Chapter III

Bessie had a piece of biscuit in her pocket. She took it out, and offered it to Carlo. It was so nice to get biscuit without having to stand on his hind-legs first, or jump a great height, or do something funny to earn it, that Carlo came out.

Then Bessie seized him, and tried once more to ink his face; but this time Carlo tore himself loose, and ran out of the room, knocking over the stool on which stood the inkstand, as he went.

In trying to stop him, Bessie soiled her nice white frock; and the ink streamed over the carpet. Here was mischief.

Next month I will tell you more stories about Bessie Allen.

SANTA CLAUS.

SANTA CLAUS came here last night
On his flight.
Down the chimney-top he flew:
He had lots of work to do,
Well he knew.

So he heaped the stockings high,
Said "Good-by."
Now, of toys he had no lack:
They were carried on his back,
In a sack.

What did little Flora find?--
Flora kind.
Why, a doll with golden hair,
Candies, and a tiny chair,
I declare!

What did bright-eyed Georgie get?--
Mamma's pet.
Can't you guess? A tiny gun;
But you see it's only one
Made for fun.

Here's what lazy Joseph found,
Looking round.
It was shocking!
In his stocking,
There was nothing, you must know,
But a big hole at the toe!
Lazy Joe!

GEORGE COOPER.

BECKY.

A TRUE STORY.

AFTER I had finished reading "The Nursery" to my little Willy to-night, he said, "Please, mamma, now tell me the story about the cat you had when you were a little girl; then I will go to bed."

When I had told him the story, as I have told it a great many times before, he said, "Mamma, why don't you send that story to 'The Nursery,' so that some other little boy can hear it too?"

"Why, Willie!" said I: "do you think it is enough of a story to put in print?"

"Of course I do!" said he. "I like it; and I ought to know what little boys like. Now, promise me to send it; and then I will go to bed." So I promised.

And now that my little boy has said his prayers, and is nicely tucked in bed, I will write out the story, hoping it will amuse some other little Willy as much as it does mine.

Here it is, just as I tell it to him:--

When I was quite young, I had a cat to which I
gave the name of Becky. I know nothing of her
very early history, for she was a sober pussy
when she was given to me; but she soon became a
great pet in the family, and seemed very fond
of us all, particularly of my father.

She always showed great delight when he came
home after a long absence. She would put her
paws on his shoulders, and rub his face, and
purr in a most contented manner. She would
never eat a mouse until she had first carried
it to him; and after he had stroked her, and
called her a good pussy, she would go away
quite happy.

After a time she had two beautiful kittens.
When they were large enough to follow her
about, I used to give them warm milk from the
pail that was brought in from milking; but one
morning, when the pail was set on the floor,
the kittens were too hungry to wait for the
milk to be dipped out for them, and, putting
their paws on the side of the pail, began to
lap from the top

Becky sat quietly washing her face; but she saw
what the kittens were doing, and thought it was
her duty to give them a lesson in good manners:
so she walked up to them, and boxed their ears
till they ran away mewing piteously. They never
again tried to lap milk from the pail.

"Tell me something else about Becky," Willy always says when I get to this point. So I go on:--

Becky was not so strict about her own manners.
She would often surprise us by walking into our
rooms without stopping to rap, or even to say
_mew_; for she could open any door in the house
by raising the latch with her paw.

She had several families of kittens. Once her
whole family was one poor little thing, which
lived only a few days. Becky was grieved sadly
at its death; but, after mourning for some
time, she went into the field and caught a
mouse, which she adopted, and treated like a
kitten.

After Becky had been with us a long time, my
brother was taken sick; and, as he reclined in
an easy-chair, she used to lie for hours beside
him.

One day, a short time after he died, she
entered the room, and, jumping up in the chair,
examined it all over. Then she jumped down and
sat on the floor, looking at the chair, and
mewing sorrowfully. Then she went away; and we
never saw poor Becky again, or knew what became
of her.

"What do you _suppose_ became of her?" is Willy's question here. "Ah, little boy! you can _suppose_ as well as I."

WILLY'S MOTHER.

ROBERT'S PROMISE TO SANTA CLAUS.

