Chapter I: Preface (1)

IN this, the third reader of the series, great care has been taken, not only in selecting material suited to the needs and ability of the pupil, but also to arrange the selections so that he may develop the habit of acquiring interesting facts as he reads.

In the first two grades the children need to learn the mechanics of reading,—the recognition of words, the ability to find out _new_ words for themselves by means of phonics, correct pronunciation, enunciation, inflection, expression, etc., but in this grade especial stress may be laid on _learning by reading_,—getting the fact and remembering it. This prepares the pupil for the actual work of studying, when he is given a book and asked for the first time to “learn the lessons.” The questions at the end of many of the lessons should be read and answered by the pupil after he has read the selection. His answers should be thoughtfully prepared and correctly stated.

Especial attention is called to the fact that the selections in this book are almost exclusively copyrighted material, and have never been and cannot be used in other series of readers. This avoids the tiresome repetition of stories, read first in one book and then again and again in others.

Many of the selections are valuable from a literary standpoint, and the pupils will read with real enjoyment stories by Laura Richards, Mary E. Wilkins, Anna von Rydingsvärd, Helen Hunt Jackson, and other authors, noted for their skill in writing stories for children.

The selections which deal especially with child life and interests in other countries will broaden the child’s view of the world, prepare him for the study of geography, and help him to be a wide awake child, just the child whom this Wide Awake Series is intended to develop.

* * * * *

The selections, “Little Grandmother’s Shoes,” “Children of a Sunny Land,” “The Little Plant,” “The Little Goatherds,” “Great-Great-Grandma’s Christmas in England,” “The Whipping Boy,” “The Christmas Spruce Tree,” “The Eve of St. Nicholas,” “The Little Turkeys,” “The Children of Armenia,” “Ahmow,—the Wolf,” “The Emperor and the Peasant,” and “The Christmas Monks,” are used by arrangement with the Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Company.

CONTENTS

PAGE ALL THE CHILDREN OF ALL THE WORLD 9 THE SONG SPARROW’S WORK _Etta Austin Blaisdell_ 15 DUTCH CHILDREN 20 A LITTLE DUTCH GIRL _Edith Colby Banfield_ 25 THE GREAT FEAST _Laura E. Richards_ 26 LITTLE GRANDMOTHER’S SHOES 30 LITTLE-FOLK LAND _Edith Colby Banfield_ 33 CHILDREN OF A SUNNY LAND A STRANGE MILK WAGON 35 A RIDE IN A CHAIR 36 THE CARNIVAL 39 THE LITTLE PLANT _Anna von Rydingsvärd_ 42 TWO WAYS _Laura E. Richards_ 44 A SONG IN THE WOODS _Louise C. Moulton_ 46 HOW THE CORN GREW _Julia Dalrymple_ 47 “DO YOU KNOW?” _Edith Colby Banfield_ 51 THE LITTLE GOATHERDS 52 SWISS CHILDREN 56 LULLABY-LAND _Edith Colby Banfield_ 60 THE STONE BLOCKS _Laura E. Richards_ 61 GREAT-GREAT-GRANDMA’S CHRISTMAS IN ENGLAND 63 THE WHIPPING BOY 69 THE CHRISTMAS SPRUCE TREE _Anna von Rydingsvärd_ 72 A ROSE _Emily Dickinson_ 76 THE EVE OF ST. NICHOLAS 77 ROBIN REDBREAST _William Allingham_ 81 “THE LITTLE TURKEYS” IN SCHOOL 83 AT HOME 88 “GILLYFLOWER GENTLEMAN” _Laura E. Richards_ 91 THE RULER _Laura E. Richards_ 93 THE MOON _Edith Colby Banfield_ 95 THE CHILDREN OF ARMENIA 96 ARMENIAN HOMES 100 THE NEST _Helen Hunt Jackson_ 104 AHMOW—THE WOLF _Frederick Schwatka_ 106 ESKIMO CHILDREN 113 THE DREAM-SHIP _Blanche M. Channing_ 117 A TRIP TO JAPAN _Charlotte Chaffee Gibson_ 118 URASHIMA _Charlotte Chaffee Gibson_ 125 A DAY _Emily Dickinson_ 130 THE ANTS’ MONDAY DINNER _Helen Hunt Jackson_ 131 MY ANT’S COW _Helen Hunt Jackson_ 139 COLORADO SNOW-BIRDS _Helen Hunt Jackson_ 148 THE PETERKINS’ EXCURSION AFTER MAPLE SYRUP _Lucretia P. Hale_ 153 THE GRASS _Emily Dickinson_ 164 SUNSET _Emily Dickinson_ 165 THE BABY SQUIRRELS _Julia A. Schwartz_ 166 THE BABY THAT SLEEPS IN A POCKET _Julia A. Schwartz_ 180 THE EMPEROR AND THE PEASANT _Anna von Rydingsvärd_ 194 THE CHRISTMAS MONKS _Mary E. Wilkins_ THE GARDEN 203 PETER AND THE PRINCE 206 THE PRETTIEST DOLL 210 CHRISTMAS GIFTS 214

THE WIDE AWAKE THIRD READER

ALL THE CHILDREN OF ALL THE WORLD

I wish you would try to think this morning about all the children in all the world.

