Chapter II: Part 2

Box examined the bunny, nosing and pawing it all over. Cox tried to get his nose or a paw on it, but Box kept him off. Suddenly, while Box was looking up, Cox grabbed bunny by the back and started to run. Box as soon as he could collect his wits ran too. Such a race! Over the toys, down the steps, out in the yard, around the house, they chased and they raced.

Cox held the bunny fast in his mouth, and kept the lead for a long time. Box finally got near enough to catch the bunny’s head in his mouth. Then came the tug of war. Cox pulled one way, Box the other. Cox tried to shake Box off, Box tried to shake Cox off. Cox growled, Box growled.

Griswold, coming back to his playthings, missed the dogs and the bunny, and feared something was wrong. Hearing some growls, he went to look for the dogs. His heart came into his mouth as he saw them jerking his bunny with all their might.

He got to them just in time to see poor bunny come apart. And he came apart so suddenly that Box, with the head in his mouth, keeled over one way, and Cox, still holding the back, keeled over the other way. This ending surprised them. Each dog sat down to think and to pant.

Griswold sat down to think and to cry. Griswold’s mother came to the rescue. She gathered up the remains of the rabbit, whipped Box and Cox, and consoled Griswold. She said the bunny’s head could be plastered on; but his expression would never be quite the same, for one eye was knocked in, and one ear was gone.

TOWZER’S FUN.

Tiger, Towzer, and Tip, although the pets of one household, were often jealous of one another.

Towzer and Tip were sometimes friendly from sympathy. Towzer was chained up and couldn’t run away, Tip had had his wings clipped and couldn’t fly away, while Tiger, the sly cat, was free to go his way.

Tiger took his after-dinner nap on top of the large square post near his kennel. One day, while he was resting up there, Tip examined the bones on his dinner plate. Tiger, lying on the steps, saw Tip picking the bones. He loved to tease Tip by springing at him, and Towzer loved to tease Tiger. Towzer thought he saw a chance for some fun.

Tip fastened his eyes on the bone; Tiger fastened his eyes on Tip; and Towzer fastened his eyes on Tiger. Tip picked the bone; Tiger tip-toed over the ground; Towzer wagged his stub of a tail.

“Caw-caw, meow-ow, bow-wow!” What a row! Towzer, Tiger and Tip all in a heap, clawing, scratching, and tumbling one over the other.

“Caw-caw, meow-ow, bow-wow!” What a row! Feathers and fur! Claws and paws!

“Sis-cat!” said a voice.

And they “scatted.” There sat Towzer in front of his kennel, looking as though nothing had happened. Tiger and Tip were nowhere to be seen. By the contented wag of his stub of a tail, Towzer showed he had had some fun. He winked and he blinked as he glanced at some fur and a feather or two at his feet.

HIS FIRST CIGAR.

“Please, mister, give me a cigar!”

The request was made by Tolomeo, but was not granted by the person addressed. Tolomeo had seen men smoking. They seemed to enjoy it. He wished to smoke too. His income as a news-boy was not large enough to buy cigars, so he had never smoked.

While he was wishing for a cigar, he saw a man throw away the one he was smoking. It was quite a large piece, and Tolomeo ran for it. He felt very grand as he thrust one thumb into his trousers and held the cigar just as he had seen men hold theirs. He drew the smoke into his mouth, then let it out, trying to form little rings. He did not know how, exactly, but he tried to learn, feeling like a big man.

His attention was presently called from his smoking to a queer feeling in his mouth and stomach. There was trouble all along the line between the two, and Tolomeo was miserable. The stump of the cigar was forgotten. He only knew about his dreadful feelings.

“Hello, old fellow, what’s the matter?” A voice in his ears and a thump on his back, showed the presence of a friend.

“I’m sick!”

“Seems to me I smell smoke. I say Tolomeo have you been making a chimney of yourself?”

Tolomeo did not answer.

“That’s what’s the matter; you’ve been smoking.”

“I guess smoking don’t make fellows sick.”

“Don’t it though. Tried it before?”

“I can’t say, I have.”

“Ha-ha, ha-ha” laughed the friend.

“Keep quiet will you. Men wouldn’t smoke if it made them feel as I do.”

“Don’t you make a mistake. Most of them have just such a time at first.”

Tolomeo was amazed. He wondered how anybody could get enough fun out of smoking to pay for such bad feelings. He didn’t try again although he was told if he smoked often enough he would feel all right. “What’s the use any way?” he said. “If I grew to like smoking, I’d buy cigars and have less money for clothes than I have now. Besides I want to save enough to go to the ball-game. I want my money for lots of things more fun than smoking.”

PRUDENT PUSS.

Bold Joe and Jim, and terrier Tim,
Went out to chase their prey;
They chased her hard across the yard,
And then she got away.

The ducks in vain expressed disdain
Of Pussy’s coward flight;
They were three to one, so she chose to run,
And I think she did quite right.

The dogs outside implored, defied;
Puss answered not a word;
When they’d gone in despair, she came out of her lair,
And laughed in her sleeve and purred.

FLOY’S PICTURE.

They were arranging the holly to trim the parlors for Christmas.

“Mamma, may I put a big bunch over Floy’s picture?” asked Eloise.

“Certainly, my dear, I was just thinking about it myself.”

The mother’s eyes filled with tears as she spoke. Eloise climbed the step-ladder carefully and placed a beautiful branch of holly over the picture. Then she sat down on the top of the ladder. She could not visit with Floy, for Floy had gone to heaven. This picture was so like her that to sit near it was something like sitting by Floy herself. She imagined Floy’s smile grew sweeter and sweeter.

