cross-roads, I
think.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Fannie followed her brother into the
house with the cat, and he gave it some
warm milk, and Fannie covered it up,
snug, by the kitchen stove.</p>

<p>It was surprising how soon that
pussy got well; and John Henry chose
to call him Boneset. The name took
in the household, and though Fannie
called him &ldquo;Boney,&rdquo; Boneset was his
real name. John Henry bought him a
collar, and Fannie would tie a beautiful
scarlet ribbon on this, and away
they&rsquo;d go together, down the road to
the village post-office. He&rsquo;d look very
sharply at the meadow-birds flitting
over the stone fences, and the yellow
butterflies on the tall mullen stalks, as
if he would say,&mdash;&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll get you any
of those you&rsquo;d like to have, my dear
mistress.&rdquo;</p>

<p>But Fannie would say, &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t think
of it, Boney; I would like to have
them, but it would be wicked to catch
them you know.&rdquo; Pussy did not want
to give up the sport of hunting them,
however, and Fannie would have to
take him right up, and carry him until
they had passed them.</p>

<p>He had such lovely coaxing ways;
he knew to a minute when it was lunch
time, and he had his in the kitchen,
but he would steal up into the dining-room,
and pass round softly to Fannie&rsquo;s
place, and pop up into her lap&mdash;or, if
she were standing up, he&rsquo;d get upon the
table and rub his furry cheek against
her shoulder, and shut one eye.</p>

<p>Then Fannie would turn round, and
his comical appearance, sitting there
with his little pink tongue sticking out
between his lips, would make Fannie
just jump up and down with laughing.</p>

<p>Of course, he wanted some of Fannie&rsquo;s
lunch, and he always got it, and
this was the way he managed to get so
fat and sleek.</p>

<p>One unfortunate time, Fannie was
very sick; the room was darkened, and
the doctor came. All the pets were
not allowed to come near the room.</p>

<p>It was, oh, so lonesome for Boney.
No one petted him like his little mistress,
and they didn&rsquo;t put up with his
tricks, or laugh at his funny pranks.</p>

<p>The time went by heavily enough, he
had not had on any of his ribbons, and
he would go and stay away from home
for days together, and when he came
home just before dark, he had a wild
look, as if he had been in rough company.</p>

<p>On a lovely morning in June, Fannie
was carried down stairs, to sit in the
bay window, in the sunshine, and the
ivy hung down its fresh, green leaves.</p>

<p>Boney saw her the first thing. His
delight knew no bounds; he rubbed his
back against her chair, turned his head
around in her robe as it lay on the carpet,
and jumped into her lap! And
Fannie smoothed his back with her
little thin hand.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310"></a></span>
After a time he went away, and nobody
thought any thing about him, till
dinner-time, when, what should they
see coming up the piazza steps, but
Boney, with a bobolink in his mouth!
He walked right up to Fannie, and laid
it down at her feet, and looked up at
his little mistress, with such a satisfied,
happy expression on his face, as if he
would say,&mdash;&ldquo;There, that&rsquo;s the best I
could do, and you are welcome to it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Fannie understood his good intentions,
and laughed heartily, and that
was the beginning of her recovery.</p>

<p>Pretty soon, she was able to go out
again, and she and Boney had the
best of times that summer.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="catching_snow_flakes" id="catching_snow_flakes"></a>CATCHING SNOW FLAKES.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">BY MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.</p>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Down from the sky, one winter day,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The snow-flakes tumbled and whirled in play.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">White as a lily,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Light as a feather,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Some so chilly<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Were clinging together.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Falling so softly on things below,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Covering all with beautiful snow.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Drifting about with the winds at play,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hiding in hollows along the way,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">White as a lily,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Light as a feather,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Coming so stilly<br /></span>
<span class="i4">In cold winter weather.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Touching so lightly the snow-bird&rsquo;s wing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Silently covering every thing.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Every flake is a falling star,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gently falling, who knows how far?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">White as a lily,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Light as a feather,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hosts so stilly<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Are falling together.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Every star that comes fluttering down,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Falls, I know, from the Frost King&rsquo;s crown.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="a_mischievous_monkey" id="a_mischievous_monkey"></a>A MISCHIEVOUS MONKEY.</h2>


<p>Jocko was hardly more than a baby
monkey, but he was so full of mischief
that he often made his mother very
sad. Jocko&rsquo;s father used to get angry
with him; sometimes he used to give
Jocko a good spanking; only he hadn&rsquo;t
a slipper as the father of little boys have!
Jocko&rsquo;s father and mother used to try
to teach him that it was very bad manners
to snatch any thing from the visitors
who came up to the cage. That
was a very hard lesson for Jocko to
learn. One day he snatched a pair of
spectacles from an old lady, who was
looking into the cage and laughing;
the old lady screamed with fright.
Jocko tried to put the spectacles on
himself; but the keeper made him give
them up. When the old lady got her
glasses again, she didn&rsquo;t care to look at
the monkeys any more.</p>