There are thousands and thousands of them, and they are doing all sorts of things this very minute.

Some of them are wide awake and some are in bed and fast asleep. Some are in school and some are playing out of doors.

Some live in such hot countries that they lie in the shade of big palm trees to keep cool. Others are in such a cold country that they see nothing but ice and snow, and they are dressed in furs from head to foot.

When you read stories about the children in other lands, do they seem to you like fairy stories?

I want you to know that all these children are real boys and girls, and they work and play and have happy times together, just as you do.

Perhaps when you read about the children in the far North you will wish that you were an Eskimo boy, living in a snow hut, wearing thick furs, and riding over the fields of snow in a sled drawn by dogs.

Or perhaps you would rather be a little Indian and live in a wigwam in the forest, learning to paddle a canoe, and to fish and hunt.

While you are here in this beautiful schoolroom, learning to read and write and draw and sing, there are thousands of other children who never saw a schoolhouse, and who will grow up to be men and women without even learning to read.

You can read stories about these people, and as you grow older perhaps you will know more about them, but they will probably never hear of you.

Of course, there are many thousands of children everywhere who are in school this morning.

Think of all the boys and girls in every town in the whole United States, who see the flag with its stars and stripes floating over their schoolhouses, and who learn to sing “America.”

In France the children wave a flag of red, white and blue, and learn a song about their country, but their flag is not like yours, and you could not understand one word of their French song.

The little English children sing a song about their country and their king which you could understand, and they read in books like yours. But then, there are the children who live in Germany, and learn to read in German, and the children who live in Italy and read Italian books, and many, many others.

Oh, there are so many children in the world!

In Japan and China the children use the queerest books that you ever saw. The words go up and down the page, and the stories begin at the end of the book, and at the bottom of the page. The words look like this:—

Did you ever see such funny words?

The boys and girls in these other countries do not go to school all of the time. They have holidays and vacations, and they play out of doors in the long summer days and the cold winter weather, just as you do.

You would enjoy playing with these children, even if you could not talk with them. I know you would like to fly big kites with the boys in Japan, or skate down the canals with the little Dutch boys.

And as for dolls! I am sure there are as many dolls in the world as there are little girls, and perhaps more, because some little girls have so many dolls that they cannot play with all of them.

You would like to play with the queer Chinese dolls in their beautiful silken robes, or with the Eskimo dolls that are carved out of bone and are dressed in furs and sealskin.

The Indian girl has wooden dolls dressed in bright blankets, with beads and feathers. The little French girl has a big wax doll, with blue eyes that shut when she lies down, and pop open when she sits up again. She wears beautiful gowns and big hats with feathers and ribbons.

Wouldn’t it be fun to have a dolls’ party to-day, if the dolls from all over the world could come?

These dolls might be dressed in furs, or silks, or blankets; they might be made of wax, or bone, or wood. But if they could talk they would tell you that the little girl who owns them loves them, and that, whether she lives in a snow hut or a tent in the desert, she has a loving father and mother and a happy childhood.

* * * * *

Are there many children in all the world?

What are some of them doing this very minute?

If you should go to school in Germany, what would you have to do first?

What does a little German child have to do when he first goes to school in our country?

Tell all the things you can that all the children in the world do almost every day.

THE SONG SPARROW’S WORK

In the forest where the birds live there is always work to do.

The woodpecker is a carpenter. He climbs up and down the trees and chops a hole in the trunk of one of them to make his home.

The crow flies down to the ground, and walks about in the fields.

He is the birds’ farmer. Toward evening, when he cries, “Caw! Caw!” he means that the earth needs rain.

The owl is the night policeman. He watches the rats and mice, and keeps them out of the farmer’s fields.

The kingbirds are the soldiers. They fight the birds that come over from the next forest, and drive them away.

The hawks have sharp eyes, and can see a long way. They are the scouts, and tell the soldiers when the enemy is coming.

The whip-poor-wills can see in the night, so they are the birds’ night watchmen.

The orioles are weavers. They weave their nests, and hang them in the tallest trees.

One of the birds is a thief, and steals eggs from the nests of the other birds, but I shall not tell you _his_ name.

So all of the birds have work to do in the forest.

What do the song birds do? Ah! they have their work, too. They sing cheerfully while the other birds work, and make the hours short and the day happy.

They sing of the goodness of God, and of the beauty in the forest and sky.

If there were no song birds, the workers might forget all of these lovely things. Then their hearts would be as hard as the tree the woodpecker is chopping.

One spring morning the song birds were singing so beautifully that every one listened.

The woodpeckers cried, “Plitt! plitt!” The crows screamed, “Rah! rah!” and the blackbirds laughed with glee. This meant that they liked the songs.

In the nests were many baby birds. They liked to hear the songs, too, so they stretched up their little heads.

But _they_ could not understand the songs about the sky and the forest. You see, they had not seen these things yet, and they did not know what the songs meant.

The poor babies drooped their heads and were very sad.

There was one bird who thought of the babies in the nests, for he had a kind heart, and loved little things.

“I will fly down and sing for them,” he thought; “perhaps it will make them happy.”

So he flew into a little bush, quite near the ground, and sang the sweetest song he knew. Over and over again he sang it, and the babies in the nests listened all the time.

