A SECOND READER




                           _THE ALDINE READERS_

                             A SECOND READER

                                    By
                            Frank E. Spaulding
                 Superintendent of Schools, Newton, Mass.

                                   and

                            Catherine T. Bryce
               Supervisor of Primary Schools, Newton, Mass.

                          With Illustrations by
                            Margaret Ely Webb

                                 NEW YORK
                      NEWSON & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS

                          _Copyright, 1907, by_
                            NEWSON AND COMPANY

                          _All rights reserved_

The authors and publishers desire to acknowledge their obligation to
Mr. NATHANIEL L. BERRY, Supervisor of Drawing in the Public Schools of
Newton, Massachusetts, for valuable assistance in planning and arranging
the illustrations in this book.




PREFACE


This Second Reader, like the two preceding books of the Aldine Series,
combines material and method in such a way that the former does not
suffer, while the latter gains by the combination. That is, the
subject-matter of the book, both the text and the illustrations, is just
as suitable and just as interesting as it could be made were there no
such thing as method; indeed, the sole sign of method, as one reads the
book, is the parenthesis about certain words preceding the stories. At
the same time, this subject-matter, both the text and the illustrations,
embodies in systematic arrangement the most effective principles of
mastering the mechanics of reading.

Children who have read thoroughly the preceding books of this Series
have acquired independence, the habit of self-reliance, and the power of
self-help to such a degree that they will be able to master this book
with little or no direct aid from the teacher. And when they have thus
mastered this book, they will be good readers. That is, so far as the
mechanics of reading is concerned, they will be able to read unaided
anything which they can understand; so far as the subject-matter is
concerned, they will be able to understand from the printed page anything
which they can understand through the spoken word. More than this, if
the teacher has contributed her part, most such children will have
realized the utility and tasted the real delights of reading to such an
extent that they will continue to read of their own accord; most of them
will also be good oral readers, reading with appropriate expression and
genuine enthusiasm.

These statements are not mere predictions of the hoped-for results of
untried theories; they are simple, unexaggerated expressions of facts
which have been observed in the work of thousands of children of a score
of nationalities.

To secure such results a complete mastery and intelligent observation is
necessary of the principles and plans described in the authors’ _Manual
for Teachers_, entitled “Learning to Read.”

The authors gratefully acknowledge their indebtedness to Miss Marie Van
Vorst for the use of “Three of us Know” and “The Sandman”; to Mrs. Emily
Huntington Miller for “The Bluebird”; to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin &
Co. for the use of the poem “Discontented,” by Sarah Orne Jewett, and
“Calling the Violet,” by Lucy Larcom; to Messrs. Charles Scribner’s Sons
for “The Wind,” by Robert Louis Stevenson.




CONTENTS


                                                                      PAGE
    OUT OF DOOR NEIGHBORS                                                1
      The Cat and the Birds                                              3
      Why Ravens Croak                                                   6
      The Proud Crow                                                     8
      The Wolf and the Kid                                              12
      Queer Chickens                                                    17
      Little Ducks                    _Robert Mack_                     21

    ONCE UPON A TIME                                                    23
      The Caterpillar                                                   25
      Who is Strongest?                                                 27
      Lambikin                                                          37
      The Ant and the Mouse                                             46

    SONGS OF LIFE                                                       51
      The Brook                                                         53
      The Little Brook                                                  55
      Calling the Violet              _Lucy Larcom_                     59
      The Wind                        _Mary Lamb_                       61
      The Wind                        _Christina Rossetti_              62
      The Wind                        _R. L. Stevenson_                 63
      The Leaf’s Journey                                                64
      Sweet and Low                   _Tennyson_                        69
      Sleep, Baby, Sleep!             _From the German_                 70
      Stars and Daisies                                                 71
      Lady Moon                       _Lord Houghton_                   73

    WITH NATURE’S CHILDREN                                              75
      The Little Shepherdess                                            77
      Discontent                      _Sarah Orne Jewett_               81
      Belling the Cat                                                   84
      Three of us Know                _Marie Van Vorst_                 91
      The Dandelion                                                     93
      The Magpie’s Lesson                                               95
      The Bluebird                    _Mrs. Emily Huntington Miller_   100
      The Wolf and the Stork                                           102
      The Indian Mother’s Lullaby     _Charles Myall_                  103

    IN STORY LAND                                                      105
      How Mrs. White Hen helped Rose                                   107
      The Sandman                     _Marie Van Vorst_                115
      Billy Binks                                                      117

    SOME THINGS TO THINK ABOUT                                         131
      When the Little Boy ran Away                                     133
      How the Bean got its Black Seam                                  138
      Friends                         _L. G. Warner_                   145
      Help One Another                                                 147

    WITH OUR FEATHERED FRIENDS                                         149
      The Drowning of Mr. Leghorn                                      151
      The Starving of Mrs. Leghorn                                     160
      Mr. and Mrs. Leghorn to the Rescue                               172

    VOCABULARY                                                         179




[Illustration: Out of Door Neighbors]

[Illustration]


THE CAT AND THE BIRDS

    (hap py)
     rap

    doc tor

    words

    door

[Illustration]

An old cat lived near a bird house.

Every day he saw the birds flying in and out.

Every day he said to himself, “How I wish I had one of those nice fat
birds for my dinner!”

[Illustration]

One day he heard that the birds were ill.

“Now is my time,” he said. “I will get a bird to eat to-day.”

So he put on a tall hat and a coat.

He took a cane in one hand and a box of pills in the other.

Then he went to the bird house and rapped at the door.

“Who is there?” asked an old bird.

“It is I, the doctor,” said the cat. “I heard that you were ill. So I
have come to see you. I have some pills that will make you well. Open the
door.”

The old bird looked out.

“Your words are kind,” he said, “like the words of the good doctor. Your
hat, coat, cane, and box of pills are like his. But your paws are those
of the old cat. Go away! We will not let you in. We do not want your
pills. We are more likely to get well without your help than with it.”

Then all the birds flew at him.

They pecked at his eyes; they pecked at his ears.

[Illustration]

They tore his coat.

Away flew his high hat; away flew his cane; away flew his box of pills.

Then away flew the old cat himself, and he never went back.


WHY RAVENS CROAK

    wash es

    wa ter

    pret ty

    (w eather)
     f eather

      (ought)
    th ought

      (am)
    sw am

    swan

    use

[Illustration]

A raven was very unhappy because his feathers were black.

One day he saw a beautiful white swan swimming in a lake.

“How beautiful and white her feathers are,” he thought. “It must be
because she washes them so much. Why, she almost lives in the water. If I
should wash my feathers all day long, they might get white, too. I will
try it.”

So he flew from his nest in the woods, and lived for days near the lake.

Every day he washed his feathers from morning to night.

But his feathers did not get white.

They were just as black as ever.

But as the raven was not used to living in water, he caught a very bad
cold.

So, at last, he flew back to his nest in the wood.

“It is no use,” he croaked. “I can never be white. I do not want to be
white. Black feathers are pretty enough for me. Croak! Croak!”

All ravens have said “Croak! Croak!” ever since.


THE PROUD CROW

    (p ea)
    sp eak

     l uck y
    st uck

    laughed

    on ly

    (l oud)
    pr oud

    (c ool)
     f ool ish

    a mong

    steal

       (r ock)
    pea c ock

    (n ot)
     l ot

    (f ull)
     p ull ed

One day a crow found a lot of peacock feathers.

“My,” cried the silly crow, “how lucky I am. No other crow in the world
will look as fine as I. How all my old friends will envy me!”

And the proud crow stuck the peacock feathers all over his back.

Then he flew away to show himself to his friends.

He strutted up and down before them.

But they only laughed at him.

“Just look at that silly bird!” they cried. “See him strut! Did you ever
see anything so proud? Caw, caw, caw!”

The proud crow was now very angry.

“Do not speak to me,” he said. “I have fine feathers. I am a peacock. I
will have nothing to do with you crows.”

[Illustration]

So off he strutted to the peacocks.

“How do you do, my dear friends?” he said in his sweetest voice.

“Who are you?” cried the peacocks scornfully.

[Illustration]

“Do you not see that I am a peacock?” answered the crow. “Look at my fine
feathers.”

“Fine feathers, indeed! We threw those old feathers away long ago. You
are no peacock. Yon are just an old black crow.”

Then the peacocks fell upon the old crow, and pulled off all his fine
feathers.

They tore out many of his own feathers, too.

The foolish crow was a sight!

He crept back to his old friends.

He tried to steal in among them without being seen.

But they all cried out, “Who are you? What do you want here?”

“Don’t you see that I am your old friend?” croaked the crow. “I am going
to live with you always.”

“No, you are not,” answered a wise old crow. “You are no friend of ours.
A few old peacock feathers made you think you were a peacock. So you left
your old friends. The peacocks saw you were a cheat and drove you away.
Hereafter you must live alone. Be off with you!”

And all the crows said, “Caw, caw, caw! Caw, caw, caw!”


THE WOLF AND THE KID

    (h ark)
     d ark

    (m uch)
     s uch

    noise

    e nough

    trot ted

    (h ive)
     l ive ly

    (l eg)
     b eg ged

    (p ea)
    pl ea se

    (k ind)
      find

    hun gry

    oft en

    wolf

    (n ow)
    gr ow led

One day a little kid was lost in a dark wood.

He ran on and on, but could not find his way out.

At last he became frightened and began to bleat.

A hungry wolf heard him.

How glad the wolf was to find such a good dinner!

“Oh, Mr. Wolf!” cried the little kid, “please show me the way home.”

[Illustration]

“Show you the way home!” growled the wolf. “I am hungry and I’m going to
eat you.”

“Oh, please, please, Mr. Wolf,” begged the frightened kid, “please let me
go!”

“No, no, I’ll eat you,” growled the wolf.

And he sprang at the kid, now almost dead with fright.

Just then a lucky thought came to the little kid.

“Oh, Mr. Wolf,” said he, “I have heard that you make very fine music.
I love to dance. Will you not sing for me, so that I may have one more
dance before I die? It is not much to ask.”

[Illustration]

This pleased the wolf, for he was proud of his voice.

“Well,” he growled, “music is good before eating. I often sing before my
dinner. To-day I was too hungry to think of it. But I will sing just one
song. Then I will eat you. Dance lively, now!”

So the wolf sang a song, and the kid danced his best.

When the wolf stopped, the kid cried, “That was good. But you did not
sing loud enough or fast enough for me. Is that the best you can do?”

“No,” said the wolf. “I can sing louder and faster than any one in the
woods. Listen!”

So the wolf sang louder and faster.

And the kid danced livelier and better than before.

But the wolf made so much noise that the dogs heard it.

They came running into the woods to see what the matter was.

The wolf had to run for his life.

But the wise little kid trotted safely home to his mother.

“I have to go without my dinner,” growled the wolf. “I alone am to blame.
I should kill and eat kids, not sing for them.”


QUEER CHICKENS

    (qu ick)
     ch ick
     ch ick en

    (c are)
     d are

    (d eer)
    qu eer

    splash

    (th ank)
      b ank

    (r ose)
    th ose

    each

    e ven

    sail

    a fraid

    (th en)
      h en
      t en

    (t ook)
    br ook

     (east)
    l east

    stream

[Illustration]

An old hen found a nest behind the gate.

It was full of eggs. Such beautiful eggs!

They would make any old hen’s heart glad.

“I will sit on these eggs. I will keep them warm,” thought the hen. “Then
a little chicken will come out of each one.”

So the old hen spread her wings over the eggs.

How very wide she had to spread them!

For many days she sat there waiting.

One morning she awoke to find her nest full of little ones.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven,
twelve, there were.

“Cluck, cluck, what dear little chickens,” said the hen.

“Come and get breakfast. Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck! What hungry chickens!

Now I will let you play in the meadow. Come down to the brook first and
get a drink.

The water is clear and cool. Do not go too near, or you will fall in.”

