Citation
Little folks' play days

Material Information

Title:
Little folks' play days
Creator:
D. Lothrop & Company ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
Boston
Publisher:
D. Lothrop Company
Publication Date:
Copyright Date:
1889
Language:
English
Physical Description:
[93] p. : ill. ; 25 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1889 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1889 ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1889 ( rbgenr )
Baldwin -- 1889 ( local )
Genre:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements ( rbgenr )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
illustrated
General Note:
Contains prose and verse.
General Note:
Publisher's advertisements on front endpapers.
Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026638025 ( ALEPH )
ALG4363 ( NOTIS )
38608635 ( OCLC )

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i@- TO THE READERS OF THIS BOOK. -£

WIDE AWAKE FOR 1890.

This favorite People’s Pictorial proposes to celebrate fitly the making of its

3

Thirtieth Ve olume.

A large company of its readers and friends have been on its subscription- list from the issue

of its first number. Thousands of young people who “took Wink AwakeE” in their scho
subscribe for it still and read it, as heads of families, in their own homes, and propose to Ek life-
subscribers. (For one thing, they say, young and old, that they cannot find anywhere else rjading
matter so interesting as the stories and recollections of a lifetime by

MRS. JESSIE BENTON FREMONT,

And they know Mrs. Frémont writes for no other periodical.)
To honor these friends, and to celebrate the loyalty of the public, every number of

‘ WIDE AWAKE FOR 1890
Is to be made a Special Number. Negotiations are on foot for several
. REMARKABLE SERIALS,
And there will be given the finest of the Short Stories and Articles secured through the
LOTHROP LITERATURE PRIZE COMPETITION.
it will be a year to be remembered for treats and feasts by magazine readers; ammg_ the
good things we promise a ¢rue personal story by Mrs. General Frémont in every number: al ete
will be a series of true and most romantic Acadian stories which have never been i in prnt, but
have long been preparing for Wink AWAKE by a writer in Canada. -
All families should make a note of this announcement and set it down in their plans hat the
magazine for them to send their next new subscription for is
WIDE AWAKE FOR 1890. |
$2.40 ayear. Begins with the Dec. 1889 number. |
D. LOTHROP COMPANY, PuBLisHERs, BGTon.

ie Lothrop Magazines, for Young People and the Fariby
Wide Awake. — |

The best of all the young people’s magazines! There are eighty pages every month — more if youcount the
post-office and other departments — crowded with pictures, the best of short stories, serials, poems, practial articles
on sport, science, natural history, and ways to do things — everything that is good for young folks to a and do.



Wide Awake has been aptly termed a “modern wonder’?—and so it is. And best of all, there is n¢hing in it
but what is good for wide-awake young folks, nothing but what is good for their growth to useful, succesgul, honor-
able, manly men and womanly women. $2.40 a year.



The Pansy.
This monthly is intended especially for Sunday as well as week-day reading. “ Fea herself is|he editor.
For children from eight to twelve there is no similar magazine that can compare with this. Many short stories and

poems. Always has serials by “ Pansy” and other favorite writers. Tales of travel at home and abroad, idventures,
history old and new, religion at home and over the seas, and stories illustrating the International Lessons. _ |t circulates
widely among Sunday-schools of all denominations as it is non-sectarian. Zhe Pansy is full of pictures, m miny of them
full-page. Thirty-two to forty pages monthly. $1.00 a year. Very liberal terms made to Sunday-school\.

Babyland.

Pictures and jingles, stories and play-helps for baby. If baby is five or six, he is not too old for Bhyland ; nor
is he too young when he crows with delight at the sight of pretty pictures.

Babyland will start a smile many a time when baby is tired with play, or fretful, or wanting sonething new.
Iappy baby, that has his own little magazine to enjoy; and happy mother, who is wise enough to avail oT of such
nursery-help.

Thick paper, many pictures and very large type. Eight pages a month. Fifty cents a year. |

Our Little Men and Women. |
Intended for youngest readers. Everything made entertaining and told in simple language; all caly for the little,
ones to read and understand, The pictures are many —large and small. Think of seventy-five full-pige pictures in
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The paper is thickpthe type large, and twenty-four pages every month. $1.00 a year.

Sample copies of the four for 15 cents; any one 5 cents. D. LOTHROP COMPANY, Publishers, Boston.











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£ §

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Hster Ried.

Ester Ried Yet Speaking.
Four Girls at Chautauqua.
From Different Standpoints.
Hall in the Grove (The).
Household Puzzles.
Interrupted.

Judge Burnham’s Daughters.
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Little Fishers and their Nets.
Links in Rebecca’s Life.

Mrs. Solomon Smith Looking On.
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Books always desirable for Home Libraries and for Sunday-schools are Lothrop’s ‘‘ To-Day Series,”
14 new books by Favorite Authors; Margaret Sidney’s books, the Yensie Walton books and Marie
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volume, and in Lothrop’s Select S. S. Libraries.

Desirable books in History and Biography aru

issued in Lothrop’s Historical Library and Lothrop’s Popular Biographies.
For full catalogue address



{
{



D. LOTHROP COMPANY, Boston Mass.



































































































































































LITTLE FOLKS: PLAY-DAYS








Le.
y
AYE
VEX
AY WS

tN
\ \

S



LLLUSTRATED

BOSTON _
D LOTHROP COMPANY

. WASHINGTON STREET OPPOSITE BROMFIELD:



Copvvicut, 1889,
BY
D. LotHRop CoMPANY,







EAFTLE: FOLKS’

PLAY DAYS.

BY G. DE B.

MET

her one

hor se-
car.
Such
a jol-ly,
round,
little
mite!
As |
seat- ed
my-self
be- side
her, she
LO -pened a pair of big blue eyes
| —just the col-or of your dol-lie’s
sh —and madesome cun-ning
-tle. dim-ples in her ros-y
eeks, with a bright smile.
hen she put up the soft-est lit-
tle pair of red lips to mine, and
of-fered me a kiss!
You may be sure I took three







“ BaBy Buntinec.”









ce

day ina |“



right off on the spot; and they
were the sweet-est kind of
su-gar kiss-es!”’
She wore, tied down o-ver
her gold-en curls, a soft white
fur hood, and be-low that, along
white fur sacque; then she had
on white, wool-ly gloves and
white plush leg-gings; and |
felt sure, when I no-ticed all
this cos-tume, that she must be
‘“Ba-by Bunt-ing,” for it all
looked as though it was made
out of “ rab-bits’ skins ”—white
rab-bits, you know.
“What is your name, lit-tle

one?” I asked.

“ Ba-by, she an-swered, laugh-

ing and look-ing up in my face,

and show-ing a row of mS
scal-loped teeth.

“Where does ‘ ae live —
inatreetop?”

“No, Ba-by lives right here;



take |

Papa don’ a- way far off in al

{”

tars:

‘“‘ Gone a- Chiat 2” said. I
with a smile. ‘“‘ What will pa-pa
bring home to Ba- “by, I won-
der?”

«© A hoo-fal cot loon, to fly
up in asky wis a ‘tring !”

“Oh, dear, sup-pose it should

car-ry Ba-by off with it, way
up in the yel-low. sun-shine,
what would mam-mado then ?”

“Oh, mam-ma'll holda’tring
ber-ry tight and keep Ba-by
fast,” she re-plied with a con-fi-
dent look.

“Tn-deed, I am sure mam-
mawill,” re-turned I. ‘I hope
she will ‘keep you fast’ a long
time. I am sure, 1f you were

my Ba-by I should nev-er like

you to grow out of that pret-ty
fur sacque, but just stay ‘ Ba-
~ by al-ways!”
“No, no! Ba-by drow bid

dirl, and sew wif a nee-dle like

- mam-ma, and make pa-pa tof-|

fee, and the boys’ take, lots of

yoo”



lina. sara



Her mam-ma, who ee
side her, smiled now and said:

“You see Ba-by is not am-—
bi-tious be-yond her sphere; she |

wants to grow up to bea ver-y

wom-an, helping pa-pa and the
boys.
“Surely that is enough for

a wom-an — a help-meet, you —

know, I an-swered.

Ba-by looked as though she

un-der-stood it all, and laughed
glee-ful-ly o-ver our lit-tle re-
marks. ‘Then the con-duc-tor

stopped the car, and her mam- |

“Come, Ba-by!”

— “ Dood-by, pwet-ty la-dy !” |
said Ba-by, putting up her

| sweet mouth a-gain.

‘“ Good-by dar-ling! What

is your name?” I asked.

“Say ‘ Ba-by Bun-ton,’” said }
mam-ma.
‘“ Ba-by Bun- tum,’ ech- seid

{
the little one, and then I mee
she must have been the real |

rab -bit-skin-wrapped ‘“‘ Ba- by,
Bunting.”
Don't you think sotoo?

wo

ee























Mallee

=
a oO
3 OR
S O
2 aM
og
26, 8
39 Cyr
wi a
eae
sos
Oe
vO 2
Bet DE) oh
ho

Me

&
fy

=

o
a

Ro

oO
2

|

it-

|

e do
Bring bos-sy cow back

Run fast as you can,
t



THE PUZZLED BA-BY.

Iam a ba-by.

But I don’t want you to

think I am one of those lit-tle
bits of things who know noth-
ing at all.

I am an old ba-by.
al-emost ten months old!
_ | have acous-in who is on-ly
nine weeks old. The lit-tle
goose dont know how to get|
his toes.in his mouth.

He can't do any-thing but lie
and suck his fists) And he
can't do even that with an-y
sort of style!

He almost knocks out his
eyes, and bangs his nose, try-
ing to aim for his mouth,

Fists are well enough when
you can’t have toes or your
mam-ma's watch.

‘The oth-er day he tried for
an hour to get both fists in-to
his mouth at once. |

I know all a-bout that. I
know it can’t be done.

But I don’t know why it

can’t be done.

ie am |



I wish I did.
I nev-er could make up my
mind wheth-er it is be-cause
the fists are too large or the
mouth too small. |
This is a great puz-zle to
me.
_ There are some oth-er things
that puz-zle me.
Ev-er-y day my mam-ma
comes to the nurs-er-y.
She picks me up and hugs
me and kiss-es me and con-
vers-es with me. |

Con-verse is a grown-up
word which means ver-y nice
talk.

She says: “’Oo is de cur
ning-est, sweet-est it-tle sing in
de whole world!” .

Then Tsay: ‘ Yah-yah, yat
SO. pete OF
‘“‘Dere isn't a-nud-der ba-by
like’oo an-y-where! Not one!”

And I an-swer: “Ah goo.
Da-da.” |

That's the way to Con-verse. °





We al-ways con-verse ver-y
much like that.

But there’s an-oth-er thing
that puz-zles me.

She car-ries me to her look-
‘ing glass, and what do you
think I see there?

A ba-by just like me!

It is a sol-emn fact! Eyes
and nose and mouth and
hands ex-act-ly like mine.

When I laugh, he laughs,
and when I want to give him
atap with my fist he tries to
give me one, but
wont let.us fight.





MamM-Ma |-

the glass he’s al-ways there.
The oth-er day nurse car-
ried me to the par-lor and let
me look in-to the great glass
with gold and lace a-bout it.
I saw a ba-by in there, too!
That makes two just like me!
I can’t un-der-stand it at all,
for I know my dear pret-ty
mam-ma would not tell a lie.
This is the worst puz-zleof all.
Some day I shall be a man,
and then I'll know all a-bout
it. Men know ev-er-y-thing.
Ev-er-y-bod-y was a_ ba-by
once, but they all got o-ver it.

When-ev-er I look for him in| They al-ways do.





BOB-BY’S NEW PLAY-FEL-LOW.



PAT-SY’S PAR-TY.

Pat-sy is a bright little Lrish
boy. His eyes are blue, like
-your chi-na doll’s. His hair

is long and yel-low.. His face,
I am sor-ry to say, is oft-en

dir-ty. | .
Pat-sy was five years old last
week, The birth-day came on







ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR-FIVE.

Sun-day. It was very hard

and prance e-ven when they
were go-ing to church. Once
he whistled. That night he
put the boots un-der his pil-low.

Mon-day. morn-ing ev-er-y
body knew how old he was.
He jumped out of bed in his
night-gown, and only stopped
to put on his boots. The next
min-ute he gave five kicks a-
piece at ev-er-y cham-ber door.

“Fm as old as that!” he ©
shout-ed. ‘‘Ain’t you glad?”

“Are you go-ing to give a
party?” asked Un-cle Mick
through the key-hole.

“Ho!” said Pat-sy, “I ex-
pect somebody will give a
party to me.” |

“Well,” said Un-cle Mick,
“come up to my room af-ter
school is out and you shall

-|have one.”

“Tt’s a whole year to four

to keep Sun-day last week. o'clock,” said Pat-sy a-doz-en
Some-way his new boots, the|times that day. But at last he
birth-day pres-ent, would kick | ran up-stairs, two steps at a









time, and knocked at Un-cle|

Mick’s door.

What do you guess he saw?

Why, the par-ty, of course;
and the queer-est par-ty! Dogs!
Yes, dogs! Dogs of all sorts
and siz-es! E-lev-en dogs! and
Pat-sy said Ze made twelve. ©

There was a little mas-tiff,
and a lit-tle St. Ber-nard, and
a lit-tle New-found-land, and a

little shep-herd, and a little

span-iel, and a lit-tle grey-
hound, and a lit-tle watch-dog,
anda lit-tle ter-rier, and even
a little bull-dog, ever so ug-ly,
and a coup-le so shag-gy that
Un-cle. Mick could-n't tell

what they were.

;
i



And Pat-sy was to have his
choice! It took Pat-sy a long



THE ONE PAT-SY CHOSE.

time to choose — but, af-ter
spend-ing an hour run-ning
from one to an-oth-er, he
chose one of the ug-ly shag-gy
lit-tle fel-lows af-ter all. Here
is his picture. Un-cle Mick -
said he looked like Patsy.

Pat-sy says he shall have a
cat par-ty next year.

| Wouldn’t you like to go?













Hh Wiehe ous

OES Hall



















re,

Gols,

@ Uy NS
9 ayy

“WON’T YOU MAKE FRIENDS, BABY?”

A NAUGH-TY

Baby wouldn’t make
Big Sis-ter was down

No,

iriends.

on-her knees, and she looked |.

ver-y sor-ry, but Ba-by would

not do it. —

_ Big Sis-ter, in whom Ba-by

had al-ways believed, had “ told

a story,” and Ba-by knew it.
Ba-by had want-ed to see-a

fairy, and Big Sis-ter told her



_ if she would run right a-long

BIG SIS-TER.

through the flow-ers she would
come out in-to Fairy-land.

So Ba-by had walked on
through the flow-ers; but she
had not come out in-to Fairy-

land.. No, in- deed |! she had

come out to a pasture fence

where two big red cows were
eating the grass.
not a fairy any-where to be seen.
Ba-by knew there were none,

There was.

|

“4



‘there, for the cows had not left

a blade of grass high e-nough
to hide e-ven the small-est dary t
that ev-er was.

When Big Sister came Saou
to the pas-ture fence she found
the tears drop-ping down the
round ro-sy cheeks, and Ba-by
would not speak to her. Baby
would not even look at her.

She fol-lowed the lit-tle one
back through the flow-ers, and
coaxed and coaxed, but Ba-by
would not make friends, .



“No,” said Ba-by, “you are
a ‘to-ry tell-er. Ba-by is do-in’
to’do in-to the house.”
And Ba-by walked a-way,
leav-ing naugh-ty Big Sis-ter
all a-lone with the flow-ers to
think o-ver what she had done.
Big Sis-ter was very sor-ry. |
Big Sis-ter knew that Ba-by
would never believe in her
again with a little child's
sweet entire faith.
Big Sis-ter might well be
sorry,

THE: RHYME. OF LIT-TLE LU-CY LEE.



Little Lucy Lee
Got up, one morn, too soon;
She saw the red sun rise,
And cried, ‘“ O, see the moon!”

She went to walk, and saw
Three sun-flowers in a row;

’ “Qh, oh, look there!” she cried,

“How large the daisies grow!”



LITTLE RUNAWAY.

BY LITTLE FLOY.

Here's a wee pet | All the troub-le,

Run-a-way, Stones are rough.
Go-ing nut-tin |
The poe a. = Stopped for noth-ing
But her shawl —
Needs no bon-net, Et ’Fraid the squir-rels
Hair’s e-nough; ~ : Get. ‘em all!



Pitch-er ’n’ bas-ket - Lit-tle wom-an,
Both a-long; _ . Don’t you pout!
For-ty bush-els — _ Big-ger bas-kets
Win-ter’s long. -Oft start out
“Ba-by! ba-by!” Proud-ly, down a
Mam-ma:calls: _ Shin-ing track,
Ba-by turns back, 7 Only to be

Tear-drop falls. | _ Sum-moned back.



HELP-FUL WEE-WEE.

BY M. JEW-ETT TEL-FORD.

sis-Ter Tor stood in the
door. Her lips were set so
tight, and her eye-brows tied
in a hard knot, learn-ing to
knit. ‘And the thread goes

o-ver so, and then so, and—




dear me! I’ve dropped a
stitch! What shall J do?”

“Oo needn't do nos-sen at
all, Tot,” said sweet lit-tle
Wee-wee, slipping down from
the door-step at Tot’s side to
the grass. “Oo needn’t do

Se



nossen, I'll des dit down

here and pit ’em all up off ze

gwound fas’ as ever oo dwop
; ‘em. Where is oor ‘titch? J]
tan’t see it here ’t all!”





THE STO-RY OF FLUT-TER-BY.

BY CHARLES STU-ART PRATT.

, ~ Fiurt-
= TER-BY is
| a wee
girlie —a_ girlie
with breeze-
browned cheeks, rose-
leaf lips, blue eyes, and
fly-a-way hair—a girl-ie
22, who lives most-ly out-
4 Py o-doors these June
oy days.
- Flut+ter-by’s pa-pa is a nat-u-
ralist; and a nat-u-ral-ist, you
know, is a man who catch-es
bugs, and flies, and such things,
sticks them on pins in glass
cases, and then writes books
about them.

Last year Flut+ter-by’s pa-pa
spent the whole sum-mer a-
chas-ing but-ter-flies; and Flut-








ter-by al-ways danced flit-ting-ly
a-long the fields af-ter him —
quite like a gay lit-tle but-ter-
fly her-self — and that is how
she came to be called “ Flut-
ter-by”’! |

This sum-mer her pa-pa is
down in the mead-ows a-hunt-
ing bugs and bee-tles. So
Flut-ter-by takes his last sum-
mers net, hangs the tin case

o-ver her shoul-der, and dat-ly
goes a-catch-ing but- ter-flies c on
her own ac-count.

But, some-how, the air-y crea-
tures have al-ways seemed a-
fraid of her, nev-er once wait-
ing to be caught —till the day
I’m to tell you of.

Poor Flut-ter-by had grown
quite cross and frown-y at this,






when one day she re-mem-bered
how mam-ma had told her that
‘cross looks drove folks a-way,
while smiles and hap-py looks
would make folks love her and
like to be with her.
- * And meb-be but-ter-flies is
Tike folks,” thought Flut-ter-by.
So she stopped be-ing
Boas that ver-y minute, and
stood still, and smiled, and







smile d,and smiled, and looked
just as pleas-ant as ev-er she|

‘could.

- And then—what do you
think 2>—a big gold-en but-ter-
fly left its sweet clo-ver bloom





and flew straight to her and]:

light-ed right on the han-dle of
the net, and never tried to fly
a-way when she reached out
and picked it up with her
chub-by thumb and fin-ger!
And while she stood there
n the June sun-shine, a-coo-ing
and .a-smil-ing, all the but-ter-
ies in the held, one by one,






browns and yel-lows, and great
pur-ple-black beau-ties, for-got
the po-sies, and came and cir-
cled in the air over her head,
dipped and flut-tered, flash-ing
in the sun, and at last light-ed
on Flut-ter-by’s head!



Such a hap-py time as Flut-
ter-by had I never can be-gin
to tell. you. And when she
went home to lunch all the gay
crea-tures went with her, a flut-
ter-ing flock, to the ver-y door.

And this is the sto-ry of the
wee smil-ing girl Flut-ter-by.



NIP-PI-NY FIDG-ET.

Nip-pi-ny Fidg-et came forth from her bath —
Look-ing so fresh and sweet, —

-Pret-ty white frock with its pret-ty white frills ;
Pret-ty blue boots on her feet ;

Pret-ty blue sash en-cir-cling her waist ;
Curls, with a blue bow a-top
That tee-tered and aumiered wher-ev-e
she went,
As if it could nev-er quite stop!






Nip-pi-ny Fidg-et went skip-ping}
a-bout,
Proud of her dain-ty attire ;
She danced and she bobbed, and sh
bobbed and she danced, :
Like a doll ne is perched on a

wire.

Though the hour for the gold-en wed}

ding drew nigh,

Yet atub-full of greens and flow-er

Stood wait-ing for hur-ry-ing fin-gers to choose
A final bou-quet for the bow-ers.