“He is singing about the warm sunshine,” said the baby robins.

“He is singing about rocking in this beautiful cradle,” said the baby orioles.

Then, as the song grew sweeter and sweeter, “Listen, listen!” they cried. “Now he is singing about our mother. That is the best song of all.”

So the song sparrow sang in the little bush, telling the babies about the sun and the breezes and their mothers’ love.

He waked them in the morning; he sang them to sleep at night.

Have you never heard him singing, “Sweet, sweet, sweet, loving little mother, sweet”?

—_Etta Austin Blaisdell._

DUTCH CHILDREN

How would you like to go to Holland with me to visit the little Dutch children?

First we must go to New York City in a railroad train and then get on board of one of the big ships that cross the ocean.

We shall have to travel over the water five or six days and nights in this big ship, and then ride a long way, after we come to land.

When the Pilgrims came to this country, nearly three hundred years ago, they crossed the same ocean, but it took them many weeks. They were in a small sailing vessel, and had to come very slowly.

On board of this big ship you will find a great many things to do and see. There are several hundred people on the vessel, and it is interesting to watch them. There are books to read, and games to play, and the days will go very swiftly.

Most of the time you will not be able to see land in any direction. All you can see is the sun and the sky and the ocean with big waves rolling and tossing about.

I wonder what you will notice the very first thing when you reach Holland.

Perhaps you will see a group of children running down the street with their wooden shoes clacking on the stone walks.

Or perhaps you will see some girls standing at a corner knitting stockings, or a boy driving a dog harnessed to a little cart.

If you take a train and ride through the country you will see many strange things.

There are big windmills everywhere, with long arms, and sails to catch the wind. These mills turn wheels to pump water and grind corn and saw wood. In Holland there are no rivers with falls and swift currents to turn the mill wheels.

In some towns there are canals instead of streets, with bridges for the people to cross from one side to the other.

In summer there are many boats going up and down the canals, but in winter the water in the canals freezes, and then everybody skates. Think what fun it must be to skate to church, to skate to market, to skate to school, and then skate home again!

A great many of the poor children in Holland wear wooden shoes when they are out of doors. When they go into the house they take off their shoes and leave them at the door. You can tell, by counting the pairs of shoes at the door, how many children there are in the house.

Every week the children scrub their wooden shoes with soap and water until they are almost as white as snow; then they dry them in the sun, or before the fire in the big open fireplace.

These wooden shoes make fine boats, and sometimes the boys take them off and sail them in the canals. The little girls use them for doll carriages, or play they are beds, and tuck their dolls into them for a nap.

If you were walking down a village street in Holland you might see a red silk ball, or a pink silk one, hanging at the front door of one of the houses. This is to show that there is a little new baby in the house. If the ball is red, the baby is a boy; if it is pink, the baby is a girl.

There are very good schools in Holland, and all the children go to school and learn to read and write and sing, just as you do. But their reading and singing would sound very strange to you, and you could not read one word of their writing.

The Dutch children have vacations and holidays, of course. The holiday they like best of all is Santa Claus Day. It comes on the sixth day of December, and is very much like our Christmas Day.

The boys and girls put their wooden shoes in front of the fireplace, on the hearth, just as you hang your stocking near the chimney, and Santa Claus rides over the roofs of the houses on a big horse and drops presents down the chimney into the little shoes.

* * * * *

How would you go from your home to New York City? How long would it take?

What would you like to see in Holland?

What would you see that you never saw before?

Why do the people in Holland build windmills?

What kind of shoes do many of the children wear?

What season would you like best if you were in Holland? Why?

A LITTLE DUTCH GIRL

Were you a little Dutch girl
You’d be, perhaps, as sweet
As now you are, my darling,
And very much more neat!

You’d be a little housewife,
And even at your play
You’d take your knitting needles,
And knit and knit away!

You’d never be forgetting
To feed your pussy-cat,
And she, like Holland pussies,
Would grow so sleek and fat.

But were you, dear, a Gretchen,
You’d live across the sea,
And so would be, my dearie,
No kind of use to me.
—_Edith Colby Banfield._

THE GREAT FEAST

Once the Play Angel came into a nursery where four little children sat on the floor with sad and troubled faces.

“What is the matter, children?” asked the Play Angel.

“We wanted to have a great feast,” said the child whose nursery it was.

“Yes, that would be delightful,” said the Play Angel.

“But there is only one cooky!” said the child whose nursery it was.

“And it is a very small cooky!” said his little cousin.

“Not big enough for me!” said the child whose nursery it was.

The other two children said nothing, but they looked at the cooky with big round eyes, and their mouths went up in the middle and down at the sides.

“Well,” said the Play Angel, “let us have the feast just the same. I think we can manage it.”

She broke the cooky into four pieces, and gave one piece to the littlest child.

“See,” she said. “This is a roast chicken. It is just as brown and crisp as it can be. There is cranberry sauce on one side, and on the other a little mountain of mashed potato. It must be a volcano, it smokes so. Do you see?”

“Yes,” said the littlest child, and his mouth went down in the middle and up at the corners.

The Play Angel gave a piece to the next child.

“Here,” she said, “is a little pie. Outside, as you see, it is brown and crusty, and inside it is all chicken, and ham, and jelly, and hard-boiled eggs. Did you ever see such a pie?”

