Chapter I: Part 1

Shining Hours

COME AND PLAY!

Play-ful kit-tens! see them spring-ing
Light-ly up my fa-vor-ite tree;
Now they spy the ham-mock swing-ing—
In they scram-ble-one, two, three.

For a while they sit de-mure-ly,
In a dain-ty fluffy row,
Then they gaze a-bout—why sure-ly,
There stands pa-tient Spot be-low.

“Come!” I fan-cy they are say-ing;
“See, it is not far to climb:
’Mid the branch-es i-dly sway-ing,
We are hav-ing such a time!

“You shall have a wel-come hear-ty
Here with-in the leaf-y shade.
What! you will not join our par-ty?
Sil-ly pup, you are a-fraid!”

But a meek re-proach is ly-ing
In those eyes so brown and large;
One can al-most hear him cry-ing,
“I have mas-ter’s stick in charge!”

Pret-ty, mirth-ful, sau-cy crea-tures—
Let them play their mer-ry part!
How can their light kit-ten-na-tures
Un-der-stand his faith-ful heart?

That night Edith insisted on taking the old idol to bed with her as of old. Aunt Bell over-heard her talking to it.

“I love you bushels. You are the beautifulest dolly in all the world. And I don’t care if you haven’t dot two arms, and fine clothes, and a parasol. You’ve dot me, and I’ve dot you, and we’ll just do on loving each other. Dat new dolly can sit in the parlor, but you’se my every day chum.”

Edith showed the new dolly to all her friends, but wouldn’t play with it for many days. Like a genuine little woman, she wanted to be loyal to her first love.

IN THE MEADOW.

Little girlie in the meadow,
Do you love to pick the flowers?
Do you love to sing and chatter,
Through the bright and sunny hours?

Pretty maiden in the meadow,
Do you love to dream and sigh?
Do you love to build bright castles
In the air, yet know not why?

Kind old doggie in the meadow,
Do you love to laze and think?
Do you love to catch the snappers,
While at them you wink and blink?

Little girlie, pretty maiden,
Kind old doggie—three good friends—
Love the sunshine, dreams, and flowers,
All joy that summer days attends.

A PUZZLED CAT.

Teheran, the Persian cat, was dozing on a rug in the hall. Suddenly her hair stood on end, and her tail grew large. What-ever was that thing coming down-stairs? She had opened her eyes just in time to see at the head of the long flight of stairs some strange animal, with great eyes and long sharp teeth. To her horror, it slid quickly down stairs, directly toward her.

It did not take her long to run from the mat and dodge the fierce-looking animal. She turned to look, and there lay the four footed beast, just where she had lain. What could he be, and what was he doing in that house? There he lay quietly. Could he be asleep? Pussy-like, she crawled toward him, ready to spring if he stirred. She walked round him with her back up. No, he wasn’t asleep. His eyes were wide open. Was he lying in wait, ready to spring at her?

Round and round him she walked. Not an ear did he raise, not a whisker did he twitch, not an eyelid did he wink. What a curious fellow!

Had he died of heart disease coming down-stairs so fast? Her eyes opened wider. She pricked up her ears to listen. Not a breath could she hear. Poor fellow, he must be dead.

She grew bolder. She played with his paws, and she pulled his tail. She brushed by his side. How queer! No fat, no bones! She put one paw on his back, two paws, three paws, all four paws. How flat! no heart, no stomach, no insides at all. She sat down on him to think. What was he?

Many a day she thought about him; many a time she played with him; many an hour she watched him. But a puzzled cat she always remained.

ON THE BEACH.

This little girl has come with her mamma from the noisy city, Paris. She has a shrimping net in her hand, and thinks she can catch shrimps.

The fish-wife is surprised to see a little girl in such fine clothes on the beach. The little girl is curious about the fish-wife. Do you wish to know what they are talking about? Listen!

“Êtes vous de Paris?”

“Oui.”

“Combien y a-t-il de temps que vous êtes ici?”

“Il n’y a que trois jours.”

Do you understand? You do if you are studying French. They both talk French although they are dressed so differently. The little girl is very much interested in the funny dress of the fish-wife. The fish-wife is very much pleased with the pretty dress of the little girl. She says under her breath “Qu’elle est jolie!”

They look each other over from top to toe, and talk awhile. Then the fish-wife goes back to her work. The little girl pokes the shrimping-net into the water and tries to catch the shrimps.

DOROTHY’S CALL.

Dorothy was wandering about the house, wondering what to do. She strayed into Grandma’s room. On the bureau lay Grandmas’s cap. Dorothy tried it on, and thought she looked very like Grandma. There lay a pair of spectacles. She tried those on too.

Suddenly a scheme came into her wise little head. She went to Grandmas’s closet, found one of her dress skirts, and put on that. Grandma was a short woman, and Dorothy was a pretty big girl for her age, still the skirt was a trifle long in front. Grandma didn’t wear short sleeves and high-necked aprons. Grandma’s black shawl was just the thing to cover them up, Dorothy thought, as she fastened it with Grandma’s big pin.

She walked quietly into the hall. Quietly, because she wasn’t sure that Grandma would be pleased. She couldn’t see through the spectacles. She clung to the bannisters, or down the whole flight of stairs she would have gone at one step. Shoving the glasses to the end of her nose, she went on her way. Around the corner lived a poor old lady that Grandma sometimes called on. Dorothy walked to her door and knocked. The old lady came to the door.