Thith-er she tripped with in-quis-1-tive eye,
On a ver-y unst-ead-y blue toe,



And, los-ing her bal-ance, she tum-bled right in —
Did Nip-pt-ny Fidg-e-ty, oh!

Out of the wa-ter they dragged in-to
view,
Drip-ping, and dis-mal, and wild,
Not pret-ty Nip - pi-ny Fidg-e-ty!
No! |
But a to-tal-ly dif-fer-ent child.

Off to the heights of the far-thest up:
stairs
They hur-ried her shrieks a-way —
Oh, where was Nip-pr-ny Fidg-e-ty
all

That sem-i-cen-ten-ni-al day ?







Af-ter the lapse of a thou-sand tears
Returned, — O! what do you think ?>—
The lit-tle lost Nip-pi-ny Fidg-e-ty, O!
In a flut-ter of dim-ples and Zznk /

* Pink as to boots, and pink as to sash,
And pink as to tee-ter-ing bow ;
But pink-est her-self, from her cry and her fright,
Came Nip-pi-ny Fidg-e-ty, O!

And wheth-er in blue, or wheth-er in pink,
They found her the sweet-est and best,—
They've tried and they've tried, for a year to de-cide,
But I know that they nev-er have guessed ! |







MRS. HEN SPEAKING TO THE LITTLE GIRLS.

WHAT THE HEN SAID TO EFFIE
AND VIRGIE.







Cluckity, clucktty, cluckity, Hickory, hickory, dickory, dock:

cluck! Mrs. Grimalkin gave me 4
Had ever a hen such wonder- shock !

ful luck ?— : Seeing my Top-knot taking .
Ten little puffity, fluffity things, drink,



y

Nestling so cosily under my She put out her paw as qui
wings. as a wink.

4





But Top-knot is smart, and
Top-knot is spry,

She gave puss the slip in the
glance of an eye;

Top’s a wonderful chick !
easy to see

What a belle, by and bed my
Top-knot will be.

It’s

Figglety, . pigglety,

wigelety,
wee !
I’ve nine other darlings lovely
as she:

Floss, like a puff- ball, pretty as
silk,

And Snow-drop and Trotty,
whiter than milk ;

And Puck, who will do me
great credit some day
(To hear that chick crow is
good as a play);

And Speckle, and Friskie, and
Hussey, and Prink,

And Brownie, and Blackie, zow
what do you think ?

Was ever a prouder mother

than I?

Were ever such chickens under
the sky?

Lambs, kittens, babies, and

other wee things,
Are pretty, but dear me, they
havent wings !

JOLLY GOOD TIMES.





YY
YY
iy

7

y,

YE

Uf

SS





















































IN-NO-CENT !

CAT TRACKS.

BY LOU BUR-NEY.

Our Ted-dy-boy has the
grav-est face in the world, but
he is just run-ning o-ver full
with mis-chief. 3 |

What do you think. Ted-dy
did the oth-er day?

Why, Mol-ly * found cat
tracks all o-ver the bread that
she had set down to rise!
There was a pan of flour on
the ta-ble, all nice-ly smoothed,

read-y to send to the poor

Dunn fam-tly, and ¢hat was
print-ed all o-ver, too!

How an-gry Molly was,
and: ow she scold-ed in-no-,
cent old Tab-by! for, of
course, Mol-ly thought she
had walked o-ver her nice
bread. set

The great up-roar in the!
kitch-en — Molly _ scold-ing, |
and Ted-dy march-ing uy a

down, up and down, wi | |





=



















eav-y lit-tle shoes —brought|track! They all
am-ma and the girls down-|thought the little
| trick ver-y cun-ning,
And then grave-faced Ted-| but grave-faced lit-tle
y walked up to the ta-| Ted-dy nev-er once
le, put his first two fin-gers}smiled. I dare say
nd his thumb to-geth-er, and|he con-sid-ered it
ressed them down on thej|noth-ing in com-par-i-
mooth flour; and lo, and}/son with what he
e-hold! az-oth-er kit-ty’s| could do.






Hip-pi-ty-hop ! O dear! I can’t stop!
Where'll my legs car-ry me now, I
won-der ?

* And O! it’s so warm! it’s go-ing to
storm !

A-lack-a-day! Hark! there’s a rum-
ble of thun-der !

Hip! hip! Hip-pity-skip !

| This 1s the way a frog’s life goes ;

| wish I could run, it looks like such fun,

| But no; I must hop on the ends of my toes.

Vhew! whew !. What. shall I do?

_To live on the jump is a very great bore ;
'declare! I’m so tired, I would-n’t be Lied:
No mat-ter what hap- pened, to hop a-ny more.
ng! What's thatnoise ? O, dospare me, boys!
This is the way a frog’s life goes!

june day he is hop- ‘ping, and can’t think of stop-
ping—

dhe next ina dish un-der somebody’ s nose!

AS







MOZ-ZER’S BA-BY.

“BY A. G. PLYMPTON.

——

I’m go-ingtomake mud pies —— When I am sick and fret-ful, |

Fink I'll spoil my dess? —SIt-tle Sister Bell
Well, I’m a teef-ing, so She has to ’muse the ba-by, :
Nurse won't scold, I guess. ‘Cause I is-n’t well. |
O, ’'m my moz-zer’s ba-by ; But teef are all a-com-ing, |
Stay a-wake all night; Be here by and by;





Ded-ful cross day-times,—but I Guess I will .go to work now
Such a cun-ning mite! Make a nice mud pie

So, now a ‘it-tle wa-ter,
Now a ’it-tle dirt, —

When I do what I want to,
‘Teef don’t seem to hurt!







“A CAS-U-AL-TY. ”





THE LIT-TLE BOY IN PRIS-ON.

O see that boy in the bar-
rel!

Did he fall in?

No, that is not the trou-ble.
His mam-ma put him in there.

















































LIT-TLE: NED.

He and his little broth-
er Char-ley were play-ing with
some long sticks, build-ing
pens, when he took one and
struck Char-lie with it.

His moth-er had oft-en told
him it was wrong to strike; so
now she means to make him

the bar-rel is so smooth.
can-not tip the bar-rel o-ver, it
is so big and heavy.





re-mem-ber for along long time.
She says to him, ‘“‘ You must

stay there alone, since you will

not be kind to your playmate.”
Don't you think he wish-

jes he had been good ?

He can-not scram-ble . out,

He

He must
stay un-til his moth-er lifts him
out. -

The bar-rel-is a cap-i-tal pris-
on, for it is safe, but not dark.
Mam-ma does not be-lieve in

_ | shut-ting little children up in
‘|the dark. .She looks at her

lit-tle boy and smiles, but she
does not take him out. He
feels when she smiles. that he
has been naugh-ty, or else so
sweet a mam-ma would not
put him in pris-on. |

By and by mam-ma comes
and lifts Char-lie out.

She kiss-es his cheek as she

stands him down on the floor,



o

and Char-lie won-ders a-gain| He is kind to his broth-er
how he could have been naugh-|all the rest of the day, and
ty to so sweet a mam-ma. /[real-ly en-joys being good.











































































































































































































































































































































































































































“NOW GET READ-¥ FCR CHURCH, PE-RO!”

GRAND-PA’S STO-RY OF PE-RO.

When I was a little boy I| Pero. My fa-ther brought him
as ver-y fond of pets, and I) home to me one cold rain-y
ad ma-ny; but the prince of |even-ing as I lay in my lit-tle
hem all was my ti-ny dog|bed, sick with the measles.

:
7





He was no larg-er than a
kit-ten, but O so soft and cun-
ning and warm to my child
heart ; it was love at first sight.

He rode like a lit-tle prince
in his char-i-ot--which was my
fa-ther’s o-ver-coat pock-et —
all the long four miles from
his own home to mine.

We nev-er grew tired of each
oth-er. If I was weed-ing my
flow-er beds, he would take all
the weeds a-way in his lit-tle
wag-on to the ken-yard, and it
was fun-ny to see him draw
the tiny load. |

But the fun-ni-est was to see

him take my sister's dolls out
for a drive. |

She had a gay lit+tle car-
riage and har-ness, and Pe-ro
seemed ver-y proud when al-
lowed to take the lit-tle chi-na
la-dies out on the street. If
other dogscame up and in-vit-ed
him to play, he seemed to say,
‘* Please ex-cuse me just now,
for I must give these lit-

tle la-dies some fresh air.”
He was ver-y gen-er-ous too,
and would oft-en take a bone

or a piece of meat to his play-

mate, Car-lo, who lived a-cross
the street, and who was al-
ways hun-gry.

Pe-ro was al-so ver-y wise ; he
al-ways knew when the Sab-
bath came,and nev-er asked to
go to church, al-though on all
oth-er days he was sure to go
with me in all my ram-bles.

He knew ma-ny cun-ning lit-

tle tricks. When told to fold
his hands and goto church, he

would fold hislit-tle white paws |
on his breast, and walk erect |
on his hind legs a-cross the |
room, jump up in a chair, fold |
the ti-ny paws with his head |
rest-ing on them on the back |

of the chair, and look very
sol-emn, till we told him ser-vice

was o-ver, which he al-ways/

seemed pleased to hear.
He was al-ways read-y to do
this, in-doors or out.



|











TWO WAYS.

with a-oth-er big stick, stood
be-hind and pushed with all
his might.

Lit-tle Su-sie Dean's
way was an-oth-er way.
Her pa-pa had giv-en her
a pret-ty lit-tle colt—a
graceful but most wil-ful
lit-tle an-t-mal, whose de-
light it was to not go
O° Banc AS xt f whereitought. But now
Downy Gear way was gen-tle Su-sie can call it an-y-
one way. He had a nice don- where with a hand-ful of clo-
key —a ver-y nice crea-ture] ver.
indeed if on-ly the right. sort] Will Don-ny ev-er learn
of boy had been his mas-ter.| that the “come” way is bet-ter
But when Don-ny rode |!e|than the “ go” way?
thought the prop-er thing as |
to take a big stick a-long and
make his don-key go. But
the min-ute Don-key saw
the stick, both his ears
and his tem-per stif-fened
up, and notone inch would
he budge —no, not e-ven
though Don-ny’s broth-er,







MAM-MA’S HELP-ERS.

Wuen one day the ser-vant| ‘‘So do I,” said the oth-er
went off and left her, mam-ma! Lit-tle Wom-an. ‘Mam-mais

found what nice girls her own} so nice and so smile-y! I wish
two lit-tle daugh-ters were.|wed help more to-mor-row,



























































MAMMA’s HELPERS,

How grate-ful she was to the
four lit-tle clat-ter-ing feet and
the four lit-tle nim-ble hands!

At night as they snug-gled
down on the pil-low the littlest
of the Help-ers said she was
ver-y tir-ed. “But,” ad-ded
she, “I like tokeep house —

more than to go to school.”





re don’t you?”
| y

-Lit-tlest did wish so;
| and when she wak-ed
the next morn-ing she
told Big-gest ex-act-iy
how they could. It
was a most mag-nil-
cent lift-ing of the
bur-den off mam-ma
—they would. wash
their own clothes be-
fore they’ went down
| to break-fast!
~ The wash-bow!
proved a rath-er small tub;
they could wet but one gar-
ment at a time, and the big
white suds would pop o-ver
on the car-pet. But, how-
ev-er, just as the bell rang,
the last night-gown was flap-
ped over a chair-back, and
thev would have been hap-py

a



—on-ly the clothes did-n't seem |damp arms in-to her sleeves.

as cleanas be-fore the wash-ing. |‘‘And won't mam-ma_ be
“But I guess theyll dry all|s’prised!”

right,” Lit-tlest said cheer-s-ly,| It is safe to say that mam

as she wrig-gled a pair of ver-y|ma was s’prised.





GREAT EXPECT -A-TIONS.

BY MA-RY SPRING WALK-ER.

Wuen [| grow to twen-ty-one, | A slen-der stalk shoots up be
I will plant a field of corn. tween.

While the stalk keeps on to
| grow,
tee. The ti-ny ears be-gin to show.




When the ears are long and

i thin, . .
| aN 2 . : .
“f > F The pret-ty silk be-gins~ to
: Sl spin.

When the pretty silk is spun,
When the corn be-gins to| It turns the col-or of the sun.

sprout, . :
Two wee leaves come peep-ing When the sum-mer sun is gone,
ae. & & | It’s time to gath-er in the corn.

| :
When the leaves are fresh and | When the corn 1s gath-ered in,
green, é What a for-tune I shall win!





1 F OR-GOT.

BY AMABEL ANDREWS.

A naugh-ty lit-tle elf
Was lit-tle

Be-cause if he did wrong

Jim-mie Trot,

"T was al-ways, “I for-got!”

He for-got to wash his face ;
Forgot to clean his nails;

Forgot to take the spools
From off the kit-tens’ tails;

For-got to take his book ;
For-got to bring in wood;
F or-got to a-muse ba-by—
For-got to help when he
could.

One day he came from school
As hun-gry asa bear ;
Thoughts of his good din-ner
Had cheered him much while
there.





| He reached the din- ing room

And stopped in great sur-.
: prise—
Not a sign of din-ner
Greet-ed his hun-gry eyes !.

“Say, mam-ma! Where’s din:
ner?
Why isn’t it here—hot ?”
“©,” said mam-ma, smil-ing,
“Tt must be J forgot /

“Tf tisn’t wrong for you,
“Why is it wrong for me?

| 1 think as lke as not

I may forget your tea!”

Poor Jim-mie hung his head
And had no word to say ;

But he thought: “T'll try to
Re em-ser ev-er-y day!”



“KA-TY DID.”

























































v-er



























































































Where the cat-tle stop to

drink,

And (I £xzow ’tis ver-y
shock-ing !)

Quick-ly off came shoe
and stocking,

=| First from one foot, then
the oth-er —

Nev-er thought of mind-
ing mother—

‘And the wa-ter, cool and
sweet, |

Splashed a-bout her dim-
pled feet!

Hark! she hears a-cross
the hill |

Some one call-ing ‘““Whip-
poor-will !” |

And her stur-dy lit-tle

| KATY. shout

Sa-ty tossed the new-mown hay | Flings the ech-oes all a-bout:

All the pleas-ant sum-mer day;| ‘‘ No, it isn’t — can’t you see ?

Roved the fra-grant mead-ow|’Tisn’t Will —’tis on-ly me!”

[| o-ver, ¢ Truth, though sad, must not

ath-er-ing tufts of sweet red be hid —

clo-ver,—. All these things our Ka-ty did.














































































DREN HAVE BEEN TO THE CIR-CUS.

THESE CHIL-















SLATE PICT-URE FOR BA-BY TO DRAW.



















ie yan.



gee iy

TWO ILL-BEHAVED YOUNG FEL-LOwWS,



Slate Pict-ure for Ba-by to Draw.















A MOUSE STO-RY.

Lit-tle Pe-ter-kin was a-fraid|say is this: Zow do you sul’
of mice. He _ often com-| pose we sleep day-times with
plained that he could-n’t sleep '
be-cause they nib-bled so, and
and squeaked and scam-pered
a-bout.

One night lit-tle Pe-ter-kin
heard a tiny sound close to
his ear. He o-pened his eyes.
He saw a soft, grey creat-ure,
a-bout three inch-es high, stand-
ing on the bed.

‘Now see here,” it said, ‘““/| boy tramp-ing a-bout an
am a mouse! I look as if I|shout-ing at the top of h
could hurt a boy, don’t I?) I|lungs! If we don’t com-plai
have my own o-pin-ion of a|I should ad-vise you not to!
boy’s cour-age at night. But} But little Pe-ter-kin’s mai
no mat-ter — what I wish to! ma thinks this isa dream.



LITTLE PE-TER-KIN’S VIS-IT-OR.











A GOOD REA-SON FOR WIN-TER.

His mittens are red, | Why a dear lit. tle boy
And so is his sled — Should ex-pect to en-joy
Two very good rea-sons you| The ver-y first fall of th
know, - snow. -»



STj3S YS CHOICE,

Two such nice dogs—one| flew by, the oth-er looked up
white and clean, the oth-er| in her eyes so lov-ing-ly.
brown and silky; two such} And Su-sy could have the
ear dogs — one barked beau-| one she liked best!
fully if e-ven'a but-ter-fly | “ Which shall I take?” said































eS a

We Zz



ees a Dee



sy, with danc- ing eyes. _[ Paw: of the lit-tle dog-gy with
i a you Nae elics -sen, | the lov-ing eyes.
| Jame Then James car-ried a-way
4 6s Hogi Su-sy didn’t|the oth-er dog before Su-sy

LE Ww it, she was hold-ing the| had time to change her mind.



A FAIR-Y RING,

Ten little girls + were go-ing
to have a fair. Lit-tle Top-sy
Keech had no wool-en_stock-
ings to wear to school in cold
weath-er. Her ten lit-tle play-
mates re-solved to hold a fair,

just like big folks, and buy

‘Top- -sy some warm. stock-
ings.

Eight 7 the aie girls
were big enough to cro-chet

toilette sets, and paint cards,

and make watch-ca-ses, and
man-y oth-er pret-ty things
folks buy at fairs; but two of
them were too small to do any-



|and birds; and before they

at the fair, e-nough, all a-



# am lit-tle Sum-mer,
And I am on my way
To a dis-tant coun-try
To seek a pleas-ant day;
But if I do not find it
Be sure | shall not stay.








chine at all on a eet

But at last they thought
some-thing they could qd
They could cut out things]
dolls and mon-keys and cq

through they cut out a lo
string of dolls, all “take
hold of hands.”

It was so ver-y pret-ty
a lady called it “a F
Ring,” and it brought the h
est prize of any-thing

by it-self, to buy little To
a pair of mit-tens.



Its

a

HF He
{}

1
ty)
AYE
i

o.
Mati

i
th
itt
Hi
iH







SAE
Hee
Beas opt

3



IN THE GOLDEN JULY.

THE STORY OF A MITTEN.

WO little red
mittens lay on
the hall table.

These little red
mittens had been
knit for a small
Primary school-
boy. .

The name_ of
this small school-
boy was Lionel.

Lionel’s mam-



ma gave the mit-

LIONEL.

tens to him one
cold stormy Monday morning.
“Please do not lose them, Lio-

3

el,” mamma said. ‘
Lionel blushed when his mamma
said that.

He knew that he had lost his
striped mittens winter before last.

He knew that he had lost his
speckled mittens last winter.

He made up his mind that he
would not lose the new red ones.

So when he came home from
school at night he laid the mittens
together on the hall table.

Tuesday morning he found them
on the hall table.

Wednesday morning he found
them on the hall table.

Thursday morning he found them
on the hall table.

But Friday morning there was
only one mitten on the hall table.

Friday morning was a freezing

_cold morning.



ReS PRIMATES PEPE er ee ee ee en ee ene

3
f

4

F



Lionel tried to think where he

could have dropped the other mitten.

But he could not remember any-
thing about it.

He went: from room to room as
fast as he could.

He had his fur cap on, and his
ulster. His lunch basket was on his
arm. He was all ready to go.

But he could not find the other
mittens

His mamma helped him look, but
it was not to be found.

So, at last, he had to go with one
hand in his pocket to keep it warm.

This hand became very cold. |

It did not get warm in time to
write his lesson on the slate.

He lost his credits. He was kept
after school.

That made him late to dinner.

His uncle from Boston had taken
dinner with the family.

He wished to see Lionel, but could
not wait. .

After dinner Lionel looked again
for his mitten.

But he had to go to school again
without it.

The afternoon writing-lesson was
this :

fishing had gone by, he found h












“Al place for everything, and every
thing in its place.”

Lionel thought the teacher mus
have heard about his mitten.

That night Lionel’s mamma sai
he must take his own money an
buy another pair of mittens. .

_ Lionel had saved his pennies t
buy a new fish-line.

He had to spend every cent to buy
the new mittens.

He lost those new mittens severa
times during the winter, but foun
them again.

Often that winter he was ver
sorry he had no fish-line.

There was a bridge near his hous
where the men and boys came to fis
through holes in the ice.

Lionel often stood on the bridg
and watched them, and wished h
could fish, too.

He had had a long strong. fist
line. But he had lost it somewher

One day, when the good time fo

lost fish-line.
It was in an old tin can where h
kept his bait.
At the bottom of the can: he sa
something more,



He drew it out. It was his lost
mitten. .
It was spotted and spoiled.

Then Lionel remembered he was
| out on the bridge that day he lost
| his mitten.

“T wish I could put things in their





places,” he said to his mamma.

“T think I must help you,” said
his mamma.

After that, when Lionel forgot to
put a thing in its place, he found a
white paper pinned somewhere on
his clothing.

His mamma did this to help him
‘remember.

One
jhall to put on his ulster.

morning he went into the



He found nine papers pinned to

AiG UG Sts Bi Sir ase tes

is coat.

1 each paper, in large letters:

“ REMEMBER THE MITTEN!”
“ REMEMBER THE FISH-LINE |”

oom.

He saw a heap of things on the
oor,

He saw a boy’s jacket, a. cap, two
alls, a bag of marbles, a book, a

These two sentences were written .