Now, what do you think those little ones did?

You never could guess, so I will tell you.

As soon as they saw the brook they ran to it. They ran as fast as ever
they could go.

They rushed right into the water.

“Cluck, cluck! Cluck, cluck! Come back! Come back!” called the old hen.
“Come back, come back to your mother!”

But they did not come back.

They did not even listen.

They sailed clear across the stream.

They sailed up stream and they sailed down stream.

But they did not come back to their mother.

She could only run up and down the bank, looking and calling.

“What shall I do? What shall I do?” she cried. “Come back! Come back,
you naughty chickens. You will drown, every one of you. I know you will
drown. O, why will you not mind your mother?”

[Illustration]

How frightened she was!

She just knew all her dear chicks would drown.

Still she did not dare to follow them into the water. She never swam a
stroke in all her life. She never even waded in the water.

But such fun as her little ones were having!

They were not the least bit afraid. They swam and splashed around all
day.

All day the old mother hen ran up and down the bank calling and begging,
“Come back! Come back! Come right back to your mother!”

At last the little ones were tired.

Then they came back to their frightened mother.

One after another came up the bank and ran to her.

How glad she was to gather them again under her warm wings.

But what queer chickens they were.

[Illustration]


LITTLE DUCKS

    (who)
     who se

    sure

    (c aught)
     n aught y

    be lieve

    once

    roam

    Ma’am

[Illustration]

    “My dears, whatever are you at?
      You ought to be at home;
    I told you not to wet your feet,
      I told you not to roam.

    Oh, dear! I’m sure you will be drowned,
      I never saw such tricks;
    Come home at once and go to bed,
      You naughty, naughty chicks!”

    Now most of them were five days old,
      But one, whose age was six—
    “Please, ma’am,” said he, “I think we’re ducks;
      I don’t believe we’re chicks.”

                                                            —ROBERT MACK.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: Once Upon a Time]

[Illustration]


THE CATERPILLAR

    ugly

    push

    (w ise)
     r ise

[Illustration]

    I creep upon the ground, and the children say,
    “You ugly old thing!” and push me away.

    I lie in my bed, and the children say,
    “The fellow is dead; we’ll throw him away.”

    At last I awake, and the children try
    To make me stay, as I rise and fly.


WHO IS STRONGEST?

     (age)
    c age

    (f ellow)
     b ellow

    (high)
    s igh ed

    breathes

    bear

    (h ouse)
     m ouse

    (sp eak)
     cr eak
    squ eak

    climbed

    roared

    Tum tol lo

     (ice)
    m ice

    (b ox)
       ox

    (th ink)
     dr ink

    uprooted

    bur rowed

[Illustration]

Once upon a time Tumtollo climbed a tree.

The wind blew hard and uprooted the tree.

Tumtollo was thrown to the ground.

“Oh, oh, oh!” he cried with pain, “oh, oh, oh!”

“My, isn’t the tree strong!” cried he; “it can throw Tumtollo to the
ground.”

“You are wrong,” creaked the tree. “I am not strong. If I were, could I
be uprooted by the wind?”

“Ah, I see,” said Tumtollo, “it is the wind that is strong.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

“No, friend, you are wrong,” sighed the wind. “If I were strong, could I
be stopped by the hill?”

“Oh, I see now,” said Tumtollo, “it is the hill that is strong.

The hill stopped the wind.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

[Illustration]

“Wrong again,” said the hill. “I am not strong. If I were, I should not
be burrowed by mice.”

[Illustration]

“Oh,” said Tumtollo, “then it is the mouse that is strong.

The mouse burrowed the hill.

The hill stopped the wind.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

“Still wrong,” squeaked the mouse. “It is not I who am strong. If I were,
could the cat catch me?”

[Illustration]

“Well, then, it is the cat that is strong,” said Tumtollo.

“The cat caught the mouse.

The mouse burrowed the hill.

The hill stopped the wind.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

“No, Tumtollo, I am not strong,” mewed the cat. “If I were, could the dog
frighten me?”

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

“Then it is the dog who is strong,” said Tumtollo.

“The dog frightened the cat.

The cat caught the mouse.

The mouse burrowed the hill.

The hill stopped the wind.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

“It is not I who am strong,” barked the dog. “If I were, would the ox
hook me with his horns?”

[Illustration]

“Then it must be the ox who is strong,” said Tumtollo.

“The ox hooked the dog.

The dog frightened the cat.

The cat caught the mouse.

The mouse burrowed the hill.

The hill stopped the wind.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

“No,” bellowed the ox, “I am not strong. If I were, would the bee sting
me?”

[Illustration]

“Ah, ha! it is the little bee that is strong,” said Tumtollo.

“The bee stung the ox.

The ox hooked the dog.

The dog frightened the cat.

The cat caught the mouse.

The mouse burrowed the hill.

The hill stopped the wind.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

“No, no!” buzzed the bee, “it is not I who am strong. If I were, would
the bear steal my honey?”

[Illustration]

“Indeed, then it is the bear who is strong,” said Tumtollo.

“The bear robbed the bee.

The bee stung the ox.

The ox hooked the dog.

The dog frightened the cat.

The cat caught the mouse.

The mouse burrowed the hill.

The hill stopped the wind.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

“You are wrong, Tumtollo,” growled the bear.

“If I were strong, could the lion drive me away from my dinner?”

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

“Very well, then it is the lion who is strong,” said Tumtollo.

“The lion drove away the bear.

The bear robbed the bee.

The bee stung the ox.

The ox hooked the dog.

The dog frightened the cat.

The cat caught the mouse.

The mouse burrowed the hill.

The hill stopped the wind.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

“It is not I who am strong,” roared the lion.

“If I were, could the rope bind me?”

“Just as you say,” said Tumtollo, “then it is the rope that is strong.”

“The rope bound the lion.

The lion drove away the bear.

The bear robbed the bee.

The bee stung the ox.

The ox hooked the dog.

The dog frightened the cat.

The cat caught the mouse.

The mouse burrowed the hill.

The hill stopped the wind.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

“It is not I, indeed, that am strong,” said the rope. “If I were, could
the fire burn me?”

“Well, well, then the fire must be strong,” said Tumtollo.

[Illustration]

“The fire burned the rope.

The rope bound the lion.

The lion drove away the bear.

The bear robbed the bee.

The bee stung the ox.

The ox hooked the dog.

The dog frightened the cat.

The cat caught the mouse.

The mouse burrowed the hill.

The hill stopped the wind.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

“No, no, Tumtollo,” snapped the fire, “I am not strong. If I were, could
the water put me out?”

“The water it is, then, that is strong,” said Tumtollo.

[Illustration]

“The water put out the fire.

The fire burned the rope.

The rope bound the lion.

The lion drove away the bear.

The bear robbed the bee.

The bee stung the ox.

The ox hooked the dog.

The dog frightened the cat.

The cat caught the mouse.

The mouse burrowed the hill.

The hill stopped the wind.

The wind uprooted the tree.

The tree threw Tumtollo to the ground.”

“You are still wrong, Tumtollo,” sang the water in a spring near by. “I
am not strong. But I will tell you who is truly strong. It is Man.

[Illustration]

Man drinks the water.

Man lights the fire.

Man makes the rope.

Man cages the lion.

Man tames the bear.

Man eats the bee’s honey.

Man drives the ox.

Man keeps the dog.

Man feeds the cat.

Man kills the mouse.

Man digs the hill.

Man breathes the wind.

Man fells the tree.

Man rises when he is thrown to the ground.”

Tumtollo rose, drank deeply from the sweet spring, and went on his way.


LAMBIKIN

    (who)
     who m

    mor sel

    curled

    (pl ant)
      can’t

    wad dle

    reached

    (t ip)
    sk ip

    (s eed)
    gr eed y

    (j ump)
     h ump
    pl ump

    joy

    (g ate)
       ate

      (out)
    ab out

    (cr ied)
      d ied

    mouth

    breath

Once upon a time there was a wee, wee Lambikin.

[Illustration]

He frolicked about on his tottery legs from morning to night.

He was always happy.

One day Lambikin set off to visit his Granny.

He was jumping with joy to think of the good things he would get.

As he frisked along, he met but a wolf!

[Illustration]

The wolf howled, “Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll _eat_ YOU!”

But with a hop and a skip, a hump and a jump, Lambikin said,

    “No, no,
    To Granny’s house I go,
    Where I shall fatter grow,
    Then you can eat me so.”

The wolf thought this wise and so let Lambikin go.

Away frisked Lambikin.

He had not gone far, when whom should he meet but a bear!

[Illustration]

The bear growled, “Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll _eat_ YOU!”

But with a hop and a skip, a hump and a jump, Lambikin said,

    “No, no,
    To Granny’s house I go,
    Where I shall fatter grow,
    Then you can eat me so.”

The bear thought this wise and so let Lambikin go.

Away frisked Lambikin.

He had not gone far when whom should he meet but a lion!

[Illustration]

The lion roared, “Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll _eat_ you!”

But with a hop and a skip, a hump and a jump, Lambikin said,

    “No, no,
    To Granny’s house I go,
    Where I shall fatter grow,
    Then you can eat me so.”

The lion thought this wise and so let Lambikin go.

Away frisked Lambikin.

At last he reached his Granny’s house.

“Granny dear,” he cried, all out of breath, “I have said I would get fat.
I ought to keep my word. Please put me in the corn-bin at once.”

“You are a good Lambikin,” said his Granny.

And she put him into the corn-bin.

There the greedy little Lambikin stayed for seven days and seven nights.

He ate, and ate, and ate, and he ate until he could hardly waddle.

“Come, Lambikin,” said his Granny, “you are fat enough. You should go
home now.”

“No, no,” said cunning little Lambikin, “that will never do. Some animal
would surely eat me on the way, I am so plump and tender.”

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” cried old Granny in a fright.

“Never fear, Granny dear,” said cunning Lambikin. “I’ll tell you what to
do. Just make me a little drumikin out of the skin of my little brother
who died. I can get into it and roll along nicely.”

So old Granny made Lambikin a drumikin out of the skin of his dead
brother.

And cunning Lambikin curled himself up into a round ball in the drumikin.

And he rolled gayly away.

Soon he met the lion, who called out,

    “Drumikin! Drumikin!
    Have you seen Lambikin?”

[Illustration]

Lambikin answered sweetly as he rolled along,

    “Fallen into the fire, and so will you!
    On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!”

“Too bad, too bad,” sighed the lion, as he thought of the sweet, fat
morsel of a Lambikin.

So away rolled Lambikin, laughing gayly to himself and sweetly singing,

    “Tum-pa, tum-too;
    Tum-pa, tum-too!”

Soon he met the bear, who called out,

    “Drumikin! Drumikin!
    Have you seen Lambikin?”

Lambikin answered sweetly as he rolled along,

    “Fallen into the fire, and so will you!
    On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!”

[Illustration]

“Too bad, too bad,” sighed the bear, as he thought of the sweet, fat
morsel of a Lambikin.

So away rolled Lambikin, laughing gayly to himself and sweetly singing,

    “Tum-pa, tum-too;
    Tum-pa, tum-too!”

[Illustration]

Soon he met the wolf, who called out,

    “Drumikin! Drumikin!
    Have you seen Lambikin?”

Lambikin answered sweetly as he rolled along,

    “Fallen into the fire, and so will you!
    On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!”

“Oh, ho, little Lambikin, curled up snug in your little drumikin,” said
the wolf, “you can’t fool me. I know your voice. So you have become too
fat to hop and to skip, to hump and to jump. You can only roll along like
a ball.”

And the wolf’s mouth watered as he thought of the sweet, fat morsel of a
Lambikin.

Little Lambikin’s heart went pit-a-pat, but he cried out gayly,

    “Hark, hark! Hear the dogs bark!
    Faster, roll faster, my little Drumikin!”

The wolf was frightened and stopped to listen for the dogs.

