Chapter II

legion Empress stepladder mistress
stroking New York museum clinging

A large lion named Nero was one of Rosa's pets, and he often lay in the studio while she painted her pictures.

Once, when she was leaving home for a long trip, she was obliged to send Nero away. On her return she went to see him in one of the parks of Paris. She found him in a cage, sick and blind.

"Nero, my poor Nero!" she exclaimed; "what has happened to you?"

THE HORSE FAIR.]

The poor beast heard her voice. He crawled to the bars of the cage, where he could feel her hand stroking his head. So great was the love he showed that Rosa had him taken again to her home, and she cared for him as long as he lived. He died clinging with his great paws to the mistress he had loved so well.

Rosa Bonheur's most wonderful painting is "The Horse Fair." The artist spent nearly two years in drawing horses before she began this great work. The picture is so large that she was obliged to use a stepladder to reach some parts of it.

"The Horse Fair" was bought by an American, and it can be seen in the Museum of Art in New York city.

When the French people wish to honor an artist, they give him the cross of the Legion of Honor. The Empress had often seen Rosa Bonheur sketching in the forest, and she thought her the greatest of animal painters.

One morning when Rosa Bonheur was painting in her studio, the Empress came into the room and hung a beautiful white cross around the artist's neck.

No woman had ever before worn the cross of the Legion of Honor.

WHEN BENJAMIN FRANKLIN WAS A BOY

tools public scholar boiler
wicks printer grammar tallow
molds candles promoted melted

When Benjamin Franklin was a boy there were no great public schools as there are now. But Benjamin learned to read almost as soon as he could talk, and he was always fond of books.

His nine brothers were older than he, and every one had learned a trade. They did not care so much for books.

"Benjamin shall be the scholar of our family," said his mother.

And so, when he was eight years old, he was sent to a grammar school. He studied hard, and in a few months he was promoted to a higher class. But his father was poor and needed his help. In two years he was obliged to leave school.

Benjamin was a small boy, but there were many things that he could do. His father was a soap boiler, and candle maker. And so when the boy was taken from school, what kind of work do you think he had to do?

You may be sure that Benjamin was kept busy. He cut wicks for the candles, poured the melted tallow into the candle molds, and sold soap to his father's customers.

Do you suppose that he liked to do this work?

He did not like it at all. And when he saw the ships sailing in and out of Boston Harbor, he longed to be a sailor, and go to strange, far-away lands, where candles and soap were unknown.

Benjamin's father saw that his boy did not like the work he was doing. One day he said: "Benjamin, since you do not wish to be a candle maker, what trade do you think you would like to learn?"

"I would like to be a sailor," said the boy.

"I do not wish you to be a sailor," said his father. "I intend that you shall learn some useful trade on land; and I know that you will do best the kind of work that is most pleasant to you."

The next day he took the boy to walk with him among the workshops of Boston. They saw men busy at all kinds of work.

Benjamin was delighted. Long afterwards, when he had become a very great man, he said, "It has ever since been a pleasure to me to see good workmen handle their tools."

He gave up the thought of going to sea, and decided that he would learn any trade his father would choose for him.

Soon after this, Benjamin's brother James set up a printing press in Boston. He intended to print books and a newspaper.

"Benjamin loves books," said his father. "He shall learn to be a printer."

And so, when he was twelve years old, he was sent to his brother to learn the printer's trade. He was to have his board and clothing, but no wages.

Benjamin never attended school again, but he kept on studying. At that time there were no books written for children as there are nowadays. His father's books were not easy to understand. We should think them very dull.

But before he was twelve years old, Benjamin had carefully read the most of them. All the money that came into his hands he laid out in books.

Often he would borrow a book in the evening, and then sit up nearly all night reading it so as to return it early in the morning.

He spent all his spare time in studying and reading the best books that he could get. We shall find that afterward Benjamin Franklin became the most learned man in America.