Lionel ran back into the sitting-

broken slate, a pair of slippers, and a
knife.

He had left all these things lying
about the night before.

His mamma was not in the room.

But Lionel’s face felt very red and

hot while he put these things away.



“WHAT HAVE I FORGOTTEN Now?”

Lionel is nearly cured now of his
fault.
But once in a while he stil] finds a
white paper pinned to his sleeve.
—K. T. W.



THE TRUE STORY OF JENNIE WREN.

BY LITTLE FLOY.

Tue wren is a lit-tle bird.
They call her Yex-nze Wren,
I sup-pose, be-cause she is a
cheer-ful, will-ing bird. If
she was cross and i-dle, per-
_ haps they would call her Ma-
ri-a Wren, or someoth-er name
that has no ‘“ jump-up-and-
laugh” in it. |

Jen-nie Wren dress-es in
brown, and hops a-bout the
ground, all so mod-est, and
builds her nest, and works for
her chil-dren, as if she had
nev-er done a-ny-thing won-
der-ful. But once, near-ly three
hun-dred years a-go, when two
-ar-mies were fight-ing, it was
she who stepped in and de-cid-
ed which was to win the bat-tle.

It was a hot day. King
Will-iam’s ar-my had all gone
to sleep af-ter din-ner. While
they were a-sleep, the sol-diers














of King James came soft-ly
march-ing up the hill. No
bod-y heard them, no-bod-y savy}
them. Lit-tle Jen-nie Wren
was there, and spied som¢
crumbs ona drum-head. S¢
she flew up. Her bill wen)
“tap! tap! peck! peck!” V
woke the drum-mer-boy. H¢
saw the en-e-my, and h¢
jumped for his drum-sticks
ahur-ry. He beat his dru
“Tarra! tar-ra!. Tar-ra,'t
ra-ta!ta-ta! All the men wo
up, got their guns and swor
and ran out, and drove the e
e-my back.

By-and-by, when you da
Eng-lish his-to-ry at scho
please re-mem-ber that t
‘Bat-tle of the Boyne” mig
have been de-cid-ed the oth
way, if it had: not been fo
dear lit-tle bird, Jen-nie Wr





































































a USUI
i (ecu

i
Set ee eiriiity

‘i |
NONE cenit









SIX SUR-

BY

PROBS.

2 Oe Ps

Ver-y ear-ly on Thanks-giv-
ing morn-ing Mam-ma Puss
o-pened her eyes, stretched,
and purred. But she purred
ver-y soft-ly, so as not to wake
her six ba-bies. She lift-ed
her head and peeped at their
eyes — yes, they were shut,
ev-er-y one. Mam-ma Puss
was glad, for she had planned
to have a love-ly sur-prise for | ‘
them that morn-ing when they
should wake. | te.

Days a-go, be-fore ev-er her
ba-bies had o-pened their eyes,
she had found a mouse-nest
with six wee pink mouse-ba-
bies in it—just one a-piece
for her six, she thought. So
she had watched the teeth of
her ti-ny cats, and on-ly the
day be-fore had deci-ded that
they were big enough to eat
mice for their Thanks-giv-ing
din-ner.

She cau-ti-ous-ly crept cut





of bed and a-long to the door.
But the mo-ment her tail had
slipped ov-er the door-sill —
would you be-lieve it ?— those
six kit-tens laughed, jumped
out of bed, and started soft-ly
off af-ter her!

You see, Mam-ma Puss had
talked in her sleep, and her
six ba-bies knew all a-bout the

“six sur-pris-es.’

They thought it would be
jolly to follow af-ter, and
pounce up-on Mam-ma Puss
just as she got to the mouse-
nest.

At the door ee all halt-ed.
There, up the yard, was Mam-
ma Puss, step-ping so-ber-ly.
a-long, with nev-er a glance to.
right or left.

The twelve blue eyes wile
led with fun. And, O, how
they smiled and nudged each
oth-er as, with man-y a sly
prank, they crept soft-ly af-ter









































aes samara st pore























































































































_ And just as she got to the|bod-ies came plump down on
mouse-house — O, how it start-| her back.

pled her!—there was a quick| 7Zkey were her “six sur-pris-
jtush be-hind her, six sharptes!”



THE SAME DAY.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.

(Razin wn the morn-ing.)

Jes-ste sat by the win-dow;
the sky was dark, the rain was
fall-ing fast.

“It’s a naw-ful day!” she
said, with a pout. ‘‘ The poor
flow-ers are ‘most bathed to
death, and they hang their
heads as low as a-ny-thing, and
one’s broke, I do be-lieve — the
pret-ty lil-y what wears the
sweet, white dress: and the
bees, and the but-ter-flies, and
the fun-ny hop-toads, have all
hid-den a-way, and the bird-ies
have gone home in 4a ter-ble
hur-ry, to shut their win-dows,
I s’pose, so’s the rain can’t come
in; and the win-dow is ery-ing,
I see the tears run-ning down
it's glass face— oh, my! how
miz-za-ble!

I can’t stand it! Imust cry,
too.

This is a ded-ful cry-ey |

world.









(Sux i the A f-ter-noon. )

Jes-siz ran to the front door. |

“The rain-bow! the rain- |
bow!” she cried, clap-ping her |
lit-tle hands, “a great, big, boo- |
ful one, with both feet on the |
ground, '

‘‘ And there’s for-ty six birds
in the peach-tree, and the lil-y
is-n't bro-ken af-ter all, and her
white dress is nice-ly washed
and starched, and the flow-ers
have such bright, clean fa-ces,
just like mine, and a fat bee
is tell-ing the hon-ey-suck-le
some-thing, and I see two hun-
dred hop- -toads, a-hop-ping and
laugh-ing.

“T b'lieve I must laugh, too,

“This is a ver-y fun-ny
world !”

































a Feil ‘i, ~
AR





























STAN
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is
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wih
SAT TAIN
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WINK-ET’S VAL-EN-TINE.,

“ Wuere’s mine?” asked Iit-
tle Wink-et Price.

Kate and Dick. had sua
a-loud the names on a pile of
love-ly pink and gilt val-en-
tines; and none of the “ pit-
ty” pic-tures were fcr Wink-et.

‘Where's mine?” she said.

“O,” said Dick, ‘ Wink-
ets don’t have val-en-tines.” —

“They wait un-til they are
big-ger,’ said Kate. .

“But it 1s to-mo’-wo, and
me tan't be big-ger in dess one
night.”

But Dick and Kate ran
down stairs, to send the coach-
man off to the post-of-fice with
ev-er-y one of the love-ly let-
ters.

Wink-et came, all sad, and
stood by mam-ma.
to grow in one night,” said
mam-ma. :

“Por me?

” said Wink-et.

Jess lapis.
‘‘ T’ve known sweet pic-tures














“We will see," said mam.
jma. “ Don’t cry.”
— They called their ba-by
“Wink-et” be-cause she was so
nice a-bout ery-ing. In ma-ny
things she was not nice;
but when she was a-bout to
cry, she would wink ver-y hara
and fast, and keep the tears
back, and sob to hereself, all
so brave. |

She stood wink-ing now,
un-til, soon, mam-ma car-ried
her up stairs fast a-sleep.

Next morn-ing, when Wink:
et had tied on one slip per, she
spied a let-ter on the stand, al
blue and sil-ver. And the im
side was so odd —a crim-sot
heart, with one part of it stuck
full of lit-tle, bright, black
There were an-gels and
roses a-round the edge, and at
the bot-tom what Wink-el
called ‘‘ some po-et-ty.”

She laughed and dance



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un-til mam-ma came in.

did grow, mam-ma! Now

yead me the po-et-ty.”
Mam-ma “ yead-ed ” it

“ Mam-ma’s heart be-longs to Wink-et,
And, though Wink-et may not think it,
When Wink-et’s naugh-ty, she cas in
Poor mam-ma’s heart a cruel pin.”

AN AF. TER CHRIST-MAS TALE.

BY FAN- NY PAR-KER,

Our of doors, “up-on
ice, "ee
Grand-pa’s lit-tle men make

mer-ry ;

Christ-mas skates and sleds go

nice, —
But where is lit-tle Pe- ter
Per-ry?

On the bed, with-in the house,.

May-be found poor Pe-ter

Per-ry. .
All a-bout he does “‘ ca-touse,”
Pale and dull his cheeks of
cher-ry.

“Tt!

‘““Me must-n’t stick pins in



~ tshe said all to her-self.

the What's the mat-ter with the










Wink-et looked up at mq
ma ver-y hard, and drew
mouth into a fun-ny smile.
all the time she was go
down stairs she winked

mam-ma’s heart a-ny mo

Shall I tell,
Per-ry?
O, the tale is ver-y sad, .

Sad and shame-ful,

ver-y !

lit-tle Pe

ve

He did cram on Christ-

Day,

Stole a glass of Grand-
sher-ry ; |
Coaxed Tom's or-an-ges

way, —

And now he aches, poor
ter Per-ry.











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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Gertyg BeTTER












Wuart a long day! How) I'll bet I'll toss this blank-et
| fraid ev-er-y bod-y is, just be-] and pil-low sky-high be-fore
fcause a fel-low has had the|to-mor-row night! See if I
tooth-ache a lit-tle! ~ tdon't.



BOUND FOR BOS-TON IN A BAS-KET.

BY E. F.
Bounp for Bos-ton in a bas-ket,
Room for four, and for no more;
Ba-by dear, you must-n't. ask it;
"Tis a squeeze to take us four.

Frank, the back seat ’s for the la-dy ;_

I should think it was a squeeze!
Thought this seat would be some sha-dy—
Dear me, John, what aw-/u/ knees!

What's the mat-ter ? can’t dis-cov-er_
Why no-bod-y can sit still !
You fat John, you'll have us o-ver,

Go-ing down this dread-ful hill!

There! your foot is through the bas-ket,
Crowd-ing so a-gainst that side!

Tell you, sir, you need-n’t ask it,
Not a-gain with me to ride.

Next time not a sin-gle bod-y —
‘Shall go ride with sis-ter Poll, —
On-ly pa-tient ba-by Rod-dy,
And Boos Jen-ny with her doll.































































































Bounp For Boston in A BASKET.





idle.

LIZ-ZY AND

BY FAN-NY PAR-KER.

Lit-tie Liz-zy May did not
like her books, and she was
nine years old. Some lit-tle
folks on-ly sev-en could read
bet-ter than she could.

But she was not dull. She
saw all that took place, with
her droll, large blue eyes. She
heard all that was said, with
her sharp ears. Nor was she
At school she was bus-y
with her slate. Not print-ing
let-ters or do-ing sums. She
was draw-ing pict-ures. Such
fun-ny pict-ures, too!
ny, that when Miss Simp-son,
- the teach-er, did not see, the
slate would pass from seat to
seat for the boys and girls to
look at.

' There Miss Simp-s son would
be on the slate, with a braid
on her head so big it had
tipped her o-ver back. There
Miss Simp-son would be with

her over-skirt puffed so be-

hind it had tipped her o-ver
forward. “There would

So fun- |.



al-so

HER SLATE.
















be some-thing ver-y wrong a
strange a- -bout Miss Sin
son’s nose. :

One day the real Miss Sing
son came down the aisle af
saw these oth-er Miss Sing
sons on the slate. Then
knew why the boys and gif
laughed so much. She had§
smile be-hind herbook. Tht
she stood Miss Liz-zy on t&
floor, and bade her hold §
the slate ten min-utes for if
school to see. ,

While she stood there, thal
was a knock at the door. §—

Lo! it was Liz-zy’s pa‘
and three oth-er men. The
were the School-Board. :
a-shamed Liz-zy’s pa-pa felt
see how his lit-tle girl spel
her time! His face grew reg
and he could not make any tf
marks to the schol-ars. Hof
could he, when his own lit-§f
girl was so bad? '

Now Liz- zy" s slate is kept
home. |

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GRAND-MA’S POCK-ET.

A LET-TER FROM BIRD-IE TO BA-BY, .



‘BY M. E.



Dear lit-tle cun-nin’ cous-in,
Bird-ie’s got a lock-et.

Where you think her found it?
In my gran-ma’s pock-et.

Has your gran-ma’s pock-et -
Bunch o’ keys and mon-ey ?
Spool o’ thread and thim-ble?
Can-dy made o’ hon-ey ?>—

-Lit-tle dolls and chest-nuts ?-

- Let-ters wrote all o-ver? ~

Hank-ch’f with co-logne on
Smell-in’ sweet as clo-ver ?—=

Ver-y nice wee crack-ers ?
Gold chain and a lock-et ?
I's glad I got a gran-ma!
I’s glad her got a pock-et !



S
\
Mi
\\

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Wh





WASH-ING DAY.

BY KIT-TY CLO-VER.

Pump, pump, and pump!
Little So-phie and Sue
On this cold Mon-day morn

Have a wash-ing to do.

Splash, splash, and splash
All the way to the door! .

So-phie has sev-en dolls,
And Sursie, she has four.

Rub, rub and rub!
Pink, and blue, red, and
: green,—- a
There’s no such styl-ish dolls
An-y-where to be seen.



Wring, wring and wring!
Hang ’em out on the line—
Moth-ers know they must work —
Daught-ers must be kept fine!





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STRANGE FRIENDS.





THE MIN-NIE CAT.

WMun-nie is a dear lit-tle girl,

and it is a pit-y that her cat
should have such a bad rep-u-
ta-tion, and still be known
ev-er-y-where as ‘“ The Min-
nie. Cat.”
_ The cat and her lit-tle mis-
tress were ba-bies at the same
time, and were brought up in
the-same cra-dle. Girl-ie and
kit-ty were great friends; and
as mam-ma had a cat too, and
as there were of-ten ma-ny
oth-er cats on the place, this
one came to be known as
known and
fear-ed by that name.

For the Min-nie Cat is such
a swoop! such a prowl-er!

All day she is so nice, sit-
ting in the win-dow, and wash-
ing her-self, and not of-fer-ing
to harm e-ven a fly. Who
would think mis-chief and
mur-der of.so plac-id a crea-
ture?

But the chick~ens have fold





that out at the barn she of-tenf
in-sists up-on play-ing “I spy"
with them, and that she makes
it a cru-el and mur-der-ousf
game. The love-ly young Sil-§
ver-wings fell a vic-tim to that
a-muse-ment. '

And ask the mice! Ver-yi
ear-ly in her life she brought
“the Mouse-king from the cel-
lar,’ and laid him life-less at
the feet of her mis-tress. One
by one she al-so brought the
roy-al prin-ces, the lit-tle grayf
‘“mouse-sons, with their pink§
eyes and soft, pink feet. Al
few poor sub-jects lurk in theff
fast-ness-es of the dis-tant§
barn; but the roy-al fam-i-ly
it-self is now ex-tinct. Their
al-lies, also, the moles and the
go-phers, have been rout-edJ
cap-tur-ed, tor-tur- ed, and eat
en a-live. :

And now the rab-bits are mf
dan-ger of thesamefate. Sev
er- val great battles have been

















































































































































































fought in the sum-mer moon-
light. Ma-ny a_no- -ble Bun-
nie has been laid in state un-
~ der the so-fa.

But the Min-nie Cat is most

ter-ri-ble up-on a win-ter’s

night. Then she vis-its the
wood-shed of ev-e-ry cat for
miles, and drinks the milk
from all the cat-sau- cers
When the chil-dren let the kit-
ties out in the morn-ing, and
find the milk gone, they say,
“Tt is that Min-nie-cat.’

One of the Min-nie Cat's

ROSA’S

ee



lives at the next
house, and the heart-less moth-
er robs his sau-cer too. At
that house she can, in sum-
mer, look in-to the cel-lar
through the slats of the win-
dow, and see the milk-rack,
and the gol-den cream in the
pans. Some-times she tears

.{the slats off with her strong

paws, and gets in. Next
morn-ing the la-dies see the
bro-ken lat-tice and the bare
spots in the cream, and they
say, “ Itis that Min-nie Cat!”

CARES.

Aut day I’ve sewed such ded-ful tears

My old-est dirl made in her Sun-day clothes;
I have so ma-ny mis’ble cares

And wor-ries for these dirls, no-bod-y knows.

They nev-er fink their mam-ma’s tired —
I see a win-kle round my nose to- day.
I wish I’d got their sew-ing hired,
Then fas I’d have some time my-seff to play!



/DAI-SY AND THE PUSS-BA-BY.

Your gown it is brown, your
cap’s trimmed with green.
(But those lit-tle ears will
nev-er stay put,
Will zev-er stay put!)



’ | O lulla-by, Pus-sy,—so cun-
| ning and sweet!
_ (But don’t be too proud of
that el-e-gant trail ) .
Your floun-ces and ruf-fles are
down to your feet.
(But what saf/ 1 do with
~ that great yel-low tail,
That great yel-low tail!)

O lul-la-by, Pus-sy! The“ dol-
lies” are old,
And nev-er a word can they
say to me now!
But you, pre-cious pet, will talk



0 tuL-La-sy, Pus-sy, dressed when youre told.
f 6 like a queen, (I’ve on-ly to squeeze, and
| (Mam-ma must draw the © you'll an-swer. “‘ me-ow,”

sleeve o-ver your foot ) You'll an-swer ‘“‘me-ow!’)





Linscuen’s Lerizr,

“WHERE, tru-ant, hast thou
been ?> |

Naugh-ty! to go from where

T set her!” ,
‘“Mam-ma, I can’t come in,
For I must fin-ish up my
let-ter —

“A big one, mam-ma dear!”
“A letter, heart’s-love, to
whom? Might it
Be whis-pered in my ear ?”
‘‘ Mam-ma, to our old cat I
write it.” |





‘What say-est thou to the cat?
What canst thou, Lieb-chen,

have to tell her ?” |

“T write, ‘ Bring me now, Cat,

Old Cat, the Mouse-king§

from the cel-lar.

«Mind, Cat! the white Mouse-§

king ! &§

His gold crown'on his head,§
please set it; i

His eld-est prince, too, bring—]
~The droll Mouse-son—now

| don’t for-zet it!” .



































































































On, dear, fash-ion-al clothes; work to keep her child-‘ens
so mis-ble to i-ron! How) half-way de-cent! My fam-ly
poor wom-an does have to]! wash is su-per-ma-zin '!



“CRY-BA-

Loox at him! We all know
him — don’t we?

He is the boy that gets hurt
ev-er-y time he falls down. He
is the boy that sus-pects Tom,
or Jim-mie, has stol-en his
pen-cil when-ev-er he los-es
it; that al-ways ac-cus-es Rob-
bie, or Ned, of cheat-ing at
mar-bles. He is that boy that
al-ways comes in cry-ing when
snow-ball and. slid-ing time
comes.

boys want a-long when there is
go-ing to be some rare, good
~ fun.

I do not like to say it, but I
am a-fraid that each school-
house in the land has one a
“ Joe.”

This’ little talk is for these

‘ Joes.”

In short, he is that
lit-tle fel-low that none of the/ut

|care, tf you laugh while yo



BY. JOH.”










For, my poor ‘ Joes,”

sor-ry for you! I know yol
nev-er have a good time thaf
is half-an-hour long. I knoy
your lit-tle knees, and el-bow :
and cheeks, are soft and tenf
der, and feel the hurts theg
get. Shall I tell you wha
will tough-en them ? :

Laugh-ing will do it. :

When you fall, jump up
and laugh, and run. a-longf
7
e. If some oth-er boy rubff
your face with snow, get a-wa]

You won't mind it in a mi

the best you can, or else lauglff.
and rub his face. He wont

rub ! | |

That is the way to bring thi
good, warm blood up to thf
When the mer-if
blood gets there, it will cui

hurt spots.





“1 xnow A Boyv—I HoPE you DON’T.”



and tough-en them. No-tice,
now, and see wheth-er laugh-
ing boys feel a hurt long. |

A-bove all else, dowt. run
and tell! Your teach-er gets
tired of hear-ing it. E-ven
your moth-er oft-en wish-es
her lit-tle Joe was like oth-er
boys, and could make his own
way. /

Ev-er-y one of you knows
some big boy that you ad-
mire.

him when you grow up. Well,

no-tice him. fe nev-er cries.
Fle nev-er runs off, all doub-

led up and cry-ing, to tell
his moth-er when the ball hits



fel-lows. will
You mean to be like









him and makes his nose bleed,
or he gets his fin-ger bruised]
He doesn’t hold a_ gruded
a-gainst a boy that beats hi
at a game—not he! %j
thinks a fel-low that can beaf
him is a grand fel-low! |

If you should not grow ouf
of cry-ing, and: moan-ing, and
com-plain-ing, when you ge
to be a big boy, the lit-tlg
look uff
to you, and wish to be like

not ull

you. sh |
In-stead, they will,-per-haps

call you. more dis-a-gree-a-blg
names than ‘“ Cry-ba-by Joe]

e-ven.

|



Papa knows that there in the twilight dim

and the other with gray,

Two little flowers stay open for him ;

and the blue-bells close,

And papa will find but one little rose.