And away rolled cunning Lambikin faster and faster, laughing to himself
and sweetly singing,

    “Tum-pa, tum-too;
    Tum-pa, tum-too!”


THE ANT AND THE MOUSE

    (h oney)
     m oney

    (th is)
     m iss

    pieces

    sharp

    (w ish)
     f ish

    (r ob)
     c ob

    lost

    buy

    (c arry)
     m arry

    (r each)
     p each

    roost er

    hur ried

There was once an ant.

While sweeping her house one day, this ant found three pieces of money.

“What shall I buy?” said she.

“Shall I buy fish?”

“No, fish is full of bones. I can’t eat bones. I’ll not buy fish.”

“Shall I buy bread?”

“No, bread has crust. I can’t eat crust. I’ll not buy bread.”

“Shall I buy peaches?”

“No, peaches have stones. I can’t eat stones. I’ll not buy peaches.”

“Shall I buy corn?”

“No, corn grows on a cob. I can’t eat cobs. I’ll not buy corn.”

“Shall I buy apples?”

“No, apples have seeds. I can’t eat seeds I’ll not buy apples.”

“Shall I buy a ribbon?”

“Yes, that’s just what I want. I will buy a ribbon.”

And away ran Miss Ant to the store and bought her a bright red ribbon.

She tied the ribbon about her neck and sat in her window.

An ox came along and said, “How pretty you are, Miss Ant! Will you marry
me?”

“Sing,” said the ant, “so I may hear your voice.”

[Illustration]

The ox was very proud of his voice and he bellowed with all his might.

“No, no,” cried the ant, “I’ll not marry you, Mr. Ox. Your bellow
frightens me. Go away.”

Soon a lion came that way and said, “How pretty you are, Miss Ant! Will
you marry me?”

[Illustration]

“Sing,” said the ant, “so I may hear your voice.”

The lion was proud of his voice and he roared with all his might.

“No, no,” cried the ant, “I’ll not marry you, Mr. Lion. Your loud roar
frightens me. It shakes the very hills. Go away.”

The lion had not been gone long when a proud rooster came strutting along
that way.

“How pretty you are, Miss Ant! Will you marry me?” said the rooster.

“Sing,” said the ant, “so I may hear your voice.”

The rooster was very proud of his shrill voice and he crowed with all his
might.

[Illustration]

“No, no,” cried the ant, “I’ll not marry you, Mr. Rooster. Your shrill
crow frightens me. Go away.”

The rooster was hardly out of sight when a big dog came trotting that way.

“How pretty you are, Miss Ant! Will you marry me?” said the dog.

“Sing,” said the ant, “so I may hear your voice.”

[Illustration]

The dog was very proud of his voice and he barked with all his might.

“No, no,” cried the ant, “I’ll not marry you, Mr. Dog. Your sharp bark
frightens me. Go away.”

After a time a wee little mouse came frisking that way.

“How pretty you are, Miss Ant! Will you marry me?” said the mouse.

“Sing,” said the ant, “so I may hear your voice.”

Now the wee little mouse was not at all proud of his voice. But he
squeaked as sweetly as he could, “Wee, wee, wee!”

“Yes, yes,” cried the ant, “I’ll marry you, dear Mouse. Your sweet little
voice pleases me. Come right in.”

In scampered the mouse.

The ant gave him two pieces of money, for she had spent only one for her
ribbon.

He hurried away to the store, and came quickly back bringing apples and
bread.

Mrs. Ant Mouse now sat down to a feast.

Mr. Mouse ate the crusts and the seeds, so nothing was lost.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: Songs of Life]

[Illustration]


THE BROOK

    (fl ies)
     sk ies

    branch es

    riv er

    (l ove)
    ab ove

[Illustration]

    Down from the hillside,
      Sparkling and bright,
    Rushes the little brook,
      In the sunlight.

    On through the meadow,
      Where the flowers hide,
    With skies bright above it,
      Now its waters glide.

    Tall trees beside the brook,
      Their branches o’er it throw,
    As through the quiet woodland,
      The sparkling waters flow.

    So it hurries down the hillside,
      And across the meadow sweet,
    And through the shady woodland,
      Till the river it shall meet.

[Illustration]


THE LITTLE BROOK

     (l ift)
     sw iftly

    (th is)
     wh is per

    (gr ass)
      p ass

    mur murs

    talk

    (spl ash)
       d ash
      fl ash
         ash

See the little brook rushing down the steep hillside!

How it hurries!

How it leaps over the falls!

Hear it dash and splash among the rocks!

See its waters flash and sparkle in the sun!

“Stop, stop, little brook! Wait, I want to talk with you.”

“No, no, I must hurry on. I have a long way to go.”

“I will go with you, then. I will run along your banks. Please do not
hurry so. I can hardly keep up with you.”

Now we come to the wide meadow.

Here the little brook flows more slowly and quietly.

But it never stops.

It must flow ever on and on.

Bright flowers are hiding along its banks.

They peep out from the grass.

They look into the clear flowing water.

“Stay, little brook, play with us,” they whisper.

“Why do you always hurry so? Are you not weary?”

“No, no, I am never weary, never tired,” murmurs the brook.

“I never stop to play.

It is play for me to rush swiftly down the steep hill.

It is fun to flow gently across the meadow.

I like to see you peeping over my banks as I pass.

But I cannot stop.

[Illustration]

I must hurry on to meet the river.

Good-by, sweet flowers, good-by.”

Now the brook glides into the woodland.

Here the sad willows droop over the gliding waters.

High above them tower the oak, the ash, and the pine trees.

“Do not hurry, little brook,” whisper their leaves.

“Are you not tired?

You have come a long way.

Here the bright sun never comes.

Stay with us, and we will shade you.

Rest a while under our spreading branches.

In the meadow the burning sun is so hot.

But here it is cool.

Why can you not stay with us?

Why must you always hurry on?”

“Because I have to meet the river.

I love your wide spreading branches.

I love the gentle murmur of your green leaves.

I love your cool shade.

You are very kind to me.

But I cannot stay with you.

The great river needs me.

I shall have to hurry on.

Good-by, noble trees.

Good-by, drooping willows.”

So the never resting brook rushes, and glides and flows on forever.


CALLING THE VIOLET

    mos sy

    don’t

[Illustration]

    Dear little Violet,
      Don’t be afraid!
    Lift your blue eyes
      From the rock’s mossy shade.
    All the birds call for you
      Out of the sky;
    May is here waiting,
    And here, too, am I.

    Come, pretty Violet,
      Winter’s away;
    Come, for without you
      May isn’t May.
    Down through the sunshine
      Wings flutter and fly;
    Quick, little Violet,
      Open your eye!

                                                            —LUCY LARCOM.


THE WIND

    (m oss y)
     t oss es

    height

    up ward

    (w hen)
     w hen ce

    (sh all)
      v all ey

    (c oats)
     g oats

    trav erse

    whith er

[Illustration]

    Which way does the wind blow,
      And where does he go?
    He rides o’er the water
      And over the snow;
    O’er wood and o’er valley,
      And over the height—
    Where goats cannot traverse
      He taketh his flight.

    He rages and tosses,
      And bare is the tree,
    As when you look upward
      You plainly can see;
    But from whence he comes,
      Or whither he goes,
    There is no one can tell you,
      There is no one who knows.

                                                              —MARY LAMB.


THE WIND

    nei ther

    trem bling

    (h ow)
     b ow

[Illustration]

    Who has seen the wind?
        Neither I nor you;
    But when the leaves hang trembling,
        The Wind is passing through.

    Who has seen the wind?
        Neither you nor I;
    But when the trees bow down their heads,
        The Wind is passing by.


THE WIND

    dif fer ent

    young

    la dies

    skirts

[Illustration]

    I saw you toss the kites on high
    And blow the birds about the sky;
    And all around I heard you pass,
    Like ladies’ skirts across the grass—
      O wind, a-blowing all day long,
      O wind, that sings so loud a song!

    I saw the different things you did,
    But always you yourself you hid.
    I felt you push, I heard you call,
    I could not see yourself at all—
      O wind, a-blowing all day long,
      O wind, that sings so loud a song!

    O you that are so strong and cold,
    O blower, are you young or old?
    Are you a beast of field and tree,
    Or just a stronger child than me?
      O wind, a-blowing all day long,
      O wind, that sings so loud a song!

                                                         —R. L. STEVENSON


THE LEAF’S JOURNEY

    jour ney

    (f ish)
     w ish ed

    eight

    (l og)
    fr og s

    leaped

    (st ream)
      d ream ed

On the steep hillside grew a tall ash tree.

Right on the bank of the rushing brook it grew.

Its branches spread far out across the little stream.

[Illustration]

Its leaves looked down into the flashing water.

There, when the sun shone brightly, they saw leaves looking up at them.

They called these “water leaves.”

The little tree leaves wished to go to the water leaves.

Many of them had already fluttered down.

But one leaf, very young, could not let go her hold of the twig.

At last a raging wind tore away the little leaf.

Over and over she turned.

Down, down, down, she fell.

She was so afraid the wind would carry her away.

But the friendly stream leaped up the rocks to meet her.

It bore her away, swiftly but gently.

The little leaf was afraid. She was lonesome.

The dear little “water leaves” were nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t be afraid, little leaf,” murmured the kind brook.

“I will give you a fine ride.

And I’ll talk to you all the time.

I’ll tell you all about the things we pass.

Here we are, already in the meadow.

Now I don’t have to hurry.

See the pretty flowers peeping over my banks.

They all love me.

I give them cool water to drink.

[Illustration]

Here we go past the old mossy log.

Just see the frogs on it!

They are all in a row.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, of them!

They love me, too.

When anything makes them afraid, they leap into me.

They hide in some of my deep pools.

Here is the shady woodland.

Now I glide more slowly.

Soon I shall meet the great river.

I will not carry you into it.

For there you would be afraid.

I will land you here with lots of other leaves.”

And the stream pushed her gently upon the low bank of sand.

“Good-by,” he murmured; “good-by, little leaf.”

And the little leaf lay quietly thinking.

How many different things she had seen!

She never dreamed there were so many things in the whole world.

[Illustration]


SWEET AND LOW

    west ern

    roll ing

    fa ther

    (p ea)
     s ea
    br ea the

[Illustration]

    Sweet and low, sweet and low,
      Wind of the western sea,
    Low, low, breathe and blow,
      Wind of the western sea!
    Over the rolling waters go,
    Come from the dying moon and blow,
      Blow him again to me;
    While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

    Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
      Father will come to thee soon;
    Rest, rest, on mother’s breast,
      Father will come to thee soon;
    Father will come to his babe in the nest,
    Silver sails all out of the west,
      Under the silver moon;
    Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

                                                               —TENNYSON.

[Illustration]


SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP!

          (dr ess)
           gu ess
    shep herd ess

[Illustration]

        Sleep, baby, sleep!
        Thy father watches his sheep;
    Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree,
    And down comes a little dream on thee.
        Sleep, baby, sleep!

        Sleep, baby, sleep!
        The large stars are the sheep;
    The little stars are the lambs, I guess;
    The gentle moon is the shepherdess.
        Sleep, baby, sleep!

                                                       —FROM THE GERMAN.


STARS AND DAISIES

    (t alk)
     w alk

    di a mond

[Illustration]

    Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
    How I wonder what you are,
    Up above the world so high,
    Like a diamond in the sky.

Do you know what daisies are?

Do you know what stars are?

I will tell you what I think.

At night we see the stars shining in the sky.

There are so very many of them, more than we can count.

[Illustration]

I think the sky is a beautiful meadow.

And the stars are little white daisies growing in the sky meadow.

[Illustration]

Sometimes the moon comes into the meadow.

She is a beautiful lady.

All night she walks among the flowers.

She gathers the little sky daisies.

In the morning we cannot see the stars.

Where are they?

In the meadow near our home are many bright-eyed daisies.

There are so very many of them, more than we can count.

How did they get there?