SOME WISE SAYINGS

Lost time is never found again.
One to-day is worth two to-morrows.
God helps them that help themselves.
Plow deep while sluggards sleep,
And you shall have corn to sell and to keep.
--BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

A WEAVING STORY

Abner glanced shuttle loom
Silas musket threaded coax
Deborah offered possible stitch

It was a spring morning more than one hundred years ago. A young man was plowing in a field near a low farmhouse.

Four men with guns on their shoulders passed along the road. "There is Abner White," said one of them. "He ought to join the army. Call to him."

"Abner, Abner," they shouted.

The young man left his plow and ran to the fence.

"We are raising a company to join Washington's army," they said. "We march to-morrow. You must go with us, Abner."

Abner walked quickly to the little farmhouse. His mother was standing in the door.

"My country needs me, mother," he said. "What shall I do?"

"If you feel it is your duty to fight for your country, Abner, you must go," answered the brave woman. "When will the new company march?"

"To-morrow."

"To-morrow!" exclaimed Mrs. White. "You can not wear those old trousers. We must make you a new pair."

"A soldier can not wait for new clothes, and I must march with my company. A pair of trousers can not be made in a day."

"We shall see," thought his mother, as she hurried away to call her daughters.

"Is there any woolen cloth in the house, Nancy?" she asked.

"Not a yard; I used the last yesterday."

"And there is no yarn, either," said Deborah, the oldest daughter.

"The sheep have not been sheared, and there is no wool. It is not possible to make Abner a new pair of trousers before he goes. There is no use to try!" said Nancy.

"We can never tell what we can do until we try," replied the mother. "Where are the sheep?"

"They are in the pasture. I'll catch them," offered Silas, the younger son.

"And I'll help," said little Faith. "I'll get some salt to coax them with."

The children ran to the pasture. "Nan, Nan, Nan, Nan," they called. And the sheep came running for the salt.

Nancy was hurrying to the field with a pair of large shears in her hand. "Catch that black sheep if you can," she shouted.

Silas caught and held the sheep, while Nancy cut off the long, black wool.

"Here is a white sheep with beautiful wool," called out Faith.

Silas put his arms around the patient animal, and Nancy cut off its fine white wool.

"You may carry in all the wool we have, Faith," said Nancy. "Silas and I will keep on shearing until we have enough."

The wool was quickly combed by Deborah, for there was no time to wash the newly cut fleece. Very soon the mother commenced to spin. How the spinning wheel buzzed as it twisted the soft wool into yarn!

Nancy threaded the loom. Deborah wound the shuttle full of new yarn, and the weaving of the cloth began.

Back and forth the shuttle flew, Deborah and Nancy taking turns. Late at night the cloth was woven, and Abner's new trousers were cut out. All night long the sewing went on, every stitch by hand.

The next day at noon Silas sat on the gatepost watching. Rub-a-dub-dub, rub-a-dub-dub, came the sound of drums.

"Here they come! Here they come! tell mother," he shouted.

They all hurried to the fence to see the soldiers march by.

Abner held his musket proudly as he passed. He glanced at his mother and then down at his new trousers.

"No one looks finer than our Abner," said Deborah, as the soldier boys marched by on their way to the war.

AMERICA

TO BE MEMORIZED

My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing!
Land where my fathers died;
Land of the pilgrims' pride;
From every mountain side
Let freedom ring!

My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above!

Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees,
Sweet freedom's song;
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break--
The sound prolong!

Our fathers' God, to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing!
Long may our land be bright,
With freedom's holy light!
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King!

A SONG FOR FLAG DAY

Out on the breeze,
O'er land and seas,
A beautiful banner is streaming.
Shining its stars,
Splendid its bars,
Under the sunshine 'tis gleaming.

Over the brave
Long may it wave,
Peace to the world ever bringing.
While to the stars,
Linked with the bars,
Hearts will forever be singing.
--LYDIA COONLEY WARD.