But the moments slip,

—



O little girlies at the close of day,

One with blue eyes,
t at the window of papa’s house.

‘WwW

T

Blue as the blue-bells, and gray as a mouse,

x :
70 SI



WHAT BOS-SY

SAID.

BY FANNY PARKER.

Moo! moo! moo! - /

Lit-tle boy, why don’t you
give me some wa-ter ?

Lit-tle Em-i-ly Ann, why
don't you bring mea. pail of
wa-ter? I am so dry. Iam
al-most choked. Moo! moo!
moo! -

In the sum-mer time I can
help my-self. I can find my
way to the bright, cool brook,
and drink all I like. But in
- win-ter I am shut in the barn-
yard, and | can not get a drop
of wa-ter un-less some one
brings ittome. Some-times |
am so thirs-ty I lick the snow
from the ground and from the
fence, and then I am thirs-ti-er
than ev-er, and my poor tongue
is full of fe-ver,—oh, moo!
moo! moo! snow is so had and
parch-y for cows. Moo! moo!

I am so wea-ry of see-ing
folks go to the pump and for-
get to bring me an-y. Moo!
moo! Do you think cows





would treat folks so, if it was

turned round ? |

Moo, moo! Why do cows
have soft, kind hearts, and
folks such hard ones? [ think
so much of lit-tle Em-1-ly Ann;
in the sum-mer I try to be at
the milk-ing-place, so she need
not wait and tire her lit-tle
lungs in call-ing for me; and if
[am not there, when I hear
her, I come run-ning as hard
as ev-er I can... But, moo!
moo! lit-tle Em-1- ly Ann dont
care. Nor Bob-by nei-ther.
Bob-by shuts my sta-ble door,
and I can’t get in to lie down
all day long, and the wind 1 is SO
cold!

Oh! I wish I could have
some wa-ter, and get in-to my
warm sta-ble. Oh, moo! moo!
that pump! that pump! the
bless-ed sound of that flow-ing
water dis-tracts me! :

I be-lieve I shall jump o-ver
the fence and help my-self.

























































































































































































































MADAME MOB-CAP.

BY MARY E, BRADLEY.
Tus is lit-tle Ros-a-belle—_
- No! I beg her par-don,
This is Mad-ame Mob-cap,
Walk-ing in her gar-den.

What a fine cap it is!

~ What a wide- bor-der! |

Spec-ta-cles and walk-ing-stick,
And ev-e-ry-thing in or-der.

Hop, toads, clear the way!
Bees, hush your hum-ming!
La-dy-birds and_ but-ter-flies,

Grand folks are com-ing !

She must have a. king-cup,
And a prince's feath-er,

With a crown-im-pe-ri-al,
Tied up to-geth-er. —



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































1

i

|
Me

Mapvame Moscar,



BOTH



EAR! dear!”
“How it does cost to keep this cat !
My la-dy is too del-i-cate
To dine on com-mon mouse and rat,
But calls for milk, and mews for cheese, |
And helps her-self to this and that,—
Oh, dear, dear!” groansthe gro-cer-y man,
“T'll live with-out her if I can!” —

SIDES.

groans the gro-cer-y man,

Ho! ho!” laugh the mer-ry rats,
“Oh, what a nice old gro-cer-y store!”

Let’s at the great, soft, yel-low cheese, —

Let’s bring the rice out on the floor ;
Let s have a crack-er and a cake,

And do let’s have two, three eggs more.
Oh, ho! ho!” laugh the mer-ry rats,
‘“* Long live the men that don’t keep cats !””



IN. AN EGG.

Here’s a lit-tle sing-er, shut up
in an egg,

~Wish-es to come out, fum-ti-
tum, hear him beg!

Well, lit-tle fel-low, you'll have

: to peck your way,

All the oth-er bird-ies had to
so they say.



LTum-ti-tum, crack-a-crack, and
out pops his head, —
You must sing a song, be-fore

you can be fed ;
For how do we ee that
youre a bird at all?

,| Queer bird to wear.a coat and

col-lar—fallal! ~



child chose the vi-o-lets.
rose and the lil-y were ina sad

No



doubt ’tis a tight place, but
play long, play well,

And you will play your way,

sir, out of the shell:

And if you mu-sic make from

a board and stick,

| The king ‘Il send a sil-ver fid-

dle pret-ty quick.



THE RIVALRY OF THE FLOWEBS.

BY FANNY

PARKER,

ee,

One day, ma-ny ages a-go, a
sweet lit-tle girl stood be-fore
a flow-er wo-man’s_ bas-ket.
There was a rose, a lil-y, and
a bunch of vi-o-lets. The
flow-er wo-man-was cross, and
all the blos-soms hoped to be
bought and ta-kena-way. The
The



tem-per at be-ing left, and be-
gan to pick up-on each oth-er.

‘““Why do you blush ?” cried |-
the lily; “what. have you



been do-ing ?” “ Do-ing !” said
the rose; “if col-or is the test
of in-no-cence, why are you so
pale ? what do you fear ?”
That is the way the ri-val-ry
be-gan. Since then the two
beau-ti-ful la-dies have nev-er
been friends; and, al-though
they oft-en meet in bou-quets,
they nev-er speak. Some
praise the rose, and some hold
up the hil-y.
But every-bod-y loves the

ivi-o-let. Hap-py vi-o-let !



ganll Alig
iy taal

ie Uh
||
!

tie
i
i

f

{ i
Mil Hy
{
1











A dear lit-tle play-mate — But an-oth-er fel-low se-
ar-rives. cures him.



Slate Pict-ure for Ba-by to Draw. 7















SLATE PICT-URE FOR BA-BY TO DRAW.





OLD MRS.

“Mam-ma, would you. play

Cen-ten-ni-al? It rains,” said
Ro-sy.

“T don’t know;” said mam-






OS
AWS aes: SS ee SSS
WI Fee NS ss Se ee

ma. ‘The Cen-ten-ni-al is
most o-ver now.” :
~~ © But / have-n’t been,” said
Ro-sy. ‘
“Tn that case,” said mam-
ma, “I would go now, if- I
were you; that is, if you think
you can get back by din-ner-
time.”











WARREN.

cause she could ‘make be-
lieve” so nice-ly. |
Mam-ma went back to her

book, and Ro-sy went to the

‘Cen-ten-ni-al, at least as near

as she could get, which was
up-stairs a-mong some old

clothes. ©

When she came down to
din-ner she told her mam-ma

‘she was ‘“‘a hun-dred years

old.” She worea fun-ny white
sack, and a big bon-net, and a

: | | long, thick vail that dragged

on her legs. She. said’ her
name was “Old Mrs. War-
ren,’ and she had just come
from “‘ Fee-def-fy.”
Mam-ma treat-ed the old
la-dy with great re-spect. She
asked her.to lie down and rest.
But when she came _ back
with the pil-lows, Ro-sy was
there. Ro-sy said “Old Mrs.

War-ren had gone home to

Ro-sy liked mam-ma_ be-! Bunk-y Hill”

|
|

:
|

'

|















March, march a-way ! March, march a-way !
(om-pa-ny A, the Dim-ple-|Ive stol-en pa’s hat out of his
chin Girls, lap,
Cap-t-taine Jen, a wig on her| Ros-a-mond’s got grand-ma-
_ curls Mls - -ma’s cap, | |
| Dress pa-rade and a train-ing | And hat-ted with bas-ket gces
Pe nd ayro= May — aa
March, mareh a-way ! March, march a-way!

t









BY



A-rte lives a-cross the
street. He and I are friends
and he sometimes comes to
see me. I al-ways know when
he is knock-ing, for he be-gins
ver-y gen-tly, and goes on stead-
ily, loud-er and loud-er, un-til,

no vals ter how bus-y I am, I
call, “come in!”

We gen- ar ly play with the
bird. seed, ‘““cause you can im-
ag-Ine it’s most any-fing, Al-
fie says. We put down two

news-pa-pers on the floor, get a

spoon and atin box, and turn

out the bird-seed. Al-fie says:

EDITH KYRK-WOOD.











‘‘Let’s play it was coal. “Want
a-ny coal, ma-’am ?”

I say, “‘ Yes, Pee much is
a

Then he says, “ ar is two
centsa ton, and five dol-lars for
put-ting it in.” |

And I say, “ All right,” and
pre-tend to hand him the mon-
ey, and he shov-els the coal in-
to the tin box with the spoon.
We play the tin box was the
coal-bin. |

Af-ter awhile I say, ‘‘ Let's
play it was cake.” And we mix
it, and stir it, and pat it out



lat, and then cut it in-torounds
vith the tum-bler. Al-fiesays
fis ‘‘seed-cake. ”

| Abfe finds it very y hard to 46s

rows of three and says, “ Two
and an-od-er one! Two and
an-od-erone !” till he has count-
ed them all. His mam-ma
, thought he would
nev-er know if she
should put a-way six
of them, and so she
tried it, but when he
count-ed them a-gain
| | 3 he look-ed sur-prised.
ae — —— ee eN\ “ Dere ought to be
= ; i)) two more twos-and-
an-od-er one!”

Al-fie has one bad
fault—he runs a-way ;
and then he has to
stay in the house all
| the next day for a
pun-ish-ment.

One day he ran a-
way to see a cir-cus.
An-oth-er day he got.
on a street-car, when
| the con-duc-tor was-
nt look- ing, and
earn to count like oth-er peo- had a site time get-ting back,
ble, but he has a way of his|for he went farther than he
vn. This is how he counts|meant to, and hurt his leg a

s blocks: he puts them in| lit-tle, be-sides, when he jump-











































































ed off. And one day he had

an ad-ven-ture. It hap-pened
in this way :

When he went out in the af-
ter-noon to. play on the side
walk, his mam-ma told him not
to go too far a-way; in fact
not to turn the corn-er. Even-
ing came and Al-fie did not ap-
pear. His mam-ma looked up
the street and down the street,
but he was no-where to be seen.
How-ev-er, just as she was be-
gin-ning to feel anx-ious, he
came run-ning in, breath-less
and 1m-pa-tient. |

‘“Mam-ma, mam-ma! |
didn’t run a-way distime! Just
wait till I tell you! A hittle
durl met meand she said: ‘Lit-
tle boy, 'm aw-fu/ a-fraid of
dis dog dats fol-low-ing me,

and I wish you'd walk home

wit me. ‘AIl right,’ I told
her, ‘I will, and I did. And

den shesaid: ‘ Dis isa pie I’m

car-ry-ing, and I fink de d
smells it. !

fa-way ?”













What’s your nan
lit-tle boy?’ I said, ‘ Wha
yours?’ Shesays, ‘my nam
Bes-sie, and I said, ‘ mine’s 4
fie.” <‘ Well,’ she said, ‘ Al
I beheve I'm asgush-ing t
pie!’ Den we dot to her hou}
and de dog went to do in|
ter her, and I called out:
ain't a-fraid of him!- dod
and I’ll keep him off!’ and g
went in and I comed home.”

Al-fie’s mam-ma looked ve
seri-ous. ‘And how did 4
keep off the dog, Al-fie ?” s
asked. |

“T just said, ‘do way, sif
and he run-ned like a-ny-fil}
Must I stay in to-mor-rof
mam-ma? was dat run-ni



His mam-ma said it was cf
tain-ly run-ning a-way, but sf
would for-give him if he wow
try not to do so any more.

















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































cg
oO
ries
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a
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we
one
Sw
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HH
mS
y
Et
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oO
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pT

Rar-ly Christ-mas morn-ing



as

as grand-m

just

oC
>

in

Do on Christ

Smil



mas Day.

d

| Sits knit-ting in the sun;















WHAT THE COUN-TRY GIRLS SAW,

Three pairs of eyes o-pened | her a ride this cold win-tel
wide — Bes-sie's black ones, | morn-ing. | |
little Bon-ni-bel’s gray ones,| What did they see to maké
and Dol-li-kin’s blue ones; and | them so sad ?

They saw a lit-tle girl rut
ning a-long in the snow with
out any shoes or stock-ings
and her dress was all rags. |
They went straight home
and asked aunt-ie to hur-ry o 1
and find her. )
- But aunt-te said the cit-y wa
full of little beg-gars, and she
should not know where to loo :
Bes-sie cried then. She sail



TAK-ING DOI-LL-KINS TO RIDE. e A naugh-ty, naugh-ty, stil
the gray ones looked, oh, so| gy, cruel place!” said littl
sor-ry! Bon-ni-bel. “‘In the count-#



the cit-y was a naugh-ty placd

Bes-sie and lit-tle Bon-ni-bel | we don’t have bare-foot girls.
were country girls, vis-it-ing | ‘No, in-deed, not in win-t¢
their auntie in New York | time!” said Bes-sie, “and tif
cit-y. They had brought Dol- | city ought to be a-shamed!”
li-kins; and they were giv-ing| Yes, it ought! 7





THEY DIDN'T MEAN

TO.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.

Dear, wee, blue-eyed, dim-

pled- chinned Pat- -ty—mam-ma
calls her “‘lit-tle pie,” for that
is what Pat-ty real-ly means —
-came home the oth-er day with
the fun-ni-est ba-by frown on
her ba-by brow.
_ She had been tak-ing a short
walk a-cross the field, from the
big oak where the blue-birds
live, to the. ma-ple where the
spar-rows have their nests. —

“Why, what is the mat-
ter?” said mam-ma, when she
saw the frown. ‘‘ Sweet lit-tle
pies should not have wrin-kles.”

“They all tell sto-ries —

‘ty one, said Pat-ty.

‘They do?” said mam-

3, ver-y much as-ton-ished.
“Oh! how sor-ry lam. Give
me a kiss, and tell me all
a-bout it.”

“Well,” said Pat- -ty, af-ter
she had giv-en the kiss, ‘ I
took a walk, and a dog met me
—a good look-ing dog — Miss

_ Bright’s dog — but, oh! a ded- ‘

ful sto-ry tel-ler. J asked him,
‘What's his name?’ and he said,
‘Bow-wow. Tree-four times
I asked him, and_ tree-four
times he said, ‘Bow-wow, when
I just 4zow his name’s Chriss-
fur Clum-bus Bright.

“Then a bird sat on a fence,
and singed, and singed; and I
said, ‘/’m Pat- “LG who are you?’

“He did-n’t look lke a
li-ar-bird, not the least-est bit ;
but he was. He said, ‘ Sweet,
sweet, sweet, and that’s to say
a-bout can-dy and su-gar and
me. *Tisn't any name at all.

“Then I spoke to a cow. I[
didn’t speak near. I hol-lered
at her, ‘What's your name?’
‘Moo-o0-00, she said, when
she knowed all the time it was
Dai-sy. So°I made a frown
and comed home.”

“But, Pat-ty,” said mam-ma,
“ they did-n’t mean to tell sto-
ries.

“ But they da,” said Pat-ty,

‘and I want a piece of cake.”



THE PRETTY FIRE.

BY ROSETTA B. HASTINGS.

Bricut fire, pret-ty fire, Nice fire, pleas-ant fire,
W on-der what you are? Warm the ba-by’s nose;
Draw the ba-by nigh-er, Put the foot-ies closer,

In his lit-tle chair. ~- . Warm the Iit-tle toes.

















































































SRR AAR



See the shin-ing spar-kles, Ba-by wants to catch you, |
How they snap and fly! Pret-ty, pret-ty fire.
Guess they're in a hur-ry ©

To twin-kle in the sky. Ba-by wants to catch you,

| But he'll have to learn
Danc-ing yel-low bla-zes, That the pret-ty fire
Jump-ing high and high-er; = Will burn-y, burn-y, burn.



THE SPOOL FAM-I-LY.

BY E-LIZ-A-BETH COGGES-HALL.

Tuers were six of them,
Bon-ni-bel, An-a-bel, Flor-i-
bel, Cuth-bert, Al-bert and
Her-bert, all stand-ing on their
heads. .

. This came of ba-by’s kick-
ing Rol-y-Pol-y o-ver. —

- Rol-y- Pol-y was a round
bask-et, which Lil-y’s grand-
moth-er had hunt-ed up in the

gar-ret; and as it o-pened in the |

mid-dle, it made no dif-fer-ence
if you called the top the bot-
tom, or the bot-tom the top.
On-ly to the Spool Fam-rly ;
they knew when they turned

o-ver, wrong side up, that the

top was the bot-tom.
_ Lil-y had at least a doz-en
doll chil-dren tuck-ed a-way

ence, since all her af-fec-tion,
for months, had been giv-en to.
the empt-y spools mam-ma’s
work bask-ets sup-plied. She
had kept a board-ing school,
num-ber-ing sev-en-ty-five pu-
pils; she had had an “ Ex-po-
si-tion;” she had been the
“La-dy at the White House”
and ‘re-ceived,” but fi-nal-ly,
had set-tled to the sim-pler du-
ties of strict-ly do-mes-tic- life
with her three sons and daugh-
ters, whom she en-dowed with
the “most love-li-est nam-es
that ev-er was. . 7
_ “Cuth-bert,” her eld-est, had
once been im-pris-oned in a
straight -jack-et of crotch-et
silk, but now re-joiced in his.

jin bu-reau-draw-ers and be-jun-clothed lib-er-ty and the
‘nind trunks and in the rag|pos-ses-sion of a pair of tape |
bag, desert-ed alas! with the| arms of un-e-qual length, while

most heart-rend-ing in-dif-fer-|his inked feat-ures, of Lil-y’s



own ie ees bore a con- they'd ail call: under the so- fa,

be-hind the ta-ble legs, till

tent-ed smile at his rise in life)

and his su-pe-ri-or size.

“ Al-bert” and “ Her-bert ”
were twins and wore black
and gilt caps marked “30”
and ‘‘thir-ty” be-cause, as Lil-y
ex-plained to her fath-er, ‘‘ you
had to mark twins to tell which
was which-er. Su-san said so.

She was twins and wore a

~blue bow, and one day her
moth-er put on the red one

and spanked her be-cause she

was-n't blue.”

The three girls were “‘ Bon-
nibel,” “‘ An-a-bel”” and “ Flor-
i-bel, short and small; and the
six were, on the whole, a well
be-haved fam-i-ly. Now and
~ then, when “Cuth-bert” kept
on smiling at his height, in-
stead of look-ing at his les-son

book be-fore him on the win-.

dow sill, and it became nec-es-
sa-ry for Lil-y to shake him,
he would pre-tend to ac-ci-dent-
al-ly top-ple o-ver up-on his
broth-ers and sis-ters, and a-way

‘and se-ri-ous.

Lil-y lost her breath chas-ing
them and was o-bliged to shut

them up in Rol-y-Pol-y. un-til

they could be-have. _

But now for three weeks
Rol-y-Pol-y and the spools had
lain un-dis-turbed in the clos-
et. Poor lit-tle Lil-y was too
sick for play. She had drooped

and pined and re-fused to eat.

The doc-tor looked puz-zled.

Mam-ma and
Su-san held her by turns, their

hearts ach-ing as each day the

lit-tle form grew light-er and
the sweet face more eae and
pinched.

“Won't she take a-ny no-
tice?” said her fath-er, with a

groan, as he came in-to the

nur-ser-y one day, and tak-ing
her in. his arms tried to rouse

her with kiss-es.

“On-ly now and then,”
swered her moth-er sad-ly.
‘“ T won-der ” — said Su-san,

who had the ba-by in her arms

an~

‘



— “would she care for Rol-y-| with such a jo-vi-al coun-te-

Pol-y, sir!” and tak-ing the
bask-et out of the clos-et, she
put it on the floor, when ba-by
im-me-di-ate-ly kicked it o-ver.

“Look, lovey!” said Su-
san, ‘“‘see what ba-by’s done
to your Spool Fam-rly.”
— Liky lan-guid-ly o-pened. her
eyes and just the slight-est
flick-er of a smile trem-bled on
her lips. Ba-by gave an-oth-
er vig-o-rous kick, the bask-et

nance that Lil-y act-u-al-ly
laughed a-loud. Ba-by clapped
his hands and shout-ed at the
wel-come sound, while, strug-
gling to sit up, Lil-y laughed

once more con-vul-sive-ly and

lout from her mouth flew a

brass but-ton! — green and
cor-rod-ed, as it ought to have
been, with the mis-chief it had
been do-ing in se-cret.

You may be sure that fath-
er, moth-er, Su-san and doc-
tor all laughed then for real

joy, and light hearts took the

place of sad ones as they helped
nurse their dar-ling pas to

| health a-gain.











flew o-pen and out came the
Fam-i-ly in a heap, “ Cuth-





Now, when Lil-y’s own lite
tle blossoms go to vis-it their |

5|— : grand-moth-er, she shows them

Rol-y-Pol-y laid up in state in

|the best bed-room. bu-reau

draw-er, and ex-plains why
that par-tic-u-lar Fam-i-ly of
Spools are so high-ly hon»

bert ” feancing o-ver the oth- -ers | ored.



































- CHESTNUT LEAVES. CHESTNUT BURR.

ABOUT CHESTNUTS.

_ ALFIB’S eyes are blue.
eyes are very bright.
thing.

Alfie’s
_ He sees every-

He knows the birds’ names.