<p>Another day Jocko was taken very
sick; he laid down in one corner of the
cage, and could not be made to move.
His mother thought he was going to
die, and she was quite sure that some
of his monkey cousins had hurt him.
&ldquo;Not so,&rdquo; chattered Jocko&rsquo;s father, &ldquo;I
found some pieces of gloves among the
hay; I think the bad fellow has
snatched them from somebody, and
partly eaten them.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Dear, dear,&rdquo; chattered mother monkey,
&ldquo;I think you are right.&rdquo; When
she turned Jocko over, he was so afraid
of being punished, that he pretended
to be fast asleep; but he heard all that
his father and mother had said, and
knew that they guessed right.</p>

<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re just like boys,&rdquo; said George
Bliss one day, as he stood looking at
the monkeys in Central park. George
is a boy, and he ought to know. But
there is a great difference after all.
Boys can learn, better than monkeys,
not to get into mischief, and bother
their parents, and other people who
come where they are. Some boys do
not behave better than monkeys.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 444px;">
<img src="images/oyf251.jpg" width="444" height="600"
alt="A group of three monkeys, with others in the background" />
</div>

<p class="caption">A MISCHIEVOUS MONKEY.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_african_slave_boy" id="the_african_slave_boy"></a>THE AFRICAN SLAVE BOY.</h2>


<p>There are few who have not heard
or read of the great traveler, Sir Samuel
Baker, who found his way into the heart
of Africa, and whose brave wife accompanied
him in all his perilous journeys.
The natives, when they found how kind
he was, and how interested in trying to
help them, called him the Great White
Man.</p>

<p>One day, after traveling a long distance,
Sir Samuel and Lady Baker were
sitting, in the cool of the evening, in
front of their tent, enjoying a cup of
tea in their English fashion, when a
little black boy suddenly ran into the
courtyard, and throwing himself at
Lady Baker&rsquo;s feet raised his hands toward
her, and gazed imploringly into
her face.</p>

<p>The English lady thought that the
little lad was hungry, and hastened to
offer him food; but he refused to eat,
and began, with sobs and tears, to tell
his tale. He was not hungry, but he
wanted to stay with the white lady and
be her slave.</p>

<p>In broken accents he related how
cruelly he had been treated by the master,
who stole him from his parents
when he was quite a little boy; how he
made him earn money for him, and
beat him because he was too small to
undertake the tasks which were set
him. He told how he and some other
boys had crept out of the slave-hut at
night and found their way to English
Mission House, because they had heard
of the white people, who were kind to
the blacks.</p>

<p>Then little Saat, for that was his
name, made Lady Baker understand
how much he loved the white people,
and how he wished to be her little
slave. She told him kindly that she
needed no slave-boy, and that he must
go back to his rightful master. But little
Saat said, &ldquo;No, he had no master;&rdquo;
and explained that the Missionaries had
taught him a great deal, and then sent
him, with some other lads, to Egypt, to
help in the Mission work.</p>

<p>Unfortunately, his companions had
soon forgotten the good things they
had been taught, and behaved so badly
that the Missionaries in Egypt refused
to keep them, and turned them out, to
find their way back as best they might
to their own people; but Saat had no
people of his own, and he never rested
until he succeeded in finding the Great
White Man of whom he had heard so
much.</p>

<p>Lady Baker&rsquo;s kind heart was touched.
She determined to keep the little black
boy and train him to be her own attendant.
He accompanied the travelers
upon their wonderful journey to the
Source of the Nile, and his attachment
to his mistress was very touching.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="climbing" id="climbing"></a>CLIMBING.</h2>


<p>The ivy, while climbing, preserves
its pointed leaf, but when it has reached
the top of its support it spreads out
into a bushy head and produces only
rounded and unshapely leaves.</p>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The ivy, climbing upward on the tower,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In vigorous life its shapely tendrils weaves,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But, resting on the summit, forms a bower,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And sleeps, a tangled mass of shapeless leaves.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So we, while striving, climb the upward way,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And shape by enterprise our inner lives;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But when, on some low rest we idly stay,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Our purpose, losing point no longer strives.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<p class="author smcap">Elliot Stock.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 441px;">
<img src="images/oyf252.jpg" width="441" height="600"
alt="A woman teaches a little girl" />
</div>

<p class="caption">LEARNING TO KNIT.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314"></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadtop" style="width: 458px;">
<img src="images/oyf253.jpg" width="458" height="600"
alt="Birds of prey squabble over a duck" />
</div>

<p class="caption">TUG OF WAR.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="little_elsie" id="little_elsie"></a>LITTLE ELSIE.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">FAITH LATIMER.</p>