JUNE

Roses by the garden wall,
Poppies red and lilies tall,
Bobolinks and robins,--all
Tell that June is here.

JULY

The clover meadows call the bees,
The squirrels chatter on the trees,
And robins sing their merry lays:
Hurrah for glad vacation days!

AUGUST

Sing a song of harvest time,
When the golden grain is high,
When the blossoms blow,
And the sun in a glow
Sweeps over a cloudless sky.

THE SEASONS

Sing a song of seasons,
Something bright in all,
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall.
--ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

THE MONTHS

In January falls the snow,
In February cold winds blow.

In March peep out the early flowers,
In April fall the sunny showers.

In May the tulips bloom so gay,
In June the farmer mows his hay.

In July harvest is begun,
In August hotly shines the sun.

September turns the green leaves brown,
October winds then shake them down.

November fields are brown and sere,
December comes and ends the year.

FOR THE GIRLS

My fairest child, I have no song to give you,
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray.
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day:--

Be good, sweet maid,
And let who will be clever;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make life, death, and that vast forever,
One grand, sweet song.
--CHARLES KINGSLEY.

FOR THE BOYS

Dare to be right! Dare to be true!
You have a work that no other can do;
Do it so bravely, so kindly, so well,
Angels will hasten the story to tell.

Dare to be right! Dare to be true!
The failings of others can never save you.
Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith;
Stand like a hero and battle till death.

WHAT WOULD I DO?

If I were a bird I would warble a song,
The sweetest and finest that ever was heard,
And build me a nest in the old elm tree;
Oh, that's what I'd do if I were a bird!

If I were a flower I'd hasten to bloom,
And make myself beautiful all the day through,
With drinking the sunshine, the wind, and the rain;
Oh, if I were a flower, that's what I'd do!

If I were a brook I would sparkle and dance
Among the green fields where sheep and lambs stray,
And call, "Little lambkins, come hither and drink;"
Oh, if I were a brook, that is what I would say!

If I were a star I would shine wide and bright
To guide the lone sailor on ocean afar,
And travelers, lost in the desert and woods;
Oh, that's what I'd do if I were a star!

But I know that for me other tasks have been set,
For I am a child and can nothing else be;
I must sit at my lessons, and, day after day,
Learn to read and to spell, and to add one, two, and three.

Yet perhaps if I try I shall sometime find out
How the birds sing so sweetly, how the roses grow red,
What the merry brook says to the moss-covered stones,
And what makes the stars stay so high overhead.

PRONOUNCING KEY AND WORD LIST

The following key to the pronunciation of words is in accordance with Webster's International Dictionary. The modified long vowels in unaccented syllables are indicated by the modified macron, as in sen'ā̍te, ē̍ vent', ō̍ bey'. The silent letters are printed in italics.

The list includes the more difficult words of the lessons in the Third Reader not listed in the preceding books of the series.