Where did they come from?

Daisies look like stars, you know.

So I think the lady moon threw them down from the sky.


LADY MOON

    rov ing

    pale

    Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
                Over the sea.
    Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
                All that love me.

    Are you not tired with rolling, and never
                Resting to sleep?
    Why look so pale and so sad, as forever
                Wishing to weep?

    Ask me not this, little child, if you love me;
                You are too bold;
    I must obey my dear Father above me,
                And do as I’m told.

    Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
                Over the sea.
    Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
                All that love me.

                                                          —LORD HOUGHTON.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: With Nature’s Children]

[Illustration]


THE LITTLE SHEPHERDESS

    soft

    taste

    awoke

    lost

    (s eek)
    ch eek

[Illustration]

    Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep
    And can’t tell where to find them;
    Leave them alone and they’ll come home
    Bringing their tails behind them.

One morning a pretty little shepherdess drove her flock of sheep to the
meadow. There she watched them while they ate the fresh, green grass.
How sweet it tasted to the hungry sheep!

A large dog went with the shepherdess to help care for the sheep. He was
the shepherd.

The shepherd let no lamb go astray. If one got too far from the flock,
Mr. Shepherd ran after him.

“Bow-wow! Go back!” cried the shepherd.

The shepherdess took good care of her flock, too. She led them where the
grass was greenest and sweetest.

When noon came all the sheep had eaten enough. So they lay down quietly
in the cool shade of some old oak trees. Little Bo-peep lay down too,
with her good shepherd dog beside her.

How cool and still it was there! Little Bo-peep could hear only the
gentle rustling of the leaves overhead. She could feel only the soft wind
on her cheek.

The wind blew more and more softly; the leaves rustled more and more
gently. Soon little Bo-peep was fast asleep.

“Bo-peep, Bo-peep, where are you?”

“Bow-wow, bow-wow, bow-wow-wow!”

“Bo-peep, Bo-peep!”

[Illustration]

Little Bo-peep awoke with a start. She sat upright, her eyes wide open.
Not a sheep could she see. Her dog was not beside her. It was dark; the
stars were twinkling overhead. How frightened the little shepherdess was!

“Bow-wow!”

“Bo-peep, Bo-peep! Where are you, child?” Surely that was her mother’s
voice.

“Here, mother, here I am, under the big oak tree!” called Bo-peep.

Up rushed the dog, and mother followed close behind.

“Where are my sheep, mother? I fear they are lost.”

“Where is my little Bo-peep? I feared she was lost.”

“Here is your Bo-peep, dear mother. How long I must have slept!”

“Your sheep are all safe at home. Old Rover drove them in long ago.”

This is the way Bo-peep lost her sheep; this is the way she found them.
And this is the way Bo-peep was lost; and this is the way she was found.


DISCONTENT

    (l azy)
    cr azy

    swal lows

    to geth er

    pleas ant

    dull er

    (b ear)
     w ear ing

    (g ave)
     s ave
    br ave ly

    June

    (g ather)
     r ather

    per haps

    hon est

    pas sion

    col or

[Illustration]

    Down in the field, one day in June,
      The flowers all bloomed together,
    Save one, who tried to hide herself,
      And drooped—that pleasant weather.

    A robin, who had flown too high
      And felt a little lazy,
    Was resting near a buttercup,
      Who wished she were a daisy.

    For daisies grow so trim and tall;
      She always had a passion
    For wearing frills around her neck,
      In just the daisies’ fashion.

    And buttercups must always be
      The same old, tiresome color,
    While daisies dress in gold and white,
      Although their gold is duller.

    “Dear robin,” said this sad young flower,
      “Perhaps you’d not mind trying
    To find a nice white frill for me
      Some day, when you are flying.”

    “You silly thing,” the robin said,
      “I think you must be crazy;
    I’d rather be my honest self
      Than any made-up daisy.

    You’re nicer in your own bright gown;
      The little children love you;
    Be the best buttercup you can,
      And think no flower above you.

    Though swallows leave me out of sight,
      We’d better keep our places.
    Perhaps the world would go all wrong,
      With one too many daisies.

    Look bravely up into the sky,
      And be content with knowing
    That God wished for a buttercup
      Just here, where you are growing.”

                                                      —SARAH ORNE JEWETT.

[Illustration]


BELLING THE CAT

    sn ug
     d ug

    aw oke
    sp oke

    fam i ly

    life

    pounce

     h ole
    st ole

    warn ing

    st eal
     m eal

     g ood
    st ood

    straight

A family of rats had their home in a barn.

They made many snug nests in the warm hay.

They dug holes through the hay from nest to nest.

They ran in and out and all about the barn. They had nothing to fear.

When they were hungry they could always find nice grain in the stalls.
They became very fat.

And they were as happy a family of rats as one could wish to see.

But one day a big black cat found the rats’ barn.

That was a sad day for the rat family!

This cat was not fat and he was not happy.

He was very thin, very cross, and very hungry.

[Illustration]

One thing he liked to eat best of all things in the world—rats.

How he did love nice, fat, happy rats! At last he had found them, a whole
big family of them!

This hungry, greedy cat now had rat for breakfast, rat for dinner, and
rat for supper. And sometimes he had rat between meals.

Very soon this cat began to grow fat and happy.

But happy cats make unhappy rats. While this cat grew fat, these rats
grew thin.

[Illustration]

Yet in the stalls there was just as much grain as ever. But it was only a
very hungry rat that dared go for it. For no rat could tell when the cat
might pounce upon him.

That sly cat stole about without a sound.

The most watchful rat could hear nothing, could see no living thing.

Then, pounce! The wicked cat’s claws held him fast.

So, many a poor rat went to the stall, and never came back. And the rat
family was growing smaller day by day.

At last the wise old rats saw that something must be done. So they called
a meeting of the whole family of rats, as many as were still alive.

When all had come together in a safe place and were still, the oldest and
wisest rat rose up on his hind legs.

He stood up very straight, very tall, and very thin.

“My dear brothers and sisters, my dear children and grandchildren!” began
the wise old rat.

[Illustration]

“You all know the one fear of our lives.” Every rat trembled.

“That wicked cat has grown fat and sleek feeding on your brothers, your
mothers, your wives, and your children.

No one of you knows when his turn may come to make a meal for that ever
hungry monster.

He steals upon you without warning.

He is never seen, he is never heard, until it is too late.

But you were not called together to hear what you already know only too
well.

[Illustration]

You were called here to do something to make your lives safer and happier.

What can be done? Who has a plan?”

The old rat waited.

All the other rats looked from one to another, but no one spoke.

“Well, then,” said the wise old rat at last, “listen to me.

If we only knew where the cat was, we could not be caught. If we could
only hear him coming, we might get out of his reach.

Now, my plan is this. We will hang a bell to that cat’s neck.”

“The very thing! Hurrah! Hurrah!” cried all the rats together.

“Why haven’t we thought of that before?

No more of us will go to make dinners for that old cat.

Now, for all the corn we can eat!”

And away sprang the hungry rats for the stalls.

“Stop! Stop!” cried the wise old rat. “Back to your places!

The bell isn’t on the cat’s neck yet.”

Slowly and sadly the starving rats settled back.

“Now,” the old rat went on, “who will tie the bell around the cat’s neck?”

[Illustration]

“Not I! Not I! Not I!” squeaked the poor frightened rats.

And they trembled all over at the very thought.

Then they sat very still and looked at each other.

Oh! how hungry they were! How sweet that yellow corn in the stall would
taste.

One by one they began to steal away softly.

Where do you think they were going?

Rat families still live in barns.

Cats still feed upon them.

But no rat has ever tried to make life safer by belling a cat.

[Illustration]


THREE OF US KNOW

    bal lad

    se crets

[Illustration]

    Who are my playfellows?
      Wait, you shall see;
    Sometimes a little bird,
      Sometimes a bee.
    All through the summer world
      Gayly we go.
    Where is the greenest close,
    Where is the sweetest rose,
      Three of us know.

    Bee seeks the rose’s heart,
      Bird seeks the tree,
    I seek a little brook
      Clear as can be.
    It singeth all day long
      Sweetly and low,
    Ballad of sun and star;
    What its song secrets are
      Three of us know.

    Bee takes the honey home
      To the Queen bee;
    Bird seeks a nest that hides
      High in the tree;
    I seek a little house
      Where sweet vines grow.
    What in God’s world is best—
    Trees, flowers, home, and rest—
      Three of us know.

                                                         —MARIE VAN VORST

[Illustration]


THE DANDELION

    gyp sy

    gild

    idle

[Illustration]

    Little Gypsy dandelion,
      Dancing in the sun,
    Have you any curls to sell?
      “Not a single one!”

    Little idle dandelion
      Then I’ll mow you down.
    What is it you’re good for, pray,
      With your golden crown?

    “Ah! I gild the fields so green
      In the pleasant spring,
    Shining like the morning star
      With the light I bring.”


THE MAGPIE’S LESSON

    ma ple

    mean

    learn

    hooted

    ea gle

    (en ough)
      r ough

    (gr owl)
        owl

    pa tient

    (h ome)
     d ome

    (l eaves)
       eaves
     w eave

    o ri ole

    cov er

    troub le

    moun tain

    (b ud)
     m ud

    yon der

    choose

    roofs

    build

    (afr aid)
       p aid

[Illustration]

Years and years ago—ever so many years ago—only one bird in the whole
world knew how to build a nest. That wise bird was the magpie.

One day all the other birds came to the magpie. They wanted to learn how
to build nests. They begged the magpie to teach them.

“Indeed, I am glad to teach you,” said Mrs. Magpie. “Just listen and
watch me. First, you must choose a tall tree, like this great maple. Then
take sticks—”

“A tree,” broke in the bold eagle, “a tree here in this valley! No trees
nor valleys for me! My nest shall be on the highest cliff of yonder
mountain.”

[Illustration]

And away flew the eagle without waiting to hear more of the magpie’s
lesson. To this day he puts together a few rough sticks on a rocky
mountain cliff, and calls them a nest.

The magpie began again. “Take sticks like these,” she said, “to a high
branch.”

[Illustration]

“Are you a fool?” cried the lark. “Don’t you know that the first strong
wind will blow your nest to the ground?” “And the first boy who comes
this way will throw stones at it,” put in Mrs. Bob-o-link.

“No high branches for us,” sang the lark and the bob-o-link together. And
down they flew into the tall grass of the meadow. There they have made
their nests ever since.

Mrs. Magpie didn’t even look at the birds flying away. “Weave the sticks
together so, in and out,” said she cheerfully. “That will make the
bottom of the nest.”

“I don’t mean to set my nest on a branch like that,” spoke up the oriole.
“The wind surely would blow it off, as the lark just said.”

And the oriole flew away and hung her nest from little twigs. There you
may see it to-day swinging in the wind far out at the end of a long
branch.

[Illustration]

“Plaster the inside of your nest with mud,” Mrs. Magpie went on again.
“Then line it with soft grass, so.”

“Dear, dear, so much work to make a nest!” yawned the whip-poor-will.
“I’m not going to take the trouble.” And that lazy bird hasn’t made a
nest from that day to this. She just lays her eggs in a hollow on the
ground, or perhaps on a log.

“Who, who, who would go to all that trouble!” hooted the owl. “I think I
have a better plan.”

She looked very wise, but said no more. You can guess what her plan was
when you find her eggs in a crow’s or a hawk’s old nest.

“Now take more mud and sticks,” began the patient magpie once more. “You
need to build a dome over your nest. That is to hide the little ones and
to keep out the rain.”

“Oh, never mind the dome,” said the robin. “I will cover my little ones
with my wings. I can hide them and keep off the rain.”

[Illustration]

“You are right, Mrs. Robin,” said the crow. “We have no use for domes.”
And to this day neither robins nor crows have built domes over their
nests.

Mrs. Magpie paid no more heed to these birds than to the others who had
already left her. She went quietly on building her nest, just as she knew
it ought to be built. Soon it was done, dome and all.

