Chapter I: Love Little Pussy (5)

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by:
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew--
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head--poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den
Within his little parlor--but she ne'er came out again!

#Everyday Verses#

BY ALDEN ARTHUR KNIPE

PICTURES BY EMILIE BENSON KNIPE

A LITTLE GENTLEMAN

When Mother drops things on the floor,
My father asks me: "Who
Should always pick them up for her?"
And so I always do.

He says I haven't far to reach
And that a gentleman
Must do things for his Mother
And be helpful as he can.

But Mother bends down just the same,--
She has to, don't you see?
For after she's said "Thank you, dear,"
She stoops and kisses me.

TIME FOR EVERYTHING

There's a time to run and a time to walk;
There's a time for silence, a time for talk;
There's a time for work and a time for play;
There's a time for sleep at the close of day.
There's a time for everything you do,
For children and for grown-ups, too.
A time to stand up and a time to sit,--
But see that the time and actions fit.

UMBRELLAS AND RUBBERS

Umbrellas and rubbers
You never forget,
Whenever it's raining
Or snowy or wet;

But if it should clear up,
While you are away,
Please bring them back home
For the next rainy day.

WHISPERING IN SCHOOL

"Do not whisper" is a rule
You will find in every school,
And the reason here is given
In a rhyme:
For children all will chatter
About any little matter--
And there'd be a dreadful clatter,
All the time!

RECESS

The romping boys
Make lots of noise,
And run and jump and laugh and shout,
While here and there,
With quiet air,
The girls in couples walk about.

A game begins,
But no one wins,
Although they play with might and main,
For long before
The game is o'er
The bell rings out for school again.

AFTER SCHOOL

Although we like to go to school,
We're rather glad to put away
Our books and slates and other things,
When it is over for the day.

And off we go to play and romp,
While teacher, who is good and kind,
Is left behind all by herself--
But then, perhaps, she doesn't mind.

MONDAY'S LESSONS

Study them well on Friday,
For it's much the better way,
Because when once they're finished
You've all Saturday for play.

AT DINNER

No matter where we children are
We run in answer to the bell,
And dinner comes in piping hot;
It makes us hungry just to smell.

Poor Father sharpens up his knife,
And carves with all his might and main;
But long before he's had a bite
Our Willie's plate comes back again.

We eat our vegetables and meat,
For Mother, who is always right,
Says those who wish to have dessert,
Must show they have an appetite.

And when a Sunday comes around,
So very, very good we seem,
You'd think 'most any one could tell
That for dessert we'd have ice-cream.

VALOR.

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS.

There isn't any giant
Within this forest grim,
And if there were, I wouldn't be
A bit afraid of him!

A DOMESTIC TRAGEDY

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS

My doll, my doll, my Annabel,
She's really feeling far from well!
Her wig is gone, her eyes are out,
Her legs are left somewhere about,
Her arms were stolen by the pup,
The hens ate all her sawdust up,
So all that's really left of her
Is just her clothes and character.

THE CAPITALIST.

I always buy at the lollipop-shop,
On the very first day of spring,
A bag of marbles, a spinning-top,
And a pocketful of string.

IN MERRY ENGLAND.

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS.

In merry, merry England,
In the merry month of May,
Miss Mary Ella Montague
Went out in best array.
Her wise mama called out to her,
"My darling Mary Ella,
It looks like rain to-day, my dear;
You'd best take your umbrella!"
That silly girl she paid no heed
To her dear mother's call.
She walked at least six miles that day,
And it never rained at all!

THE GOOSE GIRL.

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS.

Oh, I'm a goose, and you're a goose, and we're all geese together.
We wander over hill and dale, all in the sweet June weather,
While wise folk stay indoors and pore
O'er dusty books for learning lore.
How glad I am--how glad you are--that we're birds of a feather:
That you're a goose, and I'm a goose, and we're all geese together!

THE PHILOSOPHER

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS

Let me make you acquainted with Mrs. O'Toole,
Though she's had little learning, she's nobody's fool,
She loves her fine geese, but when they are dead
She'll comfort herself with a new feather bed.

EVERY-DAY VERSES

BY ALDEN ARTHUR KNIPE

PICTURES BY EMILIE BENSON KNIPE

THIRSTY FLOWERS

I have a little wat'ring-pot,
It holds two quarts I think,
And when the days are very hot
I give the plants a drink.

They lift their heads as flowers should,
And look so green and gay;
I'm sure that if they only could,
"We thank you, Sir," they'd say.

SHARING WITH OTHERS

Sometimes Mother gives to me
Such a lot of money--See!
But it's very hard to buy
All the things you'd like to try,
And you always share your penny
With a child who hasn't any.

POCKETS

Pockets are fine
For marbles and twine,
For knives and rubber bands;
So, stuff them tight
From morning till night
With anything else but hands!

WAITING FOR DINNER

When one is very hungry,
It's hard to wait, I know,
For minutes seem like hours
And the clock is always slow.

There isn't time to play a game,
You just sit down and wait,
While Mother says, "Be patient,
Our cook is never late."

It's best when one is hungry,
To think of other things,
For then, before you know it,
The bell for dinner rings.

THE CRITIC

If only more people would write fewer books
How well pleased I would be!
If all the authors would change into cooks
'T would suit me perfectly.

DIPLOMACY

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS

The Widow Hill has a fine plum-tree!
The Widow Hill is fond o' me.
I'll call on her to-day!
The plum-tree grows by her front door.
I've been meaning to call for a week or more
To pass the time o' day!

IF I WERE QUEEN.

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS.