ā māte ī pīne ṳ rṳde ow cow

ă măt ĭ pĭn û fûr c can

ä jär ĩ sĩr ụ fụll ç çent

a̤ ca̤ll ȳ mȳ g get

â âir ō nōte y̆ city̆ ġ ġem

ȧ ȧsk ŏ nŏt o͞o mo͞on s so

o̤ do̤ o͝o fo͝ot s̞ as̞

ē wē oi oil ch chair

ĕ wĕt ū ūse oy toy th thin

ẽ hẽr ŭ ŭs ou out t̶h t̶hem

ạ=ŏ whạt ȯ=ŭ sȯn

ã=ẽ cellãr e̱=ā the̱y õ=ẽ com'fõrt ọ=o͝o wọlf

ê=â thêre o̤=o͞o mo̤ve ô=a̤ ôr ṉ=ng iṉk

Ab'nẽr
A'brȧ hăm
ăb'senç_e_
ăc count'
ā'cr_e_
ăd vīç_e_'
ȧ greed'
ăl'cōv_e_
ăl'dẽr
Ăl'ĭç_e_
ȧ lī_gh_t'
Al lē'grȧ
ȧ lo͞of'
ăl'phȧ bĕt
a̤l rĕ_a_d'y̆
a̤l'tẽr_e_d
A mĕr'ĭ cȧ
ȧ mūs̞_e_d'
ān'ġel
ăṉ'gry̆
ănt'lẽr
ăn'vĭl
ā'prĭ cŏt
A'prĭl
ăr rīv_e_'
ăr'rō̍_w_
ăr'rō̍_w_ hĕ_a_d
ȧ shōr_e_'
ăt'tĭc
a̤_u_'bûrn
A̤_u_'gŭst
ȧ wā_i_t'

bā'c_o_n
băng'ing
băn'nẽr
bär'gain (_-gĕn_)
băr'rĕl
bāt̶h_e_
bē_a_rd'ed
b_e_âr'ing
b_ea_ū'tē̍ _o_ŭs
bē̍ hōld'
bĕl'lo_w_s (_lŭs_)
bē̍ lȯv_e_d'
bē̍ nē_a_th'
Bĕn'jȧ mĭn
Bĕt̶h'lē̍ hĕm
bē̍ yŏnd'
bĭs'c_u_ĭt
Bī'bl_e_
bĭt'ter
blă_c_k'smĭth
blăṉ'kĕt
blīt̶h_e_
blood (_blŭd_)
Bly̆ṉ'kĕn
bŏd'ĭ_e_s̞
bŏd'y̆
boil'ẽr
Bŏn _he_ũr'
bŏt'tom
bou_gh_
brāk_e_
brāk_e_' man
br_e_āk
breez'y̆
brĭm
bŭ_c_'kl_e_s̞
bŭd'dĭng
bū'gl_e_
bŭnch
bur'ied (_bĕr'ĭd_)
bûrst'ing

căb'ĭn
căn'dl_e_
cā̍ reer'
câr_e_'fụl
câr_e_'fụl ly̆
căr'rĭ_a_ġ_e_
çē_a_s_e_
çĕl'lãr
chānġ_e_
chānġ_e_'fụl
chăr'ĭ ŏt
cheer
cheer'y̆
chĕr'rĭ_e_s̞
chĕs_t_'nŭt
chĭm'n_e_y̆
choir (_kwīr_)
chŏp'ping
chōs̞_e_
chŭb'by̆
Çĭn'çĭn nä'tĭ
clăm'bẽr
clăm'bẽr_e_d
clȧsp
clĭffs
clō_a_k
clŏs̞'ĕt
clōth'ing
Clō'vẽr no͝ok
Clȳ'tĭ_e_
cō_a_ch
cō_a_rs_e_
cō_a_st'ing
cō_a_x
cŏl'ŭm_n_
cȯm'fõrt
cŏm păn'ĭon
cȯm'pā̍ss
cŏn dŭct'õr
cŏn fĕss'
cŏn'stant
cŏn'stant ly̆
cŏn tĕnt'ed
cŏr'al
côr'nẽr
cō's̞ĭly̆
cŏt'tā̍ġ_e_
cŏt't_o_n
couch
cō_u_rs_e_
cō_u_rt
crăn'bĕr rĭ_e_s̞
crē_a_k
crē̍ ā'tion
crĕpt
crĕv'ĭç_e_
crĭm's̞_o_n
cro͝ok'ed
Crŏp'wĕll
crṳ'ĕl
crṳ'ĕl ly̆
crṳ'ĕl ty̆
crŭm_b_s̞
cûrb
cûrl
cŭr'rants
cŭr'rent