He can tell you about the trees.

He can tell you how chestnuts
grow. He has watched the chestnut
trees since spring to find out.

The chestnut trees did not bloom
varly.

Alfie why. He was
afraid they might not bloom at all.

wondered

“ And what would the squirrels do >

then ?”. asked he.
“ Eat acorns, perhaps
Alfie laughed.
One day, long after the pink apple-

» said I.

OPEN. BURR WITH NUTS.

DRY CHESTNUT BLOSSOMS.

blossoms had come and gone, Alfie
came running in from the lawn.

“ Papa, papa,” cried he, “ the chest-
nut trees are all covered with fringes.”
said 2

“Ves, long, green Cae
some are nearly white.
come and see!”

So I followed Alfie out to the
chestnut trees ;

“ Fringes?”
and
er papa,

and, sure enough, he
was right.

At the ends of the twigs, all over
the trees, like tufts of fringe, were.
the chestnut-blossoms Alfie had been
watching for.

I broke off a branch.

_I showed Alfie that each thread



of the fringe was a blossom-stem.
We picked off the bits of blossoms
‘Alfie
said they were like beads on a string.
Alfie did not like to smell the
edor of the blossoms.

that grew along the stem.

Alfie went to see the chestnut
trees every few days.
One day he came back with a

sober face. He had something in
his hand. -
-“ See, papa,” said he, “the fringes

have turned brown; and they are all
~ blowing away.”

«© We will go down and see about
this,” said I.

We found the fringes had not all
blown away. One thread was left at
the end of almost every twig.

_ The tiny dry blossoms still clung
to these stems.

But soon Alfie’s quick eyes saw
that the one or two nearest the branch

--weregone. In their place were queer,

~ green balls.

' These balls were about as big as
- peas.

They had sharp prickles all
over them. |
. Alfie’s eyes. twinkled like stars

when I told him these Werle. yOUng
chestnut burrs.

~ watched the burrs.

Alfie cut one of them open with
his jack-knife. He found little chest-
nuts growing inside.

Then his eyes twinkled again.

After that, all Alfie
They grew fast

summer,

—*“to make up for blossoming so
late,” Alfie said. .
Soon they were as large as mar-.
bles. By
autumn the prickly green burrs were

Then as big as walnuts.

as big as Alfie’s own brown fist.

At last, one October day, after a
sharp frost, Alfie knew that nutting-
time had come.

Here and there, over the trees, the
Alfie could
see the plump, brown nuts inside.

burrs were half open.

Some of the nuts, and some of the
burrs, too, had fallen to the ground.

Alfie tried to pound the burrs open
with a stone. He pricked his fingers.
Then he stamped them open with his
little boot-heel.

He picked up his pocket full of nuts.

Then he climbed up and broke off.
a twig with two chestnut burrs on it.
He brought it in to me.

The burrs were beginning to turn
One

was wide open; and in it were three

brown. One was shut tight.



“aiuts:

was as downy and soft as velvet, and

as yellow as Bere.
_“ And, O, papa, "said Alfie, “the lit-

tle blossoms that didn’ t grow to burrs

‘The inside of the prickly burr

have stayed on-all summer. They

look like little burrs themselves, don’t

they, papa?” - : |
And papa ae they digs

‘WHERE DID i GO?

Ir was a beautiful ball of Soap.
it was a lovely golden-brown color.

It was so clear that you could see
through it.

They bought it to wash. the es
with. :
When the baby saw it, he cried
- for it.

Any smart baby would have cried
for it, because it was so pretty.

He took it in his small, fat, dim-
pled hands.

What fun it was to see it skip

away, and roll across the floor and

into the corners !

Once baby grabbed it very tight,
and bit it with his one tooth. But
it could not have tasted good, for he
made a dreadful face.

Then they gave him a bath in his:

little bath- ‘tub.

They aed this ar ball of sotieke
brown soap. -

Baby splashed it in the water.

He laughed, because it always |
slipped through his hands. _ oy

But they forgot to take the beau-
tiful ball of soap out when they took .
baby out.

They did not think of it until after
baby had played “This little pig
went to market” with his toes, and
had been kissed all over, and dressed,
and sung to sleep.

Then they went to look for it.

But it was gone.

There was nothing in the bath-tub .
but some soap-suds, with the sun-

‘shine making little rainbows in the.
- bubbles.

Where did tt £0 2.











tooth ae
ye
%

*

4

4



















Full Text









i@- TO THE READERS OF THIS BOOK. -£

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3

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{



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LITTLE FOLKS: PLAY-DAYS








Le.
y
AYE
VEX
AY WS

tN
\ \

S



LLLUSTRATED

BOSTON _
D LOTHROP COMPANY

. WASHINGTON STREET OPPOSITE BROMFIELD:
Copvvicut, 1889,
BY
D. LotHRop CoMPANY,




EAFTLE: FOLKS’

PLAY DAYS.

BY G. DE B.

MET

her one

hor se-
car.
Such
a jol-ly,
round,
little
mite!
As |
seat- ed
my-self
be- side
her, she
LO -pened a pair of big blue eyes
| —just the col-or of your dol-lie’s
sh —and madesome cun-ning
-tle. dim-ples in her ros-y
eeks, with a bright smile.
hen she put up the soft-est lit-
tle pair of red lips to mine, and
of-fered me a kiss!
You may be sure I took three







“ BaBy Buntinec.”









ce

day ina |“



right off on the spot; and they
were the sweet-est kind of
su-gar kiss-es!”’
She wore, tied down o-ver
her gold-en curls, a soft white
fur hood, and be-low that, along
white fur sacque; then she had
on white, wool-ly gloves and
white plush leg-gings; and |
felt sure, when I no-ticed all
this cos-tume, that she must be
‘“Ba-by Bunt-ing,” for it all
looked as though it was made
out of “ rab-bits’ skins ”—white
rab-bits, you know.
“What is your name, lit-tle

one?” I asked.

“ Ba-by, she an-swered, laugh-

ing and look-ing up in my face,

and show-ing a row of mS
scal-loped teeth.

“Where does ‘ ae live —
inatreetop?”

“No, Ba-by lives right here;
take |

Papa don’ a- way far off in al

{”

tars:

‘“‘ Gone a- Chiat 2” said. I
with a smile. ‘“‘ What will pa-pa
bring home to Ba- “by, I won-
der?”

«© A hoo-fal cot loon, to fly
up in asky wis a ‘tring !”

“Oh, dear, sup-pose it should

car-ry Ba-by off with it, way
up in the yel-low. sun-shine,
what would mam-mado then ?”

“Oh, mam-ma'll holda’tring
ber-ry tight and keep Ba-by
fast,” she re-plied with a con-fi-
dent look.

“Tn-deed, I am sure mam-
mawill,” re-turned I. ‘I hope
she will ‘keep you fast’ a long
time. I am sure, 1f you were

my Ba-by I should nev-er like

you to grow out of that pret-ty
fur sacque, but just stay ‘ Ba-
~ by al-ways!”
“No, no! Ba-by drow bid

dirl, and sew wif a nee-dle like

- mam-ma, and make pa-pa tof-|

fee, and the boys’ take, lots of

yoo”



lina. sara



Her mam-ma, who ee
side her, smiled now and said:

“You see Ba-by is not am-—
bi-tious be-yond her sphere; she |

wants to grow up to bea ver-y

wom-an, helping pa-pa and the
boys.
“Surely that is enough for

a wom-an — a help-meet, you —

know, I an-swered.

Ba-by looked as though she

un-der-stood it all, and laughed
glee-ful-ly o-ver our lit-tle re-
marks. ‘Then the con-duc-tor

stopped the car, and her mam- |

“Come, Ba-by!”

— “ Dood-by, pwet-ty la-dy !” |
said Ba-by, putting up her

| sweet mouth a-gain.

‘“ Good-by dar-ling! What

is your name?” I asked.

“Say ‘ Ba-by Bun-ton,’” said }
mam-ma.
‘“ Ba-by Bun- tum,’ ech- seid

{
the little one, and then I mee
she must have been the real |

rab -bit-skin-wrapped ‘“‘ Ba- by,
Bunting.”
Don't you think sotoo?

wo

ee




















Mallee

=
a oO
3 OR
S O
2 aM
og
26, 8
39 Cyr
wi a
eae
sos
Oe
vO 2
Bet DE) oh
ho

Me

&
fy

=

o
a

Ro

oO
2

|

it-

|

e do
Bring bos-sy cow back

Run fast as you can,
t
THE PUZZLED BA-BY.

Iam a ba-by.

But I don’t want you to

think I am one of those lit-tle
bits of things who know noth-
ing at all.

I am an old ba-by.
al-emost ten months old!
_ | have acous-in who is on-ly
nine weeks old. The lit-tle
goose dont know how to get|
his toes.in his mouth.

He can't do any-thing but lie
and suck his fists) And he
can't do even that with an-y
sort of style!

He almost knocks out his
eyes, and bangs his nose, try-
ing to aim for his mouth,

Fists are well enough when
you can’t have toes or your
mam-ma's watch.

‘The oth-er day he tried for
an hour to get both fists in-to
his mouth at once. |

I know all a-bout that. I
know it can’t be done.

But I don’t know why it

can’t be done.

ie am |



I wish I did.
I nev-er could make up my
mind wheth-er it is be-cause
the fists are too large or the
mouth too small. |
This is a great puz-zle to
me.
_ There are some oth-er things
that puz-zle me.
Ev-er-y day my mam-ma
comes to the nurs-er-y.
She picks me up and hugs
me and kiss-es me and con-
vers-es with me. |

Con-verse is a grown-up
word which means ver-y nice
talk.

She says: “’Oo is de cur
ning-est, sweet-est it-tle sing in
de whole world!” .

Then Tsay: ‘ Yah-yah, yat
SO. pete OF
‘“‘Dere isn't a-nud-der ba-by
like’oo an-y-where! Not one!”

And I an-swer: “Ah goo.
Da-da.” |

That's the way to Con-verse. °


We al-ways con-verse ver-y
much like that.

But there’s an-oth-er thing
that puz-zles me.

She car-ries me to her look-
‘ing glass, and what do you
think I see there?

A ba-by just like me!

It is a sol-emn fact! Eyes
and nose and mouth and
hands ex-act-ly like mine.

When I laugh, he laughs,
and when I want to give him
atap with my fist he tries to
give me one, but
wont let.us fight.





MamM-Ma |-

the glass he’s al-ways there.
The oth-er day nurse car-
ried me to the par-lor and let
me look in-to the great glass
with gold and lace a-bout it.
I saw a ba-by in there, too!
That makes two just like me!
I can’t un-der-stand it at all,
for I know my dear pret-ty
mam-ma would not tell a lie.
This is the worst puz-zleof all.
Some day I shall be a man,
and then I'll know all a-bout
it. Men know ev-er-y-thing.
Ev-er-y-bod-y was a_ ba-by
once, but they all got o-ver it.

When-ev-er I look for him in| They al-ways do.





BOB-BY’S NEW PLAY-FEL-LOW.
PAT-SY’S PAR-TY.

Pat-sy is a bright little Lrish
boy. His eyes are blue, like
-your chi-na doll’s. His hair

is long and yel-low.. His face,
I am sor-ry to say, is oft-en

dir-ty. | .
Pat-sy was five years old last
week, The birth-day came on







ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR-FIVE.

Sun-day. It was very hard

and prance e-ven when they
were go-ing to church. Once
he whistled. That night he
put the boots un-der his pil-low.

Mon-day. morn-ing ev-er-y
body knew how old he was.
He jumped out of bed in his
night-gown, and only stopped
to put on his boots. The next
min-ute he gave five kicks a-
piece at ev-er-y cham-ber door.

“Fm as old as that!” he ©
shout-ed. ‘‘Ain’t you glad?”

“Are you go-ing to give a
party?” asked Un-cle Mick
through the key-hole.

“Ho!” said Pat-sy, “I ex-
pect somebody will give a
party to me.” |

“Well,” said Un-cle Mick,
“come up to my room af-ter
school is out and you shall

-|have one.”

“Tt’s a whole year to four

to keep Sun-day last week. o'clock,” said Pat-sy a-doz-en
Some-way his new boots, the|times that day. But at last he
birth-day pres-ent, would kick | ran up-stairs, two steps at a






time, and knocked at Un-cle|

Mick’s door.

What do you guess he saw?

Why, the par-ty, of course;
and the queer-est par-ty! Dogs!
Yes, dogs! Dogs of all sorts
and siz-es! E-lev-en dogs! and
Pat-sy said Ze made twelve. ©

There was a little mas-tiff,
and a lit-tle St. Ber-nard, and
a lit-tle New-found-land, and a

little shep-herd, and a little

span-iel, and a lit-tle grey-
hound, and a lit-tle watch-dog,
anda lit-tle ter-rier, and even
a little bull-dog, ever so ug-ly,
and a coup-le so shag-gy that
Un-cle. Mick could-n't tell

what they were.

;
i



And Pat-sy was to have his
choice! It took Pat-sy a long



THE ONE PAT-SY CHOSE.

time to choose — but, af-ter
spend-ing an hour run-ning
from one to an-oth-er, he
chose one of the ug-ly shag-gy
lit-tle fel-lows af-ter all. Here
is his picture. Un-cle Mick -
said he looked like Patsy.

Pat-sy says he shall have a
cat par-ty next year.

| Wouldn’t you like to go?










Hh Wiehe ous

OES Hall



















re,

Gols,

@ Uy NS
9 ayy

“WON’T YOU MAKE FRIENDS, BABY?”

A NAUGH-TY

Baby wouldn’t make
Big Sis-ter was down

No,

iriends.

on-her knees, and she looked |.

ver-y sor-ry, but Ba-by would

not do it. —

_ Big Sis-ter, in whom Ba-by

had al-ways believed, had “ told

a story,” and Ba-by knew it.
Ba-by had want-ed to see-a

fairy, and Big Sis-ter told her



_ if she would run right a-long

BIG SIS-TER.

through the flow-ers she would
come out in-to Fairy-land.

So Ba-by had walked on
through the flow-ers; but she
had not come out in-to Fairy-

land.. No, in- deed |! she had

come out to a pasture fence

where two big red cows were
eating the grass.
not a fairy any-where to be seen.
Ba-by knew there were none,

There was.

|

“4
‘there, for the cows had not left

a blade of grass high e-nough
to hide e-ven the small-est dary t
that ev-er was.

When Big Sister came Saou
to the pas-ture fence she found
the tears drop-ping down the
round ro-sy cheeks, and Ba-by
would not speak to her. Baby
would not even look at her.

She fol-lowed the lit-tle one
back through the flow-ers, and
coaxed and coaxed, but Ba-by
would not make friends, .



“No,” said Ba-by, “you are
a ‘to-ry tell-er. Ba-by is do-in’
to’do in-to the house.”
And Ba-by walked a-way,
leav-ing naugh-ty Big Sis-ter
all a-lone with the flow-ers to
think o-ver what she had done.
Big Sis-ter was very sor-ry. |
Big Sis-ter knew that Ba-by
would never believe in her
again with a little child's
sweet entire faith.
Big Sis-ter might well be
sorry,

THE: RHYME. OF LIT-TLE LU-CY LEE.



Little Lucy Lee
Got up, one morn, too soon;
She saw the red sun rise,
And cried, ‘“ O, see the moon!”

She went to walk, and saw
Three sun-flowers in a row;

’ “Qh, oh, look there!” she cried,

“How large the daisies grow!”
LITTLE RUNAWAY.

BY LITTLE FLOY.

Here's a wee pet | All the troub-le,

Run-a-way, Stones are rough.
Go-ing nut-tin |
The poe a. = Stopped for noth-ing
But her shawl —
Needs no bon-net, Et ’Fraid the squir-rels
Hair’s e-nough; ~ : Get. ‘em all!



Pitch-er ’n’ bas-ket - Lit-tle wom-an,
Both a-long; _ . Don’t you pout!
For-ty bush-els — _ Big-ger bas-kets
Win-ter’s long. -Oft start out
“Ba-by! ba-by!” Proud-ly, down a
Mam-ma:calls: _ Shin-ing track,
Ba-by turns back, 7 Only to be

Tear-drop falls. | _ Sum-moned back.
HELP-FUL WEE-WEE.

BY M. JEW-ETT TEL-FORD.

sis-Ter Tor stood in the
door. Her lips were set so
tight, and her eye-brows tied
in a hard knot, learn-ing to
knit. ‘And the thread goes

o-ver so, and then so, and—




dear me! I’ve dropped a
stitch! What shall J do?”

“Oo needn't do nos-sen at
all, Tot,” said sweet lit-tle
Wee-wee, slipping down from
the door-step at Tot’s side to
the grass. “Oo needn’t do

Se



nossen, I'll des dit down

here and pit ’em all up off ze

gwound fas’ as ever oo dwop
; ‘em. Where is oor ‘titch? J]
tan’t see it here ’t all!”


THE STO-RY OF FLUT-TER-BY.

BY CHARLES STU-ART PRATT.

, ~ Fiurt-
= TER-BY is
| a wee
girlie —a_ girlie
with breeze-
browned cheeks, rose-
leaf lips, blue eyes, and
fly-a-way hair—a girl-ie
22, who lives most-ly out-
4 Py o-doors these June
oy days.
- Flut+ter-by’s pa-pa is a nat-u-
ralist; and a nat-u-ral-ist, you
know, is a man who catch-es
bugs, and flies, and such things,
sticks them on pins in glass
cases, and then writes books
about them.

Last year Flut+ter-by’s pa-pa
spent the whole sum-mer a-
chas-ing but-ter-flies; and Flut-








ter-by al-ways danced flit-ting-ly
a-long the fields af-ter him —
quite like a gay lit-tle but-ter-
fly her-self — and that is how
she came to be called “ Flut-
ter-by”’! |

This sum-mer her pa-pa is
down in the mead-ows a-hunt-
ing bugs and bee-tles. So
Flut-ter-by takes his last sum-
mers net, hangs the tin case

o-ver her shoul-der, and dat-ly
goes a-catch-ing but- ter-flies c on
her own ac-count.

But, some-how, the air-y crea-
tures have al-ways seemed a-
fraid of her, nev-er once wait-
ing to be caught —till the day
I’m to tell you of.

Poor Flut-ter-by had grown
quite cross and frown-y at this,



when one day she re-mem-bered
how mam-ma had told her that
‘cross looks drove folks a-way,
while smiles and hap-py looks
would make folks love her and
like to be with her.
- * And meb-be but-ter-flies is
Tike folks,” thought Flut-ter-by.
So she stopped be-ing
Boas that ver-y minute, and
stood still, and smiled, and







smile d,and smiled, and looked
just as pleas-ant as ev-er she|

‘could.

- And then—what do you
think 2>—a big gold-en but-ter-
fly left its sweet clo-ver bloom





and flew straight to her and]:

light-ed right on the han-dle of
the net, and never tried to fly
a-way when she reached out
and picked it up with her
chub-by thumb and fin-ger!
And while she stood there
n the June sun-shine, a-coo-ing
and .a-smil-ing, all the but-ter-
ies in the held, one by one,






browns and yel-lows, and great
pur-ple-black beau-ties, for-got
the po-sies, and came and cir-
cled in the air over her head,
dipped and flut-tered, flash-ing
in the sun, and at last light-ed
on Flut-ter-by’s head!



Such a hap-py time as Flut-
ter-by had I never can be-gin
to tell. you. And when she
went home to lunch all the gay
crea-tures went with her, a flut-
ter-ing flock, to the ver-y door.

And this is the sto-ry of the
wee smil-ing girl Flut-ter-by.
NIP-PI-NY FIDG-ET.

Nip-pi-ny Fidg-et came forth from her bath —
Look-ing so fresh and sweet, —

-Pret-ty white frock with its pret-ty white frills ;
Pret-ty blue boots on her feet ;

Pret-ty blue sash en-cir-cling her waist ;
Curls, with a blue bow a-top
That tee-tered and aumiered wher-ev-e
she went,
As if it could nev-er quite stop!






Nip-pi-ny Fidg-et went skip-ping}
a-bout,
Proud of her dain-ty attire ;
She danced and she bobbed, and sh
bobbed and she danced, :
Like a doll ne is perched on a

wire.

Though the hour for the gold-en wed}

ding drew nigh,

Yet atub-full of greens and flow-er

Stood wait-ing for hur-ry-ing fin-gers to choose
A final bou-quet for the bow-ers.





Thith-er she tripped with in-quis-1-tive eye,
On a ver-y unst-ead-y blue toe,
And, los-ing her bal-ance, she tum-bled right in —
Did Nip-pt-ny Fidg-e-ty, oh!

Out of the wa-ter they dragged in-to
view,
Drip-ping, and dis-mal, and wild,
Not pret-ty Nip - pi-ny Fidg-e-ty!
No! |
But a to-tal-ly dif-fer-ent child.

Off to the heights of the far-thest up:
stairs
They hur-ried her shrieks a-way —
Oh, where was Nip-pr-ny Fidg-e-ty
all

That sem-i-cen-ten-ni-al day ?