“Good morning, Mrs. Johns!” said Dorothy.

“Good morning,” answered Mrs. Johns, looking at her caller curiously. “Come in, wont you, and sit down? I don’t just recall you, though you do seem familiar.”

“My name is Swinton,” said Dorothy. (So it was and so was her Grandmother's).

“Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Swinton? You must excuse me for not knowing you. I’m getting hard o’hearing, and my eyes aren’t as good as they were once. And how are you?”

“I have a little rheumatiz, and sometimes a ‘stick’ in my back,” answered Dorothy.

“Your voice doesn’t sound natural, but perhaps it’s my ears. Does your throat trouble you?”

“Oh no!” said Dorothy, growing nervous. “I guess I better be going.”

“Going! Why you’ve just come.”

But Dorothy hurried away, rather quickly for an old lady.

“Well I never!” muttered Mrs. Johns. “She must be going out of her mind, she acted so queer. The rheumatiz must be in her brain. She walked too fast to have it in her legs.”

Grandma was surprised to see Dorothy coming into the house, dressed in her clothes. She couldn’t help smiling while Dorothy told her all about her call.

“And Grandma,” said Dorothy, “she didn’t find out that I was only myself, and not yourself at all!”

FIDO’S PUPPIES.

Fido was the proud mother of four puppies. They were born in a clothes basket. While they were very young they did not offer to leave their warm bed. They snuggled close to their mother, and when she went off for a walk they cuddled together.

They soon became venturesome, like most dogs and boys. Two were particularly so. They jumped over-board to go on a tour of inspection, the mother’s sharp eyes following.

The third, not quite so bold, just leaned over the edge of the basket. He leaned too far, and out he tumbled, and then tried to climb back. The fourth was too lazy to move, and kept under cover.

Dear, big, old Colonel eyed curiously these fat, faltering, four-legged new-comers. And the new-comers eyed him. They sat in judgment over his tail as it lay on the ground. They never thought of its being a tail. They only knew one kind, like theirs and their mother’s.

While they were thinking, the Colonel raised this bushy tail. It struck one under the jaw, making him turn a back somersault; it rolled the other puppy over. They were very much surprised, and waddled back to the basket as fast as their weak legs could carry them. The Colonel smiled.

These two dogs grew bolder as they grew older. Once, when their mother was away, they went on another inspecting tour, taking the most timid puppy with them.

They jumped up the front steps of their masters house. Seeing the front door open, they decided to call. They did not know that the proper way was to ring the bell and hand in cards. They simply walked in and found their way to the parlor. What fine curtains to roll on! What beautiful lace to tear! What gay cords and tassels to pull! Such a lark!

That which attracted them most was a mat made of a wolf’s skin and head. At first they were afraid, but seeing he did not injure them, they pulled him about at a great rate. They were having such a good time, they made some noise.

The maid surprised them, and stopped their little game by appearing with a whip. The puppies went out the front door faster than callers usually go; and they never so much as said good-afternoon.

DOLLY’S LULLABY.

Dolly darling, now don’t cry,
Here’s your cradle right close by,
In my arms you’ll safely keep,
Close your eyes and go to sleep.

THE BIRDIES.

Dear little birdies, come in from the cold.
Don’t be so ’fraid of us. Try to be bold.
Doggie won’t hurt you; he loves little birds;
He minds when I speak, for he understands words.

Dear little birdies, come in for this bread.
Why do you hop away, why turn your head?
Here in my hand is the bread, all for you.
Taste it, and see if my words are not true.

Dear little birdies, come in from the snow.
You will be frozen. Just hear the wind blow!
Hop on the window-sill; hop right along;
Eat of this bread, and then chirp us a song.

Dear little birdies, come in or you’ll freeze.
With snow in the garden, and ice on the trees,
Surely you cannot, though trying your best,
Find any breakfast or feather your nest.

THE HISTORY LESSON.

Kate was trying to learn her history lesson. She thought she never could learn the names of all the Presidents of the United States, and recite them in their order. Her eyes would stray to the story books. Her mind would wander to “Lady Constance,” who had her right hand cut off to save the life of her dear husband. And to Cinderella and her lost slipper. And to the Prince who found it and married her. In fact she could think of everything except the Presidents of the United States.

While she was wasting her time, Cousin Anna came in to call.

“What makes you look so cross, Kate?” Cousin Anna asked.

“I can’t get my lesson,” lamented Kate.

“What is your lesson about?” asked the cousin.

“All the Presidents, and I get so mixed up.”

“Have you the list in rhyme?” asked Anna.

“No, Cousin Anna. I never saw it,” said Kate.

“Oh, you must have that. It is so easy to learn. We used to learn the English Sovereigns in rhyme. I remember so well our reciting;

‘First William, the Norman,
Then William, his son,’

“And so on. And now Mrs. Peter has put our Presidents in rhyme;

‘First Washington, then Adams,
Next Jefferson we view;
James Madison, Monroe, and then,
John Adams’ son—John Q.’

“And so forth. Come home with me and I’ll get you her little book. She has the important events of each administration all in rhyme, too. For instance, under Grover Cleveland is:

‘Twas after twenty years and four
A Democrat these honors wore;
Cleveland his honest record made,
Though people did not choose free trade,—
Huge labor strikes and feuds arose,
And earthquakes sealed sad Charleston’s woes.’