“No, I never did,” said the child.

“Now here,” said the Angel to the third child, “is a round cake. The frosting is half an inch thick, and inside there are chopped nuts and raisins. It is the prettiest cake I ever saw, and the best.”

“So it is,” said the third child.

Then the Angel gave the last piece to the child whose nursery it was.

“My dear,” she said, “just look! Here is an ice-cream rabbit. He is snowy white outside, with eyes of red sugar; see his long ears, and his little tail. Inside, I think you will find he is pink.

“Now, when I clap my hands and count one, two, three, you must eat the feast all up. One—two,—three!”

So the children ate the feast all up.

“There,” said the Angel, “did you ever see such a grand feast?”

“No, we never did!” said all the four children together.

“And there are some crumbs left over,” said the Angel. “Come, and we will give them to the brother birds.”

“But you didn’t have any,” said the child whose nursery it was.

“Oh, yes!” said the Angel, “I had it all.”

—_Laura E. Richards._

* * * * *

Small service is true service while it lasts.
Of humblest friends, bright creature, scorn not one.
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
—_William Wordsworth._

LITTLE GRANDMOTHER’S SHOES

“But, Grandmother,” said little May, holding up the tiny pair of calf-skin shoes, “were these your very _best_ shoes? Didn’t you have any shiny black ones, with a tassel on, like mine?

“And where did you buy them, Grandmother? Did Columbus bring them with him in his ship?”

“No, dear; Columbus didn’t bring Grandma’s shoes in his ship. He sailed back to Spain again three hundred years before these shoes were made.

“Bring your chair and sit down by me. I will tell you all about these little worn-out shoes of mine.

“When I was a little girl,” began Grandmother, “children did not wear shoes all the time. They went barefoot in the summer, except when they were dressed up. One pair of shoes had to last a whole year.

“When we went to church we used to go barefoot, carrying our shoes in our hands. At the foot of the hill we washed our feet in the brook and put on our shoes and stockings.

“Our shoes did not wear out very fast; and if we lost a shoe, we had to go barefoot till the shoemaker came again.”

“Oh, dear!” sighed May, “how dreadful! Who was the shoemaker, Grandmother, and when did he come?”

“The shoemaker,” Grandmother replied, “was a very important man when I was a little girl. ‘Shoe week’ was a busy week in the family.

“I can remember how glad we all were when father said, ‘The shoemaker will be here to-morrow.’

“That night the shoe bench was brought down from the attic and placed in a warm corner of the kitchen.

“Father and mother made a list of the shoes that were needed. We children talked about our new shoes and the shoemaker until we fell asleep.

“Early in the morning the shoemaker appeared. He carried his bag of tools and a roll of leather on his back. By seven o’clock he was seated at his bench, hard at work.

“We children used to sit on the floor beside him and watch him work. First he measured our feet and drew some paper patterns. Then he cut out the leather.

“He punched holes along the edges of the leather with a sharp awl; then the shoe was ready to sew.

“For his sewing he used a long waxed thread, with a stiff bristle at each end for a needle. All day long he would sit at his bench, putting the needles into the holes and pulling the thread through, till the shoe was sewed firmly.

“When all our shoes were made, he packed his bag and said good-by for another year.”

LITTLE-FOLK LAND

The children all go looking
In vain for Fairyland,
Where little folk have dwelling,
And wander hand in hand;
Where silvery small voices
Ring clear upon the air,
Where magic little whispers
Work wonders everywhere;

Where flower fields are forests,
For tiny feet to tread;
Where one has lived a life-time
Before the day is fled.
For this dear wondrous country
The children look in vain;
They find but empty flowers,
Through sun and summer rain.

It is the grown folks only
Have eyes for Fairyland,
Where little people wander,
And toddle hand in hand;
Where happy voices prattle,
And whisper secrets strange;
Where tiny sprites by magic
To bigger fairies change;

Where dancing little figures
Get lost amid the flowers;
Where days as years are measured,
And minutes count for hours.
It is the grown folk only
Can find the land of elves;
How could the children guess it?
The fairies are themselves.
—_Edith Colby Banfield._

CHILDREN OF A SUNNY LAND

I—A STRANGE MILK WAGON

Domingo and his sister Marikena live in a warm, sunny land. It is the land of Brazil, where there are fruits and flowers all the year, and it is always summer.

Domingo and Marikena love the sunshine, and the birds and flowers.

They like to play out of doors in the early morning and at night, but at noon it is too hot, and every one takes a nap.

When they go to the woods they do not see crows and blue jays and woodpeckers. Instead, there are gorgeous parrots and beautiful humming-birds that are almost as large as robins.

Perhaps they see monkeys in the palm trees; and, instead of acorns, they find cocoanuts.

In their schoolroom they sing all their lessons. Is not that a merry way? But it would seem strange to you because you could not understand one word they say. You see, they do not speak English, and they could not talk with you.

Every morning the two children are up very early and out on the balcony watching for something. Soon they call out, “_leite, leite_,” which means, “milk, milk.”

And what do you suppose they see? Not a wagon filled with glass jars or tin cans. Oh, no! It is only two or three cows being driven down the street by a woman.

The woman stops the cows in front of Domingo’s house, and milks one of them while the children watch her. How sweet and fresh this milk is! I wish you could have some every morning, too!