If I were Queen of Anywhere,
I'd have a golden crown,
And sit upon a velvet chair,
And wear a satin gown.
A Knight of noble pedigree
Should wait beside my seat,
To serve me upon bended knee
With things I like to eat.
I'd have bonbons and cherry pie,
Ice-cream and birthday cake,
And a page should always stay near by
To have my stomach-ache!

THOUGHTS IN CHURCH

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS

Oh, to be a sailor
And sail to foreign lands--
To Greenland's icy mountains
And India's coral strands!
To sail upon the Ganges
And see the crocodile,
Where every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile.

I'd love to see the heathen
Bow down to wood and stone,
But his wicked graven image
I'd knock from off its throne!
The heathen-in-his-blindness
Should see a thing or two!
He'd know before I left him
What a Yankee boy can do!

#THE DAYS OF THE WEEK#

THIS IS THE WAY

This is the way we wash our clothes,
Wash our clothes,
Wash our clothes;
This is the way we wash our clothes,
So early Monday morning.

This is the way we iron our clothes,
Iron our clothes,
Iron our clothes;
This is the way we iron our clothes,
So early Tuesday morning.

This is the way we mend our shoes,
Mend our shoes,
Mend our shoes;
This is the way we mend our shoes,
So early Wednesday morning.

This is the way we visit our friends,
Visit our friends,
Visit our friends;
This is the way we visit our friends,
So early Thursday morning.

This is the way we sweep the house,
Sweep the house,
Sweep the house;
This is the way we sweep the house,
So early Friday morning.

This is the way we bake our cake,
Bake our cake,
Bake our cake;
This is the way we bake our cake,
So early Saturday morning.

This is the way we go to church,
Go to church,
Go to church;
This is the way we go to church,
So early Sunday morning.

DAYS OF BIRTH

Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,

Wednesday's child is brave and glad,
Thursday's child is never bad,

Friday's child is loving and kind,
Saturday's child is clear in mind,

The child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is fair and wise and good and gay.

THE WASHING

They that wash on Monday
Have all the week to dry;
They that wash on Tuesday
Are not so much awry;
They that wash on Wednesday
Are not so much to blame;
They that wash on Thursday
Wash for very shame;
They that wash on Friday
Wash because of need,
And they that wash on Saturday,
Oh, they are lazy indeed!

SOLOMON GRUNDY

Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday:
This is the end
Of Solomon Grundy--
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married, _etc._

BABY'S PLAY DAYS

How many days has my baby to play?
Saturday, Sunday, Monday,
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday,
Saturday, Sunday, Monday.

WHICH DO YOU CHOOSE?

"Oh, ho! little maidens, all in a row,
And each one wearing a butterfly bow.
Which is the prettiest, Betty, or Lou,
Dolly, or Polly, or Sallie, or Sue?
I do not know, so I'll have to ask you."

SEVEN LITTLE MICE

BY STELLA GEORGE STERN

Little-Mouse-Sunday found a great, big bun;
Little-Mouse-Monday wished that _he_ had one;
Little-Mouse-Tuesday was fat enough without;
Little-Mouse-Wednesday sat down to sulk and pout,
Said Little-Mouse-Thursday, "_I'll_ get one for myself!"
Said Little-Mouse-Friday, "There's another on the shelf";
Little-Mouse-Saturday began to beg and squeak;
"Come on!" said all the seven, "we've enough to last a week!"

VISITING

"Good morning, Monday!
Tell me how is Tuesday?"
"Very well, Dame Wednesday.
Please to tell Miss Thursday,
Also little Saturday,
To call on Mister Sunday."

LITTLE TOMMY'S MONDAY MORNING

(_In a meter neither new nor difficult_)

BY TUDOR JENKS

All was well on Sunday morning,
All was quiet Sunday evening;
But, behold, quite early Monday
Came a queer, surprising Weakness--
Weakness seizing little Tommy!
It came shortly after breakfast--
Breakfast with wheat-cakes and honey
Eagerly devoured by Tommy,
Who till then was well as could be.
Then, without a moment's warning,
Like a sneeze, that awful Aw-choo!
Came this Weakness on poor Tommy.
"Mother, dear," he whined, "dear mother,
I am feeling rather strangely--
Don't know what's the matter with me--
My right leg is out of kilter,
While my ear--my left ear--itches.
Don't you know that queerish feeling?"
"Not exactly," said his mother.
"Does your head ache, Tommy dearest?"
Little Thomas, always truthful,
Would not say his head was aching,
For, you know, it really wasn't.
"No, it doesn't _ache_," he answered
(Thinking of that noble story
Of the Cherry-tree and Hatchet);
"But I'm tired, and I'm sleepy,
And my shoulder's rather achy.
Don't you think perhaps I'd better
Stay at home with you, dear mother?"

Thoughtfully his mother questioned,
"How about your school, dear Tommy?
Do you wish to miss your lessons?"
"Well, you know," was Tommy's answer,
"Saturday we played at football;
I was tired in the evening,
So I didn't learn my lessons--
Left them all for Monday morning,
Monday morning bright and early--"
"And this morning you slept over?"
So his mother interrupted.
"Yes, mama," admitted Tommy.
"So I have not learned my lessons:
And I'd better wait till Tuesday.
Tuesday I can start in earnest--
Tuesday when I'm feeling brighter!"

Smilingly his mother eyed him,
Then she said, "Go ask your father--
You will find him in his study,
Adding up the week's expenses.
See what father says about it."