“Under ‘Benjamin Harrison,’ she has:

‘Year eighty-nine brought into view
A kinsman of old Tip’canoe;
Another Harrison is chief;
And now—for good, or else for grief—
The tariff and the silver bills,
Divide the people’s votes and wills;
And liquor traffic still defies
The legislation of the wise.’

“Don’t you think you could learn this?”

“Oh, yes! Cousin Anna,” exclaimed Kate.

Cousin Anna gave the little book to Kate. Kate soon learned the six short verses, and so knew all the Presidents and in their order.

She learned, too, all the events in rhyme.

THE BABY AND TRAY.

Tura, lura, lura lay,
Dear little baby in dress array,
Tura, lura, lura lay
Dear little doggie looking gay.

Tura, lura, lura lay,
Dear little baby wants to play,
Tura, lura, lura lay,
Dear little doggie doesn’t say nay.

Tura, lura, lura lay
Dear little baby laughs at Tray;
Tura, lura, lura lay
Dear little doggie barks his say.

Tura, lura, lura lay,
Dear little baby googles “Stay!”
Tura, lura, lura lay,
Dear little doggie wags “Good-day!”

THE PROOF OF LOVE.

Theresa loves her cat very much. How do I know? Theresa was hungry. She asked for some milk. She sat down on the floor to enjoy it. Her dog sat down beside her. Frisky, her cat, smelling the milk came and sat in front of her. Frisky did not move her eyes away from Theresa and her milk. She looked and purred, and purred and looked.

Theresa began to feel uncomfortable. She knew Frisky liked milk but so did she. She felt that Frisky was asking for some as well as she knew how. Her eyes seemed to say to Theresa, “I’m very fond of milk and I’d like some of yours very much indeed.” When the milk passed Theresa’s heart on its way to her stomach her heart said, “Frisky wants some too. Poor kittie!”

Theresa put the bowl down and told Frisky to take a taste. Frisky put her little red tongue into the bowl and began tasting the milk. She kept on tasting the milk. She didn’t once lift up her head and offer to let Theresa have the rest. Theresa liked her cat so much she couldn’t bear to pull the bowl away. Frisky’s tongue went fast and so did the milk. Frisky lapped up every drop. She was only a cat and did not know she was selfish.

Some tears came into Theresa’s eyes when she saw that the milk was all gone. She did not scold nor complain. Frisky purred, “Thank you.” Theresa took her in her arms and said, “Nice Frisky!”

Wasn’t this a proof that Theresa loved her cat very much?

“I CAN STIR IT!”

“Please cook, let me stir it.”

“Och, no, Miss, you couldn’t,” said cook.

Esther thought she could, but didn’t tease.

A few hours later Esther came into the kitchen again. On the table was the same big bowl. In it was the same stuff that cook stirred. Cook was nowhere to be seen.

In a jiffy Esther was on a chair with the spoon in her hand. “I _can_ stir it,” she said to herself in triumph. It was easy enough. She stirred till she was tired.

She had been back in the sitting-room awhile when the cook appeared in great distress.

“Och, Mrs. Borden, me risins all shpiled; and it wasn’t rats for there’s a shpoon in it.” Mrs. Borden was going to say, who could it be, when she spied Esther’s face. It was very red.

“Esther, child, did you disturb cook’s sponge for her bread?” asked Mrs. Borden.

“Mamma, I didn’t see any sponges and bread,” answered Esther, “but I stirred something in a big bowl. Cook said I couldn’t. I tried, and I could stir it.”

Mrs. Borden convinced Esther that it wasn’t wise to touch anything in the kitchen without cook’s permission.

Esther told cook she was sorry she had made her so much trouble.

THE ORPHANS.

Olive was walking in the yard, when she heard a voice calling her to come in. She at once obeyed, and was told that a lady wished to see her in the parlor. This lady spoke to Olive very kindly, asking her if she would like to go to live with her. Olive, liking the lady’s face and manner, said she would.

Olive had lived in this Orphan Asylum several years. She was a very sad-looking child, and no one had wished before to adopt her. This lady wished to make some poor child happy, and chose Olive because she seemed so forlorn. Promising to come for her in a few days, she kissed Olive good-bye.

Martin was Olive’s brother, and lived in the Asylum too. Their mother died when they were very young. Irene, the eldest child, tried to help her father take care of the children and the house, but she was never very well. She grew weaker and weaker. She used to go off by herself to cry. She longed for her mother, and wished she could go to her. Her wish was granted, for she died too.

The father couldn’t look after Martin and Olive, so he put them in the Orphan Asylum. It wasn’t very long before the father was taken ill, and had to go to a hospital, where he died. That left Martin and Olive without father or mother, or anybody in the wide world to love them.

When Olive told Martin she was going away with a sweet lady, he threw up his arms and rushed down the garden quite wild-like. Martin was old enough to realize that his little sister was to be taken away from him, and he could never be with her any more. It nearly broke his heart even to think about it.

Olive began to think too. They cried and they thought, they planned and they talked. Olive told the matron she couldn’t leave Martin, but the matron said she must. When the lady came for her, Olive cried very hard, and asked if she please couldn’t take Martin too, for he wouldn’t have any little sister at all if she went away.