II—A RIDE IN A CHAIR

Domingo and Marikena are going with their mother to visit their cousin.

They have had their afternoon nap and it is not too hot out of doors now, as it is nearly four o’clock.

If you were going to pay a visit you would walk or ride in a car or carriage, would you not?

But Domingo and Marikena are not going in either of those ways. It is too hot to walk, and the streetcars do not go up the hill where their aunt lives, so they will ride in a chair.

The chairs are large and have big, soft cushions. They have a cover overhead and curtains on all sides, and are carried by four men.

The two children ride in one chair; their mother in another. The curtains are drawn down, but Domingo peeps out as they ride through the city streets.

When they reach the cousin’s house they do not rap on the door or ring a bell. The mother claps her hands, and when the aunt sees them she says, “Enter and welcome. The house and all it contains is yours.”

Is not that a strange way of saying, “I am glad to see you. Will you come in?”

They sit in the parlor and while they talk they sip coffee from tiny cups. Before they come away they walk in the garden, where there are beautiful flowers and fountains, tall palm trees, and rubber trees with blossoms like yellow lilies.

The chair-men wait and the children ride home again, but it is dark, and they can see only the lights in the houses. The chair swings back and forth like a cradle as the men trot down the hill into the city.

They sing as they go, and the song is a low, sweet tune like a lullaby. Marikena puts her head on the cushions and almost falls asleep.

Domingo nods and dreams of the fruit and the flowers and the funny pet monkey his cousin had in the garden. Oh! the days are long and happy in Brazil, and the children have merry times.

III—THE CARNIVAL

“The Carnival, the Carnival,” shouted Domingo one morning. “This is the first day of the Carnival.”

Then he ran to find Marikena. “Look, Sister,” he cried, “I am a clown this year. What are you?”

“I am a fairy,” she replied. “See my cap and wand. And here is a bag full of sugarplums and sweetmeats. I can hang the bag over my shoulder.”

“See these big pockets,” said her brother. “They are bigger than a bag and they are just full of goodies. I like to be a clown, because I can have such big pockets. Take that!” and he threw a handful of sugarplums into her lap.

Just then there was a clapping of hands at the door and the children ran to the balcony.

In Brazil the Carnival is held on the three days before Lent, and every one has a holiday. The cities are beautifully decorated, and men, women and children wear odd costumes and masks.

Some of them are dressed to look like monkeys, some like parrots, and some like clowns. Some wear gay dresses and funny masks, and others wear ugly skins of animals and hideous masks.

The children often carry wreaths and garlands of flowers; and there is always music and feasting and dancing in the streets.

Every one has pockets, bags, or baskets full of sugarplums, sweetmeats, bonbons and flowers.

These they throw at every one they meet, laughing merrily if they make a good hit.

The children think it is great fun to pelt each other with sugarplums and flowers. It is as good as snow-balling, only they can never have snow battles because they never have any snow.

The Carnival is the best time of all the year in Brazil, or at least Domingo and Marikena think so.

* * * * *

Where do Domingo and Marikena live?

When do they play out of doors?

What do they see in the woods?

How is the milk brought to their house?

When they go visiting, what do they ride in?

What did their aunt say when they went to call on her? What did they do at their aunt’s house?

What do some of the people wear on Carnival days?

What do they carry in their pockets? What do they throw at each other?

THE LITTLE PLANT

On the edge of the forest stood a tiny plant. It was only six inches tall.

The ground around it was so cold and hard that it could not grow taller. It had stood there many years, sad and sorrowful.

“Grow and be beautiful,” said the forest sternly, but the plant did not grow.

“Do you not wish to grow?” said the blue jay. Then he began to tell the little plant how lazy and useless it was. But his words went into one ear and out of the other.

Still the plant did not grow.

“Grow! grow!” roared the wind. “Grow tall and straight. I will teach you to obey. Grow! grow!”

Then the wind lashed the tiny plant with its cold wings, and beat its branches to the ground. But the poor thing came near dying and did not grow at all.

“Do grow,” said the sun. “Grow and be beautiful. I will help you.”

Then the sun warmed the earth around the plant, and gentle showers fell on it from the clouds.

Now the little twigs began to grow, and the tiny plant became a beautiful birch tree, with green leaves and snow-white bark.

—_Anna von Rydingsvärd._

TWO WAYS

Two little weeds grew on a bank by the roadside.

All summer they had been drinking the dew and sunshine, and had been very happy.

But now autumn had come, with gray skies and winds that nipped and pinched them.

“We shall die soon,” said one little weed.

“I should like to do something pleasant before I die, just to show what a happy time I have had. I think I will turn red, and then people will see how I feel.”

“You will be very foolish to waste your strength in any such nonsense!” said the other little weed. “I shall live as long as I can, and hug the brown bank here.”

So the first little weed turned bright scarlet, and was so pretty that every one looked at it.

By and by there came down the road a most beautiful maiden.

When she saw the scarlet leaves she picked them and put them in her hair.

This made the little weed so happy that he died for pure joy.

The second little weed lived on, and turned slowly brown, like the bank.

“He was so foolish!” he said, speaking of the weed that turned scarlet. “He put all his strength into turning red, and so he died.”