Af-ter the lapse of a thou-sand tears
Returned, — O! what do you think ?>—
The lit-tle lost Nip-pi-ny Fidg-e-ty, O!
In a flut-ter of dim-ples and Zznk /

* Pink as to boots, and pink as to sash,
And pink as to tee-ter-ing bow ;
But pink-est her-self, from her cry and her fright,
Came Nip-pi-ny Fidg-e-ty, O!

And wheth-er in blue, or wheth-er in pink,
They found her the sweet-est and best,—
They've tried and they've tried, for a year to de-cide,
But I know that they nev-er have guessed ! |




MRS. HEN SPEAKING TO THE LITTLE GIRLS.

WHAT THE HEN SAID TO EFFIE
AND VIRGIE.







Cluckity, clucktty, cluckity, Hickory, hickory, dickory, dock:

cluck! Mrs. Grimalkin gave me 4
Had ever a hen such wonder- shock !

ful luck ?— : Seeing my Top-knot taking .
Ten little puffity, fluffity things, drink,



y

Nestling so cosily under my She put out her paw as qui
wings. as a wink.

4


But Top-knot is smart, and
Top-knot is spry,

She gave puss the slip in the
glance of an eye;

Top’s a wonderful chick !
easy to see

What a belle, by and bed my
Top-knot will be.

It’s

Figglety, . pigglety,

wigelety,
wee !
I’ve nine other darlings lovely
as she:

Floss, like a puff- ball, pretty as
silk,

And Snow-drop and Trotty,
whiter than milk ;

And Puck, who will do me
great credit some day
(To hear that chick crow is
good as a play);

And Speckle, and Friskie, and
Hussey, and Prink,

And Brownie, and Blackie, zow
what do you think ?

Was ever a prouder mother

than I?

Were ever such chickens under
the sky?

Lambs, kittens, babies, and

other wee things,
Are pretty, but dear me, they
havent wings !

JOLLY GOOD TIMES.


YY
YY
iy

7

y,

YE

Uf

SS





















































IN-NO-CENT !

CAT TRACKS.

BY LOU BUR-NEY.

Our Ted-dy-boy has the
grav-est face in the world, but
he is just run-ning o-ver full
with mis-chief. 3 |

What do you think. Ted-dy
did the oth-er day?

Why, Mol-ly * found cat
tracks all o-ver the bread that
she had set down to rise!
There was a pan of flour on
the ta-ble, all nice-ly smoothed,

read-y to send to the poor

Dunn fam-tly, and ¢hat was
print-ed all o-ver, too!

How an-gry Molly was,
and: ow she scold-ed in-no-,
cent old Tab-by! for, of
course, Mol-ly thought she
had walked o-ver her nice
bread. set

The great up-roar in the!
kitch-en — Molly _ scold-ing, |
and Ted-dy march-ing uy a

down, up and down, wi | |





=
















eav-y lit-tle shoes —brought|track! They all
am-ma and the girls down-|thought the little
| trick ver-y cun-ning,
And then grave-faced Ted-| but grave-faced lit-tle
y walked up to the ta-| Ted-dy nev-er once
le, put his first two fin-gers}smiled. I dare say
nd his thumb to-geth-er, and|he con-sid-ered it
ressed them down on thej|noth-ing in com-par-i-
mooth flour; and lo, and}/son with what he
e-hold! az-oth-er kit-ty’s| could do.






Hip-pi-ty-hop ! O dear! I can’t stop!
Where'll my legs car-ry me now, I
won-der ?

* And O! it’s so warm! it’s go-ing to
storm !

A-lack-a-day! Hark! there’s a rum-
ble of thun-der !

Hip! hip! Hip-pity-skip !

| This 1s the way a frog’s life goes ;

| wish I could run, it looks like such fun,

| But no; I must hop on the ends of my toes.

Vhew! whew !. What. shall I do?

_To live on the jump is a very great bore ;
'declare! I’m so tired, I would-n’t be Lied:
No mat-ter what hap- pened, to hop a-ny more.
ng! What's thatnoise ? O, dospare me, boys!
This is the way a frog’s life goes!

june day he is hop- ‘ping, and can’t think of stop-
ping—

dhe next ina dish un-der somebody’ s nose!

AS




MOZ-ZER’S BA-BY.

“BY A. G. PLYMPTON.

——

I’m go-ingtomake mud pies —— When I am sick and fret-ful, |

Fink I'll spoil my dess? —SIt-tle Sister Bell
Well, I’m a teef-ing, so She has to ’muse the ba-by, :
Nurse won't scold, I guess. ‘Cause I is-n’t well. |
O, ’'m my moz-zer’s ba-by ; But teef are all a-com-ing, |
Stay a-wake all night; Be here by and by;





Ded-ful cross day-times,—but I Guess I will .go to work now
Such a cun-ning mite! Make a nice mud pie

So, now a ‘it-tle wa-ter,
Now a ’it-tle dirt, —

When I do what I want to,
‘Teef don’t seem to hurt!




“A CAS-U-AL-TY. ”


THE LIT-TLE BOY IN PRIS-ON.

O see that boy in the bar-
rel!

Did he fall in?

No, that is not the trou-ble.
His mam-ma put him in there.

















































LIT-TLE: NED.

He and his little broth-
er Char-ley were play-ing with
some long sticks, build-ing
pens, when he took one and
struck Char-lie with it.

His moth-er had oft-en told
him it was wrong to strike; so
now she means to make him

the bar-rel is so smooth.
can-not tip the bar-rel o-ver, it
is so big and heavy.





re-mem-ber for along long time.
She says to him, ‘“‘ You must

stay there alone, since you will

not be kind to your playmate.”
Don't you think he wish-

jes he had been good ?

He can-not scram-ble . out,

He

He must
stay un-til his moth-er lifts him
out. -

The bar-rel-is a cap-i-tal pris-
on, for it is safe, but not dark.
Mam-ma does not be-lieve in

_ | shut-ting little children up in
‘|the dark. .She looks at her

lit-tle boy and smiles, but she
does not take him out. He
feels when she smiles. that he
has been naugh-ty, or else so
sweet a mam-ma would not
put him in pris-on. |

By and by mam-ma comes
and lifts Char-lie out.

She kiss-es his cheek as she

stands him down on the floor,
o

and Char-lie won-ders a-gain| He is kind to his broth-er
how he could have been naugh-|all the rest of the day, and
ty to so sweet a mam-ma. /[real-ly en-joys being good.











































































































































































































































































































































































































































“NOW GET READ-¥ FCR CHURCH, PE-RO!”

GRAND-PA’S STO-RY OF PE-RO.

When I was a little boy I| Pero. My fa-ther brought him
as ver-y fond of pets, and I) home to me one cold rain-y
ad ma-ny; but the prince of |even-ing as I lay in my lit-tle
hem all was my ti-ny dog|bed, sick with the measles.

:
7


He was no larg-er than a
kit-ten, but O so soft and cun-
ning and warm to my child
heart ; it was love at first sight.

He rode like a lit-tle prince
in his char-i-ot--which was my
fa-ther’s o-ver-coat pock-et —
all the long four miles from
his own home to mine.

We nev-er grew tired of each
oth-er. If I was weed-ing my
flow-er beds, he would take all
the weeds a-way in his lit-tle
wag-on to the ken-yard, and it
was fun-ny to see him draw
the tiny load. |

But the fun-ni-est was to see

him take my sister's dolls out
for a drive. |

She had a gay lit+tle car-
riage and har-ness, and Pe-ro
seemed ver-y proud when al-
lowed to take the lit-tle chi-na
la-dies out on the street. If
other dogscame up and in-vit-ed
him to play, he seemed to say,
‘* Please ex-cuse me just now,
for I must give these lit-

tle la-dies some fresh air.”
He was ver-y gen-er-ous too,
and would oft-en take a bone

or a piece of meat to his play-

mate, Car-lo, who lived a-cross
the street, and who was al-
ways hun-gry.

Pe-ro was al-so ver-y wise ; he
al-ways knew when the Sab-
bath came,and nev-er asked to
go to church, al-though on all
oth-er days he was sure to go
with me in all my ram-bles.

He knew ma-ny cun-ning lit-

tle tricks. When told to fold
his hands and goto church, he

would fold hislit-tle white paws |
on his breast, and walk erect |
on his hind legs a-cross the |
room, jump up in a chair, fold |
the ti-ny paws with his head |
rest-ing on them on the back |

of the chair, and look very
sol-emn, till we told him ser-vice

was o-ver, which he al-ways/

seemed pleased to hear.
He was al-ways read-y to do
this, in-doors or out.



|








TWO WAYS.

with a-oth-er big stick, stood
be-hind and pushed with all
his might.

Lit-tle Su-sie Dean's
way was an-oth-er way.
Her pa-pa had giv-en her
a pret-ty lit-tle colt—a
graceful but most wil-ful
lit-tle an-t-mal, whose de-
light it was to not go
O° Banc AS xt f whereitought. But now
Downy Gear way was gen-tle Su-sie can call it an-y-
one way. He had a nice don- where with a hand-ful of clo-
key —a ver-y nice crea-ture] ver.
indeed if on-ly the right. sort] Will Don-ny ev-er learn
of boy had been his mas-ter.| that the “come” way is bet-ter
But when Don-ny rode |!e|than the “ go” way?
thought the prop-er thing as |
to take a big stick a-long and
make his don-key go. But
the min-ute Don-key saw
the stick, both his ears
and his tem-per stif-fened
up, and notone inch would
he budge —no, not e-ven
though Don-ny’s broth-er,




MAM-MA’S HELP-ERS.

Wuen one day the ser-vant| ‘‘So do I,” said the oth-er
went off and left her, mam-ma! Lit-tle Wom-an. ‘Mam-mais

found what nice girls her own} so nice and so smile-y! I wish
two lit-tle daugh-ters were.|wed help more to-mor-row,



























































MAMMA’s HELPERS,

How grate-ful she was to the
four lit-tle clat-ter-ing feet and
the four lit-tle nim-ble hands!

At night as they snug-gled
down on the pil-low the littlest
of the Help-ers said she was
ver-y tir-ed. “But,” ad-ded
she, “I like tokeep house —

more than to go to school.”





re don’t you?”
| y

-Lit-tlest did wish so;
| and when she wak-ed
the next morn-ing she
told Big-gest ex-act-iy
how they could. It
was a most mag-nil-
cent lift-ing of the
bur-den off mam-ma
—they would. wash
their own clothes be-
fore they’ went down
| to break-fast!
~ The wash-bow!
proved a rath-er small tub;
they could wet but one gar-
ment at a time, and the big
white suds would pop o-ver
on the car-pet. But, how-
ev-er, just as the bell rang,
the last night-gown was flap-
ped over a chair-back, and
thev would have been hap-py

a
—on-ly the clothes did-n't seem |damp arms in-to her sleeves.

as cleanas be-fore the wash-ing. |‘‘And won't mam-ma_ be
“But I guess theyll dry all|s’prised!”

right,” Lit-tlest said cheer-s-ly,| It is safe to say that mam

as she wrig-gled a pair of ver-y|ma was s’prised.





GREAT EXPECT -A-TIONS.

BY MA-RY SPRING WALK-ER.

Wuen [| grow to twen-ty-one, | A slen-der stalk shoots up be
I will plant a field of corn. tween.

While the stalk keeps on to
| grow,
tee. The ti-ny ears be-gin to show.




When the ears are long and

i thin, . .
| aN 2 . : .
“f > F The pret-ty silk be-gins~ to
: Sl spin.

When the pretty silk is spun,
When the corn be-gins to| It turns the col-or of the sun.

sprout, . :
Two wee leaves come peep-ing When the sum-mer sun is gone,
ae. & & | It’s time to gath-er in the corn.

| :
When the leaves are fresh and | When the corn 1s gath-ered in,
green, é What a for-tune I shall win!


1 F OR-GOT.

BY AMABEL ANDREWS.

A naugh-ty lit-tle elf
Was lit-tle

Be-cause if he did wrong

Jim-mie Trot,

"T was al-ways, “I for-got!”

He for-got to wash his face ;
Forgot to clean his nails;

Forgot to take the spools
From off the kit-tens’ tails;

For-got to take his book ;
For-got to bring in wood;
F or-got to a-muse ba-by—
For-got to help when he
could.

One day he came from school
As hun-gry asa bear ;
Thoughts of his good din-ner
Had cheered him much while
there.





| He reached the din- ing room

And stopped in great sur-.
: prise—
Not a sign of din-ner
Greet-ed his hun-gry eyes !.

“Say, mam-ma! Where’s din:
ner?
Why isn’t it here—hot ?”
“©,” said mam-ma, smil-ing,
“Tt must be J forgot /

“Tf tisn’t wrong for you,
“Why is it wrong for me?

| 1 think as lke as not

I may forget your tea!”

Poor Jim-mie hung his head
And had no word to say ;

But he thought: “T'll try to
Re em-ser ev-er-y day!”
“KA-TY DID.”

























































v-er



























































































Where the cat-tle stop to

drink,

And (I £xzow ’tis ver-y
shock-ing !)

Quick-ly off came shoe
and stocking,

=| First from one foot, then
the oth-er —

Nev-er thought of mind-
ing mother—

‘And the wa-ter, cool and
sweet, |

Splashed a-bout her dim-
pled feet!

Hark! she hears a-cross
the hill |

Some one call-ing ‘““Whip-
poor-will !” |

And her stur-dy lit-tle

| KATY. shout

Sa-ty tossed the new-mown hay | Flings the ech-oes all a-bout:

All the pleas-ant sum-mer day;| ‘‘ No, it isn’t — can’t you see ?

Roved the fra-grant mead-ow|’Tisn’t Will —’tis on-ly me!”

[| o-ver, ¢ Truth, though sad, must not

ath-er-ing tufts of sweet red be hid —

clo-ver,—. All these things our Ka-ty did.











































































DREN HAVE BEEN TO THE CIR-CUS.

THESE CHIL-















SLATE PICT-URE FOR BA-BY TO DRAW.
















ie yan.



gee iy

TWO ILL-BEHAVED YOUNG FEL-LOwWS,



Slate Pict-ure for Ba-by to Draw.












A MOUSE STO-RY.

Lit-tle Pe-ter-kin was a-fraid|say is this: Zow do you sul’
of mice. He _ often com-| pose we sleep day-times with
plained that he could-n’t sleep '
be-cause they nib-bled so, and
and squeaked and scam-pered
a-bout.

One night lit-tle Pe-ter-kin
heard a tiny sound close to
his ear. He o-pened his eyes.
He saw a soft, grey creat-ure,
a-bout three inch-es high, stand-
ing on the bed.

‘Now see here,” it said, ‘““/| boy tramp-ing a-bout an
am a mouse! I look as if I|shout-ing at the top of h
could hurt a boy, don’t I?) I|lungs! If we don’t com-plai
have my own o-pin-ion of a|I should ad-vise you not to!
boy’s cour-age at night. But} But little Pe-ter-kin’s mai
no mat-ter — what I wish to! ma thinks this isa dream.



LITTLE PE-TER-KIN’S VIS-IT-OR.











A GOOD REA-SON FOR WIN-TER.

His mittens are red, | Why a dear lit. tle boy
And so is his sled — Should ex-pect to en-joy
Two very good rea-sons you| The ver-y first fall of th
know, - snow. -»
STj3S YS CHOICE,

Two such nice dogs—one| flew by, the oth-er looked up
white and clean, the oth-er| in her eyes so lov-ing-ly.
brown and silky; two such} And Su-sy could have the
ear dogs — one barked beau-| one she liked best!
fully if e-ven'a but-ter-fly | “ Which shall I take?” said































eS a

We Zz



ees a Dee



sy, with danc- ing eyes. _[ Paw: of the lit-tle dog-gy with
i a you Nae elics -sen, | the lov-ing eyes.
| Jame Then James car-ried a-way
4 6s Hogi Su-sy didn’t|the oth-er dog before Su-sy

LE Ww it, she was hold-ing the| had time to change her mind.
A FAIR-Y RING,

Ten little girls + were go-ing
to have a fair. Lit-tle Top-sy
Keech had no wool-en_stock-
ings to wear to school in cold
weath-er. Her ten lit-tle play-
mates re-solved to hold a fair,

just like big folks, and buy

‘Top- -sy some warm. stock-
ings.

Eight 7 the aie girls
were big enough to cro-chet

toilette sets, and paint cards,

and make watch-ca-ses, and
man-y oth-er pret-ty things
folks buy at fairs; but two of
them were too small to do any-



|and birds; and before they

at the fair, e-nough, all a-



# am lit-tle Sum-mer,
And I am on my way
To a dis-tant coun-try
To seek a pleas-ant day;
But if I do not find it
Be sure | shall not stay.








chine at all on a eet

But at last they thought
some-thing they could qd
They could cut out things]
dolls and mon-keys and cq

through they cut out a lo
string of dolls, all “take
hold of hands.”

It was so ver-y pret-ty
a lady called it “a F
Ring,” and it brought the h
est prize of any-thing

by it-self, to buy little To
a pair of mit-tens.
Its

a

HF He
{}

1
ty)
AYE
i

o.
Mati

i
th
itt
Hi
iH







SAE
Hee
Beas opt

3



IN THE GOLDEN JULY.

THE STORY OF A MITTEN.

WO little red
mittens lay on
the hall table.

These little red
mittens had been
knit for a small
Primary school-
boy. .

The name_ of
this small school-
boy was Lionel.

Lionel’s mam-



ma gave the mit-

LIONEL.

tens to him one
cold stormy Monday morning.
“Please do not lose them, Lio-

3

el,” mamma said. ‘
Lionel blushed when his mamma
said that.

He knew that he had lost his
striped mittens winter before last.

He knew that he had lost his
speckled mittens last winter.

He made up his mind that he
would not lose the new red ones.

So when he came home from
school at night he laid the mittens
together on the hall table.

Tuesday morning he found them
on the hall table.

Wednesday morning he found
them on the hall table.

Thursday morning he found them
on the hall table.

But Friday morning there was
only one mitten on the hall table.

Friday morning was a freezing

_cold morning.
ReS PRIMATES PEPE er ee ee ee en ee ene

3
f

4

F



Lionel tried to think where he

could have dropped the other mitten.

But he could not remember any-
thing about it.

He went: from room to room as
fast as he could.

He had his fur cap on, and his
ulster. His lunch basket was on his
arm. He was all ready to go.

But he could not find the other
mittens

His mamma helped him look, but
it was not to be found.

So, at last, he had to go with one
hand in his pocket to keep it warm.

This hand became very cold. |

It did not get warm in time to
write his lesson on the slate.

He lost his credits. He was kept
after school.

That made him late to dinner.

His uncle from Boston had taken
dinner with the family.

He wished to see Lionel, but could
not wait. .

After dinner Lionel looked again
for his mitten.

But he had to go to school again
without it.

The afternoon writing-lesson was
this :

fishing had gone by, he found h












“Al place for everything, and every
thing in its place.”

Lionel thought the teacher mus
have heard about his mitten.

That night Lionel’s mamma sai
he must take his own money an
buy another pair of mittens. .

_ Lionel had saved his pennies t
buy a new fish-line.

He had to spend every cent to buy
the new mittens.

He lost those new mittens severa
times during the winter, but foun
them again.

Often that winter he was ver
sorry he had no fish-line.

There was a bridge near his hous
where the men and boys came to fis
through holes in the ice.

Lionel often stood on the bridg
and watched them, and wished h
could fish, too.

He had had a long strong. fist
line. But he had lost it somewher

One day, when the good time fo

lost fish-line.
It was in an old tin can where h
kept his bait.
At the bottom of the can: he sa
something more,
He drew it out. It was his lost
mitten. .
It was spotted and spoiled.

Then Lionel remembered he was
| out on the bridge that day he lost
| his mitten.

“T wish I could put things in their





places,” he said to his mamma.

“T think I must help you,” said
his mamma.

After that, when Lionel forgot to
put a thing in its place, he found a
white paper pinned somewhere on
his clothing.

His mamma did this to help him
‘remember.

One
jhall to put on his ulster.

morning he went into the



He found nine papers pinned to

AiG UG Sts Bi Sir ase tes

is coat.

1 each paper, in large letters:

“ REMEMBER THE MITTEN!”
“ REMEMBER THE FISH-LINE |”

oom.

He saw a heap of things on the
oor,

He saw a boy’s jacket, a. cap, two
alls, a bag of marbles, a book, a

These two sentences were written .

Lionel ran back into the sitting-

broken slate, a pair of slippers, and a
knife.

He had left all these things lying
about the night before.

His mamma was not in the room.

But Lionel’s face felt very red and

hot while he put these things away.



“WHAT HAVE I FORGOTTEN Now?”

Lionel is nearly cured now of his
fault.
But once in a while he stil] finds a
white paper pinned to his sleeve.
—K. T. W.
THE TRUE STORY OF JENNIE WREN.

BY LITTLE FLOY.