<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t thee ath a Chineth baby
lookth any differenth from any other
folkth baby, do you, Perthy?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what I am trying to find
out,&rdquo; said Percy, whom his little sister
May called her &ldquo;big brother;&rdquo; for
only that morning she had said to her
mother,&mdash;&ldquo;I will athk Perthy, he ith
tho big, he muth know every thing.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Percy was as full of wonder as little
May over the baby sleeper. He wanted
to see the back of her head, but it
was resting on the soft pillow, and the
eyes were tightly closed. May stood
at the foot of the bed longing, and yet
afraid, to pull up the cover, and look at
the little feet. &ldquo;Do you thpect she
wearth pink thatin thlipperth like thothe
in the glath cathe?&rdquo; she said.</p>

<p>The voices did not waken the baby
even when Percy made May give a little
scream as he pulled her braided hair,
and carried off the ribbon, saying,&mdash;&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve
got a Chinese pig-tail anyway.&rdquo;
Did you ever see a big brother do any
thing like that? Then Percy went out
and slammed the door, and left little
May thinking very hard, and the baby
asleep, after all that noise. What
was May thinking about? She had
heard mamma talk a great deal about
China, and had seen queer pictures of
people with bald heads and a long
braid of hair hanging down behind, and
in the cabinet in the sitting-room was
a pair of tiny pink satin slippers, so
small that her little hand could just go
into one of them. Then she had a
Chinese doll with almost a bald head,
and the queerest shaped eyes; and that
was why she and Percy wanted this baby
to wake up that they might see what
she looked like. That very morning
while the children were visiting their
grandmother, a carriage came to their
house, bringing a little baby and its
mother; and by the time they got
home, the child was in May&rsquo;s crib, fast
asleep, and the two mothers were talking
together as they had not done for
years before. Baby Elsie was not
easily wakened, for she never had a
very quiet place to sleep in. She was
quite used to strange noises on shipboard,
creaking ropes and escaping
steam, loud voices giving orders to
sailors, sometimes roaring waters and
stormy winds. She had been many
nights in a railroad sleeping-car, and
she was not disturbed by the rush of
wheels, or the whistling of the locomotive.
Before that, she lived part of her
little life on a boat in a narrow river,
and a few months in a crowded, noisy
house. Does it seem as if she had
been quite a traveler? She had just
come all the way from China&mdash;a land
on the other side of the round world&mdash;and
that was the reason that May
called her a Chinese baby. Percy and
May had never seen Elsie&rsquo;s mother,
although she was their own aunt, for
she and her husband had been more
than ten years missionaries in China,
and had come on a visit to America.
Don&rsquo;t you think the two mothers, dear
sisters, who had been so long and so
far apart, had a great deal to say to
each other? Do you expect they
wanted Elsie to sleep quite as much as
her cousins wanted her to wake? She
was a good child, but she knew how to
cry, and after a few days Percy said,&mdash;&ldquo;She&rsquo;s
not so much after all, she can&rsquo;t
talk and tell us anything, and when she
cries, she boo-hoo&rsquo;s just as you do, May.&rdquo;</p>

<p>In a week, two more Chinese travelers
came; the baby&rsquo;s father, and
another cousin, Knox, a boy nine years
old. Did you ever fire off a whole
pack of Chinese fire-crackers at a time?
That was almost the way that questions
were asked by the two boys, back and
forth, so quick and fast that there was
hardly time to answer each one. The
boy from Shanghai found as many
things strange to him as the New
York boy would have seen in China.
Percy, and May, although she could
not understand half she heard, were full
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316"></a></span>
of wonder as Knox told of living on a
boat in the river, of so many boats
around them, where people lived
crowded together as closely as houses
could be on land. He told of the
cities, of narrow, crooked streets, all the
way under awnings, to be shielded
from the hot sun; of riding many miles
in a wheel-barrow, with a Chinaman to
push it along the road. They all
laughed when Percy said they called
their cousin Elsie &ldquo;a Chinese baby;&rdquo;
and the grown folks helped to tell
about the black-eyed babies over there,
wrapped up in wadded comforts and
placed standing, a great, round roll, in a
tall basket, instead of a cradle. Percy
thought the best thing he heard was
of a boy in a royal family. He had to
be well taught, for he must be a wise
scholar in Chinese learning, but no one
dared to touch or hurt him; so a poor
boy of low rank was hired and kept in
the house to take all the whippings for
him; and whenever the young prince
deserved correction, the bamboo rod
was well laid on the poor boy&rsquo;s back.
What would you think of such a plan?
Elsie&rsquo;s father and mother were going
back to China, but they were not willing
that Knox should grow up there;
he must go to some good school and
stay in this country. Even little Elsie
they dared not trust out of their sight
among the Chinese.</p>

<p>And so for the love of the dear Master,
who said,&mdash;&ldquo;Go and teach all
nations,&rdquo; they were willing to leave
father and mother, and home, loving
sister and friends, even their own young
children, for His sake.</p>

<p>Don&rsquo;t you believe our heavenly Father
will watch over Knox and Elsie, and
make them grow up wise and true;
ready to go back to the land where they
were born, to carry on the good work
their father and mother are doing in
that strange, far-off country?</p>