“I’m very lonely without you,” she said to the picture. “I haven’t any little sister to play with now. I wish you could put your arms around my neck and hug me as you used to. I wish you could come down from heaven once in a while any way, so we could have some more good times together; so we could play with our dolls, or look at our picture books, or romp. Your Cinderella is just where you left her. She doesn’t have anybody to play with. I don’t play with her much because it makes me cry. I don’t play with my Maleen much neither. I let her sit beside Cinderella to comfort her. Jennie came over the other day to play and broke one of your dishes. It made me cry, and Mamma too, so I put your dishes all away in a box. Mamma has put all your clothes away too. She is going to give them to some poor woman who has a little girl about as big as you, because you’ll never need them any more. I suppose you have wings now. Do you ever fly down to earth, and can you see me? I can’t see you; I wish I could.”

“Eloise, I want the ladder!” shouted Carl.

Eloise laid her face against the picture and said, “Good night, little sister, I wish you could kiss me. You won’t forget to love me, will you?”

The picture seemed to smile sweeter than ever. Eloise climbed down the ladder, feeling that heaven could not be far away as dear little Floy seemed so near.

DOBBIN’S CHRISTMAS DINNER.

Now after this dinner of oats and of hay,
I’ll feel like a colt that is frisky and gay.
A horse they call handsome am I, and not old,
But many a time I’ve been bought and then sold.

My heels would go up, and my head would go down;
The young men would laugh and the old men would frown;
When bars I jumped over, the women would run;
The boys called it tricky, but I called it fun.

The mistress I now have is gentle and fair;
She always will give me the very best care;
I ought not to be frisky, her peace to destroy,
But a horse is as risky, alas, as a boy.

The dogs and the ducklings, the pretty white doves,
Are cared for by Horace, whom each of us loves.
Our mistress and master, and other friends dear,
We wish a bright Christmas and jolly New Year.

“UNEARTHED.”

The master’s three dogs were privileged to come into the house. One day when they entered they knew at once there was something new in the house, though nobody said so, and nothing was seen. Dogs are very wise about some things.

These dogs were sure they were right, and they meant to prove it by finding this new thing. They smelled of the chairs and the floor, and trotted about through the house. In less time than could you or I, they found the door that led to the room that contained the box that held the new thing they were in search of. They pushed open the door; they walked in; they looked at the box; they wagged their tails. By their manner, one knew they were thinking, “I told you so! Our noses are better than some people’s brains.”

The box was large; the cover was off. Nothing could be seen except a lot of paper, but they knew there was something there besides paper. They smelled of the paper, they smelled of the box. The odor excited their nerves. They could stand it no longer. They tore off the paper and threw it about.

One grew so excited he jumped in the box. His legs went round something, he couldn’t tell what. It seemed like a creature that he must drag out. He pulled with all his might, when up from the box there rose, like a ghost, the head of a fox. His eyes were wide open and so was his mouth, his ears stood straight and his tongue hung out. Such barking and jumping! Trip couldn’t let go, for then the fox at once dropped below.

And this was their plight when the master walked in. All were surprised. The master looked queer. Scold them he wouldn’t; in fact he felt proud. His dogs, without bidding, had “unearthed” the fox.

THE LITTLE TEACHER.

“Now, Pussy-diddle, you have eaten your dinner and it’s time you were taught how to spell. And Doggie-dibble, you have taken your recess, it is time you were taught how to read. Come, Pussy-diddle, spell ‘purr.’”

“Pur-r-r-r.”

“That isn’t the way to spell ‘purr;’ you have put in too many r’s. Try again.” “Pur-r-r, meow!”

“I didn’t ask you to spell ‘meow.’ Put down your paw and sit up straight. Now try once more to spell ‘purr.’”

“Pur-r!”

“That is right. Come here, Doggie-dibble, and sit by my side and look at this paper with me. Here’s a page of very fine ladies, and a page of beautiful birds. Oh, here is the lesson for you. Turn your head this way, Doggie-dibble, you surely can tell about this. You mustn’t read to yourself, Doggie-dibble, ’cause then I can’t tell when you are wrong. Now, sir read aloud.”

“Bow-wow!”

“He is a bow-wow, that is right. Go on.”

“Wow-wow!”

“Good dog! Now, Pussy-diddle, you have learned your lessons for to-day, and so have you, Doggie-dibble, and now you may both go to play.”

THE HUNGRY DOGS.

“We can’t stand it much longer.”

“That is so. We are pretty thin now.”

“I should say so. Look at my sides. You can see my ribs so plainly anybody would suppose I had buried all my old bones there, instead of in the ground.”

“I don’t suppose master means to starve us.”

“Probably not. But that thought does not fill the hole in my stomach. We’ve not had a square meal for three days.”

As Zip and Jerry were talking, the master came in to prepare his meal. He lived alone with his two dogs. He was a good master, but was inclined to be stingy, and was growing worse. Zip and Jerry lay close together to sympathize.

They watched the master put the bread and meat on the table. They saw him begin to eat. They could hardly stand it, they had such queer feelings about their ribs.

The master left the room a minute. Zip and Jerry looked into each other’s eyes, as much as to say, “We’ll have to do it.” They arose, walked to the table, and tried to help themselves. They did not get many mouthfuls, for the tablecloth slipped, and everything else came down with a crash and a crack. The master hurried back, and in great rage stamped his feet and clinched his fists.