“I was proud of him,” said the brown bank. “He did what he could, and people loved him.”

“Yes, but I am alive, and stay with you!” said the weed.

“Much I care!” said the bank.

—_Laura E. Richards._

A SONG IN THE WOOD

I found a shy little violet root
Half hid in the woods, on a day of spring,
And a bird flew over, and looked at it, too,
And for joy, as he looked, he began to sing.

The sky was the tenderest blue above,—
And the flower like a bit of the sky below;
And between them the wonderful winds of God
On heavenly errands went to and fro.

Away from the summer, and out of the South
The bird had followed a whisper true,
As out from the brown and desolate sod
Stepped the shy little blossom, with eyes of blue.

And he sang to her, in the young spring day,
Of all the joy in the world astir;
And her beauty and fragrance answered him,
While the spring and he bent over her.

—_Louise Chandler Moulton._

HOW THE CORN GREW

Little Me Too walked to the right, then to the left, along the sidewalk in front of the house.

As he walked he sang with all his might about the ocean, and the summer time, and any other pleasant thing that came into his head.

He made it up as he went along, and grew quite out of breath at last, and had to stop.

Just as he had got his breath and was meaning to begin all over again, he saw something very small and yellow on the edge of the walk.

Then he began to sing the song of whatever it might be that was so small and yellow.

This is what he sang:—

“I wonder what this is.
I guess it is a kernel of corn.
I wonder how it came here
All alone by itself.
I guess I don’t know.
I wonder if it can be planted
In the grass in our yard.
Yes!”

When he said “Yes!” he stooped down and dug a hole in the ground in the dooryard with his fingers.

Then he put the kernel of corn in the hole and covered it over with dirt.

Afterwards he stood up and sang at the top of his voice, “Now I guess it will grow!”

Of course it grew!

After a few days it poked itself up through the earth to make Little Me Too remember. For Little Me Too had forgotten all about it.

When he saw it poking its head up through the grass, he didn’t remember even then that it was the kernel of corn.

It had changed.

When he put it into the ground and covered it with dirt, it was yellow and hard.

Now it was green and soft. It looked somewhat like the rest of the grass,—but not _just_ like it, or Little Me Too wouldn’t have noticed it.

When he saw it he said, “There’s a grass that wants to be different. Perhaps it’s the grandfather grass.”

He let it alone, and he got the man with the lawn mower to let it alone. That gave it a good chance to grow.

It grew just as fast as it could, and as soon as it was big enough it showed Little Me Too that it was no grandfather grass, but a cornstalk.

The man with the lawn mower said so.

Then it was that Little Me Too remembered. When he remembered, he said, “Yes, it grew.”

When it had grown to be taller than Little Me Too, people walking along the sidewalk would look at it, and say, “What a fine garden!”

The mother said, “I am glad it is something that can’t find its way into the nursery.”

Little Me Too it was who first saw the ear of corn growing on the stalk.

He showed it to some people, and there were others who saw it without having it shown to them.

Each of them asked for a bite from it when it should be ripe.

Little Me Too said “yes,” to them all.

When he had said “yes” to thirty-one people, his mother said, “Don’t say ‘yes’ to any more people; you won’t have corn enough for them all.”

Little Me Too promised not to say “yes” again, but sometimes he forgot, and by the time the corn was ripe he had said “yes” to fifty people.

But he had plenty of corn, for it was an ear of pop corn.

After it was popped over the nursery fire it filled a big, big bowl.

—_Julia Dalrymple._

“DO YOU KNOW?”

Do you know
That you can go
In the early morning light
When the dew is on the grass
And find the little cobweb tents
The fairies sleep in all the night?

But, alas, you’ll find no traces
Of their little fairy faces!

—_Edith Colby Banfield._

THE LITTLE GOATHERDS

Louis and Marie live among the mountains in Switzerland. These mountains are very high and are called the Swiss Alps.

The cold winds sweep down the mountain-side and rush through the valleys. Sometimes it blows so hard that it almost blows the thatched roofs off the houses.

But the mountain people know all about these strong winds. What do you suppose they do to keep the roof from blowing away? They lay heavy stones on the roof to keep it in place.

The winters are long and cold; and it snows and snows! You never saw such deep drifts nor such big fields of ice.

But the summer is beautiful,—the sky is blue and the sun is bright; and far away the mountain peaks are capped with glistening snow.

Then the grass is green and the flowers blossom everywhere. These are happy days for the children.

In summer Louis and Marie go out every morning with the goats. Marie is just a tiny bit of a girl only four years old, but Louis is a big boy. He is almost nine, and that is very old when one has such a little sister.

Louis lets the goats out of their yard. They jump and run and caper about, and Marie hides behind her mother’s dress. She is afraid of the goats at first.

One of the big goats always runs to the vineyard, he is so fond of grapes. Louis drives him out with a long stick.

Then the whole herd runs to the wheat field, and Louis runs after them, shouting at them and driving them away toward the mountain pasture.

Marie runs along with him and Patte Blanche goes, too. Patte Blanche is their dog, and his name means White Foot.

When the goats reach the pasture land they clamber over the rocks and eat the moss and the bushes and the sweet, green grass.