Toward the door went Tommy slowly,
Seized the knob as if to turn it.
Did not turn it; but, returning,
Back he came unto his mother.
"Mother," said he, very slowly,
"Mother, I don't feel so badly;
Maybe I'll get through my lessons.
Anyway, I think I'll risk it.
Have you seen my books, dear mother--
My Geography and Speller,
History and Definitions,--
Since I brought them home on Friday?"
No. His mother had not seen them.
Then began a search by Tommy.
Long he searched, almost despairing,
While the clock was striking loudly.
And at length when Tommy found them--
Found his books beneath the sofa--
He'd forgotten all his Weakness,
Pains and aches were quite forgotten.
At full speed he hastened schoolward.
But in vain, for he was tardy,
All because of that strange Weakness
He had felt on Monday morning.

Would you know the name that's given,
How they call that curious feeling?
'Tis the dreaded "Idon'twantto"--
Never fatal, but quite common
To the tribe of Very-lazy.
Would you know the charm that cures it--
Cures the Weakness "Idon'twantto"?
It is known as "Butyou'vegotto,"
And no boy should be without it.

Now you know the curious legend
Of the paleface little Tommy,
Of his Weakness and its curing
By the great charm "Butyou'vegotto."
Think of it on Monday mornings--
It will save you lots of trouble.

St. Saturday

BY HENRY JOHNSTONE

Oh, Friday night's the queen of nights, because it ushers in
The Feast of good St. Saturday, when studying is a sin,
When studying is a sin, boys, and we may go to play
Not only in the afternoon, but all the livelong day.

St. Saturday--so legends say--lived in the ages when
The use of leisure still was known and current among men;
Full seldom and full slow he toiled, and even as he wrought
He'd sit him down and rest awhile, immersed in pious thought.

He loved to fold his good old arms, to cross his good old knees,
And in a famous elbow-chair for hours he'd take his ease;
He had a word for old and young, and when the village boys
Came out to play, he'd smile on them and never mind the noise.

So when his time came, honest man, the neighbors all declared
That one of keener intellect could better have been spared,
By young and old his loss was mourned in cottage and in hall,
For if he'd done them little good, he'd done no harm at all.

In time they made a saint of him, and issued a decree--
Since he had loved his ease so well, and been so glad to see
The children frolic round him and to smile upon their play--
That school boys for his sake should have a weekly holiday.

They gave his name unto the day, that as the years roll by
His memory might still be green; and that's the reason why
We speak his name with gratitude, and oftener by far
Than that of any other saint in all the calendar.

Then, lads and lassies, great and small, give ear to what I say--
Refrain from work on Saturdays as strictly as you may;
So shall the saint your patron be and prosper all you do--
And when examinations come he'll see you safely through.

#NUMBER RHYMES#

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

One
Two
Three
Four
Five
I caught a hare alive.

Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
I let it go again.

OVER IN THE MEADOW

BY OLIVE A. WADSWORTH

Over in the meadow,
In the sand, in the sun,
Lived an old mother toad
And her little toadie one.
"Wink!" said the mother;
"I wink," said the one:
So she winked and she blinked
In the sand, in the sun.

Over in the meadow,
Where the stream runs blue,
Lived an old mother fish
And her little fishes two.
"Swim!" said the mother;
"We swim," said the two:
So they swam and they leaped
Where the stream runs blue.

Over in the meadow,
In a hole in a tree,
Lived a mother bluebird
And her little birdies three.
"Sing!" said the mother;
"We sing," said the three:
So they sang and were glad
In the hole in the tree.

Over in the meadow,
In the reeds on the shore,
Lived a mother muskrat
And her little ratties four.
"Dive!" said the mother;
"We dive," said the four:
So they dived and they burrowed
In the reeds on the shore.

Over in the meadow,
In a snug beehive,
Lived a mother honeybee
And her little honeys five.
"Buzz!" said the mother;
"We buzz," said the five:
So they buzzed and they hummed
In the snug beehive.

Over in the meadow,
In a nest built of sticks,
Lived a black mother crow
And her little crows six.
"Caw!" said the mother;
"We caw," said the six:
So they cawed and they cawed
In their nest built of sticks.

Over in the meadow,
Where the grass is so even,
Lived a gray mother cricket
And her little crickets seven.
"Chirp!" said the mother;
"We chirp," said the seven:
So they chirped cheery notes
In the grass soft and even.

Over in the meadow,
By the old mossy gate,
Lived a brown mother lizard
And her little lizards eight.
"Bask!" said the mother;
"We bask!" said the eight:
So they basked in the sun
By the old mossy gate.

Over in the meadow,
Where the clear pools shine,
Lived a green mother frog
And her little froggies nine.
"Croak!" said the mother;
"We croak," said the nine:
So they croaked and they splashed
Where the clear pools shine.

Over in the meadow,
In a sly little den,
Lived a gray mother spider
And her little spiders ten.
"Spin!" said the mother;
"We spin," said the ten:
So they spun lace webs
In their sly little den.

Over in the meadow,
In the soft summer even,
Lived a mother firefly
And her little flies eleven.
"Shine!" said the mother;
"We shine," said the eleven:
So they shone like stars
In the soft summer even.

Over in the meadow,
Where the men dig and delve,
Lived a wise mother ant
And her little anties twelve.
"Toil!" said the mother;
"We toil," said the twelve:
So they toiled and were wise
Where the men dig and delve.

COUNTING APPLE-SEEDS

One, I love,
Two, I love,
Three, I love, I say,
Four, I love with all my heart,
And five, I cast away;
Six, he loves,
Seven, she loves,
Eight, they both love;
Nine, he comes,
Ten, he tarries,
Eleven, he courts,
Twelve, he marries;
Thirteen, wishes,
Fourteen, kisses,
All the rest little witches.

TWINS

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS

Here's a baby! Here's another!
A sister and her infant brother.
Which is which 'tis hard to tell,
But "mother" knows them very well.