Tue wren is a lit-tle bird.
They call her Yex-nze Wren,
I sup-pose, be-cause she is a
cheer-ful, will-ing bird. If
she was cross and i-dle, per-
_ haps they would call her Ma-
ri-a Wren, or someoth-er name
that has no ‘“ jump-up-and-
laugh” in it. |

Jen-nie Wren dress-es in
brown, and hops a-bout the
ground, all so mod-est, and
builds her nest, and works for
her chil-dren, as if she had
nev-er done a-ny-thing won-
der-ful. But once, near-ly three
hun-dred years a-go, when two
-ar-mies were fight-ing, it was
she who stepped in and de-cid-
ed which was to win the bat-tle.

It was a hot day. King
Will-iam’s ar-my had all gone
to sleep af-ter din-ner. While
they were a-sleep, the sol-diers














of King James came soft-ly
march-ing up the hill. No
bod-y heard them, no-bod-y savy}
them. Lit-tle Jen-nie Wren
was there, and spied som¢
crumbs ona drum-head. S¢
she flew up. Her bill wen)
“tap! tap! peck! peck!” V
woke the drum-mer-boy. H¢
saw the en-e-my, and h¢
jumped for his drum-sticks
ahur-ry. He beat his dru
“Tarra! tar-ra!. Tar-ra,'t
ra-ta!ta-ta! All the men wo
up, got their guns and swor
and ran out, and drove the e
e-my back.

By-and-by, when you da
Eng-lish his-to-ry at scho
please re-mem-ber that t
‘Bat-tle of the Boyne” mig
have been de-cid-ed the oth
way, if it had: not been fo
dear lit-tle bird, Jen-nie Wr


































































a USUI
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NONE cenit






SIX SUR-

BY

PROBS.

2 Oe Ps

Ver-y ear-ly on Thanks-giv-
ing morn-ing Mam-ma Puss
o-pened her eyes, stretched,
and purred. But she purred
ver-y soft-ly, so as not to wake
her six ba-bies. She lift-ed
her head and peeped at their
eyes — yes, they were shut,
ev-er-y one. Mam-ma Puss
was glad, for she had planned
to have a love-ly sur-prise for | ‘
them that morn-ing when they
should wake. | te.

Days a-go, be-fore ev-er her
ba-bies had o-pened their eyes,
she had found a mouse-nest
with six wee pink mouse-ba-
bies in it—just one a-piece
for her six, she thought. So
she had watched the teeth of
her ti-ny cats, and on-ly the
day be-fore had deci-ded that
they were big enough to eat
mice for their Thanks-giv-ing
din-ner.

She cau-ti-ous-ly crept cut





of bed and a-long to the door.
But the mo-ment her tail had
slipped ov-er the door-sill —
would you be-lieve it ?— those
six kit-tens laughed, jumped
out of bed, and started soft-ly
off af-ter her!

You see, Mam-ma Puss had
talked in her sleep, and her
six ba-bies knew all a-bout the

“six sur-pris-es.’

They thought it would be
jolly to follow af-ter, and
pounce up-on Mam-ma Puss
just as she got to the mouse-
nest.

At the door ee all halt-ed.
There, up the yard, was Mam-
ma Puss, step-ping so-ber-ly.
a-long, with nev-er a glance to.
right or left.

The twelve blue eyes wile
led with fun. And, O, how
they smiled and nudged each
oth-er as, with man-y a sly
prank, they crept soft-ly af-ter






































aes samara st pore























































































































_ And just as she got to the|bod-ies came plump down on
mouse-house — O, how it start-| her back.

pled her!—there was a quick| 7Zkey were her “six sur-pris-
jtush be-hind her, six sharptes!”
THE SAME DAY.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.

(Razin wn the morn-ing.)

Jes-ste sat by the win-dow;
the sky was dark, the rain was
fall-ing fast.

“It’s a naw-ful day!” she
said, with a pout. ‘‘ The poor
flow-ers are ‘most bathed to
death, and they hang their
heads as low as a-ny-thing, and
one’s broke, I do be-lieve — the
pret-ty lil-y what wears the
sweet, white dress: and the
bees, and the but-ter-flies, and
the fun-ny hop-toads, have all
hid-den a-way, and the bird-ies
have gone home in 4a ter-ble
hur-ry, to shut their win-dows,
I s’pose, so’s the rain can’t come
in; and the win-dow is ery-ing,
I see the tears run-ning down
it's glass face— oh, my! how
miz-za-ble!

I can’t stand it! Imust cry,
too.

This is a ded-ful cry-ey |

world.









(Sux i the A f-ter-noon. )

Jes-siz ran to the front door. |

“The rain-bow! the rain- |
bow!” she cried, clap-ping her |
lit-tle hands, “a great, big, boo- |
ful one, with both feet on the |
ground, '

‘‘ And there’s for-ty six birds
in the peach-tree, and the lil-y
is-n't bro-ken af-ter all, and her
white dress is nice-ly washed
and starched, and the flow-ers
have such bright, clean fa-ces,
just like mine, and a fat bee
is tell-ing the hon-ey-suck-le
some-thing, and I see two hun-
dred hop- -toads, a-hop-ping and
laugh-ing.

“T b'lieve I must laugh, too,

“This is a ver-y fun-ny
world !”






























a Feil ‘i, ~
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STAN
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WINK-ET’S VAL-EN-TINE.,

“ Wuere’s mine?” asked Iit-
tle Wink-et Price.

Kate and Dick. had sua
a-loud the names on a pile of
love-ly pink and gilt val-en-
tines; and none of the “ pit-
ty” pic-tures were fcr Wink-et.

‘Where's mine?” she said.

“O,” said Dick, ‘ Wink-
ets don’t have val-en-tines.” —

“They wait un-til they are
big-ger,’ said Kate. .

“But it 1s to-mo’-wo, and
me tan't be big-ger in dess one
night.”

But Dick and Kate ran
down stairs, to send the coach-
man off to the post-of-fice with
ev-er-y one of the love-ly let-
ters.

Wink-et came, all sad, and
stood by mam-ma.
to grow in one night,” said
mam-ma. :

“Por me?

” said Wink-et.

Jess lapis.
‘‘ T’ve known sweet pic-tures














“We will see," said mam.
jma. “ Don’t cry.”
— They called their ba-by
“Wink-et” be-cause she was so
nice a-bout ery-ing. In ma-ny
things she was not nice;
but when she was a-bout to
cry, she would wink ver-y hara
and fast, and keep the tears
back, and sob to hereself, all
so brave. |

She stood wink-ing now,
un-til, soon, mam-ma car-ried
her up stairs fast a-sleep.

Next morn-ing, when Wink:
et had tied on one slip per, she
spied a let-ter on the stand, al
blue and sil-ver. And the im
side was so odd —a crim-sot
heart, with one part of it stuck
full of lit-tle, bright, black
There were an-gels and
roses a-round the edge, and at
the bot-tom what Wink-el
called ‘‘ some po-et-ty.”

She laughed and dance
tA! Bk

LF H Nay Hh ig yy
LEY Wy
TZ CFL PEED h
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ear 4

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RANG al i i
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pe

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mul
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un-til mam-ma came in.

did grow, mam-ma! Now

yead me the po-et-ty.”
Mam-ma “ yead-ed ” it

“ Mam-ma’s heart be-longs to Wink-et,
And, though Wink-et may not think it,
When Wink-et’s naugh-ty, she cas in
Poor mam-ma’s heart a cruel pin.”

AN AF. TER CHRIST-MAS TALE.

BY FAN- NY PAR-KER,

Our of doors, “up-on
ice, "ee
Grand-pa’s lit-tle men make

mer-ry ;

Christ-mas skates and sleds go

nice, —
But where is lit-tle Pe- ter
Per-ry?

On the bed, with-in the house,.

May-be found poor Pe-ter

Per-ry. .
All a-bout he does “‘ ca-touse,”
Pale and dull his cheeks of
cher-ry.

“Tt!

‘““Me must-n’t stick pins in



~ tshe said all to her-self.

the What's the mat-ter with the










Wink-et looked up at mq
ma ver-y hard, and drew
mouth into a fun-ny smile.
all the time she was go
down stairs she winked

mam-ma’s heart a-ny mo

Shall I tell,
Per-ry?
O, the tale is ver-y sad, .

Sad and shame-ful,

ver-y !

lit-tle Pe

ve

He did cram on Christ-

Day,

Stole a glass of Grand-
sher-ry ; |
Coaxed Tom's or-an-ges

way, —

And now he aches, poor
ter Per-ry.





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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Gertyg BeTTER












Wuart a long day! How) I'll bet I'll toss this blank-et
| fraid ev-er-y bod-y is, just be-] and pil-low sky-high be-fore
fcause a fel-low has had the|to-mor-row night! See if I
tooth-ache a lit-tle! ~ tdon't.
BOUND FOR BOS-TON IN A BAS-KET.

BY E. F.
Bounp for Bos-ton in a bas-ket,
Room for four, and for no more;
Ba-by dear, you must-n't. ask it;
"Tis a squeeze to take us four.

Frank, the back seat ’s for the la-dy ;_

I should think it was a squeeze!
Thought this seat would be some sha-dy—
Dear me, John, what aw-/u/ knees!

What's the mat-ter ? can’t dis-cov-er_
Why no-bod-y can sit still !
You fat John, you'll have us o-ver,

Go-ing down this dread-ful hill!

There! your foot is through the bas-ket,
Crowd-ing so a-gainst that side!

Tell you, sir, you need-n’t ask it,
Not a-gain with me to ride.

Next time not a sin-gle bod-y —
‘Shall go ride with sis-ter Poll, —
On-ly pa-tient ba-by Rod-dy,
And Boos Jen-ny with her doll.




























































































Bounp For Boston in A BASKET.


idle.

LIZ-ZY AND

BY FAN-NY PAR-KER.

Lit-tie Liz-zy May did not
like her books, and she was
nine years old. Some lit-tle
folks on-ly sev-en could read
bet-ter than she could.

But she was not dull. She
saw all that took place, with
her droll, large blue eyes. She
heard all that was said, with
her sharp ears. Nor was she
At school she was bus-y
with her slate. Not print-ing
let-ters or do-ing sums. She
was draw-ing pict-ures. Such
fun-ny pict-ures, too!
ny, that when Miss Simp-son,
- the teach-er, did not see, the
slate would pass from seat to
seat for the boys and girls to
look at.

' There Miss Simp-s son would
be on the slate, with a braid
on her head so big it had
tipped her o-ver back. There
Miss Simp-son would be with

her over-skirt puffed so be-

hind it had tipped her o-ver
forward. “There would

So fun- |.



al-so

HER SLATE.
















be some-thing ver-y wrong a
strange a- -bout Miss Sin
son’s nose. :

One day the real Miss Sing
son came down the aisle af
saw these oth-er Miss Sing
sons on the slate. Then
knew why the boys and gif
laughed so much. She had§
smile be-hind herbook. Tht
she stood Miss Liz-zy on t&
floor, and bade her hold §
the slate ten min-utes for if
school to see. ,

While she stood there, thal
was a knock at the door. §—

Lo! it was Liz-zy’s pa‘
and three oth-er men. The
were the School-Board. :
a-shamed Liz-zy’s pa-pa felt
see how his lit-tle girl spel
her time! His face grew reg
and he could not make any tf
marks to the schol-ars. Hof
could he, when his own lit-§f
girl was so bad? '

Now Liz- zy" s slate is kept
home. |

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GRAND-MA’S POCK-ET.

A LET-TER FROM BIRD-IE TO BA-BY, .



‘BY M. E.



Dear lit-tle cun-nin’ cous-in,
Bird-ie’s got a lock-et.

Where you think her found it?
In my gran-ma’s pock-et.

Has your gran-ma’s pock-et -
Bunch o’ keys and mon-ey ?
Spool o’ thread and thim-ble?
Can-dy made o’ hon-ey ?>—

-Lit-tle dolls and chest-nuts ?-

- Let-ters wrote all o-ver? ~

Hank-ch’f with co-logne on
Smell-in’ sweet as clo-ver ?—=

Ver-y nice wee crack-ers ?
Gold chain and a lock-et ?
I's glad I got a gran-ma!
I’s glad her got a pock-et !
S
\
Mi
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WASH-ING DAY.

BY KIT-TY CLO-VER.

Pump, pump, and pump!
Little So-phie and Sue
On this cold Mon-day morn

Have a wash-ing to do.

Splash, splash, and splash
All the way to the door! .

So-phie has sev-en dolls,
And Sursie, she has four.

Rub, rub and rub!
Pink, and blue, red, and
: green,—- a
There’s no such styl-ish dolls
An-y-where to be seen.



Wring, wring and wring!
Hang ’em out on the line—
Moth-ers know they must work —
Daught-ers must be kept fine!


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STRANGE FRIENDS.


THE MIN-NIE CAT.

WMun-nie is a dear lit-tle girl,

and it is a pit-y that her cat
should have such a bad rep-u-
ta-tion, and still be known
ev-er-y-where as ‘“ The Min-
nie. Cat.”
_ The cat and her lit-tle mis-
tress were ba-bies at the same
time, and were brought up in
the-same cra-dle. Girl-ie and
kit-ty were great friends; and
as mam-ma had a cat too, and
as there were of-ten ma-ny
oth-er cats on the place, this
one came to be known as
known and
fear-ed by that name.

For the Min-nie Cat is such
a swoop! such a prowl-er!

All day she is so nice, sit-
ting in the win-dow, and wash-
ing her-self, and not of-fer-ing
to harm e-ven a fly. Who
would think mis-chief and
mur-der of.so plac-id a crea-
ture?

But the chick~ens have fold





that out at the barn she of-tenf
in-sists up-on play-ing “I spy"
with them, and that she makes
it a cru-el and mur-der-ousf
game. The love-ly young Sil-§
ver-wings fell a vic-tim to that
a-muse-ment. '

And ask the mice! Ver-yi
ear-ly in her life she brought
“the Mouse-king from the cel-
lar,’ and laid him life-less at
the feet of her mis-tress. One
by one she al-so brought the
roy-al prin-ces, the lit-tle grayf
‘“mouse-sons, with their pink§
eyes and soft, pink feet. Al
few poor sub-jects lurk in theff
fast-ness-es of the dis-tant§
barn; but the roy-al fam-i-ly
it-self is now ex-tinct. Their
al-lies, also, the moles and the
go-phers, have been rout-edJ
cap-tur-ed, tor-tur- ed, and eat
en a-live. :

And now the rab-bits are mf
dan-ger of thesamefate. Sev
er- val great battles have been











































































































































































fought in the sum-mer moon-
light. Ma-ny a_no- -ble Bun-
nie has been laid in state un-
~ der the so-fa.

But the Min-nie Cat is most

ter-ri-ble up-on a win-ter’s

night. Then she vis-its the
wood-shed of ev-e-ry cat for
miles, and drinks the milk
from all the cat-sau- cers
When the chil-dren let the kit-
ties out in the morn-ing, and
find the milk gone, they say,
“Tt is that Min-nie-cat.’

One of the Min-nie Cat's

ROSA’S

ee



lives at the next
house, and the heart-less moth-
er robs his sau-cer too. At
that house she can, in sum-
mer, look in-to the cel-lar
through the slats of the win-
dow, and see the milk-rack,
and the gol-den cream in the
pans. Some-times she tears

.{the slats off with her strong

paws, and gets in. Next
morn-ing the la-dies see the
bro-ken lat-tice and the bare
spots in the cream, and they
say, “ Itis that Min-nie Cat!”

CARES.

Aut day I’ve sewed such ded-ful tears

My old-est dirl made in her Sun-day clothes;
I have so ma-ny mis’ble cares

And wor-ries for these dirls, no-bod-y knows.

They nev-er fink their mam-ma’s tired —
I see a win-kle round my nose to- day.
I wish I’d got their sew-ing hired,
Then fas I’d have some time my-seff to play!
/DAI-SY AND THE PUSS-BA-BY.

Your gown it is brown, your
cap’s trimmed with green.
(But those lit-tle ears will
nev-er stay put,
Will zev-er stay put!)



’ | O lulla-by, Pus-sy,—so cun-
| ning and sweet!
_ (But don’t be too proud of
that el-e-gant trail ) .
Your floun-ces and ruf-fles are
down to your feet.
(But what saf/ 1 do with
~ that great yel-low tail,
That great yel-low tail!)

O lul-la-by, Pus-sy! The“ dol-
lies” are old,
And nev-er a word can they
say to me now!
But you, pre-cious pet, will talk



0 tuL-La-sy, Pus-sy, dressed when youre told.
f 6 like a queen, (I’ve on-ly to squeeze, and
| (Mam-ma must draw the © you'll an-swer. “‘ me-ow,”

sleeve o-ver your foot ) You'll an-swer ‘“‘me-ow!’)


Linscuen’s Lerizr,

“WHERE, tru-ant, hast thou
been ?> |

Naugh-ty! to go from where

T set her!” ,
‘“Mam-ma, I can’t come in,
For I must fin-ish up my
let-ter —

“A big one, mam-ma dear!”
“A letter, heart’s-love, to
whom? Might it
Be whis-pered in my ear ?”
‘‘ Mam-ma, to our old cat I
write it.” |





‘What say-est thou to the cat?
What canst thou, Lieb-chen,

have to tell her ?” |

“T write, ‘ Bring me now, Cat,

Old Cat, the Mouse-king§

from the cel-lar.

«Mind, Cat! the white Mouse-§

king ! &§

His gold crown'on his head,§
please set it; i

His eld-est prince, too, bring—]
~The droll Mouse-son—now

| don’t for-zet it!” .
































































































On, dear, fash-ion-al clothes; work to keep her child-‘ens
so mis-ble to i-ron! How) half-way de-cent! My fam-ly
poor wom-an does have to]! wash is su-per-ma-zin '!
“CRY-BA-

Loox at him! We all know
him — don’t we?

He is the boy that gets hurt
ev-er-y time he falls down. He
is the boy that sus-pects Tom,
or Jim-mie, has stol-en his
pen-cil when-ev-er he los-es
it; that al-ways ac-cus-es Rob-
bie, or Ned, of cheat-ing at
mar-bles. He is that boy that
al-ways comes in cry-ing when
snow-ball and. slid-ing time
comes.

boys want a-long when there is
go-ing to be some rare, good
~ fun.

I do not like to say it, but I
am a-fraid that each school-
house in the land has one a
“ Joe.”

This’ little talk is for these

‘ Joes.”

In short, he is that
lit-tle fel-low that none of the/ut

|care, tf you laugh while yo



BY. JOH.”










For, my poor ‘ Joes,”

sor-ry for you! I know yol
nev-er have a good time thaf
is half-an-hour long. I knoy
your lit-tle knees, and el-bow :
and cheeks, are soft and tenf
der, and feel the hurts theg
get. Shall I tell you wha
will tough-en them ? :

Laugh-ing will do it. :

When you fall, jump up
and laugh, and run. a-longf
7
e. If some oth-er boy rubff
your face with snow, get a-wa]

You won't mind it in a mi

the best you can, or else lauglff.
and rub his face. He wont

rub ! | |

That is the way to bring thi
good, warm blood up to thf
When the mer-if
blood gets there, it will cui

hurt spots.


“1 xnow A Boyv—I HoPE you DON’T.”
and tough-en them. No-tice,
now, and see wheth-er laugh-
ing boys feel a hurt long. |

A-bove all else, dowt. run
and tell! Your teach-er gets
tired of hear-ing it. E-ven
your moth-er oft-en wish-es
her lit-tle Joe was like oth-er
boys, and could make his own
way. /

Ev-er-y one of you knows
some big boy that you ad-
mire.

him when you grow up. Well,

no-tice him. fe nev-er cries.
Fle nev-er runs off, all doub-

led up and cry-ing, to tell
his moth-er when the ball hits



fel-lows. will
You mean to be like









him and makes his nose bleed,
or he gets his fin-ger bruised]
He doesn’t hold a_ gruded
a-gainst a boy that beats hi
at a game—not he! %j
thinks a fel-low that can beaf
him is a grand fel-low! |

If you should not grow ouf
of cry-ing, and: moan-ing, and
com-plain-ing, when you ge
to be a big boy, the lit-tlg
look uff
to you, and wish to be like

not ull

you. sh |
In-stead, they will,-per-haps

call you. more dis-a-gree-a-blg
names than ‘“ Cry-ba-by Joe]

e-ven.

|
Papa knows that there in the twilight dim

and the other with gray,

Two little flowers stay open for him ;

and the blue-bells close,

And papa will find but one little rose.

But the moments slip,

—



O little girlies at the close of day,

One with blue eyes,
t at the window of papa’s house.

‘WwW

T

Blue as the blue-bells, and gray as a mouse,

x :
70 SI
WHAT BOS-SY

SAID.

BY FANNY PARKER.

Moo! moo! moo! - /

Lit-tle boy, why don’t you
give me some wa-ter ?