Zip was so frightened he turned to run, but Jerry, with his tail between his legs, stood his ground. He raised his head and barked.

“What are you about you rascals?”

“Bow-wow!”

“Don’t you know any better than to do such a thing?”

“Bow-wow, bow-wow!”

“Crack my plates and make such a mess!”

“Bow-wow-wow, bow-wow-wow.”

“What do you mean by barking?”

Jerry whined and tried to wag his fallen tail. He tried to explain as well as he could in dog language. He wished to say, “You wouldn’t give us enough to eat, and we were so hungry we had to help ourselves.”

The master sat down to think. His dogs had never done such a thing before. Perhaps they were hungry. He remembered that he hadn’t over-fed them for some time, and that very day they had asked for food and he had forgotten to give it. Although he was still pretty angry about his broken dishes, he felt a little ashamed of himself. After that day, he gave his dogs better food, and enough of it.

THE LITTLE PEDDLER.

This fine-looking boy is going home from his work. His mother is poor. He helps her by selling on the streets the buns that she makes. He calls to the passers-by that he has buns to sell, “Fresh buns! Fresh buns!”

He makes the most money at the railway stations. He goes to the trains and asks the passengers to buy. “Fresh buns! Fresh buns!” They like to buy of him, because he has such a pleasant face and manners, and is always so clean. He sells many more buns than he would if his hands or clothes, or baskets were soiled. He sells many more than he would if he looked cross and was crabbed.

You can see that his baskets are empty. He has sold every bun that he had; now he is taking home to his mother all the money he received for the buns. He is a great comfort to his mother. Every little boy can be that, but I am afraid there are some little boys who are not.

URSULA AND HER DOVES.

The doves are not afraid of Ursula. They know she loves them, for she feeds them every day, and is always kind.

Do you see that one at her feet? He is looking up into her face. He wishes to stand on her hand and eat from it; but one dove already covers her hand, and there is not room for another.

The dove that has just taken a drink from the water-lily bowl is looking at her too. He will hop on to her shoulder pretty soon. He knows she often has a little piece of bread in her mouth, and if he gives her a kiss—the kind doves give—he will find a bit of bread in his bill.

Sometimes a dove will fly to the top of Ursula’s head and peck at her hair. That is their way of giving love-pats. They stay near her as long as they can. When she leaves them, they fly to their dove-cots.

When they hear her voice in the garden, they fly to her, even if she does not call. And whenever she calls they always come. If Ursula were not kind and good to them, the doves would not love her.

EVA’S PEACH TREE.

One day Eva was eating a nice ripe peach. She thought she would plant the stone in a flower-pot and see what would come of it. Fred filled the pot with nice soft earth, and Eva kept it in a warm place all winter. Once in a while she would dig up the stone to see how it looked, and one day she found the stone split in two and a root starting from it. Oh, how pleased she was! and how eagerly she watched for the first green shoot to push its way through the soil!

In a month or two the peach-tree had grown quite tall, and when warm weather came Fred told Eva he would set it out of doors, for there was not room for it in the flower-pot. It would never be a tree if it had not space to spread its roots.

Fred made a lovely place for it in the garden. He marked out a circle, and edged it with pretty conch shells. Then he took his trowel, and dug a deep hole in the centre of this plot in which he put Eva’s peach tree. Then he packed the earth around its roots, and raked the ground smoothly, and sprinkled it with water from his watering-pot.

Inside the conch-shells Fred will set out a row of plants, and do his best to make them and the peach-tree thrive.

Eva has promised that Fred shall have the first ripe peach that she finds on her tree, for he is good and kind to her, and she loves him very dearly. But she will have to wait some time yet, for the tree is too young to bear fruit.

JAMIE’S COMFORTERS.

“Ma-a-a-ow! Ma-a-ow!”

“What’s that?” asked Donna.

“Why it sounds very much like my little brother crying,” answered June.

“I wonder what’s the matter with him.”

“Ma-a-a-ow! Ma-a-a-ow!”

Both the girls ran fast, thinking he must be very much hurt from the noise he made. They soon found him, and did not have to ask what the matter was. His knees and one hand were covered with dirt.

“I fa-a-a-alled dow-ow-own!” cried Jamie.

“Don’t cry, Jamie dear,” said June as she put her arms around him.

“It’s too bad, but never mind,” said Donna as she kissed him.

“Ma-a-a-ow! ma-a-a-ow!”

The girls brushed off the dirt and wiped away the tears, but still he cried “Ma-a-a-ow.”

“I wouldn’t cry any more,” urged the girls, for they found that he wasn’t hurt. But he did cry more, and I’ll tell you why if you won’t tell. I think he was afraid that if he stopped crying, they would stop kissing and petting.

NETTIE’S PLANS.

Dear Mamma is going to have company;
A lady is coming to-day;
And now she is out in the garden,
Picking a great big bouquet.

The lady has two little children,
A nice little girl and a boy;
She wrote us the boy’s name was William,
Her daughter, she said, was called Joy.

And I, too, am picking some flowers,
So both of the children can see
How nicely I’ve trimmed up my play-house;
Their visit, of course, is to me.

The girl she can play with my dollies;
There’s one that could once shut her eyes,
But now the poor thing hasn’t any,
So she can’t shut them up though she tries.

Then William can play with the dolly
That has only one leg and no head,
For surely he can’t hurt _her_ any—
Boys break things so, somebody said.