THE RHYME OF TEN LITTLE RABBITS

BY KATE N. MYTINGER

1 little rabbit, =one=
went out in the field to run.

2 little rabbits, =two=
Said they didn't know what to do.

3 little rabbits, =three=
Said: "Let us climb a tree."

4 little rabbits, =four=
Said: "Let's swing on the old barn door."

5 little rabbits, =five=
Said: "We're glad just to be alive."

6 little rabbits, =six=
Said: "We like to pick up sticks."

7 little rabbits, =seven=
Said: "We wish we were eleven."

8 little rabbits, =eight=
Said: "Come let us run through the gate."

9 little rabbits, =nine=
Said: "Then let us form in line."

10 little rabbits, =ten=
all got in line--and then--wasn't it fun to see them run?

IN JULY.

BY A. S. WEBBER.

10
Ten little fire crackers
Standing in a line,
One thought he'd light a match
Then--
There were nine.

9
Nine little fire crackers
Walking very straight,
One caught an engine spark
Then--
There were eight.

8
Eight little fire crackers
Trying to spell "LEAVEN,"
One went too near the gas,
Then--
There were seven.

7
Seven little fire crackers
Cutting up tricks,
One played with lighted punk
Then--
There were six.

6
Six little fire crackers
Glad they are alive,
One went to have a smoke
Then
There were five.

5
Five little fire crackers
Wishing there were more,
One went to find a friend
Then
There were four.

4
Four little fire crackers
Merry as could be,
One played upon the hearth
Then
There were three.

3
Three little fire crackers
Puzzled what to do,
One started the kitchen fire
Then
There were two.

2
Two little fire crackers
Looking for some fun,
One met a little boy
Then
There was one.

1
One little fire cracker
Sat him down to cry,
'Tis such a risky thing
To live
In July.

The Wish of Priscilla Penelope Powers

Priscilla Penelope Powers one day
Took tea at a neighbor's just over the way.
Two pieces of pie they urged her to take,
And seven whole slices of chocolate cake!
"Oh, dear," sighed Priscilla Penelope Powers,
"I wish I was your little girl 'stead of ours!"

_Mrs. John T Van Sant._

Winklelman Von Winkel

Winkelman Von Winkel is the wisest man alive,
He Knows that one and one make two, and two and three make five;
He knows that water runs down hill, that the sun sets in the west,
And that for winter weather wear, one's winter clothes are best;
In fact, he does not mingle much with common folk around,
Because his learning is so great--his wisdom so profound.

_Clara Odell Lyon._

TEN LITTLE COOKIES

Ten little cookies, brown and crisp and fine--
Grandma gave Baby one; then there were nine.

Nine little cookies on a china plate--
Betty took a small one; then there were eight.

Eight little cookies, nice and round and even--
The butcher boy ate one; then there were seven.

Seven little cookies, much liked by chicks--
The old hen ate one, then there were six.

Six little cookies, when grandma went to drive--
Betty had another one; then there were five.

Five little cookies, placed too near the door--
The little doggie ate one; then there were four.

Four little cookies, brown as brown could be--
Grandma took one for herself, then there were three.

Three little cookies--when grandpa said, "I too,
Would like a very little one", then there were two.

Two little cookies--fast did Betty run
To give one to her mamma; then there was one.

One little cooky--and now our story is done,
Baby Jane ate the last, then there was none.

OUR BABY

One head with curly hair,
Two arms so fat and bare,
Two hands and one wee nose,
Two feet with ten pink toes,
Skin soft and smooth as silk,
When clean, 'tis white as milk.

LONG TIME AGO

BY ELIZABETH PRENTISS

Once there was a little Kitty,
White as the snow;
In a barn she used to frolic,
Long time ago.

In the barn a little mousie
Ran to and fro,
For she heard the little Kitty,
Long time ago.

Two black eyes had little Kitty,
Black as a sloe;
And they spied the little mousie,
Long time ago.

Four soft paws had little Kitty,
Paws soft as snow;
And they caught the little mousie,
Long time ago.

Nine pearl teeth had little Kitty,
All in a row;
And they bit the little mousie,
Long time ago.

When the teeth bit little mousie,
Mousie cried out, "Oh!"
But she slipped away from Kitty,
Long time ago.

BUCKLE MY SHOE

One, Two--buckle my shoe;
Three, Four--open the door;
Five, Six--pick up sticks;
Seven, Eight--lay them straight;
Nine, Ten--a good fat hen;
Eleven, Twelve--I hope you're well;
Thirteen, Fourteen--draw the curtain;
Fifteen, Sixteen--the maid's in the kitchen;
Seventeen, Eighteen--she's in waiting;
Nineteen, Twenty--my stomach's empty.

#STORIES _for_ LITTLE GIRLS#

A PAIR OF GLOVES

BY H. G. DURYEE

The little girls who lived on Amity Street all wore mittens when they went to school in winter. Nobody's mother ever thought of anything else to keep small hands warm. Some mothers or grandmothers crocheted them, and some knit them with fancy stitches down the back, or put other mark of distinction upon them; but they were always mittens, and were always fastened to a long ribbon or piece of braid or knitted rein, so that they might not get lost, one from the other.

This connecting-link frequently gave rise to confusion, for when two little girls put their arms around each other's necks as they walked to school, they sometimes got tangled up in the mitten string and had to duck and turn and bump heads before the right string was again resting on the right shoulder. But as it was possible to laugh a great deal and lose one's breath while this was going on, it was rather an advantage than otherwise, and little girls who were special chums were pretty sure to manage a tangle every other day at least.

Clarabel Bradley did her tangling and untangling with Josephine Brown, who lived at the end of Amity Street. They both went to the same school and were in the same class. They waited for each other in the morning, and came home together, and shared each other's candy and ginger cookies whenever there were any, and took firm sides together whenever the school-yard was the scene of dispute.