ROBERT'S hope was that he should have a sled. "O Santa Claus!" said he, "if you will only bring me a sled, I will promise to give all your other presents away to those who need them most."

Uncle Charles heard this speech, and said, "May I send word to Santa Claus of your promise?"

"Yes, you may," said Robert; "for I am in earnest about it. If Santa Claus will only bring me a sled, I shall be content."

"And you will bestow his other Christmas-gifts on those who need them most,--is that the bargain?" asked Uncle Charles.

"Yes, that is it," said Robert.

The little boy went to sleep that night, wondering who Mr. Santa Claus was, and whether he would heed a hint from Uncle Charles.

Early Christmas morning, Robert woke; and what do you think he saw by the side of his bed? Well, it was a fine sled, painted red, with thick iron runners.

Robert could hardly believe his eyes. He jumped out of bed, and dressed himself. Then, as the morning light grew clearer, he saw other presents,--a beautiful pair of skates, a rabbit that could hop out of a box, but was not alive, a bat and ball, a bag of marbles, a fine pocket-knife, a silver pencil-case, a ship all rigged, a paint-box, and many more things that I cannot name.

"And all these things are mine!" cried Robert. But he then remembered his promise to Santa Claus, and sighed. "What a nice pair of skates!" thought he. "And this knife and this pencil-case,--they are just what I want. Will Santa Claus ever find it out, I wonder, if I keep them?"

It was only for a moment that the little boy hesitated. Then he put his hand on his sled, and said, "No! a promise is a promise. Here is what I asked for. I sent word to Mr. Santa Claus what I would do; and it would be mean now if I were to break my promise."

I am glad to say that Robert distributed all the presents, except the sled, among the boys and girls of his acquaintance, whose parents were too poor to spend money on Christmas-gifts.

Uncle Charles was so much pleased with Robert's conduct, that he bought the prettiest pair of skates he could find, and put them on Robert's feet, and told him they were his own.

ALFRED SELWYN.

PIGGY'S VISIT.

MARY stood by the table kneading dough. Annie was washing Dolly's apron. Bobby was making a pasteboard wagon for Dolly. Clara was rocking the cradle, which was baby Dan's carriage to the land of Nod. Cook was paring the "taters," as she called them. Mother sat quietly sewing on Annie's sack. How still every thing was!

All at once piggy put his nose in at the door with an "Ugh, ugh! May I come in?"

Mary let some flour fall; Annie hugged Dolly closely, perhaps to keep piggy from eating her; cook got the broom; baby screamed; and Clara laughed aloud.

Mother took the baby, and sat still. Where was piggy? and where was Bob?

Down came the broom where piggy had been; but piggy was scampering down the path, with Bob at his heels, and in a few minutes piggy was in his pen in the far corner of the lot, grunting with fear and weariness.

Bob came up, and closed the door of the pen, "Piggy," said Bob, "naughty piggy, to come where you are not wanted! I should think you would like to stay in your own house, so neat and comfortable."

"Ugh, ugh!" said piggy.

"Oh! you were lonesome, were you?" said Bob. "You thought it was no more than civil to call on your neighbors. You wanted to show us that you were not too proud to be sociable. Next time please to send in your card first."

"Ugh, ugh!" said piggy.

That was more than a week ago; and piggy has staid at home since then. Perhaps he is waiting for us to return his call.

Now, how many persons have I told you about?

FANNIE.

THIS is the seed,
So yellow and round,
That little John Homer hid in the ground.

These are the leaves,
So graceful and tall,
That grew from the seed so yellow and small.

This is the stalk,
That came up between
The leaves so pretty and graceful and green.

These are the tassels,
So flowery, that crowned
The stalk, so smooth, so strong, and so round.

These are the husks,
With satin inlaid,
That grew 'neath the tassels that drooped and swayed.

This is the silk,
In shining threads spun:
A treasure it hides from the frost and the sun.

This is the treasure,--
Corn yellow as gold,--
That satin and silk so softly unfold.

This is the cake,
For Johnny to eat,
Made from the corn so yellow and sweet.

STOPPING THE EXPRESS.