Martin came to say good-bye. He and Olive clung to each other. While they sobbed, the matron scolded and the lady pondered. Finally the lady asked the matron’s permission to take Martin for a few days’ visit. That stopped the crying and the scolding, and away the children went in great glee.

Martin was such a quiet, good boy, and so happy to be with them, that the lady and her husband decided to keep both children. Neither they nor the children ever had any reason to regret it.

Olive and Martin had had so little fun in their lives, had shed so many tears, and had known so much about trouble, that they were always grateful for everything done for them, and tried their best to do right. They were very unlike the children, who, while always being indulged and petted, are nevertheless discontented.

MY DOLLY.

My Dolly, Polly Angelina Brown,
Has a pretty little bonnet, and a pretty little gown;
A pretty little bonnet
With a lovely feather on it;
Oh, there’s not another like it to be found in all the town!

My dolly, Polly, is a precious little pet;
Her eyes are bright as jewels, and her hair as black as jet;
I hug her, and I kiss her!
And oh, how I should miss her
If she were taken from me! Oh how I should grieve and fret!

My little brother, Charley, says my dolly is “a muff,”
And he calls her other horrid names—though that is bad enough;
And though he’s very clever,
I never, no, I never
Let him handle her or dandle her for boys, you know, are rough.

My dolly’s always smiling; she was never known to frown;
And she looks so very charming in her Sunday hat and gown,
You really ought to see her
To get a good idea
Of the beauty of my dolly, Polly Angelina Brown.

DON’T ENVY YOUR NEIGHBORS.

A FABLE.

A lean half-starved cur stood curiously regarding a sleek white well-fed pig, cosily curled up in a nest of nice clean straw.

“Some folks get all the good things in this world, I think,” grumbled the cur. “Here is that great fat lazy pig, fed on the best of everything—peas, potatoes, sweet milk, barley-meal, and I know not what all—whilst I am kicked and cuffed, and have to pick up a meal anyhow.”

“Dick!” cried the farmer out of the window. “Be up to-morrow at four o’clock. We’ll kill the white pig for Saturday’s market; and a roast leg of pork won’t come amiss for Sunday’s dinner.”

Next morning the cur was awakened early by strange sounds. “A—h!” said he, as he shivered in his straw, and sat up to listen; “I see now, they only fattened up poor piggy for their own sakes. Seeming good fortune may not be best for us after all. It is better to live poorly in security than to have all we want, and be in constant danger.”

“NIBS.”

“Dandy, let’s you and me play we’s poor. And we’ve eaten nuffin for free-seven-’leaven days. And we’ll beg our daily bread from door to door, in the rain. Poor little boys have to eat, if it does rain. They don’t have to stay in the house.”

Nibs is a little boy, who is very tired of staying in the house. Dandy is his dog.

“Well have to have a basket to put our daily bread in, and a bumbrell.”

Dandy wags his tail so hard you can scarcely see it. That is his way of saying he’ll back Nibs in any scheme to get out doors.

“Dandy, do you fink poor little boys carry bumbrells? I know one to match poor boys. Big brover said it was so poor its ribs showed. Come on Dandy.”

Here Nibs goes off for a basket and umbrella, Dandy keeping close to his heels. In some way Nibs and Dandy get out of the house unnoticed. After Nibs raises the umbrella, he halts a moment, Dandy waiting beside him. His heart and Dandy’s tail sink at the same moment when a voice is heard calling:

“Nibs, what are you about out there?”

“Dandy and I are just going out for our daily bread,” answers Nibs.

“You’d better come in for your daily bread, or you may get a daily something else.”

“Oh dear!” sighs Nibs. “Dandy, you and I can’t have any fun. We cant even be poor.”

A BATH IN THE SEA.

A bath in the sea! How refreshing it is! At first Clarence was afraid, and would scream with all his might, and he is more timid now than he will be when he learns how to swim.

Hazel is not afraid. She does not go far from shore, and enjoys sporting in the cool soft water. Clarence keeps her busy. The water that is shallow for Hazel, is deep for him. He is a small boy.

“Oh! oh! oh!” cries Clarence. “There’s a fish nibbling my toe!”

“Nonsense!” says Hazel. “A kick and a splash will scare them all away. Now I will teach you how to swim.”

“I’m afraid! I’ll drown!” cries Clarence.

“If you’re afraid, you will. But you must learn not to be afraid. Salt water is strong and will hold you up. And besides, I am here to take care of you.”

So Hazel puts her hand under him and Clarence stretches himself, face downward, on top of the water. Then he folds his hands together, and spreads them out again, pushing the water away from him, and using his feet as paddles, and is quite proud of his success. He wants to learn how to swim, so that if he should go out in a boat and be thrown over-board, he could keep his head above water until help came.

When Clarence comes out of the water he must be well rubbed, and oh, how his cheeks will glow! Then he must take a run on the shore.

GOING CRABBING.

Come, Bob, Tom, Ned, Jack, Jim—all of you. We are going a-crabbing.

Hooray! hooray! hooray!

Bob and Tom must carry the nets, and here is twine and bait enough for all of us. It is a dull day, and the crabs will bite well, I guess.

What queer shells! Yes. They are periwinkles. Ned will crack them for us when we get to the creek. Then I will show you how to catch crabs. Here we are!