They’ll play with my dishes and sea-shells,
My wagon and rocking-horse too,
Perhaps smash them or lose them; Mamma says
Polite I must be if they do.

I guess I’ve enough of the flowers;
Now into the house I will run,
To see that my things are all ready—
Oh, I’m sure we shall have lots of fun!

A FUNNY LITTLE FROG.

Once a little Frog
Sat a-croaking on a log,
Oh, a very funny frog was he!
For he longed to be a tar
And go journeying afar,
Seeing wonders on the deep blue sea.

One night—oh, it was dark!—
A bit of birchen bark
Went a-drifting slowly down the stream;
And in this light canoe
Lay the little froggie, who
Imagined he was floating through a dream.

But my! when he awoke,
His astonishment he spoke
In language that all froggies understand;
His mouth he opened wide
And he cried, and cried, and cried,
Although he wasn’t out of sight of land.

The journey soon was o’er,
And the froggie jumped ashore,
As happy and as frisky as could be;
And on a mossy log,
Sits that now contented frog,
And never, never, wants to go to sea!

THE PLAYTHINGS.

An old German woman came to stay at the mill, and she used to tell Patty and Susan about the children in Germany.

She said, “I knew a little girl called Lina, and a boy named Carl; and on Christmas Eve their mother had a fine Christmas-tree, with gold and silver balls, and sugar cherries, and all kinds of pretty things hanging on its branches. It was lighted up with a hundred tiny wax tapers, so that there was quite a blaze in the room; and on the table beside it were many presents for all the people in the house, and a great number of playthings for Carl and Lina.

“They were just the toys they wished for most. Carl had a donkey on wheels, and a whip, and Lina a doll, with a box of clothes, and also a set of tea things.

“They were very happy children, and never quarreled, but lent each other their toys. It was very pleasant to see them playing together, for they were so kind and obliging.

“Their mother had taught them a little verse, which she told them to say over every day; it was—

‘Be to others kind and true,
As you’d have others be to you.’”

The old German woman had a picture of Carl and Lina, which she showed to Patty and Susan. In it was Lina with her doll, and Carl putting a basket on his donkey.

GRANDMAMMA’S SERMON.

“O-o-h, o-o-h, my hand! my hand!”

“What is the matter, Bessie?”

“Grandmamma, Kitty has scratched me so dreadfully. Cross old thing, I hate her.”

“Fy, fy, Bessie. Only this morning I heard you say that you loved her better than anything in the world.”

“Yes, but she was good then. Just listen, grandmamma. I wanted Amanda Malvina to take a ride, so I just tied Kitty in front of her carriage for a horse, and what should she do, but kick Amanda out, and when I gave her a little tap, she clawed me.”

“But, my dear, didn’t you set the example by giving the first blow? Poor Kitty isn’t a Christian, you know.”

“Am I a Christian, grandmamma?”

“I hope so, little one. Have you forgotten the verse you said at prayers this morning, about forgiving your enemies, and those that ‘despitefully use you’?”

Bessie sat very still for five minutes.

“Grandmamma,” said she, “I think I’ll make up with Kitty.”

Half an hour after, grandmamma smiled as she saw through the open window a perfect picture of a happy family. Bessie, Amanda Malvina, and Kitty, swinging in the hammock together. War was ended. Peace declared.

STOP THIEF.

I must tell you about my cat Posy, and the sound drubbing she got the other day. Miss Posy had eaten a hearty breakfast, but, like a little glutton, wanted more. What should she do, but go into the garden and seat herself near a peach tree, in which there was a marten-box. The birds were busy feeding their little ones, and as long as they were about, Posy hid under a rose-bush, but soon the old birds flew away, and then was her chance. Looking around to see if anybody was on the watch, she crept up the tree.

Jumping on the top of the box, she put her paw into the hole to feel for a young bird. Suddenly there was the greatest chatter I ever heard—the old birds had come back and caught the thief. But they could not make pussy stir. Then the father bird flew to a big marten-box on the top of the stable, and in a few moments came back with all the other martens. They pounced upon Posy, and pecked her until she was glad to run down the tree and hide under my skirt.

I don’t think she will want a bird lunch again very soon. If she does, I think she will go without it rather than venture again to the martens’ home. But kitty only did what bad boys often do, who know the difference between right and wrong.

VISIT TO DAME TRUMAN.

“Ted,” said Katie, from her little bed in the dimly lighted nursery, “this time to-morrow night, we’ll be at Poplar Grove.”

Ted and Katie did not reach their papa’s plantation until very late the following day, and were so tired from their journey that they went straight to bed. The next morning, they crept down stairs to see if their pony had grown any, and if Dash, the big Newfoundland, would know them.

After breakfast, Mrs. Barton let Ted and Katie go to see Dame Truman, a nice old woman who had taken care of Mrs. Barton when she was a baby. When they got to the cottage, they softly pushed open the door, and peeped in.

“Law, if it ain’t my blessed chicks, come to see their old Granny,” cried Dame Truman, hugging and kissing them.

“Now, my little dears,” said she, “I’ve got something pretty to show you.”

Taking up a pan of dough, she went to the door, and scattered some of it on the ground.

“Quack, quack, quack,” was heard, and up waddled an old duck with four young ones.

They looked just like balls of yellow worsted, and Katie wanted to take up one of the soft little things, only she felt afraid of the old mother. They were overjoyed when Dame Truman said that the little ducks were for them.

“I shall call mine Cowslip and Buttercup,” said Katie, “they are so yellow.”