<p>Do you know of any ways in which
children at home can help such work
in China, or in other far-off foreign
lands?</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="kitty_striker" id="kitty_striker"></a>KITTY STRIKER.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Little Kitty Striker saw<br /></span>
<span class="i1">A handsome, fat, old goose<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Out a-walking with her gosling.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And she said,&mdash;&ldquo;Now what&rsquo;s the use,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of letting that old waddler have<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Such a pretty thing as that?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I&rsquo;ll run right out and get it;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I&rsquo;ll go without my hat.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Out she ran upon the dusty path,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">On the grass, all wet with dew,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the old goose turned round quickly,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">She wished an interview.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Kitty said,&mdash;&ldquo;Oh, open your mouth<br /></span>
<span class="i1">As much as ever you please;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I&rsquo;m going to take your gosling,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Because I love to tease<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Such a cranky, impudent squawker as you.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And she laughed right out, and stooped<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To take the toddling little thing,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">When down upon her swooped,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The angry goose with hisses fierce,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And wildly flapping wing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And gave her a nip that was no joke!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">On the heel of her red stocking!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Miss Kitty screamed, but tightly held<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The little yellow ball,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And you know she&rsquo;d not the shadow of right<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To that goose&rsquo;s gosling at all.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then its mother made a terrible snap<br /></span>
<span class="i1">At Kitty&rsquo;s pretty blue dress!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And that thoughtless, mischievous little girl,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Was pretty well frightened I guess.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For she jumped and screamed, danced round like a top,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And the goose&rsquo;s eyes flashed red;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And she struck her wings in Kitty&rsquo;s eyes,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And on her little brown head!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She dropped the gosling, and ran for home,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Screaming, and crying,&mdash;&ldquo;Boo! hoo!&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And learned a lesson she never forgot,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And it&rsquo;s as wholesome for me and for you,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That it&rsquo;s best to be kind to our barnyard friends,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And let them have their fun too.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="maying" id="maying"></a>MAYING.</h2>


<p>Phil says he thinks it is a great pity
when the May isn&rsquo;t out till June, because
you can&rsquo;t go Maying if there
isn&rsquo;t any May, and it&rsquo;s so stupid to go
Maying in June. Phil is eleven months
and fourteen days younger than I am,
and his birthday is on the fourteenth of
February and mine is on the first of
March; so for fourteen days we are the
same age, and when it&rsquo;s Leap Year we
are the same age for fifteen days.</p>

<p>I don&rsquo;t understand <em>why</em> it should be
a day more some years and not others,
but mother says we shall learn about it
by-and-by. Phil says he will like learning
all that, but I don&rsquo;t think I shall,
because I like playing better.</p>

<p>Phil and I have a little dog of our
own, and he belongs between us. His
name is Dash. He came from the
Home for Lost Dogs, and we didn&rsquo;t
know his name, so Phil and I sat on
the grass, and we called him by every
name we could think of, until Phil
thought of Dash, and when Dash
heard that name he jumped up, and
ran to Phil, and licked his face. We
don&rsquo;t know what kind of dog he is, and
father called him a &lsquo;terrier spaniel;&rsquo;
but he laughed as he said it, and so
we&rsquo;re not quite sure that he wasn&rsquo;t in
fun. But it doesn&rsquo;t matter what kind
of dog Dash is, because we are all fond
of him, and if you&rsquo;re fond of any one
if doesn&rsquo;t matter what they&rsquo;re like, or
if they have a pretty name.</p>

<p>Dash goes out with us when we take
a walk, and I&rsquo;m sure he knew yesterday
when we went out without leave, because
we wanted to go Maying. There&rsquo;s
a beautiful hedge full of May blossoms
down the lane and across the meadow,
and we <em>did</em> want some May very badly.
So Phil and I went without asking
mother, and Dash went with us.</p>

<p>We found the place quite easily, and
had pulled down several boughs of it,
when we heard a gruff voice calling to
us, and the farmer came up, asking what
we were doing to <em>his</em> hedge.</p>

<p>I said, &ldquo;Please, we didn&rsquo;t know it
was yours, and we want some May very
much, because to-morrow&rsquo;s the first of
June, you know, and Phil says we can&rsquo;t
go Maying then.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The farmer didn&rsquo;t say any thing until
he caught sight of Dash, and then he
called out, angrily,&mdash;&ldquo;If that dog gets
among my chickens, I shall have him
shot!&rdquo;</p>

<p>We were so frightened at that, that
we ran away; and Dash ran too, as if
he understood what the farmer said.
We didn&rsquo;t stop for any May blossoms
though we had picked them, and we
did want them so, because of its being
the thirty-first of May.</p>

<p>Phil said the farmer was calling after
us, but we only ran the faster, for fear
he should shoot Dash. When we got
home, mother met us in the porch, and
asked where we had been; then we
told her all about the farmer, and how
we wanted to go Maying while we
could.</p>