Along the shore now take your stand,
With a bit of fish-line in your hand!

At one end of the fish-line tie on this piece of periwinkle meat. Ugh! It is not nice I know, but you must not be too nice when you go crabbing. The boys must look after the girls and see that their lines are all right. Now—have you plenty of elbow room? Is the bait tied on so that it cannot get off? Then swing the line and throw it so that the bait falls well out into the creek. Now wait—and hold on to the other end of your line. Do you feel a jerk? a pull? Then haul in very slowly, and be ready with the nets, Bob and Tom. Slip the net under the crab as soon as it is near the shore. If you do not it will get away. Look! There is a crab with but one large claw! It broke off the other in trying to get away. A crab will often lose a claw rather than be taken in a net.

See that one dart off under the seaweed! Now we have all that we need. Let us roll up our lines and go home. Look at John, with a crab fast to his coat. Oh! what fun we have had!

PETER’S WORK-SHOP.

Peter is fond of tools. He loves to saw and hammer, and to drive nails. Oh, what a noise he makes! He has a room all to himself in the upper part of the house, and here he spends most of his time on rainy days when he is out of school.

It is handy to have such a boy as Peter around, for if a hinge gets loose, or a piece of board is wanted, there is no need of sending for a carpenter; Peter will attend to it just as well as the best.

Nellie, Dotty, and Susy, bring him their dolls to mend, and sometimes he has so much work of this sort to do that his work-shop looks like a dolls’ hospital. He has a sign upon the wall—“Dolls mended”—and he tries his best to do his work well, and to keep his tools bright.

Poor little Dotty was almost broken-hearted when Laura Matilda fell and broke her arm; but Jessie said “Peter can mend it;” and Dotty took it to Peter herself for she would not trust the dear doll out of her arms. She has to sit patiently and wait her turn, just as sick people do in the hospital, and is comforted by seeing other dolls worse off than poor Laura Matilda. What if she had broken her neck? or smashed her head? O that is too dreadful to think of.

Peter has an order for a bench, and after he has sawed the board the right length, he will have to use the plane and make it nice and smooth, and all this takes time. Dotty thinks he is very slow; but there are some things that cannot be done fast, and “what is worth doing at all is worth doing well.” Have patience, little Dotty!

UP IN THE BELFRY.

Ging! Gong! Ging! Gong!
Little girls up in the belfry so high,
Think they have climbed to the edge of the sky.

Ging! Gong! Ging! Gong!
People below look like flies they’re so small;
Laura’s so short she can’t see them at all.

Ging! Gong! Ging! Gong!
Fleecy white clouds o’er their heads, see them float!
Oh, if the girls could have one for a boat!

Ging! Gong! Ging! Gong!
Floating through cloud-land how happy they’d be!
Wonderful things in the heavens they’d see!

Ging! Gong! Ging! Gong!
Rain-bows and sun-beams, the hail, and the snow,
All these the secret of making they’d know.

Ging! Gong! Ging! Gong!
Tree-tops and clouds they must now leave to go
Down to the earth and the people below.

THE TIDE.

Mildred came over to spend an afternoon with Gertie. Gertie led Mildred to her favorite spot. It was out on the rocks, away out to the very last one that could be seen above the water.

Gertie took off her shoes and stockings. Mildred felt too much dressed up to do that. They sat on the rock, Gertie dangling her feet in the water. They talked, and they laughed, and they sang:

“Little fishes in the water,
Who has taught you how to swim?
Has your mother or your father
Shown you how to use each fin?

“Little fishes in the water,
Who has taught you how to dive?
How to glide, and not to falter,
How to live, and how to thrive?”

Suddenly Gertie looked toward the shore. The tide was coming in. Already some of the stepping stones were covered with water. Her stockings and shoes were gradually being carried away.

Mildred was frightened. Gertie looked very brave but wasn’t so calm as she looked. She picked up her soaked shoes and stockings. They started for the beach. They ran and they jumped. Mildred wasn’t sure footed. She slipped and she slopped. Her shoes were soon wet.

The water rose higher and higher. No use in jumping, for the rocks and stones were now covered. Poor Mildred had to wade through the water with her new shoes and stockings on her feet. But her shoes were not any wetter than Gertie’s were in her hand. Mildred’s pretty dress was badly wet, too.

Gertie took her visitor to her room to get her clothes dry. She felt ashamed to think she had forgotten about the tide. She was sorry she had by her thoughtlessness marred the pleasure of Mildred’s visit.

DOLLY’S BATH.

Dolly needs to have a bath
In her little tub,
Where her pretty hands and feet
I will gently rub;
Twist her hair upon her head
So it won’t get wet;
Then the towels and the soap
And the sponge I’ll get.

There now, Dolly, stand just so;
Very quiet keep;
Though the water in the tub
Is not very deep,
It might make you very ill,
Very pale and thin,
If by any chance, my dear,
You should tumble in.

Where’s my dolly? O dear me!
I told her not to stir!
For oh, you know, all-over baths
Do not agree with her!
And now she is a dreadful sight;
Not fit to hug or kiss!
Oh, dolly dear, how could you serve
Me such a trick as this?

THE LITTLE MOTHER.

Lulu’s dolls are so large that you would think they were real flesh and blood. She likes to have them large, she says, for then she can hug them, and make it seem as if they were alive. Her doll-baby, Flo, is just the size of her little sister, Baby May, and it is hard sometimes to tell which one she has in her arms.