“I’ll name mine Napoleon and Wellington,” answered Ted, “and I know they’ll be good fighters.”

JENNY,

MY LITTLE FLOWER-GIRL.

Granny lives across the moor;
Granny’s old and granny’s poor,
Scarce can cross her cottage door,
But she has sweet Jenny.

Little maid with tender eyes,
Softly blue as summer skies,
Golden locks a queen might prize
Crown her, fairest Jenny.

When the birds at early dawn
Chirp a welcome to the morn,
Glad the darksome night has gone,
Swift uprises Jenny.

With a kiss and fond caress,
Helps the poor old dame to dress,
Gently smoothing each white tress—
Blessings on sweet Jenny,

As she passes with her flowers,
Gathered fresh from woodland bowers,
Dewy bright with summer showers,
Fresh and pure as Jenny.

For granny’s sake she gayly hies,
And to the market bears her prize,
Where, “Please to buy my flowers,” she cries,
“Oh, please to buy of Jenny.”

TO A BIRD.

The little bird upon the tree
Has nothing now to say to me;
He does not meet me with a song,
But, silent as I pass along,
He turns his head, as he would say,
“It is too cold to sing to-day.”

And I would say, but have no words
To talk with little bits of birds—
“If you’ll come round to-morrow morn,
When I give my young chicks their corn,
I’ll put some seeds and crumbs of bread
For you upon the chickens’ shed.

“And perhaps you will. I’ll look to see
If you are sitting in the tree;
And if you are, I will not stay,
But leave the crumbs and go away;
You’d think, if I stayed by the rail,
I’d salt to put upon your tail.

“And if you saw the cage I’ve made,
I think you would not be afraid;
But I’ve a bigger bird, you see,
That whistles tunes all day for me.
So if you think you’d like the bread,
I’ll leave it for you on the shed.”

THE LITTLE HIGHLANDER’S BIRTHDAY.

When Henry’s birthday came, he put a garland of red roses around Malcom’s neck. Malcom was a handsome brown fawn, with a white breast. He did not stay with the other deer in the park, but had a place fenced off for his own playground. Henry brought him sugar and sweet cakes, and he fed from his hand, and followed his little master around like a pet dog.

Henry lived in Scotland, and his father was the chief of the MacDonald clan. Upon his birthday, all the tenants, with their wives and children, came to the castle to dinner. Tables were spread in the great hall, loaded with good things. Henry, dressed in his Highland dress, stood by his father’s side, and listened to the speeches made in his honor. Afterward, there were games played in the park, cricket, wrestling matches, and shooting with the bow and arrow. Prizes were given to the boys who showed the most skill.

While Henry was watching the games, Malcom came and rubbed his nose against him, as if to say, “Don’t forget me.” But when the bagpipes began to play, he was frightened, and bounded off amongst the trees.

As soon as Malcom’s horns grow, he will be turned out with the herd of deer, but Henry will get the keeper to put a mark upon his pet, so that he may always know him.

BABYLAND.

Somewhere out by Dreamland,
In the world of sleep,
Lies the land of Infants
Veiled in mystery deep.

None but babes and angels
Live in that bright place,
Brightened with the sunshine
Of the Father’s face.

That is why we sometimes
Wail, though not in pain;
Longing for the realms of
Babyland again.

That is why you see us
Gazing into space,
Catching far-off glimpses
Of our native place.

Suns are always shining,
Skies are always blue,
And our foster-angels
Send us thence to you.

But when by our coffins
Tearfully you stand,
Know that we are angels
Back in Babyland;

Far removed from sorrow,
Sin, and shame, and vice,
In the land of Infants,
Earth-named Paradise.

KEPT IN.

Peter would never take the trouble to learn the Multiplication Table. He always looked at the printed card when he did his sums, until his teacher caught him at it, and took the card away. Then he fell to making marks on his slate, and counting on his fingers, but it did no good. Poor Peter was kept in every day.

Look at him nearly tearing his hair out over five times seven. If he finds that hard, what will he do with eight times eight, which you know is a stumbling-block to all little folks?

It is recess, and he sits alone in the school-room. He hears through the open window the merry shouts of the boys. They are playing base ball, and he knows his side will be beaten without his help—for I am sorry to say, Peter plays games better than he does sums.

The tears roll down his cheeks, and he mutters, “I wish arithmetic had never been heard of.”

Take heart, Peter, and try again. Such great men as Macaulay and Sir Walter Scott did not like figures when they were little boys—yet see what perseverance did for them.

ONE DAY OUT:

A PLEA FOR THE POOR TOWN CHILDREN.

“Little town children, say where are you going?
The rain hurries down, and a cold wind is blowing.”
“To school we are trotting, through lane and through street,
Though the rain patters fast, soaking dresses and feet.”

“Little town children, your faces are thin;
Your footsteps are heavy, your blue eyes are dim.”
“Our small homes are crowded, our parents oft sad;
There is nothing to make us poor young ones feel glad.”

“Little town children, say what are your pleasures?
Tell what do you do in your holiday leisures?”
“We watch at the window, or play on the stair;
The back-yard is wanted, we cannot go there.”

“Little town children, and have you not heard
In this bright summer weather the song of a bird?”
“Oh yes, sir; the linnet that frets in its cage,
Or the brown little sparrow, so dingy and sage.”

“Little town children, have soft April showers
Not nursed for your playthings the sweet summer flowers?”
“Oh yes, sir; for sometimes we linger to greet
The boy who sells wall-flowers out in the street.”