<p>She laughed a little, but presently
she looked quite grave, and said,&mdash;&ldquo;I&rsquo;m
very glad to find you have told me the
whole truth, because if you had not I
should still have known it. Farmer
Grey has been here, and he told me
about your having gone across his
meadow that he is keeping for hay.
He has brought you all the May you
left behind, and he says you may have
some more if you want it, only you
must not walk through the long grass,
but go round the meadow by the little
side-path. He said he was afraid he had
frightened you, and he was sorry.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Phil and I had a splendid Maying
after that. We made wreaths for ourselves,
and one for Dash, only we
couldn&rsquo;t get him to wear his, which
was a pity.</p>

<p>But the best of all is that mother
says she can always trust us, because
we told the truth at once; and Phil and
I think we would rather never go Maying
any more (though we like it so much)
than not tell her every thing. I&rsquo;m sure
it&rsquo;s a very good plan, and we mean to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318"></a></span>
do it <em>always</em>, even when we&rsquo;re quite
grown up. Mother laughs at that, and
says,&mdash;&ldquo;You will have your secrets
then;&rdquo; but Phil and I don&rsquo;t think we
shall, because it couldn&rsquo;t be a really
nice secret if we mightn&rsquo;t tell mother.</p>

<p class="author">I. T.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="gracies_temper" id="gracies_temper"></a>GRACIE&rsquo;S TEMPER.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Once a gentle, snow-white birdie,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Came and built its nest,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In a spot you&rsquo;d never dream of,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In a baby&rsquo;s breast.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then how happy, gentle, loving,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Grew the baby, Grace;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All the smiles and all the dimples<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Brightened in her face.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But a black and ugly raven<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Came one morn that way;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Came and drove the gentle birdie.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">From its nest away.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Ah! how frowning and unlovely<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Was our Gracie then.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Until evening brought the white dove<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To its nest again.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Children, this was Gracie&rsquo;s raven,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">This her gentle dove,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In heart a naughty <em>temper</em><br /></span>
<span class="i1">Drove away the <em>love</em>.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><a name="anecdote3" id="anecdote3"></a>
<span class="dcapa"><span class="dropcap">A</span></span>MONG
the passengers
on board
a river-steamer
recently
was a
woman,
accompanied
by a bright-looking nurse-girl, and a
self-willed boy, about three years old.</p>

<p>The boy aroused the indignation of
the passengers by his continued shrieks
and kicks and screams, and his viciousness
toward the patient nurse. He tore
her bonnet, scratched her hands, without
a word of remonstrance from the
mother.</p>

<p>Whenever the nurse showed any
firmness, the mother would chide her
sharply, and say,&mdash;&ldquo;Let him have it,
Mary. Let him alone.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Finally the mother composed herself
for a nap; and about the time the boy
had slapped the nurse for the fiftieth
time, a bee came sailing in and flew on
the window of the nurse&rsquo;s seat. The
boy at once tried to catch it.</p>

<p>The nurse caught his hand, and said,
coaxingly:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Harry mustn&rsquo;t touch. It will bite
Harry.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Harry screamed savagely, and began
to kick and pound the nurse.</p>

<p>The mother, without opening her
eyes or lifting her head, cried out,
sharply:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why will you tease that child so,
Mary? Let him have what he wants
at once.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;But, ma&rsquo;am, it&rsquo;s a&mdash;&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Let him have it, I say.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Thus encouraged, Harry clutched at
the bee and caught it. The yell that
followed brought tears of joy to the
passengers.</p>