Lulu is a real little mother girl. She takes the best of care of her dolls, and fondles them, and talks to them just as if they knew all that she said. She makes all their clothes, and keeps them in good order, and it would surprise you to see how well she sews.

She is gentle and kind in all her ways, but sometimes she has to scold G. W. and B. F. and stand them in a corner.

They are such bad boys. Lulu has not made up her mind yet whether she will call them George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, or more fancy names, but has become so used to G. W. and B. F. that it will be quite hard for her to make any change. When night comes on Lulu sings her dolls to sleep, and then puts them in their own little beds where they rest quietly until daylight. If they were real children, and cried out in the night with aches, and pains, and bad dreams, what a hard time Lulu would have!

THE STOLEN CHILD.

This is a sad story, as you might well know. But sad things will take place now and then, and we cannot help it. It is a story about a little boy, named Peter. That was to be his name when he grew up, but now nobody called him anything but Pete.

Pete had had a bad fall when a little baby and it left him with a weak back, so that he could not run and romp like the rest of the small boys. He had toys to play with, but they were not nice or new, and he soon tired of them. What he wanted most was a doll. Really? Yes. He was ashamed to let the boys know it for fear they would call him “Sissy,” but deep down in his heart there was a strong desire for a doll to hug, and to hold, and to take to bed with him.

One day a lady came to the house, and somehow she guessed just what kind of a boy Pete was. Without saying a word, she took a small shawl off a hook, gave it a fold and a roll, pinned it together and then handed it over to the small boy.

You should have seen Pete’s face! There was not room on it for the broad smile that tried to get there, and finally had to break itself all up into little bits. Oh, how he hugged and loved that doll! and he soon got so he did not mind being seen on the street with it in his arms. There was no danger of breaking it; and it could sit down bea—u—ti—fully.

One day Pete thought he would try to climb a lamp-post. He had seen the other boys do it, and it looked easy, but he would need two hands. So the doll—Matilda Jane—had to sit down on a stoop near by, and wait until Pete came back for her.

Well, it was not long; but when Pete got back to the place where Matilda Jane was he could not find her.

She was go——o——o——ne! Somebody had stolen her!

Pete was heart-broken. He cried, and cried, and cried. He should never see his own dear Matilda Jane again! And the worst of it was that he wouldn’t know her if he saw her. Even his mother laughed, and said “Oh, it was only an old shawl. No great loss!”

But Pete’s heart was wrapped up in that shawl and that is what makes this a sad story. He might have other dolls, but none that would take the place of his Matilda Jane.

CAUSE FOR THANKFULNESS.

Fast asleep, fast asleep, are these dear little girls;
On the pillow are laid their two heads, full of curls,
And of dreams gay and bright:
Their prayers these sweet little maidens have said,
And their stockings hung up at the head of their bed,
To be filled this glad night.

While they dream their mother sits beside them. While she fills their stockings with gifts, her heart is filled with praise. Her two little girls are both alive and well. It is not many weeks since the elder was very ill. The mother had been very sorrowful at the thought of losing one of her own dear girls.

What queer fancies sick people have! This little girl while ill imagined many things. She thought she was a fairy riding in a little golden carriage driven by two small white kittens, and that the doctor was a giant. She told him he was too big to take a drive with her, he would smash her carriage and kill her kittens. If he would be good, and not make her swallow such horrid stuff, she would change him into a dear little Puck, with a green jacket and a lace ruff.

Sometimes she thought she was an angel flying through the air. She said she was sitting on a horn of the moon, but would fly off soon to a world way off out of sight. That made her mother cry.

Once she very politely asked her father—a very large man—to take a seat on the mantle-piece, as she thought the room was crowded. And once she thought she was a clown in a circus, and tried to stand on her head in bed.

She was very ill; but she got well, however. Now it is Christmas eve. The mother is happy and thankful because there are two little girls instead of one.

PLATO’S SOLILOQUY.

Do I look like a happy dog? Do I look like a handsome dog? Do I look like a respectable dog? Is this what the other dogs call fun?

My master is a very kind man. He has brought me up well. I knew he did not like his dogs to stay out all night, nor wander off at any time with vulgar dogs. I had over-heard dogs talking about the fun they had when off together. I had been invited a number of times to join them. I had always refused until last night. Then I made up my mind I was going to have some fun too. So quietly slipping away, I ran around the corner and off with the dogs.

Fun? Yes, we did have fun, though an uneasy sneaky feeling would come over me at times to interfere with my happiness. Fun? Yes, but it ended in a fight! Fun? Yes, we did have fun, but I’m not having any now!

One eye nearly gone, one ear half chewed off, a hole in my cheek, a hump on my leg, my master in sorrow, and I in disgrace, to say nothing of aches and of pains. It will be some time before I get my good looks back again, or my usual fine gait. Three-legged and one-eyed! Ugh!

Fun? Yes! But if any dog imagines that I think it pays, he is very much mistaken. When I let myself down again to go off with vulgar dogs, no matter what the fun, may I be locked in the asylum for foolish and insane dogs!!

THE KING’S DAUGHTER.

She does not look like a Princess, with her plain fur cap and cape, and driving her own sleigh. Yet a daughter of the King she is.