Louis and Marie pick the flowers that grow on the mountain-side, and play little games with the stones. They watch the goats, too, and talk about them. Sometimes a goat wanders too far away and then Louis sends White Foot to drive her back to the others.

At noon the children eat their lunch of barley-bread and cheese, and White Foot sits beside them and eats the bits they give him.

There is always so much to do and so much to see that the days seem very short. Soon it is time for White Foot to drive the goats down from the rocks and the little company starts for home.

One night a very funny thing happened when they were on their way home.

The goats were wandering along, nibbling at the green grass, and the children were following them down the path, when they saw a strange man sitting on a log. The man was fast asleep and his head nodded and bobbed up and down.

Just as Louis saw him, one of the goats spied him, too, and what do you think she did? She trotted along, ran up behind him and butted him right off the log. Of course the man waked up and I think he was going to be very angry, but the goat put her fore feet up on the log and looked as if she wanted to laugh.

The children laughed, and so the man laughed, too. Then he walked home with them and helped them drive the goats into their yard.

Louis and Marie will never forget how funny the goat looked trying to laugh at the man, and they like to tell the story over and over again.

SWISS CHILDREN

You have just read a story about Louis and Marie, who live among the mountains of Switzerland.

Switzerland is a land of mountains and valleys and many beautiful lakes and rivers.

Most of the people live in the valleys and keep cattle, sheep, and goats.

In the springtime thousands of cattle are driven up into the mountains to stay all summer.

Many of the people go up into the mountains, too, and live in little huts. The men and boys take care of the cattle, and the women make butter and cheese.

The cows wear bells which tinkle as they walk, and the music of all the bells, in the stillness of the mountains, is very beautiful.

In the fall the men drive the cattle down into the valleys again. When they reach the villages their friends come out to meet them, and every one has a holiday. The children think this is one of the best days in all the year. They like to hear the bells ring out their welcome; they like to see the flags and banners waving from the windows and the house-tops. They sing and dance and shout and are very merry.

At night there is a feast in the village square, and perhaps they like this best of all.

Many of the houses in Switzerland are very small and are made of wood. These little houses are called chalets.

Louis and Marie live in a tiny chalet on the side of a steep mountain. Their father owns a farm and has cows and sheep and goats, and ever so many geese.

You never saw such a farm in all your life. The mountain is so steep that the fields and pastures seem to be tipped up on edge, and it looks as if the horses would fall off when the farmer is plowing the fields, but they never do.

Louis has a pet dog. He harnesses his dog to a little wagon and drives him up and down the road. Sometimes he gives Marie a ride in the wagon.

Louis goes to the village school, and Marie will have to go as soon as she is six years old. There are very good schools in Switzerland, and the children learn the same things that you learn in your school.

These children have many odd playthings and toys carved out of wood. They have wooden whistles and horns, and little wooden goats and bears. Marie has a tiny chalet, almost like the one she lives in, which she calls her “playhouse.”

The toys the children like best are the ones that have a music box in them. The Swiss people make all kinds of music boxes and put them in all kinds of things, in chairs and tables and clocks, and even in plates.

While the boys are learning to carve, the girls learn to embroider on linen and to make lace.

Very often the Swiss girls sit outside the door of their chalet making lace which they sell to the people who are travelling through the mountains.

* * * * *

Where do Louis and Marie live?

What does their father do?

Where do the cattle live in the summer?

Who takes care of them?

What do the women make, up in the mountains?

Which holiday do the Swiss children like best?

What do they do on this day?

What is a Swiss cottage called?

Why do people like to travel in Switzerland?

If you should go there, what would you like to see?

What would you like to buy?

LULLABY-LAND

Where is the road to Lullaby-land?
Where is the ferry to Dreamland-shore?
Here, little wanderer, take my hand,
Mother will show thee to Lullaby-land,
Mother will ferry her darling o’er
The sweet rocking waters to Dreamland-shore.

Soft lie the shadows in Lullaby-land,
Soft lap the waters by Dreamland-shore,
Sweet is the sound on that far-away strand
Of little keels grating along the sand,
And tenderly stealeth the moonlight o’er
The dear little children on Dreamland-shore.

Here, little weary one, take my hand,
Soon shall my dearie be far afloat;
Mother’s lap is Lullaby-land,
Mother’s arms are the empty boat,
Waiting to carry her darling o’er
The sweet rocking waters to Dreamland-shore.

—_Edith Colby Banfield._

THE STONE BLOCKS

“Why is your little sister crying, dear?” asked the Play Angel. “I thought you were taking care of her.”

“So I am, taking beautiful care of her,” said the child. “But the more beautiful care I take, the more she cries. She does not like to have me take care of her.”

“Let me see,” said the Play Angel, and she sat down on the nursery floor. “Now show me what you have been doing.”

“Look,” said the child. “First I showed her all my dolls, and then all my dolls’ dresses. Now I have given her my new stone blocks to play with, but she will not play with them. She puts them in her mouth and cries.”

“Perhaps she is hungry!” said the Play Angel.

So she took a piece of bread and gave it to the baby. The baby stopped crying and ate the bread, and laughed and crowed.

“See!” said the Angel. “Now she is happy. Remember, dear, that when babies are hungry, stone blocks do them no good.”

“You are a very clever angel to know that,” said the child.