But into this intimacy came a pair of gloves, almost wrecking it.

The gloves were sent by Clarabel's aunt, who was young and pretty and taught school in a large city; and they came done up in white tissue-paper inside a box with gilt trimming around the edges and a picture on the center of the cover. Taken out of the paper, they revealed all their alluring qualities. They were of a beautiful glossy brown kid with soft woolly linings and real fur around the wrists, and they fastened with bright gilded clasps.

With them was a note which said:

For Clarabel, with love from her Aunt Bessie. =Not to be kept for
Sundays, but worn every day.=

And the last sentence was underscored.

Clarabel's mother looked doubtful as she read the message. Such gloves were an extravagance even for best--and mittens were warmer. But when she encountered Clarabel's shining eyes she smiled and gave in.

So Clarabel took the gloves to her room that night, and slept with them on the foot-board of her bed, where she could see them the first thing when she waked; and in the morning she put them on and started for school.

One hand was held rigidly by her side, but the other was permitted to spread its fingers widely over the book she carried. Both were well in view if she looked down just a little. Passers-by might see; all Amity Street might see; best of all, Josephine might see!

But Josephine, waiting at the corner, beheld and was impressed to the point of speechlessness. Whereupon Clarabel dropped her book, and had to pick it up with both hands. The furry wrists revealed themselves fully.

Josephine found her voice.

"You've got some new gloves," she said.

"Yes; my Aunt Bessie sent them."

"Aren't they pretty!"

"I think so, and they're lots nicer than mittens. I'm not going to wear my mittens again."

Josephine looked down at her own chubby hands. Her mittens were red this winter, with a red-and-green fringe around the wrists. Only that morning she had admired them. Now they looked fat and clumsy and altogether unattractive; but she wasn't going to admit that to any one else.

"I like mittens best," she said stoutly,--"for school, anyway," she added, and gave Clarabel more of the sidewalk.

"My Aunt Bessie said specially that these were to wear to school." And Clarabel walked nearer the fence.

Josephine was hard put to it--Clarabel's manner had become so superior.

"I don't think your Aunt Bessie knows everything, even if she does teach school in a big city. My mother says she's too young to--"

What she was too young to do was not allowed to be explained; for Clarabel, with a color in her face that rivaled Josephine's mittens, had faced her.

"My Aunt Bessie's lovely, and I won't listen to another word against her, not another one--so there!"

Then she turned, with a queer feeling in her throat, and ran down the street to catch up with another little girl who was on ahead.

Josephine swung her books and walked as if she didn't care.

Clarabel overtook the little girl, who was all smiling appreciation of the new gloves, and was overtaken by other little girls who added themselves to the admiring group. But somehow her triumphal progress was strangely unsatisfactory; the glory was dimmed.

At recess, Josephine paired off with Milly Smith, who stood first in geography and wore two curly feathers in her hat. Clarabel shared her cookies with Minnie Cater, because it didn't matter who helped eat them if it wasn't Josephine. Neither spoke to the other, and at noontime they walked home on different sides of the street.

Perhaps that was why in the afternoon Clarabel lost her place in the reader and failed on so many examples in arithmetic that she was told she must stay after school.

Usually there would have been several to keep her company, but on this day there was no one else,--even Angelina Maybelle Remington had got through without disaster,--and Clarabel, wistful-eyed, saw the other girls file out.

At another time Josephine would have stayed; she always did when Clarabel had to, as Clarabel did when she was in like need. But to-night she filed out with the rest, and Clarabel, with a sense of desertion, bent over her problems of men and hay to mow, men and potatoes to dig, men and miles of railroad to build.

The noise of scurrying feet grew fainter, the sound of children's voices died away. The room settled into stillness, except for the solemn tick of the clock and the scratching of Clarabel's pencil on the slate. There were fractions in the problems, and fractions were always hard for Clarabel. Her pencil stopped often while she frowned at the curly-tailed figures. In one of these pauses the door squeaked open a little way. It squeaked again, and some one sidled into the room; it was Josephine.

"Please may I go to my seat?" she asked.

"Certainly," said the teacher, and watched her curiously.

She tiptoed to the back seat, fumbled for a few minutes in her desk, then slipped to a seat a few rows farther in front; then to another and another, till she had reached the row in which Clarabel sat.

Clarabel, though she was bending over her slate, had heard every hesitating move, and when the last halt was made she shook her curls back from her eyes, looked around, and dimpled into smiles.

The teacher, watching, waited to see what would happen next. Nothing did, except that the two little girls sat and smiled and smiled and smiled as if they never would stop.

Presently the teacher herself smiled and spoke. She had a very sweet voice sometimes--one that seemed to hint at happy secrets. That was the way it sounded now.

"Would you like to help Clarabel, Josephine?" she asked. "You may if you wish to."

"If she'll let me," answered Josephine, her eyes fixed on Clarabel's face.

"I would love to have her," said Clarabel, _her_ eyes on Josephine. And instantly the one narrow seat became large enough for two.

For ten minutes more there was great scratching of slate-pencils and much whispering and some giggling. Then with cheerful clatter the slate was borne to the platform. The teacher looked at the little girls more than at the examples. "I'm sure they're right," she said. "Now, off to your homes--both of you!"

"Good night," said Clarabel.

"Good night," said Josephine.

"Good night, dear little girls," said the teacher.

There was a soft swish of dresses and the children had reached the dressing-room. Within its familiar narrowness, Josephine hesitated and fingered her cloak-buttons.

"I think your Aunt Bessie"--it was very slow speech for Josephine--"is ever so nice and knows a lot."