If you could look under the fur robe, you would find a doll’s carriage, and in it two dolls all dressed for a drive. You would find a doll’s bed, with pillows, blankets, mattress and spread. You would find a pair of skates, a sled, some mittens, handkerchiefs, caps, and hoods; and a basket of candles, spangles, and small toys for a tree.

This “King’s Daughter” did not pay for them all. She is only one of a circle of Daughters. They saved their money, they bought the toys, they made the clothes, and they dressed the dolls, not for themselves, not for their own little brothers and sisters, but for a family of children who but for them would have no presents at all. Their father is poor and ill, and their mother earns but little.

It is the day before Christmas. This King’s Daughter is taking these things to the home of those poor children. The other Daughters will meet her there, to trim a tree they have ordered. The poor mother will help them, forgetting her sorrows for a while. The sick father will smile as he looks on. This will be his last Christmas-tree on earth, as he can not live much longer. He is very glad the King has sent his daughters to do for the children what he is not able to do for them himself.

On Christmas day will come a basket, full of good things to eat, which these same girls have provided. These girls by saving their money have had less candy to eat, fewer trinkets to wear, and perhaps a little less fun. But think of the comfort and happiness they will give to those poor children, that sad mother, that sick father!

Are you a daughter of the King?

GETTING READY FOR BED.

Allan thought it was time he learned to get himself ready for bed. He wished to be a man as soon as possible. That, he thought, would be one way to grow manly. So he kissed everybody good-night and went upstairs to bed all alone.

No, not exactly alone, for Toodles went with him. Allan did not admit it to anybody, but he really was very much obliged to Toodles, as he was a great deal of company.

“Now Toodles, you watch me undress, and see if I don’t know how!” And Toodles watched.

“You see that, Toodles?” asked Allan as he put out one foot with a stocking on it. “That is where I keep some of my pigs.”

“Pur-r-r, pur-r-r,” said Toodles.

“Sure!” said Allan. “You can’t see them, for they are all covered up; but they are there. Now, look!” Allan jerked off the stocking and wiggled his toes before Toodles’ very nose. “See, five of them!”

“Pur-r-r, pur-r-r,” said Toodles.

“And here’s where I keep all the others!” said Allan as he held up the other stockinged foot. “See them?” Off went that stocking. “Are they not nice little pigs? There’s the one that went to market, and there’s the one that said, ‘squeak, squeak.’” Allan poked his bare foot into Toodles’ ribs and wiggled his toes in his fur.

“Pur-r-r, pur-r-r,” said Toodles.

Allan got his clothes off, but found it hard to get his nightgown on. His hands would go into the legs of the gown. His feet would go into the arms of the gown. He and the gown got all tangled up. Toodles couldn’t help him. He could only encourage him by saying “Pur-r-r, pur-r-r.”

Mamma came up and straightened him out, and buttoned his gown behind.

Then Allan said his prayers, asking God to “bless everybody and Toodles.”

A BOY.

Tickle your chin! Tickle your chin!
When a boy wakens, our trials begin.

Tickle your chin! Tickle your chin!
When a boy dallies, there’s mischief within.

Tickle your chin! Tickle your chin!
When a boy dresses, he makes a great din.

Tickle your chin! Tickle your chin!
When a boy washes, he half rubs his skin.

Tickle your chin! Tickle your chin!
When a boy frolics, to imps he’s akin.

Tickle your chin! Tickle your chin!
When a boy loves us, our hearts he can win.

THE LITTLE SAIL-BOAT.

James had a present of a big Jack-knife, and oh, how proud he was of it! He whistled all day long, and at last made himself a nice boat, with bowsprit, mast, and sail, all complete. James called his boat the “Arrow,” for it would fly so swiftly when the wind was right. O how it would go!

James had a sister Ella, near his own age, who was very fond of her brother, and proud of the boat that he had made. The two always played nicely together, and were never known to quarrel. James liked to please Ella, and Ella liked to please James, so both were happy.

There was nothing James and Ella enjoyed more than wading in the shallow water and guiding the little sail-boat—their newest toy. Ella called James—“Captain”; and James called Ella—“Mate,” and as James wore a sailor-suit he felt quite like a sea-faring man.

James was careful not to let his little boat get out into deep water, for it had cost him a great deal of time and trouble to make it, and he did not care to lose it. But one calm day the Captain and Mate had gone for a drive, leaving the sail-boat in what they thought was a safe place. While they were gone, a stiff breeze came up and blew the little boat away from the shore, and it sailed, and sailed far out of sight. Wasn’t that too bad?

IF I ONLY HAD WINGS!

If I only had wings, now I’m tired of play,
How nice it would be to go sailing away!
The sky is so blue and the clouds are so bright,
I should never be weary from morning till night.

You dear little bird on the top of the tree,
I am sure you’re as happy as happy can be;
With your little wings you can fly very high,
But with large ones I think I could get to the sky.

There are many things there which I’m longing to know:
Those clouds look like mountains all covered with snow;
Oh, if we had wings could we go there and play,
And tumble about as we do in the hay?

And where do the stars go as soon as it’s light?
And why do they twinkle the whole of the night?
Do they talk to each other when no one can hear?
And do they feel sad when the moon isn’t there?

If that butterfly now to a fairy would turn,
Perhaps she would help me these secrets to learn;
Such beautiful sights and such wonderful things
I would quickly find out if I only had wings.