“Little town children, are God’s skies so blue,
His works and his wonders, all hidden from you?”
“Oh no, sir; for once in the year a whole day
We school-children spend in the country at play.

“Sad little town children no longer we seem
As we frolic about in the meadows so green,
And gather pink daisies or buttercups sweet,
Then with loud heartfelt hymns close the joys of ‘our treat.’

“Glad little town children, our voices we raise;
For this one day of pleasure our Father we praise;
The lark springs to heaven, its song like a prayer,
We hope he is taking our thanks with him there!”

A TINY PET FROM FAR AWAY.

This funny little fluffy snowball comes from far-away Mexico, where, once upon a time, they used to eat dogs, nicely baked. They were considered “a dainty dish to set before a king;” but they were big, savage, voiceless brutes, not at all like the pretty mite I have drawn for you. He can make noise enough, and, if he were alive, would fly at you, and fancy that you were very frightened. I wonder why it is only small dogs that are noisy. Your big black fellow, with a head like a bear, gives a solemn deep-toned growl, but a mite that would go in your pocket can be heard all over the house. Well, after all, they are only like children, and like to make a disturbance, I suppose.

PUSSY’S LECTURE.

Oh, Pussy, will you tell me why
At all the pretty birds you fly?
The little birds that sing so sweet,
You surely would not catch and eat?

For you are ever kindly fed
Each day with nicest milk and bread,
And always at my dinner, too,
I save a lovely bit for you.

At night you sleep so warm and snug
Before the fire upon the rug,
While little birds (as I’ve been told)
Are often perished with the cold.

All in the bitter frost and snow
They fly so cheerless to and fro.
And scarcely even dare to come
And see if we can spare a crumb.

Now, Pussy dear, attend to me,
And never, _never_ cruel be;
Oh, do not harm the weak and small,
For that’s not being good at all.

My dear mamma, so kind and true,
Has often said that we should do
To others as we wish that _they_
Would do to us from day to day.

LITTLE ANGELICA.

Over a hundred years ago, there lived a little girl, named Angelica Kauffman. She was very fond of drawing, and made pictures of everything she saw. Her father and mother were poor, but they were so anxious for her to become a great painter that they moved to Italy to live. Before she was grown, her mother died, and then she had to take care of her old father.

One day, when she was in Venice, a rich English lady gave her an order to paint a picture of her little girl. This made Angelica’s fortune, for the lady was so pleased with the young artist that she took her to London. Everybody there was very kind to her, and she became a famous painter. One of her best friends was Sir Joshua Reynolds, the great English artist.

She was so sweet and pretty that people called her “Miss Angel” instead of Angelica. When you are older you must read her life, for it makes a beautiful story.

MISS GREYTOES AND MR. BEETLE.

One morning Miss Kitty Greytoes took a walk in the garden. The sun was shining, the apple and cherry trees were in bloom, and the air was filled with the scent of pinks and lilacs. But Miss Greytoes did not notice these beautiful things. As she tripped along, she said to herself, “I wonder if that cat-bird has built his nest in the same place this spring. I dreamed about him last night, so I’ll go and see.”

Sure enough, when she came to the tree, there was the cat-bird sitting on a bent limb. Miss Kitty smacked her lips, and was just about to spring at him, when Whirr! whirr! sung a big beetle, and the cat-bird flew away.

“Good morning, Miss Greytoes,” said the beetle, bowing politely.

“None the better for seeing you, Mr. Beetle,” she replied; “some folks are forever in the way.”

“Heigho! Miss Kitty, you’re cross this morning. Didn’t your supper agree with you? I saw you through the pantry window, last night, stealing cream. It will do you good to fast to-day. Good-bye.” And away he flew to tell his friend, the cat-bird, the joke.

“Meddlesome old thing!” snapped Miss Greytoes, as she trotted off with her tail in the air.

THE COMING OF THE SNOW.

Down, out of Cloudland, comes the snow,
Like feathers idly floating.
Come, in good earnest, snow, and give
Old earth its winter coating.
Thicker and faster fall the flakes;
The trees and fields are whitening;
And at the nurs’ry window here
The children’s eyes are bright’ning.

Says Frank—“The witches in the north
Their feather beds are shaking.”
Says Dick—“They must be plucking geese.
This pother to be making.
If only all this snow will lie
Till after school this morning,
I’ll snowball ev’ry one of you;
So now I give fair warning.

“As Cousin May is fond of balls,
_She_ shall have half a dozen.”
Then loudly laughs the saucy boy,
And merrily his cousin;
The sun, too, smiles from out a cloud,
On Dick in fancy pelting.
What will he do at twelve o’clock?
For see—the snow is melting!

GUIDO RENI.

In Bologna, an Italian city, there lived an old musician who had a beautiful little boy. He taught him to sing, and play on the harp, but Guido loved drawing better than music, and instead of practicing, made pictures and little figures in clay.

His father thought this a waste of time, and gave him many whippings, but nothing could prevent the little fellow from drawing. When his paper was taken away, he marked on the walls, and after he had filled them, he drew pictures in the dust.

But Guido’s good luck came at last. His father gave a concert at the palace of a great lord, and Guido went with him. He met there a famous painter, who was so pleased when he saw the boy’s pictures, that he advised his father to let him be an artist.

To his great joy Guido was put in a studio, and studied so well, that when he was thirteen, his master made him teach the other scholars. As the years went by, he became a wonderful painter, and even kings paid the highest prices for his pictures.