“Indeed, Mrs. Magpie,” said the swallows, “we like your nest. The dome
is a fine thing, but why should we build it? There are plenty of domes
already built; we need only to make our nests under them.”

Ever since then some swallows have made their nests under banks. Others
have made theirs under roofs of open barns; and still others under eaves.

So all the birds flew away and left Mrs. Magpie with never a “thank you.”
Each one built her nest as she pleased. And each one thought her way so
much better than the magpie’s.

But the magpie still builds her nest in the top of a high tree. She makes
it of mud and sticks and covers it with a dome.


THE BLUEBIRD

    cro cus

    mer ry

    daf fo dils

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

    I know the song that the bluebird is singing—
    Out in the apple tree where he is swinging.
    Brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary;
    Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.

    Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat.
    Hark! was there ever so merry a note?
    Listen a while and you’ll hear what he’s saying
    Up in the apple tree swinging and swaying:

    “Dear little blossoms down under the snow,
    You must be weary of winter, I know;
    Hark! while I sing you a message of cheer:
    Summer is coming, and springtime is here.

    Little white snowdrops! I pray you arise;
    Bright yellow crocus! come, open your eyes;
    Daffodils! Daffodils! say, do you hear?
    Summer is coming, and springtime is here!”

                                           —MRS. EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.

[Illustration]


THE WOLF AND THE STORK

A greedy wolf got a bone stuck in his throat. Try as he would, he could
not get the bone out. At last he lay down to die, as he thought. But just
then a stork came that way.

“Good day, Mr. Wolf,” said the stork, kindly.

But the wolf could not answer a word.

The stork soon saw what the matter was, and with his long beak pulled the
bone out of the wolf’s throat. Without a word, the greedy wolf sprang up
and went on with his dinner.

The stork, who was very hungry, began to pick up a few morsels of meat.

“Be off with you!” snapped the wolf. “How dare you touch my meat!”

“Is that the thanks I get for saving your life?” said the stork.

“Thanks!” answered the wolf, “did I not let you draw your bill out of my
jaws in safety? It is you who should be thankful.”


THE INDIAN MOTHER’S LULLABY

    roe buck

    pap poose

    Man i tou

    slum ber ing

    breezes

    prai rie

[Illustration]

    Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, little pappoose,
      The stars come into the sky;
    The whip-po’-will’s crying, the daylight is dying,
      The river runs murmuring by.

    The pine trees are slumbering, little pappoose,
      The squirrel has gone to his nest;
    The robins are sleeping, the mother bird’s keeping
      The little ones warm with her breast.

    The roebuck is dreaming, my little pappoose,
      His mate lies asleep at his side;
    The breezes are pining, the moonbeams are shining
      All over the prairies wide.

    Then hush-a-by, rock-a-by, little pappoose,
      You sail on the river of dreams;
    Dear Manitou loves you, and watches above you,
      Till time when the morning light gleams.

                                                          —CHARLES MYALL.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: In Story Land]

[Illustration]


HOW MRS. WHITE HEN HELPED ROSE

    (y ond er)
     p ond

     (c atch)
    scr atch

    ques tion

    sur prised

    (p ush)
     b ush

      (ever)
    cl ever

    si lent ly

    sud den ly

    (h ard)
     y ard

    (for ward)

    earth

    worm

    chirped

A beautiful rose tree grew in the garden. Every morning she smiled up at
the golden sun. But one morning when the sun rose, he was surprised to
see that his friend, the rose, drooped sadly. He sent one of his warm
rays down to earth to find out what the matter was.

“Dear Rose,” said the bright sunbeam, “why do you droop and look so sad?”

“Ah, me!” sighed the rose, “I am so unhappy! An ugly worm is eating my
leaves, and he will not crawl away.”

[Illustration]

The sun felt very sorry for the rose. “I will not shine,” he said, “until
Rose is happy.” So he hid behind a dark cloud.

The wind came hurrying along. “Father Sun,” he cried, “why are you not
shining to-day?”

“Ah, me!” answered the sun, “dear Rose is so unhappy! An ugly worm is
eating her leaves, and he will not crawl away. I will shine no more until
Rose is happy.”

“I, too, am so sorry,” whispered the wind. “I will blow no more until
Rose is happy.” So saying he dropped to the earth and was still.

A bird was surprised when the wind stopped.

“Mr. Wind,” he called, “why have you stopped blowing?”

“Ah, me!” sighed the wind. “Dear Rose is so unhappy! An ugly worm is
eating her leaves, and he will not crawl away. So Sun will shine no more
and I will blow no more until Rose is happy.”

“I, also, love Rose,” sang the bird; “and I will sing no more until Rose
is happy.” He flew away silently to his nest in the oak tree.

“It is not night,” said the old tree; “why are you not flying and
singing, little bird?”

“Ah, me!” chirped the bird. “Dear Rose is so unhappy! An ugly worm is
eating her leaves, and he will not crawl away. So Sun will shine no more,
Wind will blow no more, and I will sing no more until Rose is happy.”

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

“That is all very sad,” whispered the tree. “I shall drop no more acorns
until Rose is happy.”

Soon the squirrel came to gather some nuts. But he could find very few.

“Dear Tree,” he chattered, “please drop down some acorns.”

“No,” answered the tree. “I cannot, now.”

“Why not?” asked the squirrel.

“Ah, me!” rustled the tree. “Dear Rose is so unhappy! An ugly worm is
eating her leaves, and he will not crawl away. So Sun will shine no more,
Wind will blow no more, Bird will sing no more, and I will drop no more
acorns until Rose is happy again.”

“And I will work no more,” chirped the squirrel. “I will run away to my
nest in the old hollow tree.”

On the way to his home the squirrel met Mrs. Brown Duck.

“Good morning, Mr. Squirrel,” quacked the duck. “Why are you not working
this morning?”

“Ah, me!” replied the squirrel. “Dear Rose is so unhappy! An ugly worm is
eating her leaves, and he will not crawl away. So Sun will shine no more,
Wind will blow no more, Bird will sing no more, Oak Tree will drop no
more acorns, and I will work no more till Rose is happy.”

[Illustration]

“Then I will swim no more,” said Mrs. Brown Duck. And she waddled off to
the barnyard. There she met Mrs. White Hen.

“Why do you look so sad, Mrs. Duck?” said the hen.

“Ah, me!” quacked the duck. “Dear Rose is so unhappy! An ugly worm is
eating her leaves, and he will not crawl away. So Sun will shine no more,
Wind will blow no more, Bird will sing no more, Oak Tree will drop no
more acorns, Squirrel will work no more, and I will swim no more until
Rose is happy again.”

“Indeed! Indeed!” cackled Mrs. White Hen. “Pray tell me how stopping your
work will help Rose. If you wish Rose to be happy, you must do something
for her. Come with me.”

Away hurried the hen and the duck until they came to the rose. The old
hen asked no questions. She did not even take time to say “Good morning.”
But she cocked her head first on one side, then on the other, searching
through the leaves of the rosebush with her bright little eyes. Suddenly
she darted forward. “Snap!” went her bill, and the worm was swallowed.

“There, Mrs. Duck,” clucked the hen, “see how I have helped Rose and at
the same time got a nice breakfast for myself.”

At once the rose looked up toward the sun and smiled. Thereupon the sun
began to shine.

“If I had only thought,” said the sun, “I might have burned that worm
with my hot rays.”

“And I might have blown him away,” whistled the wind, springing up
suddenly.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

“If I had only thought,” sang the bird, “I might have had a nice fat worm
for breakfast.”

“And so might I,” quacked the duck as she waddled away toward the pond.

The oak tree shook down a great shower of acorns, and the squirrel
hastened to gather them. They, too, wished they had thought of some way
to help Rose.

But the clever old white hen said nothing at all.


THE SANDMAN

    truth

    shoes

      (oak)
    cl oak

[Illustration]

    The Sandman comes across the land,
      At evening, when the sun is low:
    Upon his back a bag of sand—
      His step is soft and low.
    I never hear his gentle tread,
    But when I bend my sleepy head,
    “The Sandman’s coming!” mother says,
    And mother tells the truth, always!

    I guess he’s old, with silver hair,
      He’s up so late! He has to go
    To lots of children, everywhere,
      At evening, when the sun is low.
    His cloak is long, and green and old,
    With pretty dreams in every fold—
    His shoes are silken, mother says,
    And mother tells the truth, always!

    He glides across the sunset hill,
      To seek each little child, like me:
    Our all-day-tired eyes to fill
      With sands of sleep, from slumber’s sea.
    I try my best awake to stay,
      But I am tired out with play;
    “I’ll never see him!” mother says,
    And mother tells the truth—always!

                                                         —MARIE VAN VORST


BILLY BINKS

    (d art)
    st art le

    c ast les

    h urr y
    p urr

    (f elt)
     m elt

    pres ent ly

    en tered

    blazed

    di rect ly

    ter ri ble

    dis ap peared

    (pl ace)
      f ace

     (eight)
    n eigh ed

    (sm ile)
      m ile

    waul

    trav eled

    fin ished

    hor ri ble

    front

    ter ri fied

    re mem ber

    (d ance)
    pr ance

    (st ar)
      f ar ther

    (r oof)
     h oof

    (r oar)
     s oar

    en e mies

    for tune

    sau cers

    prom ise

    broom

Once upon a time a little boy named Billy Binks set out to seek his
fortune. He traveled alone for many a weary mile, but at last he met a
little gray pony.

“Where are you going, Billy Binks?” neighed the pony.

“I am going to seek my fortune,” said Billy Binks.

“May I go, too?”

“If I take you, will you help me win my fortune?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I will carry you on my back and kick all your enemies with my hard
hoofs.”

“Very well, you may come along.”

Then they went on a little farther and met a cow.

“Where are you going, Billy Binks?” mooed the cow.

“I am going to seek my fortune,” answered Billy Binks.

“May I go, too?”

“If I take you, will you help me win my fortune?”

[Illustration]

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I will moo, and toss your enemies on my sharp horns.”

“Very well, you may come.”

When they had walked on a little farther they met a dog.

“Where are you going, Billy Binks?” barked the dog.

“I am going to seek my fortune,” answered Billy Binks.

“May I go, too?”

“If I take you, will you help me win my fortune?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I will bark, and bite your enemies with my sharp teeth.”

“Very well, you may come.”

After walking a little farther they met a cat.

“Where are you going, Billy Binks?” mewed the cat.

“I am going to seek my fortune,” answered Billy Binks.

“May I go, too?”

“If I take you, will you help me win my fortune?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I will purr, and scratch your enemies with my sharp claws.”

“Very well, you may come.”

They continued their journey and presently met a raven.

“Where are you going, Billy Binks?” croaked the raven.

“I am going to seek my fortune.”

“May I go, too?”

“If I take you, will you help me win my fortune?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I will croak, and peck your enemies’ eyes out with my sharp beak.”

“Very well, you may come.”

On and on they walked till at last they entered a deep, dark wood. All
day they journeyed through this forest, which grew denser and darker as
night came on.

“We are near a clearing in this wood,” croaked the raven, who had been
soaring above the treetops. “Let us keep right on.”

Suddenly all were startled by a bright light, the brightest any of
them had ever seen. It flashed out through the trees directly in front
of them. It fairly dazzled and blinded them. Then it as suddenly
disappeared, and left them standing terrified in the pitch-black darkness
of the night.

Again the light flashed out, and again disappeared.

“What can it be?” asked Billy Binks, hoarsely, as soon as he could find
his voice.

“Perhaps it is a lamp,” mewed the cat.

“No, it is too bright for a lamp,” answered Billy Binks.

“It might be a house on fire,” barked the dog.

“No, if it were, we could see the light all the time; and besides, there
is no house here. I have flown this way before,” answered the raven.

[Illustration]

“It may be a lighthouse,” said Billy Binks.