CHARLES had a small flag which his father gave him. It was fine fun for a while to march about and wave it; but it did not seem to be of much use. So at last Charles hit upon a plan of making his flag do some good. This was the plan: When his father had any bundles to send to Boston, Charles ran down to the street, and put his flag in the fence.

This was a signal for the expressman to stop. When the man saw the flag in the fence, he knew that he was to stop and take a bundle.

Here he is, waiting while Charles brings out the bundle. He knows that Charles is on the watch for him, and that there is no need of driving through the gate. Charles likes to do errands for his father.

Here is Charles, carrying out the bundle. He is running fast, because the man cannot wait long. "Hurry up, little boy!" says the man (who is fond of a joke); "there's no time to play marbles. This wagon must get to the station by nine o'clock."

W. O. C.

WHAT THE SHIP BROUGHT.

OH, a happy new year to you all,
Good children, a happy new year!
To your fathers and mothers,
Your sisters and brothers,
To your grandpas and grandmas so dear.

It's a long way good wishes to send,--
Three thousand miles over the sea;
When the wild winds are roaring,
The rainstorms are pouring,
And the waves are like mountains to see.

May the good ship speed safe on its way,
Though the moon and the stars be unseen!
May the compass be steady,
The helmsman be ready,
And the captain all watchful and keen!

Oh, it's pleasant, dear children, the sea,
When the sky is all fair and serene,
With the breeze blowing lightly,
The sun shining brightly,
Or at night, when the clear moon is seen.

But now, at this "happy new year,"
In your homes and your nurseries bright,
Pray think how the vessel
With wild waves must wrestle,
Through the cold winter day and black night.

When you read the good wishes I send
Three thousand miles over the sea,
I would have you remember
'Twas in dreary December
The ship brought this greeting from me.

LEEDS, ENG., December, 1872. GEO. BENNETT.

HOW SMART MANAGED THE SHEEP.

SMART was a sheep-dog that belonged to a Mr. Scott, who lived in Scotland. On the large sheep-farms of that country a single shepherd often has the charge of from three to six thousand sheep.

The shepherd has with him usually two dogs; of these, one is the driving-out, the other the bringing-in dog. To the first the shepherd points out a number of sheep, and informs him by voice and action that he wishes him to drive them to a distant hill. The dog at once does as he is bid.

In the same way the shepherd informs the second dog that a lot of sheep on a distant hill are to be brought to the spot on which he then stands; and off runs the second dog, and brings the sheep to his master.

Mr. Scott's dog Smart was so trained, that he would never frighten the sheep. In driving a flock from one pasture to another, the sheep would often take a wrong turn, and then scamper off as fast as they could go.

At such times it is the custom of shepherds to send a dog after them at the top of his speed. He is not long in overtaking them, when, if the weather be warm, and the lanes narrow and dusty, the sheep are much frightened, and not infrequently are hurt.

Now, to prevent this, Mr. Scott would order his dog Smart to go the other side of the hedge or fence, saying, "Now, go ahead, and bring them back, and take care not to frighten them."

Smart would trot off so that the sheep should not see him, and in a short time would peep over or through the hedge. At length, when he had satisfied himself that he had got ahead of the sheep, he would come out gently in advance of them, and drive them back down the lane so quietly as not to give them the least alarm.

Smart would never attempt to go ahead of a flock in the usual way: he would manage so that the sheep should not know he was trying to get ahead of them. The picture will show you how he did. Was he not a wise dog?

UNCLE CHARLES.

HOW TWO BOYS PASSED CHRISTMAS MORNING.

THERE were two little boys who were cousins. One was named Richard; the other was named Paul. Richard lived where he could see from his chamber-window the Atlantic Ocean. There was a thick clump of trees at the back of his house; and in winter the ground in front would be often covered with snow.

Paul lived in Southern California, where, from his chamber-window, he could see the Pacific Ocean. He had a brother Harry and two sisters. It never snowed where he was: and he had no use for skates; for the water never froze.

Richard had a sister Mary, of whom he was very fond. Here is what Richard wrote to his Cousin Paul about his way of passing Christmas morning:--

"I wish you and Harry and the girls had been with us; for we had a good time on the ice. I'll tell you what we did. As soon as we had breakfasted, I got out my sled 'Dauntless,' and told Mary to wrap up, and bring her skates along.