AFTERNOON TEA.

I have three dolls. Their names are Blanche Amelia, Capitola, and John Henry. Blanche Amelia and Capitola are very well-behaved, but John Henry gives me a world of trouble. I thought it would be nice to have a boy-doll. But it is not. He is a great care.

When I dress up Blanche Amelia and Capitola in their best clothes, they seem to know that they must act like ladies, and I am never ashamed of them.

I love to make believe; don’t you?

Mamma and my sister Belle go out to afternoon teas and receptions, and when they come home I hear them tell how this one looked, and what that one did, and what the other one said, and what they all wore, and oh! how I do enjoy it.

Then I have an afternoon tea for my dolls. I have my own set of dishes, and my own tea-tray, and I pass the cups around to them just as if they were real folks.

Blanche Amelia and Capitola sit up and behave their best, but John Henry will put his arms on the table, although I have told him it is not nice to do so.

When I play afternoon tea I have to eat all the goodies myself, and drink all the warm milk, which I call tea, and when the play is over I am ever so tired. But not a bit hungry. Oh, no!

HOW ELMER WAS LET ALONE.

“I just wish I could be let alone for a while,” said Elmer Green. “I am tired, and I don’t want to do anything for any body.”

“Tired” was another name for “cross,” and to tell you the truth this was one of Elmer’s real cross days. He got up cross, and he would stay cross for some time. He always did. It was of no use to try to please him. It could not be done. So he took a book and went off by himself, but was not gone long before he came back for his top. He spun that for a while; then he got out his toys; then he counted his marbles; then he thought he would pick some cherries, but there was no one to go with him, and there was no fun in going alone.

What should he do? He wanted to be amused, and didn’t know how to amuse himself.

Presently he came into the room where his mother was, and stood around hoping she would ask him to do something for her. But she did not. She had a great deal to do, and needed help, but she would not call on Elmer. It made him feel as if he was of no use to any one.

“Mother,” he said at last, “what can I do?”

“Please yourself,” was the quick reply.

That was what Elmer had been trying to do, but with poor success. He hung his head, and felt as cross as a bear. As he sat in a corner, his mother took up the pail to go out to the well. Elmer seized the pail out of her hand and drew the water. He began to feel better. Then he looked around to see what else he could do. He did not wait to be asked. The more he did, the more he felt like doing. He had found out that it was not nice to be let alone; and he also found out that he pleased himself most by trying to please others.

BY THE MILL-POND.

Come, let us sit down under the shade of this big tree.

How its branches reach over, and dip down into the water. It is like a great umbrella. It is an old tree. See how thick the trunk is. It is nice to sit in its shade on such a warm day. We will ask the miller to give us some corn, and we will feed the ducks. There are five of them—white as snow, and with bright yellow bills and legs.

Here they come!—one, two, three, four, five. Let us name them. Ala, Ela, Ila, Ola, Ula. The names sound very much alike, but that will make no difference to them. And if you call one the others are sure to follow.

Quack—quack—quack—quack—quack!

They know what we are sitting here for, and they are in haste to be fed. They are always hungry.

Now throw the corn out, where the water is deep. See the ducks dive for it! That one is standing on its head. How queer it looks, with its yellow legs kicking up on top of the water. Over goes that one! Heels over head! The ducks don’t mind. Now let them quack, quack for a while. Soon they will sail off to their pet feeding-ground, where the earth is moist and there are soft grasses.

Look! look! What is the matter? A big turtle has seized one of the ducks by the leg. It cannot get away. Isn’t that too bad! Now there are only four white ducks on the mill-pond.

MRS. BRUIN AND HER CUBS.

One afternoon Mrs. Bruin was obliged to leave her cubs alone. She cautioned them not to go far from their cave while she was away.

They had their usual play together, rolling and tumbling and chasing each other. They ran farther and farther away from the cave, as no mother was there to call them back. They ran around trees and scrambled over logs; they climbed over rocks and stepped into bogs. Growing tired, they turned to go to their cave to rest.

Where was it?

They looked into one cave. That was not theirs. They looked into another cave. That was not theirs. They poked their noses into hollow trees, they sniffed around between the rocks. Had their cave moved away! Oh! where were they! No home! No mother!

Oh dear! Frightened nearly to death, these young cubs took to their heels. They did not know which way to go, but they ran. Splash! Splash! Into a stream that he didn’t see, tumbled one little cub. Such a howling as was set up, by the other little cub. And the howling was not in vain. It had a very familiar tone to Mrs. Bruin, who was walking home that way.

She hurried to the spot from which it came. She saw at once the plight of the cubs, and that they were her very own babies. She made a dash for the little one struggling in the water and pulled him out by the nape of the neck. Mrs. Bruin shook him pretty hard, perhaps to shake off the water, and perhaps to punish him a little. She was very much surprised to find them in this part of the woods all alone by themselves. She marched them off to their home. The walk was an instructive but not a jolly one.

THE BUNNY.

Box and Cox were twins. Griswold, their little master, was very fond of them. The dogs and the boy were always together.

Griswold let them play with some of his toys, but not with any they could hurt. Somebody gave Griswold a new toy-rabbit which he kept safely away from the dogs, except once. Then he left it on the floor while he went out to see a boy passing by.