<p>The mother awoke again.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Mary!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;let him have it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mary turned in her seat, and said,
confusedly:&mdash;&ldquo;He&rsquo;s got it, ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo;</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="the_sweet_grass_house" id="the_sweet_grass_house"></a>THE SWEET-GRASS HOUSE.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.</p>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Two little mice went out one day<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Among the scented clover;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They wandered up and down the lane,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">They roamed the meadow over.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Oh, deary me!&rdquo; said Mrs. Mouse,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;I wish I had a little house!&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Said Mr. Mouse,&mdash;&ldquo;I know a place<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Where nice sweet grass is growing;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where corn-flowers blue, and buttercups<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And poppies red, are blowing.&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Oh, deary me!&rdquo; said Mrs. Mouse,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll build us there a house.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So, of some sweet and tender grass<br /></span>
<span class="i1">They built their house together;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And had a happy time, through all<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The pleasant summer weather.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Oh, deary me!&rdquo; said Mrs. Mouse,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&ldquo;Who ever had so nice a house?&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="johnnys_garden" id="johnnys_garden"></a>JOHNNY&rsquo;S GARDEN.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Johnny had a garden plot,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And set it all in order,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But let it run to grass and weeds,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Which covered bed and border.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Two stalking sun-flowers reared their heads,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">So firmly were they rooted,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Johnny, as he looked at them,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Was any thing but suited.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Two children small, looked up and said,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Oh, Mister, beg your pardon!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or, if you will not answer that,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Say, sonny, where&rsquo;s your garden?<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;What d&rsquo;ye call those two large flowers?<br /></span>
<span class="i1">An&rsquo; what&rsquo;ll ye take, an&rsquo; sell em?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You&rsquo;d better put a ladder up,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">So folks our size can smell &rsquo;em.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;We heard old Mrs. Grubber say,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">&lsquo;That spot ye needn&rsquo;t covet;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He&rsquo;d better turn it into hay,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Or make a grass-plot of it.&rsquo;&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But Johnny never answered back,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">But went and dug it over,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And soon again, his sprouting seeds,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">He plainly could discover.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have a garden yet.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And make a little money;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I never liked those Podger twins,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">They try to be so funny.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2><a name="boy_billy_and_the_rabbit" id="boy_billy_and_the_rabbit"></a>BOY BILLY AND THE RABBIT.</h2>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Billy, boy! Billy, boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He was his mother&rsquo;s joy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But he couldn&rsquo;t shoot an arrow worth a cent;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And a rabbit almost laughed<br /></span>
<span class="i2">As she watched the flying shaft,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the place upon the target where it went.<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">The rabbit passing by,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">So very soft and sly,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Took Billy for a hunter gaily dressed;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">But when she came anear,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">She said, &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis very clear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It&rsquo;s safe enough to stay and take a rest.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Said the rabbit, &ldquo;Billy, boy,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">You never will annoy<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Anybody, by your shooting at a mark;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">With an arrow and a bow,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I just would like to show,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I can reach the bull&rsquo;s-eye nearer in the dark.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Just then an arrow flew,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">That pierced it thro&rsquo; and thro&rsquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which made Miss Bunny start, and jump, sky high!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">She cried, &ldquo;Oh, dear! Oh, dear!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">It&rsquo;s safer in the rear;&rdquo;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And scampered off and never said,&mdash;&ldquo;Good-bye.&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">You see the reason why,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">&rsquo;Tis always best to try,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tho&rsquo; others laugh and slander all the same;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">For be it late or soon,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">They&rsquo;ll always change their tune,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When they see your arrow doesn&rsquo;t miss its aim.<br /></span>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321"></a></span></p>

<h2><a name="a_fish_story" id="a_fish_story"></a>A FISH STORY.</h2>

<p class="center smlfont">HOPE LEDYARD.</p>


<p>Six eager faces, all crowding around
to &ldquo;see the picture!&rdquo; Four of the faces
belong to girls&mdash;Edith and Mamie,
Birdie and Jeanie, while Al and Dick,
who are pretty big boys, &ldquo;over ten,&rdquo;
lean over the back of the chair.</p>

<p>&ldquo;<em>He&rsquo;s</em> had a good catch,&rdquo; says Al.</p>

<p>&ldquo;<em>He&rsquo;s</em> not caught those,&rdquo; says Dick,
while the girls look first at the picture
and then at the boys. &ldquo;I guess that
fellow standing up in the boat is his
father. The men have caught the fish
and the boy takes them to sell. Why,
a fish as big as one of those fellows
could pull a boy right into the water,
easy!&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;My brother Dick <em>knows</em>,&rdquo; whispers
Jeanie, proudly. &ldquo;He took me fishing
once and I caught two fish.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The little girls look as if they could
hardly believe this, so Jeanie pulls
mamma&rsquo;s arm and asks, &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t I catch
two fish last summer?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Indeed she did,&rdquo; says Dick, before
mamma has time to answer. &ldquo;She
caught two sun-fish. I never saw any
one do it better. Mother fried &rsquo;em for
her dinner, too.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;My sister goes to a cooking school
and learns to bake fish,&rdquo; says Edith,
&ldquo;and she is teaching me at home. I
know the verse about cooking fish.&rdquo;</p>

<p>We all begged Edith to say the
verse, so, after a little coaxing, she
repeated:</p>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;Our lesson is fish, and in every dish<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We would like to meet our teacher&rsquo;s wish.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But many men have many minds,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There are many fishes of many kinds;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So we only learn to boil and bake,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To broil and fry, and make a fish-cake.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And trust this knowledge will carry us through<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When other fishes we have to &lsquo;do.&rsquo;&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<p>Edith is a little orphan girl who lives
with her grandmother and sister Minnie.
We are all so interested about
the cooking class, that she tells us
about how they learn to bake bread.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I mixed the bread last Friday night
and made some biscuit in the morning,
and if I hadn&rsquo;t forgotten the salt they
would have been splendid. I don&rsquo;t
remember all the verses about bread,
but one verse is:</p>

<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&ldquo;&lsquo;Now you place it in the bread bowl,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">A smooth and nice dough ball,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Last, a towel and a cover,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And at night that&rsquo;s all.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But when morning calls the sleeper<br /></span>
<span class="i1">From her little bed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She can make our breakfast biscuit<br /></span>
<span class="i1">From that batch of bread.&rsquo;&rdquo;<br /></span>
</div>
</div>