“No,” replied the raven, “the sea is miles from here. You all keep still
while I fly over the treetops and find out what it is.”

Billy Binks and his animal friends kept ever so quiet, while the raven
flew up and quickly disappeared in the darkness. It seemed hours before
he returned.

“Oh, my friends,” croaked the raven, alighting in their midst at last,
“you never saw such a sight! There’s the most horrible, monstrous
hob-goblin over there in the clearing. He has a nose as long as a
broomstick—”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” cried Billy Binks and his friends.

“—Eyes as big as saucers and as green as the sea—”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” cried Billy Binks and his friends.

“—And a mouth big enough to swallow us all!”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” cried Billy Binks and his friends.

“He has a great fire blazing among some rocks. That is the light you saw.
When he walks in front of it you cannot see the light. That is why you
thought it disappeared.”

[Illustration]

“I see! I see! I see!” said Billy Binks and his friends.

“He is busy melting gold, and he has piles of gold and jewels hidden in
his cave—”

“Ah, ha!” laughed Billy Binks, as he climbed bravely upon his gray pony.

“His cave is full of nice plump field mice—”

“Mew! Mew!” cried the cat, as she scrambled up behind Billy Binks.

“In the bushes back of the cave live many rabbits—”

“Bow-wow!” barked the dog, as he bounded toward Billy Binks.

“Near the cave is a large green meadow, with the sweetest grass and the
coolest brook in the world—”

“Moo! Moo!” lowed the cow, as she, too, hurried up beside Billy Binks.

“And there is a tall tree that will make a fine home for me,” finished
the raven, as she flew over Billy Binks’s head.

“Come on, friends,” whispered Billy Binks, boldly. “It is time to win my
fortune. Remember you have all promised to help me.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll help. And I think I see my fortune, too,” answered each
of the animals, now as bold as Billy Binks.

Softly, quietly, and slowly they crept through the forest. Presently they
came to the clearing. There stood the ugly, black hob-goblin, bending
over his fire. His back was turned toward them.

[Illustration]

“Now!” shouted Billy Binks, and they all rushed at the terrible monster.

The raven dashed into his face and pecked at his large green eyes.

The cat scratched great gashes in his long nose.

The dog bit him, and the horse kicked him.

The enraged cow rushed upon him with lowered head, caught him on her
horns, and tossed him as high as the treetops.

[Illustration]

Then the cow began to bellow.

The dog began to howl.

The cat began to waul.

The raven began to caw.

The pony began to prance.

And Billy Binks began to shout with all his might.

Such a frightful din that old hob-goblin had never heard! He picked
himself up from the sharp rocks where he had fallen, and dashed away with
might and main through the forest. If he hasn’t stopped, he is running
still.

“Ho, ho!” cried Billy Binks, springing from the gray pony and running to
the mouth of the cave. “This heap of gold and this pile of jewels will do
for my fortune. If you carry them safely home for me, Pony, I will build
you a beautiful stable, and you shall have a full crib of oats before you
all the rest of your life. That will be your fortune.”

“This cave, full of good, plump mice, is my fortune,” called the cat, as
she pounced on the first unlucky mouse.

“All these rabbits shall be my fortune,” barked the dog, as he set off in
hot haste after a fleeing bunny.

“And this green meadow is my fortune,” mooed the cow, as she began to
crop the sweet grass.

“Who could have a better fortune than this?” croaked the raven, flying to
the top of a tall tree.

So Billy Binks said “Good-by” to his friends, and left them each with his
fortune. He quickly bagged the gold and jewels, threw them across the
pony’s back, and mounting, hurried off homeward.

The pony smelled oats all the way, while Billy Binks saw castles and
lands on all sides.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: Some Things to think About]

[Illustration]


WHEN THE LITTLE BOY RAN AWAY

    (s ist er)
    tw ist ed

    wan der ed

    aw ful

    (r oam)
     f oam ing

    ech o

      (under)
    th under

    par ents

    trun dle

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

    When the little boy ran away from home,
      The birds in the tree-top knew,
    And they all sang, “Stay!” but he wandered away
      Under the skies of blue.
    And the wind came whispering from the tree,
    “Follow me, follow me!”
    And it sang him a song that was soft and sweet
    And scattered the roses before his feet
      That day, that day,
      When the little boy ran away.

    The violets whispered, “Your eyes are blue
      And lovely and bright to see,
    And so are mine, and I’m kin to you,
      So dwell in the light with me.”
    But the little boy laughed, while the wind in glee
    Sang, “Follow, follow me!”
    And the wind called the clouds from their home in the skies
    And said to the violet, “Shut your eyes!”
      That day, that day,
      When the little boy ran away.

    Then the wind played leapfrog over the hills
      And twisted each leaf and limb;
    And all the rivers and all the rills
      Were foaming mad with him;
    And ’twas dark as the darkest night could be,
    But still came the wind’s voice, “Follow me!”
    And over the mountain and up from the hollow
    Came echoing voices with, “Follow him; follow!”
      That awful day,
      When the little boy ran away.

    Then the little boy cried, “Let me go, let me go!”
      For a scared, scared boy was he.
    But the thunder growled from a black cloud, “No!”
      And the wind roared, “Follow me!”
    And an old gray owl from a tree-top flew,
    Saying: “Who are you-oo? Who are you-oo?”
    And the little boy sobbed, “I’m lost away!
    And I want to go home where my parents stay.”
      O, the awful day
      When the little boy ran away!

    Then the moon looked out from a cloud and said:
      “Are you sorry you ran away?
    If I light you home to your trundle bed,
      Will you stay, little boy, will you stay?”
    And the little boy promised—and cried and cried—
    He never would leave his mother’s side,
    And the moonlight led him over the plain;
    And his mother welcomed him home again.
      But, O, what a day
      When the little boy ran away!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


HOW THE BEAN GOT ITS BLACK SEAM

    (ea gle)
     ea ger

    (h ush)
    cr ush

    mo ment

    quar rel

    coun try

    (r ope)
     h ope

    (m ean)
     b ean

    gur gling

    four

    pour ing

    sew ed

    hul lo

    cru el

    tor rent

    both er

    a las

    in stant ly

Once upon a time there was a poor old woman living in a village of a far
country. She had gathered some beans and was making ready to cook them.
She built a fire of sticks, but, as these were damp, they did not burn
well. So she thrust in a handful of dry straw. Now the flames leaped up,
and the sticks snapped and crackled in the blaze.

A live red coal flew out of the fire, fell on the ground beside a straw,
and lay there smoking. Just then a bean dropped from the pot which the
old woman was filling, rolled away, and came to rest close to the coal
and the straw.

[Illustration]

“Hullo, Mr. Coal,” said the straw. “How you smoke! Are you frightened?
Where did you come from?”

“I just sprang out of that fire,” answered the coal. “Had I not jumped
just as I did, I should now be nothing but ashes. My, look at that
blaze!”

[Illustration]

“I, too, jumped in the nick of time,” spoke up the bean. “That cruel old
woman was just pouring me into the pot when I leaped over the edge, and
here I am.”

“Yes, here you are, silly thing,” broke out the coal and the straw
together. “But what are you going to do? As soon as the old woman turns
around she will spy you, then back you’ll go into the pot. It’s hotter
now than when you left it.”

“Don’t bother about me; think of yourselves,” answered the bean, angrily.
“When the old woman picks me up, she’ll tread on you, Mr. Coal, and crush
your life out. And you, Mrs. Straw, she’ll stick into the blaze. It’s
hotter there than in the pot.”

“Come, come,” said the straw, softly, “let’s not quarrel. Let’s be
friends and stick together. Perhaps we can save ourselves yet.”

“You are quite right, Mrs. Straw,” said the coal.

The bean said nothing, but she listened eagerly to the plans of the two
others. These soon agreed to travel together to a far country, where they
hoped to find their fortune. They set out without delay, and the bean
rolled along behind.

Soon the three travelers came to a little gurgling brook. It seemed to
them a mighty rushing and roaring torrent.

“Oh, dear, what shall we do now?” asked the bean, speaking for the first
time since the journey began. “We can never get across these awful
waters. Hear them thunder down the rocky cliffs!”

“Don’t worry, little Bean,” said the straw, proudly. “I’ll help you and
Mr. Coal across in a twinkling.”

Thereupon the straw laid herself across the stream. She was just long
enough to reach from bank to bank.

“Now walk over the bridge, Mr. Coal and Miss Bean,” called the straw.

The coal hastened on to the straw bridge while the bean watched in
wonder. All went well until the middle of the stream was reached, when
the bridge bent so low under the weight of the coal and the waters
thundered so loudly that the coal stopped in fright.

The coal stood still for only a moment. But, alas, that was a moment too
long.

The dry straw smoked, burst into a tiny flame, and broke in two. Down
fell the coal into the water below and was instantly drowned. The burning
straw bridge also fell into the water, which put out the flames, and the
two pieces of straw went floating away down stream.

[Illustration]

All this the little bean saw, watching safely from the bank. And she
thought it the funniest thing that ever happened. So she laughed and she
laughed—until she burst!

This would have been the end of little Miss Bean, had not a tailor passed
that way just then. He was sorry for the poor bean, so he picked up the
two parts tenderly, and quickly sewed them together. But the thread that
he used was black. And ever since that time some beans have a black seam
around them.

[Illustration]


FRIENDS

    (tw ist)
     wh ist ling

    ferns

    North

    com fort ed

    gent ians

    North Wind came whistling through the wood
      Where the tender, sweet things grew—
    The tall fair ferns and the maiden hair,
      And the gentle gentians blue.
    “It’s very cold! Are we growing old?”
      They sighed, “What shall we do?”

    The sigh went up to the loving leaves.
      “We must help,” they whispered low.
    “They are frightened and weak, O brave old trees!
      But we love you well, you know.”
    And the trees said, “We are strong—make haste!
      Down to the darlings go.”

    So the leaves went floating, floating down,
      All yellow, and brown, and red,
    And the frail little trembling, thankful things
      Lay still, and were comforted.
    And the blue sky smiled through the bare old trees,
      Down on their soft warm beds.

                                                           —L. G. WARNER.

[Illustration]


HELP ONE ANOTHER

    (m outh)
     s outh

    splen did

    (m ount ain)
     f ount ain

    “Help one another,” the snowflakes said,
    As they cuddled down in their fleecy bed.
    “One of us here would not be felt,
    One of us here would quickly melt;
    But I’ll help you, and you help me,
    And then what a splendid drift there’ll be.”

    “Help one another,” the maple spray
    Said to its fellow leaves one day;
    “The sun would wither me here alone,
    Long enough ere the day is gone;
    But I’ll help you, and you help me,
    And then what a splendid shade there’ll be.”

    “Help one another,” the dewdrop cried,
    Seeing another drop close to its side;
    “The warm south wind would dry me away,
    And I should be gone ere noon to-day;
    But I’ll help you, and you help me,
    And we’ll make a brook and run to the sea.”

    “Help one another,” a grain of sand
    Said to another grain close at hand;
    “The wind may carry me out to the sea,
    And then, oh, what will become of me?
    But come, my brother, give me your hand,
    We’ll build a mountain and then we will stand.”

    And so the snowflakes grew to drifts;
    The grains of sand to a mountain;
    The leaves became a summer shade;
    The dewdrops fed a fountain.




[Illustration: With our Feathered Friends]

[Illustration]


THE DROWNING OF MR. LEGHORN

    (g irl)
    wh irl

    point

    waul

    mat ter

    (s ea)
     r ea son

      arm
    f arm

    heav y

    (c ane)
     v ane

    else

    horse

    perch

[Illustration]

One day Mr. Leghorn, the rooster, and Mrs. Leghorn, the hen, were out
walking. They came to a wide, deep brook. Mrs. Leghorn, who was light
and quick, flew safely across; but Mr. Leghorn, who was heavy and slow,
fell, splash! into the water.