dā_i_n'tī_e_s̞
dăm'ask
dăn'dē̍ līon
dān'ġẽr
dăsh'ing
da̤_ugh_'tẽr
dăz'zl_e_
dĕ_a_th
Dĕb'ō̍ rȧ_h_
Dē̍ çĕm'bẽr
dē̍ cīd'ed
dē̍ lā_y_'
dē̍ lī_gh_t'
dē̍ lī_gh_t'ed
dī'ȧ mȯnd
dĭm'ly̆
dĭp'pẽr
dĭ rĕct'ly̆
dĭs cȯv'ẽr
dĭs'tanç_e_
dĭs tûrb'
dīv_e_
dō_o_r'wā_y_
dȯz'_e_n
draught (_drȧft_)
drē_a_r'y̆
drĭfts
drĭp'ping
drown
drown_e_d
drown'ing
dŭnç_e_
dŭst'y̆
dȳ'ing

ē_a_'gl_e_
ẽ_a_r'nĕst
ē_a_r'rĭngs
E_a_s'tẽr
ē_a_t'_e_n
ĕc_h_'ō̍
ĕd'ū cāt ed
ĕld'est
ĕlm
ĕls_e_'whêr_e_
ĕm broi'dẽr
ĕmp'ty̆
ĕn cămp_e_d'
ĕn'ē̍ mĭ_e_s̞
ĕn'ē̍ my̆
ĕn ġĭ neer'
Eng'lĭsh (_ĭṉ-'_)
Eng'lĭsh man
ē̍ nôr'm_o_ŭs
Ẽr'nĕst
ĕr'rand
ĕs cāp_e_'
Es'kĭ mō̍
ēv_e_
ex ăct'ly̆ (_egz-_)
ĕx clā_i_m'
ex'īl_e_
ex trēm_e_'
ex trēm_e_'ly̆

Fâ_i_r'făx
fa̤ls_e_'ho͝od
fā'm_o_ŭs
făn'çĭ_e_s̞
făn'çy̆
fâr_e_ wĕll'
fâsh'_i_ȯn_e_d
făth'ȯm
fa̤_u_lt
fĕ_a_th'ẽr y̆
Fĕb'rụ ā̍ ry̆
feed'ing
fee'bl_e_
Fẽr'dĭ nănd
fẽrn
fĕs'tĭ val
fī'ẽry̆
fĭfteenth
fĭṉ'gẽr
fĭn'ĭsh
fīre'lī_gh_t
fīr_e_'man
flăsh_e_d
fleeç_e_
fleeç'y̆
flour
flūt_e_
flŭt'tẽr
fō_a_m'ing
fo͝ot'stĕp
fōrç_e_
fōrġ_e_
fŏr ĕv´ẽr
fōrth
Frȧnç_e_
free´dȯm
freez_e_
fr_i_ĕnd´ly̆
frī_gh_t´_e_n
frŏl´ĭc
frŏst´ed
frown
fûr´nĭ tūr_e_
fŭr´rō̍ws̞
fûr´ry̆
fu̇r´thẽr

găl´lẽr y̆
gām_e_
gär´ment
găth´er
ga̤_u_z´y̆
ġĕn´ẽr al
ġĕn´tl_e_ man
g_h_ōst
glăd´dens̞
glȧnç_e_
glee
glōb_e_
glō_w_´ing
gown
grā´çi_o_ŭs
grā_i_n
grăm´mãr
grȧsp
greed
Greek
gr_i_ēv_e_
grīnd´ing
gro̤_u_p
growl_e_d
g_u_ĕst
gŭst

hăb´ĭt
hälf
hälv_e_s̞
Hä´nä
hăn´dl_e_d
hăp´p_e_n
här´nĕss
härsh
hāst_e_
hās´_te_ns̞
hāz_e_
hĕ_a_d
hĕ_a_d qua̤r´tẽrs̞
h´ĕ_a_lth´y̆
hĕav´_e_n
h´_e_ī_gh_t
hĕr´rĭng
Hĭn´dṳ
hō_a_rd
hō_e_´ing
hŏl´lō̍_w_
hōm_e_´stĕ_a_d
_h_ŏn´ĕst
_h_ŏn´ĕst y̆
ho͞ofs
hōp_e_´ful
hŏpp_e_d
hous_e_´hōld
howl_e_d
hūġ_e_
hū´man
hŭm´bl_e_
hŭṉ´gry̆
hûrl_e_d
hụr rä_h_´
hŭr´rĭ_e_d
hŭr´ry̆
hûrt´ing
hy̆m_n_s̞