<p>&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s girls&rsquo; work to cook and
boys&rsquo; work to catch,&rdquo; said Al, who was
getting tired of hearing verses.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Jeanie did some catching before she
was five years old, and you forget how
nicely papa cooked the breakfast when
you were camping out last summer.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I suppose his cooking, like Jeanie&rsquo;s
fishing, was just an accident.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, indeed! Good cooking has to
be learned,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;and this picture
makes me think of the first fish I had
to cook, and what a foolish girl I had.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, mamma&rsquo;s going to tell us a
story about when she was a girl,&rdquo;
Jeanie exclaims. So all take seats&mdash;Jeanie
on my lap, the boys on the two
arms of my chair, and the three little
sisters on chairs or footstools.</p>

<p>Not about when I was a girl, but
about when I was a very young wife.</p>

<p>You boys know that I had always
lived in a big house in the city, where
the servants did all the cooking and
such work, while I practiced music
or studied or visited my Sunday-school
scholars. I was just as fond of them
in those days as I am now. Well!
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322"></a></span>
Your papa took me to a dear little
house, far, far away, near Lake George.
I had a very young girl to help me
about the house, who did not know
any thing about cooking. I thought I
knew a good deal, for I had learned to
bake bread, and roast meat and make a
cup of tea or coffee. I had just as
much fun keeping house in that little
cottage as Jeanie has playing house up
stairs. But one day papa went off in a
hurry and forgot to ask me what I
wanted for dinner. He was to bring a
gentleman home that day and I hoped
he would send me a good dinner.</p>

<p>About ten o&rsquo;clock Annie, my little
servant, came to me and said, &ldquo;Oh,
ma&rsquo;am, the butcher&rsquo;s here with a beautiful
fish the master has sent for the
meat.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;A fish! Annie, do you know how
to cook fish?&rdquo; I said.</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, ma&rsquo;am. Only it&rsquo;s fried they
mostly has &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I went into the kitchen and there lay
a beautiful trout&mdash;too pretty to eat, it
seemed to me. Certainly too pretty to
be spoiled by careless cooking. So I
took my receipt book and after reading
carefully, I stuffed the pretty fish and
laid him in a pan all ready for the
oven, and told Annie to put it in at
eleven o&rsquo;clock.</p>

<p>I was pretty tired, so I lay down
for a little nap, and had just dropped
asleep when Annie came into the room,
wringing her hands and saying, &ldquo;Oh,
ma&rsquo;am! Oh, ma&rsquo;am! What&rsquo;ll I do in
the world?&rdquo;</p>

<p>It seems that she had taken the fish
out of the safe and put it, pan and all,
on the table, and then, remembering I
had told her to sprinkle a little pepper
on it, she went to the closet for her
pepper-box, and when she came back,
the pan was empty!</p>

<p>&ldquo;The cat stole it, Annie,&rdquo; I said.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Indade and she didn&rsquo;t. The innocent
cratur was lyin&rsquo; on my bed and
the door shut.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I tried to quiet the girl; but I told
her at last she could go home that
night, only she must dry her eyes and
run to the butcher&rsquo;s for a steak, for the
master would be home with a strange
gentleman in half an hour. We managed
to get the steak cooked, and papa
tried to laugh Annie out of the notion
of a ghost stealing our beautiful fish,
but the girl would not smile and was
afraid to be left alone in the kitchen.
So after tea she packed up her things
and was to take the stage to the depot;
for Annie lived a long way off.</p>

<p>Just before the stage came as I was
standing at the gate, my eyes full of
tears at losing my nice little servant all
on account of a fish, I saw the lady who
lived across the way open her gate and
come toward our house. I saw the
stage stop a few doors off as she came
to our gate and bowing to me said:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Excuse me, we are strangers, but
did you lose a fine trout to-day?&rdquo;</p>

<p>She must have thought me mad, for
I rushed into the house, and called:
&ldquo;Annie, Annie, I&rsquo;ve found the fish!
Now put your things back in the bureau,
you silly girl.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Then I went back and invited my
neighbor in, telling her about Annie&rsquo;s
fright.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, it was our Nero&mdash;our great
dog! I was away at my mother&rsquo;s or I
would have brought it back, for I was
sure it belonged to you. Nero must
have slipped in, nabbed the fish, and
brought it to our house. He laid it on
the kitchen floor, as if he had done
a very good deed, my girl tells me,
and she, foolish thing, thought he had
brought it from my mother&rsquo;s, and
cooked it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>We had a hearty laugh at our stupid
servants, and were great friends from
that day, and I never see a picture of
fish for sale, but I think of my first
trout, which I prepared for dinner with
such care, but never tasted. Annie
never dared say &ldquo;ghosts&rdquo; after that,
and lived with us till Dick was three
years old. But there is papa, and these
little girls must have a piece of cake
and run home.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323"><!-- back cover --></a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter ipadboth" style="width: 425px;">
<img src="images/oyf254.jpg" width="425" height="600"
alt="Back cover - a boy and girl ice skating" />
</div>



<div class="bbox">
<p><b>Transcriber's Note</b></p>

<p>The story <a href="#sailor_babies">SAILOR BABIES</a> seems to end rather
abruptly, and the poem following, <a href="#pretty_polly_primrose">PRETTY
POLLY PRIMROSE</a>, seems to start in the middle. Another copy of the book was
checked and found to be the same, with no sign of a missing page, so this is
probably a printing error.</p>