[Illustration]

Mrs. Leghorn was sure Mr. Leghorn was drowned. So, without turning to
see, she flew screaming and cackling toward the farmyard.

“What does ail you, Mrs. Leghorn? Why are you screaming and cackling so
loudly?” asked the Wind-Mill as Mrs. Leghorn flew past.

“Mr. Leghorn has fallen into the brook and is drowned. That’s why I am
screaming and cackling so loudly,” replied Mrs. Leghorn.

“What a pity! I’ll swing my arms and creak. That’s the best I can do
for poor Mr. Leghorn.” And the Wind-Mill fell to swinging his arms and
creaking with all his might.

[Illustration]

When the Big Barn Door heard the Wind-Mill creaking and saw him swinging
his long arms, he called out, “What ails you, Wind-Mill? Why do you swing
your arms and creak so?”

“Why, Mr. Leghorn has fallen into the brook and is drowned, and Mrs.
Leghorn is screaming and cackling. That’s why I swing my arms and creak,”
answered the Wind-Mill.

“Poor Mr. Leghorn, poor Mrs. Leghorn!” said the Big Barn Door. “I’ll
slam and bang. That’s the best I can do.” And the Big Barn Door fell to
slamming and banging with all his might.

[Illustration]

The Old Red Ox heard the Big Barn Door slamming and banging, and cried
out, “O, Big Barn Door, why are you slamming and banging so?”

“Reason enough,” answered the Big Barn Door. “Mr. Leghorn has fallen into
the brook and is drowned; Mrs. Leghorn is screaming and cackling; and
Wind-Mill is swinging his arms and creaking. That’s why I am slamming and
banging so.”

“How sorry I am,” said the Old Red Ox. “I’ll paw the ground and bellow.
What else can I do?” And he fell to pawing and bellowing with all his
might.

“What is the matter, Old Red Ox?” asked the Watch Dog. “Why are you
pawing and bellowing so?”

“Matter enough,” answered the Old Red Ox. “Mr. Leghorn has fallen into
the brook and is drowned; Mrs. Leghorn is screaming and cackling;
Wind-Mill is swinging his arms and creaking; and Big Barn Door is
slamming and banging. That’s why I am pawing and bellowing so.”

“O dear me,” said the Watch Dog. “I’ll bark and whine. That’s all I can
do.” And he fell to barking and whining with all his might.

The Old Gray Horse heard the Watch Dog barking and whining, and said,
“What is the matter with you, Watch Dog? Why do you bark and whine so?”

“Wouldn’t you bark and whine if you could?” answered the Watch Dog.
“Mr. Leghorn has fallen into the brook and is drowned; Mrs. Leghorn is
screaming and cackling; Wind-Mill is swinging his arms and creaking; the
Big Barn Door is slamming and banging; and the Old Red Ox is pawing and
bellowing. That’s why I am barking and whining.”

“The poor things!” said Old Gray Horse. “I’ll prance and neigh. What more
can I do?” And he fell to prancing and neighing with all his might.

The Weather-Vane looked down from his high perch and saw the Old Gray
Horse prancing and neighing. “What’s the trouble, Old Gray Horse?” he
called out. “Why are you prancing and neighing so?”

[Illustration]

“Trouble indeed,” answered the Old Gray Horse. “Mr. Leghorn has fallen
into the brook and is drowned; Mrs. Leghorn is screaming and cackling;
Wind-Mill is swinging his arms and creaking; the Big Barn Door is
slamming and banging; the Old Red Ox is pawing and bellowing; and the
Watch Dog is barking and whining. That’s why I am prancing and neighing
so?”

[Illustration]

“O dear, O dear,” said the Weather-Vane, “what shall I do? I’ll whirl and
point. That’s all I can do.” And he fell to whirling and pointing with
all his might.

Pussy Cat looked up and saw Weather-Vane whirling and pointing. “O,
Weather-Vane,” she cried out. “Why do you whirl and point so?”

“Because I can do nothing else,” answered the Weather-Vane. “Mr. Leghorn
has fallen into the brook and is drowned; Mrs. Leghorn is screaming and
cackling; Wind-Mill is swinging his arms and creaking; the Big Barn Door
is slamming and banging; the Old Red Ox is pawing and bellowing; the
Watch Dog is barking and whining; and the Old Gray Horse is prancing and
neighing. That’s why I am whirling and pointing so.”

“O, how sad!” said Pussy Cat. “I’ll waul and squall. That’s the best I
can do.” And she fell to wauling and squalling with all her might.

At this moment, when Pussy Cat was wauling and squalling, when the
Weather-Vane was whirling and pointing, when the Old Gray Horse was
prancing and neighing, when the Watch Dog was barking and whining,
when the Old Red Ox was pawing and bellowing, when the Big Barn Door
was slamming and banging, when the Wind-Mill was swinging his arms and
creaking, when Mrs. Leghorn was screaming and cackling, Mr. Leghorn flew
to the highest rail on the fence and crew,

    “Cock-a-doodle-doo,
    What’s the matter with you?”

[Illustration]


THE STARVING OF MRS. LEGHORN

    po lite

    seized

    bun dle

    bas ket

    dis tance

    praise

    stretched

    of fer ing

    shrieked

    fi nal ly

    faint ly

    fierce ly

    doz en

    smart

    bunch

    wool

    eas y

    own

Mr. and Mrs. Leghorn often went nutting. Mr. Leghorn was very polite and
kind to Mrs. Leghorn. He ran about searching everywhere for nuts. When he
found one he would call to Mrs. Leghorn, who would hasten to him. Then he
would pick up the nut, roll it over and over, lay it down, and pick it up
again a dozen times, all the time telling Mrs. Leghorn what a very nice
nut that was, what a good hen she was, and how smart he was to find nuts
for her. At last he would drop the nut before Mrs. Leghorn, who would
peck it once or twice to make sure that all Mr. Leghorn had said of it
was true, and then swallow it whole, without once offering to share it
with Mr. Leghorn.

One day Mr. Leghorn found a very large nut, the largest nut he had ever
seen. How proudly he called to Mrs. Leghorn! It took him a long time
to tell all about that big nut and how he had found it, to praise Mrs.
Leghorn’s goodness, and to brag about his own smartness. But finally he
finished and turned the nut over to Mrs. Leghorn. She seized it greedily
and was about to swallow it, but—it wouldn’t go down! She tried again and
again, she stretched her beak wider and wider, but it was no use. The nut
was too large.

[Illustration]

Mr. Leghorn, who had been watching Mrs. Leghorn from a little distance,
became alarmed.

[Illustration]

“O, my poor Mrs. Leghorn,” he cried, “what shall I do? You can’t eat that
nut; you’ll surely starve. What shall I do?”

“Run and ask Mr. Wise Owl,” said Mrs. Leghorn. “He can tell us what to
do.”

So away ran Mr. Leghorn to the Wise Owl, screaming with all his might.

“O, Mr. Wise Owl,” he cried, “my poor Mrs. Leghorn is starving. She can’t
swallow the big nut. What shall I do?”

“Who, who, who?” hooted the Wise Owl, blinking his great round eyes.

“Mrs. Leghorn, my Mrs. Leghorn, my own dear Mrs. Leghorn,” fairly
shrieked Mr. Cock. “She can’t swallow the big nut. She will starve. Can
you tell me what to do?”

[Illustration]

Mr. Wise Owl stared straight ahead a moment—it seemed an age to Mr.
Leghorn—then answered slowly, “Yes, Mr. Leghorn, I can tell you what to
do. But you must first bring me a mouse.”

Away rushed Mr. Leghorn to Pussy Cat. “My good Miss Pussy Cat,” he cried,
“dear Mrs. Leghorn is starving. Will you please catch me a mouse? I want
it to take to Mr. Wise Owl, who is going to tell me what to do.”

[Illustration]

“Yes, Mr. Leghorn,” answered Pussy Cat, “I will catch you a mouse, but
you must first bring me a saucer of milk.”

Off flew Mr. Leghorn to Mrs. Mooly Cow.

“Dear, kind Mrs. Mooly Cow,” he said, “poor Mrs. Leghorn is starving.
Will you please give me a saucer of milk? I want it to take to Miss Pussy
Cat, who is going to catch me a mouse for Mr. Wise Owl, who is going to
tell me what to do.”

[Illustration]

“Yes, Mr. Leghorn,” answered Mrs. Mooly Cow, “I will give you a saucer of
milk, but you must first bring me a bundle of corn.”

Away sped Mr. Leghorn to the Farmer.

“O, Mr. Farmer,” said Mr. Leghorn, “Mrs. Leghorn is starving. Please
will you be so kind as to cut me a bundle of corn? I want it to take to
Mrs. Mooly Cow, who is going to give me a saucer of milk for Miss Pussy
Cat, who is going to catch me a mouse for Mr. Wise Owl, who is going to
tell me what to do.”

[Illustration]

“Yes, indeed, Mr. Leghorn,” said the Farmer, “I will cut you a bundle of
corn, but you must first bring me a new coat.”

Off hastened Mr. Leghorn to the Tailor.

“O, Mr. Tailor,” cried Mr. Leghorn, “Mrs. Leghorn is starving. Won’t you
please give me a new coat? I want it to take to Mr. Farmer, who is going
to cut me a bundle of corn for Mrs. Mooly Cow, who is going to give me a
saucer of milk for Miss Pussy Cat, who is going to catch me a mouse for
Mr. Wise Owl, who is going to tell me what to do.”

“Yes, Mr. Leghorn,” answered Mr. Tailor, “I shall be very glad to give
you a new coat, but you must first bring me a pound of wool.”

Away hurried Mr. Leghorn to Mrs. Sheep.

[Illustration]

“O, good Mrs. Sheep,” he said, “Mrs. Leghorn is starving. Do, please,
give me a pound of wool. I want it to take to Mr. Tailor, who is going
to give me a new coat for Mr. Farmer, who is going to cut me a bundle of
corn for Mrs. Mooly Cow, who is going to give me a saucer of milk for
Miss Pussy Cat, who is going to catch me a mouse for Mr. Wise Owl, who is
going to tell me what to do.”

[Illustration]

“To be sure, Mr. Leghorn,” said Mrs. Sheep, “I will give you a pound of
wool, but you must first bring me a bunch of clover.”

Away ran Mr. Leghorn to the Farmer’s Wife.

“O, good, kind Farmer’s Wife,” cried Mr. Leghorn, “Mrs. Leghorn is
starving. Won’t you, please, pull me a bunch of clover? I want it to take
to Mrs. Sheep, who is going to give me a pound of wool for Mr. Tailor,
who is going to give me a new coat for Mr. Farmer, who is going to cut me
a bundle of corn for Mrs. Mooly Cow, who is going to give me a saucer of
milk for Miss Pussy Cat, who is going to catch me a mouse for Mr. Wise
Owl, who is going to tell me what to do.”

“Yes, yes,” answered the kind Farmer’s Wife, “I will gladly pull you a
bunch of clover, but you must first bring me a dozen eggs.”

Mr. Leghorn fairly flew back to Mrs. Leghorn, who was still trying vainly
to swallow the large nut. He seemed to forget all his politeness.

“Where’s your nest, Mrs. Leghorn, where’s your nest? Tell me this
instant!” he shrieked.

Mrs. Leghorn had never told any one where her nest was. That was her
secret; and she would not have told her secret now—not even to keep
herself from starving—had she not been so frightened at Mr. Leghorn, who
stood glaring at her fiercely. She thought he had gone mad and would do
her harm. So she answered faintly,

“Under the corner of the barn.”

[Illustration]

Away to the corner of the barn rushed Mr. Leghorn, where he found Mrs.
Leghorn’s nest full of eggs. He took a dozen in a basket and hurried off
to the Farmer’s Wife, who pulled him a bunch of clover, which he carried
to Mrs. Sheep, who gave him a pound of wool, which he took to Mr. Tailor,
who gave him a new coat, which he brought to Mr. Farmer, who cut him a
bundle of corn, which he carried to Mrs. Mooly Cow, who gave him a saucer
of milk, which he took to Miss Pussy Cat, who caught him a mouse, which
he carried to Mr. Wise Owl.