iç_e_´bẽrg
ī´çy̆
ī´dly̆
ĭm´ā̍ġ_e_
ĭm pā´tienç_e_
ĭn clōs̞_e_´
In´dĭ ăn´ȧ
ĭn stĕ_a_d´
ĭn tĕnd´ing
ĭn´tẽr ĕst ing
ĭn vīt_e_´
Is̞´ȧ bĕl´lȧ
ī_s_´lands̞
ī_s_l_e_s̞
ī´vy̆

Jā´cob
Jăn´ū̍ ā̍ ry̆
Jȧ păn´
Jăp ȧ nēs̞_e_´
jä_u_n´ty̆
join
joy´_o_us
jū_i_ç_e_
Jūn_e_
jŭṉ´gl_e_

Kāt_e_
Kĕn tŭ_c_k´y̆
kīnd´ly̆
kĭng´dȯm
_k_nāv_e_
_k_nees̞
_k_nĕlt
_k_nŏ_w_l´e_d_ġ_e_

lā_i_n
lăm_b_´kĭn
lăṉ´guā̍ġe
la̤_w_n
lā´zy̆
lē_a_d´ẽr
lē_a_p´ing
lĕv´ĕl
lī_gh_t´nĭng
lĭm_b_s
lĭmp´ing
Lĭṉ´co_l_n
lĭs´_te_n_e_d
Lŏng´fĕl lō̍_w_
lōn_e_´sȯm_e_
lo͞om
lō_w_´lănds̞
lō_w_´ly̆

măġ´ĭc
mā_i_d´_e_n
măn´nẽr
mā´pl_e_
märsh
măt´tress
Mā_y_
mē_a_l
mē_a_n
mĕ_a_nt
mĕ_a_s´ū̍r_e_
mĕd´dl_e_
mĕm´ō̍ ry̆
Mẽr´lĭn
mĕr´rĭ ĕst
mĭd´ve̱_i_n
mĭl´lion (_-yŭn_)
mĭn´ĭs tẽr
mĭn´ute (_-ĭt_)
mĭr´rõr
mĭs´chĭ_e_f
mŏd´ĕl
mō´mĕnt
mo͞on´lĭt
mo͞on´shīne
mō´tion (_-shun_)
mouth´fụl
mū´s̞ĭc
mu si´cian (_mū zĭsh´an_)
mŭs´kĕt

Na hănt´
nā_i_l_e_d
năn keen´
nā´tĭv_e_
na̤_ugh_´ty̆
nĕ_c_k´lā̍ç_e_
ne̱_igh_´bõrs̞
ne̱_igh_´ing
nĕt´wọrk
news̞´pā pẽr
nĭb´bling
nī_gh_t´gown
Nī´ṉȧ
nīn_e_´teen
nō´bl_e_
nõ´bŏd y̆
nois̞´y̆
nŏn´sĕns_e_
nŏs´trĭls̞
nō´tĭç_e_
Nō̍ vĕm´bẽr
nûrs´ẽr y̆