"Oh!" bubbled Clarabel, joyously, "I do love the color of your mittens! Don't you--don't you"--she finished with a rush--"want to let me wear them home and you wear my gloves?"

Josephine put aside the dazzling offer.

"Your gloves are prettier and you ought to wear them."

Clarabel thought a minute, a shadow in her eyes.

"I know what," she declared, the shadow vanishing. "You wear one glove and mitten and I'll wear the other glove and mitten!"

"Oh!" said Josephine, with a rapturous hug, "that will be splendid!"

And thus they scampered home, the two mittened hands holding each other tight, while the two gloved hands were gaily waved high in the air with each fresh outburst of laughter from the little schoolmates.

A VERY LITTLE STORY OF A VERY LITTLE GIRL

BY ALICE E. ALLEN

Molly was such a little girl that she didn't seem big enough to have a party all her own with truly ice-cream in it. But she had asked for one so many times that at last Mother decided to give her one. And the party was to be a surprise to Molly herself.

Early that afternoon Molly wanted to go for a little visit to Miss Eleanor. Miss Eleanor lived up Molly's street, in a white house with apple-green blinds. Molly often went all alone.

Miss Eleanor was always so sunny and full of songs and stories and games that Molly loved her next best to Father and Mother and Baby.

"You may go, dear," said Mother, "if you will come home exactly at three o'clock."

"You always say exactly three o'clock, Mother," said Molly.

"Well, five minutes after three, then," laughed Mother. "And, Molly, so that you won't forget this time, all the way to Miss Eleanor's, say over and over, 'Five minutes after three.' Then, just as soon as you get there, say the words quickly to Miss Eleanor, 'Five minutes after three.'"

"Five minutes after three," said Molly; "I can remember that."

"That will give me plenty of time to get ready for the party," thought Mother.

Up the street with her white parasol flew Molly. "Five minutes after three," she said over and over in a whisper until she began to sing it. "Five minutes after three," she sang until she stopped a moment on the bridge to see some boys fishing. Just about there, a big dog who was a friend of Molly's ran out to say, "Good afternoon."

"Oh, Fritzie," cried Molly, "I'm going to Miss Eleanor's to make her a visit. Want to come?"

But Fritz had the house to look after. So Molly gave him a hug and ran along.

"Three minutes after five," sang Molly; "three minutes after five," over and over until she ran into Miss Eleanor's sunny little sitting-room.

"Three minutes after five," cried Molly; "that's how long I can stay. Won't that be nice?"

"Why, it's little Molly!" cried Miss Eleanor, "I'm all alone and so glad to have company! We'll hear the clock strike five. Then, if you put on your wraps, you'll be all ready to start home at three minutes past."

It seemed a very very short time to Molly before the little clock struck five.

"There, deary," said Miss Eleanor. "Put on your things and hurry right along!"

Molly put on her hat and coat. Then she kissed Miss Eleanor and hurried down the street.

When she reached the corner, she saw that the parlor at home was all lighted. And out of it came such a hubbub of little voices all laughing and talking that Molly ran faster than ever.

At the door she met Mother.

"Oh, Molly, _where_ have you been?" cried Mother. "I couldn't go after you because I couldn't leave Baby. And I couldn't take him."

Molly scarcely heard. "Oh, Mother, Mother," she cried, "it looks like a party. And it sounds like one. Is it a party, Mother?"

"Yes," said Mother, "your own little party, Molly. And you're the only one who is late. How could you forget?"

"But I didn't forget, Mother," cried Molly, hurrying out of her coat, "truly I didn't. Every step of the way I said it, and I said it to Miss Eleanor the very first thing."

"What did you say?" asked Mother.

"_Three minutes after five_," said Molly.

Mother laughed. "Why, Molly dear, you got the hour and minutes turned around. I said _five_ minutes after _three_. Well, never mind. Run along just as you are. It's a lovely party, dear, with truly ice-cream in it."

EDITH'S TEA-PARTY

BY LOIS WALTERS

Edith was a little girl who was just learning to write. Her mother told her one day that she could have a tea-party on the next Tuesday, if the weather was fine, and that she could invite her little friend Helen, who lived on the same street, though not very far away; but she must write the letter to ask Helen to come. So, Edith got up at her mother's writing-desk and took some of her own writing paper, and began to write. She could make the letters but she could not spell very well. She asked her mother how to spell the words and then she wrote them down. And this is the letter she wrote:

Dear Helen,

Mamma says I May ask you to come
to my tea party next Tuesday at four oclock
Bring your dolly.

your loving friend.
Edith]

Then she sealed the letter in the envelop, and put a stamp on it, and stood on the front piazza so as to give it to the postman herself.

When Tuesday came, Edith's nurse dressed her in a fresh, white frock, and Edith dressed her dolly in her best dress, and went out under the trees where her nurse had set the table for two. And then she sat in a chair at the table and waited. But the big town clock struck four and no Helen came; and then she waited for half an hour longer. Then Edith put her dolly down on the chair and went in the house to find her mother.

"Mama," she said, "I think Helen is very rude, she doesn't come to my party and I invited her!"

"Just wait a little longer, dear," said her mother, "and she will come. Maybe her nurse was busy dressing Helen's little sister and brother and couldn't get her ready in time."

"But I invited her," was all Edith could say; "but I invited her, and she doesn't come."

Then her mother went to the telephone and called up Helen's mother. In a moment she came back.

"Edith, dear," she said, "what day did you write Helen to come? Her mother says she thought it was to be Thursday, and so did Helen, and this is only Tuesday."

"But I _did_ say Tuesday, mama," said Edith, who was almost ready to cry. "I remember because that was the hardest word to spell, and I think I made a blot when I wrote it."