“There, Mr. Wise Owl,” cried Mr. Leghorn, quite out of breath, “there’s a
nice fat mouse. Now tell me what I shall do for poor Mrs. Leghorn, who is
starving because she can’t swallow the big nut.”

“Who, who, who?” cried Mr. Wise Owl, staring sleepily at the fat mouse.

“Mrs. Leghorn, she is starving!” screamed Mr. Leghorn, now quite angry.
“She can’t swallow the big nut. You said you would tell me what to do.”

[Illustration]

“O, yes,” said Mr. Wise Owl, “to be sure, that’s easy. Just go and find
Mrs. Leghorn some smaller nuts.”


MR. AND MRS. LEGHORN TO THE RESCUE

    o cean

    chas ing

    urged

    (c atch)
    scr atch

    (pl ace)
      p ace

    (p ast)
     m ast er

      (p ond)
    be y ond

    (ch ild)
      w ild ly

    scarce ly

    (f eel)
     h eel

    (sm art)
     st art

         (own)
    un kn own

    af ter noon

Mr. and Mrs. Leghorn went for a stroll one afternoon. They had never been
far from home and they soon came into unknown places. But they wandered
on and on, chasing grasshoppers and crickets, and now and then stopping
to scratch for a worm, until they finally came to the bank of a frog pond.

“Look, Mrs. Leghorn,” said Mr. Leghorn, “there’s the ocean, the wide,
blue ocean that we have heard so much about.”

[Illustration]

“Indeed it is,” answered Mrs. Leghorn. “Could you believe we had come so
far!”

Splash!... _Splash!_

“What was that?” cried Mrs. Leghorn.

“What was that?” cried Mr. Leghorn.

“Help me out! Help me out!” came a deep voice from the pond.

“Me, too! Me, too!” came a little, peeping voice from the same place.

“Why, that’s our good master and his little boy,” cried Mr. and Mrs.
Leghorn together.

“They’ve fallen into the ocean!”

[Illustration]

“Help me out! Help me out! Me, too! Me, too!” came again from the pond.

“Yes, good Master, yes,” screamed Mr. Leghorn, “we’ll help you. But what
shall we do?”

“Bring a rope! A rope!” came the answer.

“A rope, a rope!” cried Mr. Leghorn. “O, where shall we find one?”

“Just beyond! Just beyond!”

Mr. Leghorn ran wildly along the bank with Mrs. Leghorn following close
on his heels. They looked to the right, and they looked to the left; they
looked up, and they looked down; but no rope could they see.

“Hurry up! Hurry up!” came from the water.

“O dear, O dear!” cried Mrs. Leghorn.

“O, where is that rope?” cried Mr. Leghorn.

“Follow your nose! Follow your nose!” came the voice.

At that, Mr. Leghorn flew along faster than ever. Mrs. Leghorn could
hardly keep in sight of him. But no rope could they find.

“Hurry up! Hurry up!” came from the pond and urged them on, whenever they
began to slacken their pace.

“Going down! Going down!” came the deep voice.

“Me, too! Me, too!” came the peeping voice.

“O, they are drowning, they are drowning!” screamed Mr. and Mrs. Leghorn.

“Let ’em drown! Let ’em drown!” came the voice.

“What!” cried Mr. Leghorn.

“What!” cried Mrs. Leghorn.

“Better go home! Better go home!” called the deep voice.

Mr. and Mrs. Leghorn stood staring at each other. They could scarcely
believe their ears.

“Go to roost! Go to roost!” came the voice.

Mr. and Mrs. Leghorn began to look silly. The sun had set and it was
growing dark. They turned about and started off homeward.

“You’re fooled! You’re fooled!” sounded after them as they left the banks
of the pond.

“He told the truth that time, even if he is only a frog,” said Mrs.
Leghorn.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: GOOD-BYE]




Vocabulary


Most of the words used in the preceding books of the Aldine Series are
used frequently in this Second Reader. They are not listed in this
vocabulary, however; here are given only the words used for the first
time in this book. The number at the left of a word refers to the page on
which the story begins in which that word is first used. New words are
listed in the text immediately before the lesson in which they are used.

    A

     36. about
     53. above
    163. across
     16. afraid
    172. afternoon
     21. age
    160. ahead
    151. ail
    151. alarmed
    138. alas
     65. already
      8. among
      8. angry
     36. animal
     46. ant
    151. arm
      5. ash
     77. astray
    133. awful
     16. awoke

    B

     91. ballad
    115. bang
     16. bank
     26. bark
     84. barn
    160. basket
    138. bean
     26. bear
    160. became
     46. began
     12. begged
     21. believe
     26. bellow
    172. beyond
      6. black
    117. blazed
    160. blinking
    138. bother
     62. bow
    160. brag
     53. branch
     81. bravely
     26. breathes
    102. breeze
    138. bridge
     16. brook
    117. broom
    145. brown
     94. build
    160. bunch
    160. bundle
     26. burrowed
    107. bush
    138. burst
     46. buy

    C

    151. cackling
    117. castle
     26. catch
    172. chasing
     77. cheek
     16. chicken
    107. chirped
     94. choose
    107. clever
     94. cliff
     26. climbed
    107. cloak
    138. coal
     46. cob
    151. cock
     81. color
    145. comforted
    160. corner
    138. country
     81. crazy
     26. creak
    117. crib
      6. croak
    100. crocus
    138. cruel
    138. crush
     46. crust
     36. curled
    160. cut

    D

    100. daffodils
     12. dance
     16. dare
     12. dark
    145. darlings
     55. dash
     12. dead
    138. delay
    117. dense
     71. diamond
     12. die
     63. different
    117. directly
    117. disappeared
    160. distance
      3. doctor
     94. dome
     59. don’t
      3. door
    160. dozen
     26. drank
     65. dream
     26. drink
     26. drive
      8. drove
     36. drumikin
     81. duller

    E

     16. each
    138. eager
     94. eagle
      3. ears
    107. earth
    160. easy
     94. eaves
    133. echo
     16. eight
     16. eleven
    151. else
    117. enemy
     12. enough
    117. enter
      8. envy
     16. even

    F

    160. faintly
    160. fairly
     84. family
    151. farm
    117. farther
     68. father
     36. feared
      6. feathers
    151. fence
    145. ferns
    160. fiercely
    160. finally
     12. find
    172. fine
    117. finished
     46. fish
     55. flash
    133. foaming
      8. foolish
    117. forest
    160. forget
    117. fortune
    107. forward
      8. found
    147. fountain
    160. frightened
     36. frisked
     36. frolicked
    117. front

    G

     36. gayly
    145. gentians
     93. gild
    117. gladly
    117. glaring
     60. goat
    117. grasshoppers
    117. gray
    117. greedily
     36. greedy
     12. growled
     16. guess
    138. gurgling
     93. gypsy

    H

    160. harm
    107. hasten
    117. heap
    151. heavy
    172. heel
     60. height
     94. held
    117. hoarsely
     84. hole
     94. hollow
     36. home
    172. homeward
     81. honest
     94. hoot
    138. hope
    117. horrible
    151. horse
     36. hullo
     36. hump
     12. hungry
    107. hunt
     46. hurried

    I

     93. idle
    138. immediately
    102. Indian
    138. instant

    J

    117. jewel
     65. journey
     81. June

    L

     63. ladies
     77. lamb
     37. lambikin
     77. large
      8. laughed
     81. lazy
     65. leaped
     94. learn
     16. least
     36. left
     94. lesson
     84. life
     26. lion
     12. lively
     46. lost
      8. lucky

    M

     21. ma’am
     94. magpie
    102. Manitou
     94. maple
     46. marry
    172. master
    151. matter
     84. meal
     94. mean
    117. melt
    100. merry
     26. mice
    117. mile
    160. milk
     46. miss
    138. moment
     46. money
     84. monster
     36. morsel
     59. mossy
     94. mountain
     26. mouse
     36. mouth
     55. murmur

    N

     21. naughty
     46. neck
    117. neigh
     62. neither
     55. noble
     12. noise
     77. noon
     62. nor
    145. North
    100. note

    O

    172. ocean
    160. offering
    12. often
     21. once
      8. only
     94. oriole
    172. owl
    160. own

    P

    172. pace
     94. paid
     73. pale
    102. pappoose
    133. parents
     55. pass
     81. passion
    138. past
     94. patient
     46. peach
      8. peacock
      3. peck
    151. perch
     81. perhaps
     46. pieces
    117. pitch
    138. pity
     60. plainly
     94. plaster
     81. pleasant
     12. please
     36. plump
    151. point
    160. polite
    107. pond
    138. poor
     84. pounce
    160. pound
    138. pouring
    102. prairie
    160. praise
    117. prance
    117. presently
      6. pretty
      8. proud
      8. pulled
    117. purr
     25. push

    Q

    138. quarrel
     16. queer
    107. question
    138. quite

    R

    117. rabbits
    151. rail
      3. rapped
     81. rather
      6. raven
     36. reach
    151. reason
    117. replied
    160. rescue
     46. ribbon
     25. rise
     53. river
     21. roam
     26. roared
     26. robbed
    102. roebuck
     68. roll
     94. roof
     46. rooster
     26. rope
     94. rough
     73. roving
     77. rustling

    S

     16. sail
    117. saucer
     81. save
     46. scampered
    172. scarcely
      8. scornfully
    117. scramble
    107. scratching
    147. screaming
     91. secret
    160. seized
     63. self
     16. seven
    138. sewed
     16. shall
    160. share
     46. sharp
     70. shepherdess
    115. shoes
    160. shrieked
     26. sighed
    107. silently
    115. silken
    172. silly
    115. silver
     46. since
     93. single
     84. sister
     53. skies
     36. skip
     63. skirts
    172. slacken
    151. slam
    147. slow
    102. slumbering
     84. smaller
    160. smart
    117. soar
     77. soft
    107. sorry
    147. South
      8. speak
    160. sped
     16. splash
     84. spoke
     12. sprang
    151. squall
     26. squeak
     84. stall
    160. stared
    172. started
    117. startle
     84. starving
      8. steal
    115. step
     84. stole
     84. stood
     84. straight
     16. stream
    160. stretched
    172. stroll
     36. strong
      8. strutted
      8. stuck
     12. such
    107. suddenly
     84. supper
     21. sure
    107. surprised
     81. swallow
      6. swam
     55. swiftly
      6. swimming
    151. swing

    T

     77. tail
    138. tailor
     55. talk
     77. taste
    117. teeth
     36. tender
    117. terrified
     16. those
      6. thought
    133. thunder
     36. timid
    138. tiny
     81. together
      3. tore
    138. torrent
     60. toss
     36. tottery
    107. toward
     55. tower
    117. traveled
     60. traverse
     62. trembling
     21. tricks
     12. trotted
     94. trouble
    133. trundle
    115. truth
     16. twelve
    138. twice
    133. twisted

    U

     25. ugly
    172. unknown
     37. until
     26. uprooted
     60. upward
    172. urged
      6. use

    V

     60. valley
    145. vane

    W

     36. waddle
     16. wade
     71. walk
    133. wandered
     84. warning
      6. washes
     70. watch
      6. water
    151. waul
     81. wearing
     94. weave
    138. weight
     68. western
     60. whence
    151. whine
    151. whirl
     55. whisper
    145. whistling
     60. whither
     36. whom
     21. whose
    151. wide
    160. wife
    172. wildly
     46. window
      8. wise
     33. wish
    151. without
     12. wolf
    160. wool
      3. words
    107. worm
     26. wrong

    Y

    107. yard
     94. yawned
     94. yonder
     63. young
     63. yourself

                              VAN REES PRESS
                           21-26 VANDEWATER ST.
                                 NEW YORK