ō̍ blīġ_e_d´
ŏb s̞ẽrv_e_´
Oc tō´bẽr
ŏf´fẽr
ŏf´fĭç_e_
ŏf´fĭ çẽrs̞
once (_wŭns_)
ō´p_e_n ing
ŏp´pō̍ s̞ĭt_e_
ôr´chãrd
ō´rĭ ōl_e_
ôr´nȧ ment
ō´vẽr lo͝ok´
owl´ĕt
ō_w_n´ẽr
ŏx´_e_n

pă_c_k´ā̍ġ_e_
pă_c_k_e_d
păd´dl_e_
pâ_i_r
pān_e_
Păr´ȧ dīs_e_
pär´d_o_n
Păr´ĭs
pär´lõr
păr´rȯt
pär´tĭ_e_s̞
păs´sā̍ġ_e_
pȧss´ẽrs̞
pȧs´tū̍r_e_
pā´tient (_-shent_)
păt´tẽr ing
pa̤_u_s̞_e_
p_e_âr
peep_e_d
pĕl´ĭ can
pĕn´çĭl
pẽrch
pĕr´ĭsh
Phā´ē̍ thŏn
Phœ´be (_fē´bē_)
pĭ ăz´zȧ
pĭc´kl_e_s̞
p_i_ēç_e_
pĭ´ġ_e_ȯn
pĭl´lō̍_w_s̞
Pĭn´tȧ
pīp_e_s
plā_i_n´ly̆
plăn´ĕt
plăṉk
plănn_e_d
plăt´fôrm
plā_y_´fĕl lō̍_w_
plow´ing
plūm´y̆
plŭnġ_e_d
pŏ_c_k´ĕts
pōk_e_d
pō̍ līt_e_´
pŏp´côrn
pōrch
pŏs´sĭ bl_e_
pōst
pōst´ā̍ġ_e_
pounç_e_d
pō_u_r_e_d
prā_i_s̞_e_
prăṉk
prâ_ye_rs̞
prē_a_ch´ẽr
prĕ´çĭ_o_ŭs
prĕss_e_d
prīd_e_
prĭm´rōs̞_e_
Prĭnç_e_
prĭnt
prĭnt´ẽr
prīz_e_
prō̍ çĕs´sion
prō̍ mōt´ed
prŏp´ẽr
prō̍ tĕct´
proud´ly̆
prō̍ vīd_e_´
prō̍ vīd´ing
prowl_e_d
prowl´ing
prṳ´dent
pŭb´lĭc
pụd´dĭng
pŭmp´kĭn
pŭn´ĭsh
pŭp´py̆
pu̇sh´ing

quā_i_l
quĭ_c_k
quī´ĕt ly̆
quĭlt

ră_c_k´ĕt
răg´gĕd
rā_i_l´rō_a_d
răs̞_p_´bĕr rĭ_e_s̞
răt´tlĭng
rē_a_r_e_d
rē_a_´s̞_o_n
rē̍ çē_i_v_e_´
rē̍ frĕsh´ing
rē̍ joiç_e_´
rĕl´ȧ tĭv_e_s̞
rē̍ mā_i_n´
rē̍ pē_a_t´
rē̍ pōs̞_e_´
rī´fl_e_
rī´p_e_n ing
rĭs̞´_e_n
rō_a_m
rō_a_st
rŏ_c_k´y̆
rōll´ing
Rŏl´lō
Rō´s̞ȧ
rough (_rūf_)
Rṳ´dy̆
rŭf´fl_e_
rŭs´_t_l_e_
rŭs´_t_ling
rŭst´y̆