"Well, never mind, dear; Helen is getting ready now and will be over in a few minutes," said her mama.

And Edith was very happy, and ran out to the tea-table under the trees with her doll to wait.

But she did not have to wait very long this time, for in a little while Helen came running across the lawn carrying her doll; and so happy were both little girls that Edith forgot all about the long time she had been waiting for Helen to come.

Helen wanted Edith to know that she had not been rude in staying away, so she brought with her the letter Edith had sent to her, so she could show it to Edith. And there, sure enough, the word "Tuesday" was written so badly that it looked more like "Thursday," and that was why Helen did not think she was expected on this day.

Well, the very first thing they did was to undress their dolls and put them to sleep under one of the bushes on the lawn--in the shade, so that the sun would not hurt their eyes, and so that the wax would not be melted from their cheeks. Edith put her napkin over both dolls for a comforter, for you never know when it will blow up cold, and little girls have to be as careful of their dolls as their own mothers are!

Very soon the maid came out with cookies and lady-fingers and make-believe tea, and another napkin to take the place of the one Edith had put over the dolls, and they had tea. Then the two little girls and Edith's nurse had a nice game of croquet, and they had a lovely tea-party after all, and Edith forgot all about waiting so long for Helen to come.

But Edith never again made a mistake when she spelled "Tuesday."

REBECCA

BY ELEANOR PIATT

I have a doll, Rebecca,
She's quite a little care,
I have to press her ribbons
And comb her fluffy hair.

I keep her clothes all mended,
And wash her hands and face,
And make her frocks and aprons,
All trimmed in frills and lace.

I have to cook her breakfast,
And pet her when she's ill;
And telephone the doctor
When Rebecca has a chill.

Rebecca doesn't like that,
And says she's well and strong;
And says she'll try--oh! very hard,
To be good all day long.

But when night comes, she's nodding;
So into bed we creep
And snuggle up together,
And soon are fast asleep.

I have no other dolly,
For you can plainly see,
In caring for Rebecca,
I'm busy as can be!

DOROTHEA'S SCHOOL GIFTS

BY EUNICE WARD

"It seems very queer," said Dorothea thoughtfully, "people who are going to do something nice always have presents given them, but people who are going to do something horrid never get a thing, and they need it twice as much."

"As for instance?" said her father, laying down his paper and drawing her onto his knee, while the rest of the family prepared to give the customary amused attention to their youngest's remarks.

"Well, when Cousin Edith went to Europe we all gave her presents to take with her, and when she came home lots of people sent her flowers. Anita's been getting cups and things ever since she was engaged, and last spring, when Florence graduated, almost all the family gave her something; and when Mary Bowman was confirmed she got a lovely white prayer-book and a gold cross and chain. But when people are going to do what they hate to do, they're left out in the cold."

"What are you going to do that you don't like, Baby?" asked Florence.

"Why, you know, school begins again next week," said Dorothea. "It makes me feel quite mournful, and I don't see anything to cheer me up and make it interesting for me." A little smile was hidden in the corners of her mouth although her tone was as doleful as possible.

"If you were going to boarding-school--" began Anita, who was apt to take everything seriously.

"Then I'd have lots of things," interrupted Dorothea. "New clothes and a trunk and a bag, and you'd all come to see me off, and it would be interesting. But I'm going to work just as hard here at day-school, and yet I've got to bear it, all by myself."

Her father pinched her ear, and her big brother Jim offered to have a bunch of roses placed on her desk at school if that would make her feel better, while her two sisters looked at each other as though the same idea had occurred to them both.

* * *

On the morning of the first day of school, Dorothea was suddenly awakened by a loud ting-a-ling-a-ling. She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. The room was flooded with morning light and the brass knobs on her bed gleamed cheerfully at her and seemed to say: "Get up, get up!" Now Dorothea was a "sleepyhead" and had seldom been known to get up when first awakened. It usually took at least three calls from her mother or the girls, and sometimes Jim stole in and administered a "cold pig," that is, a few drops of chilly water squeezed upon her neck from a sponge, before she was ready to leave her comfortable bed.

"It's an alarm clock," thought Dorothea. "But where is it?" Her eyes traveled sleepily around the room but saw nothing that had not been there the night before. The ting-a-ling-a-ling sounded once more. "It's in this room somewhere!" she exclaimed, bouncing out of bed. She looked on bureau, washstand, bookcase, and window-seat, and then jumped, for the loud ting-a-ling came almost from underneath her feet. She hastily lifted the drooping cover of a little table that stood near the window, and there on the edge of the lower shelf stood an alarm-clock of the ordinary pattern but of rather extraordinary appearance, owing to a large yellow paper ruff which encircled its face.

"How did it get there?" exclaimed Dorothea in astonishment; and as she gazed the clock burst forth with another loud ting-a-ling.

"Isn't it ever going to stop doing that?" she said, lifting it as she spoke. The yellow ruff seemed to have something written on it, so she took it off and, smoothing it out, read:

DEAR DOLLY: Happy school-day! After much earnest consideration I
have selected this as a suitable reminder of this joyful (?)
anniversary. It will continue to remind you five mornings in the
week, thereby saving your family much wear and tear, for it will be
properly wound and set every night by

Your affectionate brother,
JIM.

P.S. When you are sufficiently aroused, press the lever and the
alarm will stop.

"It's one of those awful clocks that go off every minute!" said Dorothea, carefully examining it to find the lever. She almost dropped it when it began another of its loud and long rings, but she soon found and pressed the lever and thereafter the clock was silent except for its customary tick.