“You are a rather foolish child,” said the Angel, “or you would have found it out for yourself.”

—_Laura E. Richards._

GREAT-GREAT-GRANDMA’S CHRISTMAS IN ENGLAND

Betty and Percy sat up until eleven o’clock that Christmas Eve. It was such a merry time!

They saw the men bring in the Yule log. It was so big that it took three men to carry it, and then they had to bring it in on their shoulders.

At one end of the hall was a large fireplace. I think you never saw one like it. Pots and kettles hung over the fire, and on each side were seats where the children could sit and eat apples and tell stories. You see, it was a very big fireplace.

The men rolled the Yule log into the fireplace and lighted the fire. How the sparks flew! How the fire roared up the chimney!

It lighted the great hall. It shone on the oak table where the supper was laid.

On the supper table were two wax candles. These candles were almost as tall as you are. They were wreathed with holly.

These were the Christmas candles and they burned the whole evening. The hall was trimmed with holly and mistletoe. The holly had bright green leaves and red berries, and the mistletoe had white berries.

A big bunch of mistletoe hung down from the ceiling before the fire. If anyone happened to stand under the mistletoe, she was kissed.

How many times Betty was kissed! First her father caught her under the mistletoe, then Uncle Edward, and then Grandpa.

At eleven o’clock Nurse said that Betty and Percy must go to bed. They did not like to go one bit.

There was a fire in the fireplace in Betty’s bedroom, but it was very cold. In Great-Great-Grandma’s time there were no such things as stoves and furnaces.

Nurse undressed Betty, and then the little girl climbed up the steps into her bed. It was so big and high that she had to climb up five steps to get into it.

Then Nurse drew the curtains of the bed to keep out the cold.

Betty was almost asleep when she heard the Waits singing. The Waits always sang under the windows on Christmas Eve.

“Open the lattice, please, Nurse,” she said.

So Nurse opened one of the windows. It opened like a door, and had panes of glass which were small and diamond-shaped.

The house Betty lived in was very, very large, and was called a castle.

This is what the Waits were singing:—

“God rest ye, merry gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ our Saviour
Was born upon this day.”

Betty did not hear the next verse, because her eyes were shut and she was fast asleep.

When she waked up in the morning, the first thing she heard was another Christmas carol.

She slid down the side of the bed and ran to the window.

It was a lovely Christmas morning. The trees and ground and walks were covered with snow. How it glistened in the sunshine!

The singers were standing in a row under the window. There were seven of them, and they were all children from the village whom Betty had seen when she was driving with her mother.

How they were bundled up, and their cheeks were as red as roses!

They were singing this Christmas carol:—

“I saw three ships come sailing in,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
I saw three ships come sailing in,
On Christmas Day in the morning.”

“Quick, quick, Nurse,” said Betty. “Please dress me as quickly as you can. I must run down with the Christmas boxes.”

So Nurse hurried, and Betty hurried, and in a little while she was ready, with a sprig of holly in her dress, and a bit of mistletoe in her hair.

Percy was ready, too, and they ran down the long staircase into the wide hall.

The Yule log was still burning,—it had burned all night. The door was opened, and the little singers came in to warm themselves by the fire.

Betty and Percy gave each of them a “Christmas box.” It wasn’t a box, it was a gift; but a Christmas gift was called a Christmas box in those days.

After the singers had looked at their gifts and had eaten a slice of plum cake, they went home.

I cannot tell you everything that Betty and Percy did that day, but you may be sure they had a good time.

I must tell you about the Christmas dinner. It was served in the hall, on the big oak table that stood before the fire.

When dinner was ready they did not ring a bell, but the cook knocked three times with his rolling-pin on the door.

Two men stood in the hall, and when they heard the three knocks they sounded their trumpets, the doors were opened, and all the family marched in to dinner.

I do not know just what they had to eat, but I know they had roast goose, and a plum pudding just as you do at Christmas time.

After dinner the children played games. And what do you think they played? First they played “Puss-puss-in-the-corner,” and then “Blind-man’s-buff.”

Isn’t it strange that Great-Great-Grandma should have played the very games you play, on that Christmas night more than two hundred years ago?

THE WHIPPING BOY

Many years ago there was a little boy living in England whose name was Edward. Of course there have been many boys in England by the name of Edward, but they are not so well known as this boy, for he was the son of a king.

Edward’s father was King Henry the Eighth, and Edward was called Edward the Sixth when he became King of England.

King Henry was very fond of his children and did not like to have them punished, so he had a little “whipping boy” for each one of them.

Whenever one of the Princes or Princesses did anything naughty, the whipping boy was punished.

Sometimes he had to stand in the corner for a whole hour. Sometimes he was sent to bed without any supper, and sometimes he had to have a whipping.

Prince Edward’s whipping boy was Edward Brown. He lived in the castle and played with the Prince every day. The two boys were very fond of each other, and the Prince did not like to have his friend punished.

So he tried to be good, but there are so many things a Prince must not do!

A Prince must not throw his toys out of the castle window. He must never get angry at his brothers and sisters and quarrel with them. He must learn his lessons every day.

He must be polite and obedient to the King and Queen, to all the Gentlemen in Waiting and Ladies in Waiting, to the Head Nurse and all the Under Nurses, and to his Tutor and all his teachers.