săd´dest
săd´nĕss
Săn´tȧ Mȧ rī´ȧ
săsh´es̞
săt´ĭn
sa̤_u_´çẽr
scăm´pẽr
sc_h_ŏl´ãr
scōld
scout
scrăm´bl_e_
scră_t_ch_e_d
scrē_a_m
screen
sē_a_l
sē_a_´pōrt
sẽ_a_rch
sĕc´ȯnd
sē̍ lĕct´ed
Sĕp tĕm´bẽr
sẽr´mȯn
sĕv´ẽr al
sĕx´tȯn
shăg´gy̆
shām_e_
sha̤_w_l
shĕl´tẽr
shĕp´_h_ẽrd
shôrt
shō_u_l´dẽr
shŭt´tl_e_
sī_g_n
Sī´las
sī´lenç_e_
sī´lent ly̆
sĭn´ew y̆
sīz_e_
skĕ_t_ch
slĕ_d_ġ_e_
sleet
slē_igh_
slĭpp_e_d
slōp´ing
slŭg´gãrd
slȳ
smīl´ing
snăp
snă_t_ch
snō_w_´flāk_e_
snō_w_´y̆
sŏbb_e_d
sō´fȧ
sŏl´em_n_
sŏl´ĭ tūd_e_s̞
spär´kling
spĭll
splĕn´dõr
squeez_e_
squĩr´rĕl
sta̤_l_k
stär´lĭt
stär´ry̆
stē_a_m
stĭ_t_ch
stōl´_e_n
sto͞ol
strān´ġẽr
strĕngth
strĕ_t_ch´es̞
stū´dĭ ō̍
stŭff_e_d
sŭc çĕss´
sŭd´dĕn
sŭd´dĕn ly̆
sŭf´fẽr
sŭf´fẽr ing
su´gar (_sho͝og´ĕr_)
sŭnk´en
sŭp plī_e_d´
sûr´fā̍ç_e_
sŭr rounds̞´
sûr ve̱_y_´
sûr ve̱_y_´õr
swạmp
swa̤rm
sweet´brī ẽr
swĕll
s_w_ōrd
sy̆c´ȧ mōr_e_

tăl´lō̍_w_
tȧsk
tăs´s_e_l
ta̤_ugh_t
tĕmpt
tĕr´rĭ bl_e_
tĕr rĭf´ĭc
tĕr´rõr
thătch_e_d
tha̤_w_
thĩrd
thou´s̞and
thrĕ_a_d
thrĕsh_e_d
threw
thrŏng
Thûrs̞´dā̍_y_
tĭm´ĭd
tĭṉ´kl_e_d
tŏm´tĭt
to͞ols̞
Tō´rȧ
tow´ẽr_e_d
tră_c_k
trĕ_a_d
trē_a_t
trĕs´_t_le
tro͞op
tr_o_ŭ´bl_e_ sȯm_e_
trŭn´dl_e_
trŭṉk
trṳth
trṳth´fụl
tŭm´bl_e_
tūn_e_
tûr´tl_e_
tŭsk
twĭṉ´kl_e_
twĭst

ŭn´dẽr nē_a_th´
ŭn´dẽr tāk_e_´
ŭn seen´
ŭn trṳth´
ûrġ_e_

Văl´en tīn_e_
vāl_e_s̞
văl´l_e_y̆
ve̱_i_l
ve̱_i_n
vĕst
vĭc´tō̍ ry̆
vĭs̞´ĭt

wăgg_e_d
wā_i_t´ing
wạn´dẽr
wạ_t_ch´dŏg
wăx
wā_y_´sīd_e_
wē_a_´ry̆
weep
we̱_igh_
wĕl´cȯm_e_
whāl_e_
whĕnç_e_
whĕth´ẽr
whī´t_e_n
whīn´ing
whĭs´_t_lĭng
_w_hōl_e_
who͞op
wĭ_c_ks
wĭl´dẽr nĕss
wĭn´dō̍_w_
wĭn´try̆
wĭt̶h´ẽr_e_d
wĭt̶h ĭn´
wĭz´ãrd
wọlf
wȯn
wȯn´dẽr
worms (_wûrmz_)
wound´ed
_w_rē_a_th
_w_rĕck_e_d
Wy̆ṉk´en

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation and spelling errors have been fixed throughout.

Inconsistent hyphenation is as in the original.

The [th], th ligature, in the pronunciation key and list has been replaced with t̶h as there is no character for the th ligature.

Dora Reed Goodale and Dora Read Goodale left as in the original.

End of Project Gutenberg's Brooks's Readers, Third Year, by Stratton D. Brooks