The crowning glory of his whole life was his famous painting of Aurora, on the ceiling of a summer-house of a palace in Rome.

LAZY MAGGIE.

Maggie is carrying her father’s breakfast to him. She was in the middle of a pleasant dream this morning when her mother came to her little cot, and said, “Wake up, Maggie, it is almost five o’clock.”

“Dear me,” yawned Maggie, “what a bother!” And I fear she did not have a very cheerful face, as she trudged to the wheat field.

The air was sweet with the smell of clover, the dew-drops sparkled in the sunshine, and the birds were singing gayly.

“What is the matter?” said a dew-drop on a white rosebud?

“I’m so sleepy,” answered Maggie, “and it’s a hard case to have to get up at five o’clock in the morning.”

“For shame,” said the dew-drop, “I’ve been at work all night watering this flower, and presently, the sun will dry me up. If you had come half an hour later, we shouldn’t have met.”

“Lazy little girl,” cried a skylark, “I have been flying a mile high already, and had a nice air bath. Now, I’m going to hunt for my breakfast.” And away he flew, joyously warbling,

“The birds are singing in every bush,
At five o’clock in the morning.”

Maggie heeded the lesson of God’s little teachers, and met her father with a happy smile.

JANET’S CHARGE.

“Janet,” said Mrs. Bruce, “somebody is in the children’s cot at last.”

“I’m so glad, mamma. Who is it? A boy or girl?”

“A boy, and one whom you know—Frank Fenton. Yesterday his pony threw him, and broke his arm. I believe his leg was hurt also. It happened near the ‘Retreat,’ and he was carried there. When his father arrived, and found him so comfortable, he let him remain.”

“What good news! Think, mamma, of Frank Fenton lying in the bed that we little girls paid for. I wonder if he will like our picture screen.”

The “Retreat” was a private hospital, and Mrs. Bruce was one of the managers. Janet and her little friends had fitted up a cot in the children’s ward, from the proceeds of a fair, which they had held. Imagine their pleasure, when the first patient proved to be one of their companions.

As soon as Frank was better, Janet went to see him every day. She made an excellent little nurse, and the two had great fun over the screen, inventing stories to suit the pictures.

Janet now felt the sweet satisfaction of doing good. “Mamma,” said she, “when I hear the hymn, ‘A charge to keep I have,’ it reminds me of Frank. He’s my charge.”

GOING TO MEET PAPA.

Nurse was sick, so mamma had to take care of Baby Belle. They walked down the shady lane to meet papa, and Nipo, Baby Belle’s little dog, given her by her papa on her first birthday, trotted on behind. Baby had on the lace cap that Aunt Fanny had sent her all the way from New York, and looked sweet enough to eat.

“Putty fowers,” said she, spying the daisies and butter-cups.

“Does Baby want some for papa?” asked mamma.

“Ess, and butty-tups too.”

“Doggie, does oo love butter?” and Baby Belle put her fat hand, full of butter-cups, under Nipo’s nose. Nipo was a good-natured little dog and loved Baby, so he wagged his tail to say, “Yes.” Then he gave a joyful bark, and ran off.

“Papa is coming,” said mamma; “now for a ride,” and she and Baby followed Nipo.

At the stile Baby Belle got a dozen kisses from papa, who was on the lookout for his little daughter, and rode home on papa’s shoulder as proud as a queen.

THE DOLLS’ LUNCH.

Annie had been to lunch with her little friend, Katie Heath. All the dolls were invited, and a merry time they had. It being summer, the table was spread in the arbor. Katie’s uncle brought her last Christmas from Japan a beautiful set of dolls’ china. This was arranged on a white cloth, and the tea tasted very good out of the pretty little tea-pot. There was also a sponge cake, which Katie had made with her own hands, for her mamma wished her to be a good housekeeper. After tea and sandwiches, they had strawberries and cream, to eat with the cake. The dolls sat at the table, and enjoyed themselves very much—only Mr. Punchinello, who is such a tease, would make fun of dear little Polly Primrose’s old-fashioned bonnet. She was used to his nonsense, and would not have cared, except that Marie de Montfort, Katie’s new doll, had on her Paris finery.

Polly looks very sad on her way home, but I think it is because Mr. Eugene Montmorenci is going to marry Mademoiselle Marie. It was all arranged after lunch, and the wedding is to be next Tuesday, Annie’s birthday.

Cheer up, dear Polly, something very nice is in store for you too.

VAIN MINETTE.

I am glad my mistress is out, that I may have the mirror all to myself.

Well, I am a beauty! though that spiteful cat next door says my face is streaked. She calls me “Miss Vanity,” but my good looks got me this nice home, with plenty to eat, and nothing to do.

This is the way it came about. My mother belonged to a little French boy named Henri, and being a French cat, she was very clever. One day when I was a tiny baby, a lady from New York came to stay at the house. My mother lay on the rug listening to the conversation, but pretending to be asleep. Henri said to the lady, “My cat has kittens, and one of them is beautiful.”

“Ah,” said she, “I wish I could see it.”

Upon hearing this, my mother trotted down stairs, and brought me up in her mouth. My, what a shout there was when we appeared! The lady said she must have the kitten of so wise a cat, and that I was perfectly lovely.

She promised Henri to be very good to me, so I was put in a basket, and brought to New York, where I am much admired, and happy as the day is long.

The last thing my mother said to me was, “Beauty is as beauty does.” I wonder what she meant?

MARIE’S FIRST SLIDE.