"She got ready, and took her seat on the sled. Tiger began to bark; for he saw that a frolic was on foot. Off we started to the pond. A dozen boys and girls were there before us. They had made a fire on an island in the middle of the pond. It was a cool, bracing day; but the wind didn't blow.

"Our island we called 'The Isle of Refuge,' Julia Peters named it. She has a knack at inventing names. The island is fifteen feet long by twelve wide; and it has a rock that makes a capital fireplace.

"We had a fine time. All the girls could skate well. Nobody broke through the ice; but some of us had falls. No harm done. We thought of you, and wondered what you and the rest of our cousins in California might be about. I hope you will write me as you promised."

Well, Paul _did_ write; and here is an extract from his letter: "We all woke early; for father had been out in a boat with some friends all night, and we were expecting them back. We dressed, and went down to the beach; and there, right in the face of the sun, we saw father's boat.

"Harry had a spyglass; and he knelt on the beach, and spied out father on the deck of the boat. Mother and the girls waved their handkerchiefs, while I jumped and shouted.

"It was a mild, lovely, morning,--so mild, that we wore our straw hats and light clothing. We thought of you; and I said, 'Wouldn't Richard like to be here, where Christmas morning opens as soft and warm as a day in June?'

"But Harry cried out, 'Don't you believe it! Richard is either coasting or skating; and I wish I were with him. How I would enjoy a high old time on the ice, and then a coast down hill over the snow! That's the fun for me!'

"'Well,' said mother, 'I am well content with this bright sunrise and this delicious air. I shall not sigh for the snow and ice.' 'Nor I!' 'Nor I!' shouted Laura and Kate: so you see Harry was in a minority.

"Father soon landed in his boat; and then we all went back to the house and had breakfast. After breakfast we had a merry time at croquet, and then a still merrier time at foot-ball.

"As Kate will write her Cousin Mary all about the Christmas-tree, and the things that Santa Claus brought, I shall not touch on that subject. Now I hope, Cousin Richard, you have not forgotten your promise to write me."

Here were two little boys belonging to the same grand country,--one writing from the shore of the Pacific, where all was balm and sunshine on Christmas morning; and the other writing from the shore of the Atlantic, where it was cold enough to skate. What an idea does this give of the extent of our favored land, and the wonderful variety of its climates and its products!

EMILY CARTER.

WHY THE HORSES JUMPED OVERBOARD.

THERE were two fine horses. Here is a picture of them. One was named Albion, and the other Erin. Albion was the white horse, of course; for the word "Albion" is derived from the Latin _albus_, white; and England got the name of Albion because of its white chalky cliffs by the sea.

Well, these two fine horses belonged to Mr. Ducrow, who kept a circus. They were on board a steamer bound for Newhaven in England. They had been out at sea several days; and they longed to have a frolic on the green land, and have a bite at some good crisp grass.

So, when they saw the land quite near, what did they do but leap overboard, and swim towards it! But the groom who took care of them sprang instantly after them, and kept swimming beside them, guiding and cheering them.

As soon as they got out of the water, and felt the green turf under them, they snorted and gambolled, and showed their joy in various ways. How nice the green grass must have tasted to them! and what fun it must have been to lie down and have a good roll on the ground!

UNCLE CHARLES.

Words by MRS. A. M. WELLS.

Music by T. CRAMPTON.

1. Lady-bird, lady-bird,
with a red wing!
What are you doing?
Poor little thing!
Flies are no longer heard
Buzzing around,
Spiders have hid themselves,
Wasps are not found.

2 Spring is not coming yet;
Why are you here?
Insects don't come about
This time of year.
Up the cold window-pane
Why do you roam?
Lady-bird, lady-bird,
Fly away home!

3 Come when the flowers come,
Come with the spring,
Dear little lady-bird
With a red wing!
In the cold winter-days
Why wilt thou roam?
Lady-bird, lady-bird,
Fly away home.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

This issue was part of an omnibus. The original table of contents covered the first six months of 1873. The remaining text of the table of contents can be found in the other issues.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Nursery, January 1873, Vol. XIII., by Various