<p>The poem starting "<a href="#dick_and_gray">Dick and Gray</a>" was originally
in the middle of the story <a href="#the_return_of_the_birds">THE RETURN OF
THE BIRDS</a>; the poem has been moved before that story for readability.</p>

<p>The second page of the story <a href="#dime_and_betty">DIME AND BETTY</a>,
starting "I drive Betty to pasture every day," was obtained from a different
copy of the book, which was identical in all aspects except the layout of the
copyright page.</p>

<p>The story <a href="#the_tower_of_london">THE TOWER OF LONDON</a> consistently
refers to Anne Boleyn as Anna Boleyn. This has been preserved as printed.</p>

<p>Punctuation errors have been repaired. Inconsistent spelling and
hyphenation has been preserved as printed across different pieces, but
made consistent within individual pieces, as follows:</p>

<div class="amends">
<p><a href="#in_the_woods">IN THE WOODS</a>&mdash;Molly amended to
Mollie&mdash;"&ldquo;You were mistaken, Mollie, I&rsquo;m sure.&rdquo;"</p>

<p><a href="#how_the_days_went_at_sea_gull_beach">HOW THE DAYS WENT AT SEA-GULL BEACH</a>&mdash;Estelle
amended to Estella&mdash;"We put the pole through the handle and Estella and
myself took hold ..."</p>

<p><a href="#dingfords_baby">DINGFORD'S BABY</a>&mdash;Hettie amended to
Hetty&mdash;"That little brother of Hetty Dingford was the funniest baby
on the coast; ..."</p>
</div>

<p>The following amendments have also been made:</p>

<div class="amends">
<p><a href="#the_laughing_jackass">THE LAUGHING JACKASS</a>&mdash;rellishes
amended to relishes&mdash;"He relishes lizards very much, and there are plenty ..."</p>

<p><a href="#the_laughing_jackass">THE LAUGHING JACKASS</a>&mdash;rotton
amended to rotten&mdash;"She lays here egss on the rotten wood at the bottom
of the hole."</p>

<p><a href="#tommy_and_the_gander">TOMMY AND THE GANDER</a>&mdash;then amended
to them&mdash;"Tommy took one of them in his hands."</p>

<p><a href="#fans_cards_a_christmas_hint">FAN'S CARDS</a>&mdash;Chrisrmas
amended to Christmas&mdash;"Then they all waved their cards and cried
&ldquo;Merry Christmas! ...&rdquo;"</p>

<p><a href="#who_killed_the_goose">WHO KILLED THE GOOSE?</a>&mdash;alway amended to
always&mdash;"&ldquo;People are always saying dogs do things,&rdquo; ..."</p>

<p><a href="#mrs_gimsons_summer_boarders">MRS. GIMSON'S SUMMER
BOARDERS</a>&mdash;fricaseed amended to fricasseed&mdash;"If coffee and
fricasseed chicken would not be just the thing ..."</p>

<p><a href="#mrs_gimsons_summer_boarders">MRS. GIMSON'S SUMMER
BOARDERS</a>&mdash;heir amended to their&mdash;"... with their
graceful talk, and numberless resources of entertainment."</p>

<p><a href="#small_beginnings">SMALL BEGINNINGS</a>&mdash;close by amended to
by close&mdash;"... and by close application to his studies, ..."</p>

<p><a href="#autumn_leaves_and_what_katie_did">AUTUMN LEAVES, AND WHAT KATIE
DID</a>&mdash;thown amended to thrown&mdash;"... their leaves are thrown away,
and they are empty-handed."</p>

<p><a href="#waifs_romance">WAIF'S ROMANCE</a>&mdash;presented amended to
prevented&mdash;"... even if the overflowed valley had prevented her
accustomed excursions; ..."</p>

<p><a href="#waifs_romance">WAIF'S ROMANCE</a>&mdash;receeding amended to
receding&mdash;"... until he came to a good sized pond left by the receding
waters ..."</p>

<p><a href="#waifs_romance">WAIF'S ROMANCE</a>&mdash;smuggled amended to
snuggled&mdash;"... the kitten was snuggled up as close to her brute protector ..."</p>

<p><a href="#two_little_girls">TWO LITTLE GIRLS</a>&mdash;befel amended to
befell&mdash;"And this is what befell;"</p>

<p><a href="#the_lion_at_the_zoo">THE LION AT THE "ZOO"</a>&mdash;purs amended
to purrs&mdash;"... he lies down and purrs as good-naturedly as a pussy cat, ..."</p>
</div>

<p>The gold ornamentation on the front cover was badly damaged, and has
been reconstructed as accurately as possible.</p>

<p>A table of contents has been added for the convenience of the reader.</p>

<p>The frontispiece illustration has been moved to follow the title page.
Illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in
the middle of a paragraph.</p>
</div>

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