Marie was a little Southern girl, and had never seen a snow-storm. When she was ten years old, she spent a winter at the North with her cousins.

One morning she awoke, and looking out of the window, saw something soft and white falling.

“Cousin Caroline, run here,” she said; “they must be picking cotton up in heaven.”

Her cousin told her that it was snow, and in the afternoon she should go sleighing. I am sure that Marie will never forget her first sleigh ride.

But more fun was coming. When the ice became firm, Caroline and her brothers went to the Park to skate. Marie did not know how to skate, but Harold said she must have a slide on the ice, and that he would take good care of her. So Marie was tucked snugly into a sled, with plenty of robes to keep her warm.

Edmund played horse and pulled, while Harold did the pushing.

“One for the money, Two for the show,
Three to make ready, and Four to go,”

shouted Harold, and away they went like the wind.

Caroline, and Bébé, Marie’s dog, tried to keep pace with them, but were soon left far behind.

Was not Marie lucky to have such kind cousins?

THE LAPLANDER.

This Laplander looks as if he were sitting for his photograph, though I don’t expect photographers ever go to such a cold country as his. Lapland, you know, is in the northern part of Russia, and the people there dress in furs and skins all the time.

To go swiftly over the snow, they wear big shoes like the one the man is holding. These are strapped on the feet, and a Lapland boy skims along faster than any of you can skate.

But think of it—he never tasted a peach or a strawberry in his life. In his cold home only a few small trees and bushes grow. There are no fruits or vegetables, and the only food is the flesh of the reindeer, and fish.

The houses are round huts, with a hole at the top to let the smoke out.

The Laplander’s fortune is in his reindeer, and his only business, the care of large herds of them. A little Lapland baby lies in a cradle made of wood hollowed out and filled with white moss. Pieces of leather are laced across the top, and the mother fastens the cradle to her back when she travels.

Lazy little people who don’t like school, should go to Lapland, for there, if a boy knows his A, B, C, he is thought very learned.

ANNA’S BOUQUET.

“What shall we do to-morrow, Charlie?”

“Suppose we go to the grove and gather flowers.”

“Yes, we’ll get some for mamma, and then she will tell us fairy tales about them.”

The next morning Charlie and Anna spent in the woods. Charlie pulled the flowers that Anna could not reach, and she carried home a big bunch, which her mamma put in a vase. There were dandelions, cowslips, jonquils, and woodbine.

“Does dandelion mean that the lion is a dandy, mamma?” asked Anna.

“No, dear, that comes from a French word—_dent-de-lion_—lion’s teeth. Another flower from the French is the pansy, which means _pensée_, thought, and the emblem is, Think of me.”

“Can you tell us anything about the jonquil?” asked Charlie.

“That flower belongs to the Narcissus family. There is a pretty story about it. Once there lived a beautiful boy named Narcissus. While hunting one day, he sat down by a stream to rest, and seeing his face in the water, fell in love with it. Because he couldn’t get his picture, he pined away, and the fairies changed him into a flower.”

“He was a silly fellow,” said Charlie.

“But if he hadn’t been so,” replied Anna, “there wouldn’t be any nice story. I love flowers with stories to them.”

THE CORK BOAT.

My boy Charlie has made a cork boat, and is blowing it about to try and make it sink, but it is like a life-boat, and will not go over. Did you ever see a life-boat? and do you know what makes it different from other boats? or why it is so called? Perhaps you don’t know, so I will tell you, for all knowledge is pleasant and useful.

A life-boat is so called because it is useful in saving life. When a ship is in distress, a life-boat can put off from the shore and reach the ship, and then come back again laden with the poor people it has saved from drowning, because it can live in a sea where any other boat would sink and be lost.

“Why is this?” you ask. That is just what I am going to explain. So, stop blowing, Charlie, and come and listen to me.

A life-boat is lined with cork; in other words, it has a compartment or inside casing filled in with cork, or sometimes with large thin metal air-tight tubes; this is done to make it buoyant, that is, able to keep bounding along the stormy sea instead of sinking to the bottom. For cork will not sink. Stick a sail to it, and blow as Charlie has done, but you will not blow it over easily.

The brave men who man the life-boat must be made safe, too; so they wear cork jackets, and life-belts filled with cork, and take life-buoys with them. A life-buoy is a large round casing filled with cork, with a hole in the middle large enough to slip over a man’s head and shoulders, and it will keep him from sinking to have one on.

OLD MOLLY HARE.

“Don’t be afraid, little girl—it is only Old Molly Hare. I won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, Molly, my heart is going pit-a-pat. I was playing that I was in a jungle, and when you popped your head up, I thought you were a lion. Where did you come from?”

“I was sitting behind the fence, and a bad boy threw a stone at me, so I took to my heels through the wheat. My little ones are waiting for me in the hollow tree yonder.”

“Tell me about them. Have they got pretty eyes, and long brown ears like you, Molly? I never saw a baby hare.”

“Their eyes are not as pretty as yours, little girl, but they can see behind and before at once, and their long ears can hear a pin fall.”

“How nice! I wish I was a hare, Molly.”

“Better be a little girl. You have a warm house, but we live under the rocks and fences—and when the snow is on the ground, if we even poke our noses out, the men and dogs are after us.”

“Well, I’m going to tell my papa that he mustn’t shoot you. But, Molly, don’t you get mad sometimes? I heard my grandpapa tell a man that he was as ‘mad as a March hare.’”

“That’s only an old saying, my dear. Hark! I hear a gun. Good-bye.”