"I don't believe I shall ask anybody to give me presents any more," she said, eying Jim's "reminder" with disfavor. But she changed her mind a little later when, on looking for a clean handkerchief, she discovered a flat square box tied with blue ribbon, and, opening it, saw half a dozen handkerchiefs with narrow blue borders and a little blue D in the corner. On the top was Cousin Edith's visiting-card, on the back of which was printed in fantastic letters:

Dear Dolly: Use a handkerchief
Whenever you're inclined to sniff.
But with this band of blue I think
They don't need polka-dots of ink.

It was a constant wonder to the household what Dorothea did with her handkerchiefs when she was at school. In vain she protested that she didn't wipe her pen on them, and she didn't use them as blotters or to wash out her ink-well; but, nevertheless, black stains almost always appeared upon them, and Florence insisted that the family had to buy an extra pint of milk a day to take out all these ink-stains. Cousin Edith was too frequent a visitor not to know all the family plans and jokes, and Dolly, as she laughed and shook out one of the blue-bordered squares, resolved that "polka-dots" should be conspicuous by their absence, for Edith would be sure to know.

She entered the breakfast room just as the family were sitting down to the table.

"Behold the effects of my generosity and fore-thought!" exclaimed Jim waving his hand toward her. "Our Youngest is in time for breakfast!"

"Many happy returns of the day, small sister," said Anita, just as if it was her birthday, kissing her good morning and slipping a little hard package into her hand. "Bob sends you this with his love."

"I don't mind returns of the day when it's like this," said Dorothea, opening the package and at the same time spying a couple of tissue-paper parcels lying beside her plate. Inside was a small chamois-skin case out of which slid a little pearl-handled penknife. The accompanying card bore the name of her future brother-in-law, and also these words:

I hesitate to offer you
This knife, for I shall be
Afraid that if you cut yourself
You straightway will cut me.

"How long did it take Bob to execute that masterpiece?" inquired Jim as Dorothea read it aloud.

"You're jealous," she said. "Yours wasn't half so lovely as Cousin Edith's and Bob's. It wasn't poetry at all."

"I left all the eloquence to my gift itself," answered Jim, helping himself to an orange.

Dorothea paid no attention to him, for she was opening a small package fastened by a rubber band. It was a silver-mounted eraser with a tiny brush at one end. The inclosed note read:

This advice I must repeat;
Spare the rub and spoil the sheet.
If you can't restrain your speed,
This will prove a friend in need.

Dolly joined rather shamefacedly in the general smile, as she thanked Florence, whose writing she had recognized. She was very apt to postpone her work until the last minute, and then rush through it as fast as possible; her compositions suffered from the many careless mistakes that she was always in too much of a hurry to correct, while her drawings belonged to what Jim called the "slap-dash school."

"We shall know by the amount of rubber left at the end of the term whether you have taken my valuable advice," said Florence. "What's in that other package, Baby? I know it is Anita's by the extreme elegance of its appearance."

Dorothea opened an oblong package tied with green ribbon and found a set of blotters fastened to a dark green suede cover ornamented with an openwork design of four-leaf clovers, and a pen-wiper to match. On top lay a slip of paper on which was written in Anita's pretty hand:

Wishing "Our Youngest" good luck and a happy school year.

"I'm not good at verses, so you'll have to be content with plain prose," said Anita, and Dorothea assured her that she was quite satisfied.

"Half past eight, Dolly," said her mother when breakfast was over. "It is time you started."

"Oh, not yet, mother," said Dorothea the Dawdler. "It only takes me fifteen minutes."

"Now, see here," said Jim; "what do you suppose stirring young business-men like your father and brother are lingering until the nine o'clock train for, unless it is to see you off for school? We want to give you as good a send-off as possible, for you're going to be absent four whole hours, but we can't,--unless you do your part and begin to go pretty soon. I don't believe you've got all your books together, as it is."

"Yes, I have," answered Dorothea triumphantly. "They are all on the hall table, for I put them there last night. Oh, gracious!" she exclaimed blankly: "I forgot to see whether I had any pencils! I don't believe I have one! Jim, lend me yours, won't you? Just for to-day."

"Lend you my most cherished possession? Never!" said Jim, placing his hand dramatically over his breast pocket.

"Then, Daddy, won't you please lend me yours?"

"Trot along, trot along!" said her father; and Dorothea, not knowing quite what to make of having her demands thus ignored, put on her big sailor hat and started to gather up her books. On top of the pile was a slender inlaid box under a card bearing the words, "For Dolly, from Father." Pushing back the sliding cover, Dorothea saw that the box contained a row of pencils, all beautifully sharpened, a dozen pens, and a slim gunmetal penholder.

"Oh!" she squealed with delight. "So that's why you wouldn't lend me any pencils!" and gave her father a hug.

"Hurry up, now," said Jim. "Don't forget we've got to see ourselves off after we've seen you."

"Why don't you take your bag?" asked Anita.

"It's too small for my new Geography," answered Dorothea, placing this huge outward and visible sign of her progress in learning so that it would form a foundation for the rest of her books. "Besides, it's too shabby".

"You had better take it to-day, anyhow, as you have so much to carry," suggested her mother. "I brought it downstairs and it's on the hat-rack."

"I just hate it!" pouted Dorothea, turning; and then stopped in surprise, for instead of her little old satchel, a large new one made of soft dark brown leather was hanging on the rack. It was ornamented on one side with her monogram in raised tan-colored letters, and it was large enough for the largest Geography that she was ever likely to have.

"Who gave me that?" she cried. "Oh, I know--Mother! It's just exactly what I wanted. I think going to school this way is perfectly lovely!" she added as she slipped her other possessions into the bag.

"Twenty minutes to nine!" called Jim warningly.