Lit-tle Em-i-ly Ann, why
don't you bring mea. pail of
wa-ter? I am so dry. Iam
al-most choked. Moo! moo!
moo! -

In the sum-mer time I can
help my-self. I can find my
way to the bright, cool brook,
and drink all I like. But in
- win-ter I am shut in the barn-
yard, and | can not get a drop
of wa-ter un-less some one
brings ittome. Some-times |
am so thirs-ty I lick the snow
from the ground and from the
fence, and then I am thirs-ti-er
than ev-er, and my poor tongue
is full of fe-ver,—oh, moo!
moo! moo! snow is so had and
parch-y for cows. Moo! moo!

I am so wea-ry of see-ing
folks go to the pump and for-
get to bring me an-y. Moo!
moo! Do you think cows





would treat folks so, if it was

turned round ? |

Moo, moo! Why do cows
have soft, kind hearts, and
folks such hard ones? [ think
so much of lit-tle Em-1-ly Ann;
in the sum-mer I try to be at
the milk-ing-place, so she need
not wait and tire her lit-tle
lungs in call-ing for me; and if
[am not there, when I hear
her, I come run-ning as hard
as ev-er I can... But, moo!
moo! lit-tle Em-1- ly Ann dont
care. Nor Bob-by nei-ther.
Bob-by shuts my sta-ble door,
and I can’t get in to lie down
all day long, and the wind 1 is SO
cold!

Oh! I wish I could have
some wa-ter, and get in-to my
warm sta-ble. Oh, moo! moo!
that pump! that pump! the
bless-ed sound of that flow-ing
water dis-tracts me! :

I be-lieve I shall jump o-ver
the fence and help my-self.



















































































































































































































MADAME MOB-CAP.

BY MARY E, BRADLEY.
Tus is lit-tle Ros-a-belle—_
- No! I beg her par-don,
This is Mad-ame Mob-cap,
Walk-ing in her gar-den.

What a fine cap it is!

~ What a wide- bor-der! |

Spec-ta-cles and walk-ing-stick,
And ev-e-ry-thing in or-der.

Hop, toads, clear the way!
Bees, hush your hum-ming!
La-dy-birds and_ but-ter-flies,

Grand folks are com-ing !

She must have a. king-cup,
And a prince's feath-er,

With a crown-im-pe-ri-al,
Tied up to-geth-er. —
































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































1

i

|
Me

Mapvame Moscar,
BOTH



EAR! dear!”
“How it does cost to keep this cat !
My la-dy is too del-i-cate
To dine on com-mon mouse and rat,
But calls for milk, and mews for cheese, |
And helps her-self to this and that,—
Oh, dear, dear!” groansthe gro-cer-y man,
“T'll live with-out her if I can!” —

SIDES.

groans the gro-cer-y man,

Ho! ho!” laugh the mer-ry rats,
“Oh, what a nice old gro-cer-y store!”

Let’s at the great, soft, yel-low cheese, —

Let’s bring the rice out on the floor ;
Let s have a crack-er and a cake,

And do let’s have two, three eggs more.
Oh, ho! ho!” laugh the mer-ry rats,
‘“* Long live the men that don’t keep cats !””



IN. AN EGG.

Here’s a lit-tle sing-er, shut up
in an egg,

~Wish-es to come out, fum-ti-
tum, hear him beg!

Well, lit-tle fel-low, you'll have

: to peck your way,

All the oth-er bird-ies had to
so they say.



LTum-ti-tum, crack-a-crack, and
out pops his head, —
You must sing a song, be-fore

you can be fed ;
For how do we ee that
youre a bird at all?

,| Queer bird to wear.a coat and

col-lar—fallal! ~
child chose the vi-o-lets.
rose and the lil-y were ina sad

No



doubt ’tis a tight place, but
play long, play well,

And you will play your way,

sir, out of the shell:

And if you mu-sic make from

a board and stick,

| The king ‘Il send a sil-ver fid-

dle pret-ty quick.



THE RIVALRY OF THE FLOWEBS.

BY FANNY

PARKER,

ee,

One day, ma-ny ages a-go, a
sweet lit-tle girl stood be-fore
a flow-er wo-man’s_ bas-ket.
There was a rose, a lil-y, and
a bunch of vi-o-lets. The
flow-er wo-man-was cross, and
all the blos-soms hoped to be
bought and ta-kena-way. The
The



tem-per at be-ing left, and be-
gan to pick up-on each oth-er.

‘““Why do you blush ?” cried |-
the lily; “what. have you



been do-ing ?” “ Do-ing !” said
the rose; “if col-or is the test
of in-no-cence, why are you so
pale ? what do you fear ?”
That is the way the ri-val-ry
be-gan. Since then the two
beau-ti-ful la-dies have nev-er
been friends; and, al-though
they oft-en meet in bou-quets,
they nev-er speak. Some
praise the rose, and some hold
up the hil-y.
But every-bod-y loves the

ivi-o-let. Hap-py vi-o-let !
ganll Alig
iy taal

ie Uh
||
!

tie
i
i

f

{ i
Mil Hy
{
1











A dear lit-tle play-mate — But an-oth-er fel-low se-
ar-rives. cures him.



Slate Pict-ure for Ba-by to Draw. 7












SLATE PICT-URE FOR BA-BY TO DRAW.


OLD MRS.

“Mam-ma, would you. play

Cen-ten-ni-al? It rains,” said
Ro-sy.

“T don’t know;” said mam-






OS
AWS aes: SS ee SSS
WI Fee NS ss Se ee

ma. ‘The Cen-ten-ni-al is
most o-ver now.” :
~~ © But / have-n’t been,” said
Ro-sy. ‘
“Tn that case,” said mam-
ma, “I would go now, if- I
were you; that is, if you think
you can get back by din-ner-
time.”











WARREN.

cause she could ‘make be-
lieve” so nice-ly. |
Mam-ma went back to her

book, and Ro-sy went to the

‘Cen-ten-ni-al, at least as near

as she could get, which was
up-stairs a-mong some old

clothes. ©

When she came down to
din-ner she told her mam-ma

‘she was ‘“‘a hun-dred years

old.” She worea fun-ny white
sack, and a big bon-net, and a

: | | long, thick vail that dragged

on her legs. She. said’ her
name was “Old Mrs. War-
ren,’ and she had just come
from “‘ Fee-def-fy.”
Mam-ma treat-ed the old
la-dy with great re-spect. She
asked her.to lie down and rest.
But when she came _ back
with the pil-lows, Ro-sy was
there. Ro-sy said “Old Mrs.

War-ren had gone home to

Ro-sy liked mam-ma_ be-! Bunk-y Hill”

|
|

:
|

'

|












March, march a-way ! March, march a-way !
(om-pa-ny A, the Dim-ple-|Ive stol-en pa’s hat out of his
chin Girls, lap,
Cap-t-taine Jen, a wig on her| Ros-a-mond’s got grand-ma-
_ curls Mls - -ma’s cap, | |
| Dress pa-rade and a train-ing | And hat-ted with bas-ket gces
Pe nd ayro= May — aa
March, mareh a-way ! March, march a-way!

t






BY



A-rte lives a-cross the
street. He and I are friends
and he sometimes comes to
see me. I al-ways know when
he is knock-ing, for he be-gins
ver-y gen-tly, and goes on stead-
ily, loud-er and loud-er, un-til,

no vals ter how bus-y I am, I
call, “come in!”

We gen- ar ly play with the
bird. seed, ‘““cause you can im-
ag-Ine it’s most any-fing, Al-
fie says. We put down two

news-pa-pers on the floor, get a

spoon and atin box, and turn

out the bird-seed. Al-fie says:

EDITH KYRK-WOOD.











‘‘Let’s play it was coal. “Want
a-ny coal, ma-’am ?”

I say, “‘ Yes, Pee much is
a

Then he says, “ ar is two
centsa ton, and five dol-lars for
put-ting it in.” |

And I say, “ All right,” and
pre-tend to hand him the mon-
ey, and he shov-els the coal in-
to the tin box with the spoon.
We play the tin box was the
coal-bin. |

Af-ter awhile I say, ‘‘ Let's
play it was cake.” And we mix
it, and stir it, and pat it out
lat, and then cut it in-torounds
vith the tum-bler. Al-fiesays
fis ‘‘seed-cake. ”

| Abfe finds it very y hard to 46s

rows of three and says, “ Two
and an-od-er one! Two and
an-od-erone !” till he has count-
ed them all. His mam-ma
, thought he would
nev-er know if she
should put a-way six
of them, and so she
tried it, but when he
count-ed them a-gain
| | 3 he look-ed sur-prised.
ae — —— ee eN\ “ Dere ought to be
= ; i)) two more twos-and-
an-od-er one!”

Al-fie has one bad
fault—he runs a-way ;
and then he has to
stay in the house all
| the next day for a
pun-ish-ment.

One day he ran a-
way to see a cir-cus.
An-oth-er day he got.
on a street-car, when
| the con-duc-tor was-
nt look- ing, and
earn to count like oth-er peo- had a site time get-ting back,
ble, but he has a way of his|for he went farther than he
vn. This is how he counts|meant to, and hurt his leg a

s blocks: he puts them in| lit-tle, be-sides, when he jump-








































































ed off. And one day he had

an ad-ven-ture. It hap-pened
in this way :

When he went out in the af-
ter-noon to. play on the side
walk, his mam-ma told him not
to go too far a-way; in fact
not to turn the corn-er. Even-
ing came and Al-fie did not ap-
pear. His mam-ma looked up
the street and down the street,
but he was no-where to be seen.
How-ev-er, just as she was be-
gin-ning to feel anx-ious, he
came run-ning in, breath-less
and 1m-pa-tient. |

‘“Mam-ma, mam-ma! |
didn’t run a-way distime! Just
wait till I tell you! A hittle
durl met meand she said: ‘Lit-
tle boy, 'm aw-fu/ a-fraid of
dis dog dats fol-low-ing me,

and I wish you'd walk home

wit me. ‘AIl right,’ I told
her, ‘I will, and I did. And

den shesaid: ‘ Dis isa pie I’m

car-ry-ing, and I fink de d
smells it. !

fa-way ?”













What’s your nan
lit-tle boy?’ I said, ‘ Wha
yours?’ Shesays, ‘my nam
Bes-sie, and I said, ‘ mine’s 4
fie.” <‘ Well,’ she said, ‘ Al
I beheve I'm asgush-ing t
pie!’ Den we dot to her hou}
and de dog went to do in|
ter her, and I called out:
ain't a-fraid of him!- dod
and I’ll keep him off!’ and g
went in and I comed home.”

Al-fie’s mam-ma looked ve
seri-ous. ‘And how did 4
keep off the dog, Al-fie ?” s
asked. |

“T just said, ‘do way, sif
and he run-ned like a-ny-fil}
Must I stay in to-mor-rof
mam-ma? was dat run-ni



His mam-ma said it was cf
tain-ly run-ning a-way, but sf
would for-give him if he wow
try not to do so any more.














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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Et
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Rar-ly Christ-mas morn-ing



as

as grand-m

just

oC
>

in

Do on Christ

Smil



mas Day.

d

| Sits knit-ting in the sun;












WHAT THE COUN-TRY GIRLS SAW,

Three pairs of eyes o-pened | her a ride this cold win-tel
wide — Bes-sie's black ones, | morn-ing. | |
little Bon-ni-bel’s gray ones,| What did they see to maké
and Dol-li-kin’s blue ones; and | them so sad ?

They saw a lit-tle girl rut
ning a-long in the snow with
out any shoes or stock-ings
and her dress was all rags. |
They went straight home
and asked aunt-ie to hur-ry o 1
and find her. )
- But aunt-te said the cit-y wa
full of little beg-gars, and she
should not know where to loo :
Bes-sie cried then. She sail



TAK-ING DOI-LL-KINS TO RIDE. e A naugh-ty, naugh-ty, stil
the gray ones looked, oh, so| gy, cruel place!” said littl
sor-ry! Bon-ni-bel. “‘In the count-#



the cit-y was a naugh-ty placd

Bes-sie and lit-tle Bon-ni-bel | we don’t have bare-foot girls.
were country girls, vis-it-ing | ‘No, in-deed, not in win-t¢
their auntie in New York | time!” said Bes-sie, “and tif
cit-y. They had brought Dol- | city ought to be a-shamed!”
li-kins; and they were giv-ing| Yes, it ought! 7


THEY DIDN'T MEAN

TO.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.

Dear, wee, blue-eyed, dim-

pled- chinned Pat- -ty—mam-ma
calls her “‘lit-tle pie,” for that
is what Pat-ty real-ly means —
-came home the oth-er day with
the fun-ni-est ba-by frown on
her ba-by brow.
_ She had been tak-ing a short
walk a-cross the field, from the
big oak where the blue-birds
live, to the. ma-ple where the
spar-rows have their nests. —

“Why, what is the mat-
ter?” said mam-ma, when she
saw the frown. ‘‘ Sweet lit-tle
pies should not have wrin-kles.”

“They all tell sto-ries —

‘ty one, said Pat-ty.

‘They do?” said mam-

3, ver-y much as-ton-ished.
“Oh! how sor-ry lam. Give
me a kiss, and tell me all
a-bout it.”

“Well,” said Pat- -ty, af-ter
she had giv-en the kiss, ‘ I
took a walk, and a dog met me
—a good look-ing dog — Miss

_ Bright’s dog — but, oh! a ded- ‘

ful sto-ry tel-ler. J asked him,
‘What's his name?’ and he said,
‘Bow-wow. Tree-four times
I asked him, and_ tree-four
times he said, ‘Bow-wow, when
I just 4zow his name’s Chriss-
fur Clum-bus Bright.

“Then a bird sat on a fence,
and singed, and singed; and I
said, ‘/’m Pat- “LG who are you?’

“He did-n’t look lke a
li-ar-bird, not the least-est bit ;
but he was. He said, ‘ Sweet,
sweet, sweet, and that’s to say
a-bout can-dy and su-gar and
me. *Tisn't any name at all.

“Then I spoke to a cow. I[
didn’t speak near. I hol-lered
at her, ‘What's your name?’
‘Moo-o0-00, she said, when
she knowed all the time it was
Dai-sy. So°I made a frown
and comed home.”

“But, Pat-ty,” said mam-ma,
“ they did-n’t mean to tell sto-
ries.

“ But they da,” said Pat-ty,

‘and I want a piece of cake.”
THE PRETTY FIRE.

BY ROSETTA B. HASTINGS.

Bricut fire, pret-ty fire, Nice fire, pleas-ant fire,
W on-der what you are? Warm the ba-by’s nose;
Draw the ba-by nigh-er, Put the foot-ies closer,

In his lit-tle chair. ~- . Warm the Iit-tle toes.

















































































SRR AAR



See the shin-ing spar-kles, Ba-by wants to catch you, |
How they snap and fly! Pret-ty, pret-ty fire.
Guess they're in a hur-ry ©

To twin-kle in the sky. Ba-by wants to catch you,

| But he'll have to learn
Danc-ing yel-low bla-zes, That the pret-ty fire
Jump-ing high and high-er; = Will burn-y, burn-y, burn.
THE SPOOL FAM-I-LY.

BY E-LIZ-A-BETH COGGES-HALL.

Tuers were six of them,
Bon-ni-bel, An-a-bel, Flor-i-
bel, Cuth-bert, Al-bert and
Her-bert, all stand-ing on their
heads. .

. This came of ba-by’s kick-
ing Rol-y-Pol-y o-ver. —

- Rol-y- Pol-y was a round
bask-et, which Lil-y’s grand-
moth-er had hunt-ed up in the

gar-ret; and as it o-pened in the |

mid-dle, it made no dif-fer-ence
if you called the top the bot-
tom, or the bot-tom the top.
On-ly to the Spool Fam-rly ;
they knew when they turned

o-ver, wrong side up, that the

top was the bot-tom.
_ Lil-y had at least a doz-en
doll chil-dren tuck-ed a-way

ence, since all her af-fec-tion,
for months, had been giv-en to.
the empt-y spools mam-ma’s
work bask-ets sup-plied. She
had kept a board-ing school,
num-ber-ing sev-en-ty-five pu-
pils; she had had an “ Ex-po-
si-tion;” she had been the
“La-dy at the White House”
and ‘re-ceived,” but fi-nal-ly,
had set-tled to the sim-pler du-
ties of strict-ly do-mes-tic- life
with her three sons and daugh-
ters, whom she en-dowed with
the “most love-li-est nam-es
that ev-er was. . 7
_ “Cuth-bert,” her eld-est, had
once been im-pris-oned in a
straight -jack-et of crotch-et
silk, but now re-joiced in his.

jin bu-reau-draw-ers and be-jun-clothed lib-er-ty and the
‘nind trunks and in the rag|pos-ses-sion of a pair of tape |
bag, desert-ed alas! with the| arms of un-e-qual length, while

most heart-rend-ing in-dif-fer-|his inked feat-ures, of Lil-y’s
own ie ees bore a con- they'd ail call: under the so- fa,

be-hind the ta-ble legs, till

tent-ed smile at his rise in life)

and his su-pe-ri-or size.

“ Al-bert” and “ Her-bert ”
were twins and wore black
and gilt caps marked “30”
and ‘‘thir-ty” be-cause, as Lil-y
ex-plained to her fath-er, ‘‘ you
had to mark twins to tell which
was which-er. Su-san said so.

She was twins and wore a

~blue bow, and one day her
moth-er put on the red one

and spanked her be-cause she

was-n't blue.”

The three girls were “‘ Bon-
nibel,” “‘ An-a-bel”” and “ Flor-
i-bel, short and small; and the
six were, on the whole, a well
be-haved fam-i-ly. Now and
~ then, when “Cuth-bert” kept
on smiling at his height, in-
stead of look-ing at his les-son

book be-fore him on the win-.

dow sill, and it became nec-es-
sa-ry for Lil-y to shake him,
he would pre-tend to ac-ci-dent-
al-ly top-ple o-ver up-on his
broth-ers and sis-ters, and a-way

‘and se-ri-ous.

Lil-y lost her breath chas-ing
them and was o-bliged to shut

them up in Rol-y-Pol-y. un-til

they could be-have. _

But now for three weeks
Rol-y-Pol-y and the spools had
lain un-dis-turbed in the clos-
et. Poor lit-tle Lil-y was too
sick for play. She had drooped

and pined and re-fused to eat.

The doc-tor looked puz-zled.

Mam-ma and
Su-san held her by turns, their

hearts ach-ing as each day the

lit-tle form grew light-er and
the sweet face more eae and
pinched.

“Won't she take a-ny no-
tice?” said her fath-er, with a

groan, as he came in-to the

nur-ser-y one day, and tak-ing
her in. his arms tried to rouse

her with kiss-es.

“On-ly now and then,”
swered her moth-er sad-ly.
‘“ T won-der ” — said Su-san,

who had the ba-by in her arms

an~

‘
— “would she care for Rol-y-| with such a jo-vi-al coun-te-

Pol-y, sir!” and tak-ing the
bask-et out of the clos-et, she
put it on the floor, when ba-by
im-me-di-ate-ly kicked it o-ver.

“Look, lovey!” said Su-
san, ‘“‘see what ba-by’s done
to your Spool Fam-rly.”
— Liky lan-guid-ly o-pened. her
eyes and just the slight-est
flick-er of a smile trem-bled on
her lips. Ba-by gave an-oth-
er vig-o-rous kick, the bask-et

nance that Lil-y act-u-al-ly
laughed a-loud. Ba-by clapped
his hands and shout-ed at the
wel-come sound, while, strug-
gling to sit up, Lil-y laughed

once more con-vul-sive-ly and

lout from her mouth flew a

brass but-ton! — green and
cor-rod-ed, as it ought to have
been, with the mis-chief it had
been do-ing in se-cret.

You may be sure that fath-
er, moth-er, Su-san and doc-
tor all laughed then for real

joy, and light hearts took the

place of sad ones as they helped
nurse their dar-ling pas to

| health a-gain.











flew o-pen and out came the
Fam-i-ly in a heap, “ Cuth-





Now, when Lil-y’s own lite
tle blossoms go to vis-it their |

5|— : grand-moth-er, she shows them

Rol-y-Pol-y laid up in state in

|the best bed-room. bu-reau

draw-er, and ex-plains why
that par-tic-u-lar Fam-i-ly of
Spools are so high-ly hon»

bert ” feancing o-ver the oth- -ers | ored.
































- CHESTNUT LEAVES. CHESTNUT BURR.

ABOUT CHESTNUTS.

_ ALFIB’S eyes are blue.
eyes are very bright.
thing.

Alfie’s
_ He sees every-

He knows the birds’ names.

He can tell you about the trees.

He can tell you how chestnuts
grow. He has watched the chestnut
trees since spring to find out.

The chestnut trees did not bloom
varly.

Alfie why. He was
afraid they might not bloom at all.

wondered

“ And what would the squirrels do >

then ?”. asked he.
“ Eat acorns, perhaps
Alfie laughed.
One day, long after the pink apple-

» said I.

OPEN. BURR WITH NUTS.

DRY CHESTNUT BLOSSOMS.

blossoms had come and gone, Alfie
came running in from the lawn.

“ Papa, papa,” cried he, “ the chest-
nut trees are all covered with fringes.”
said 2

“Ves, long, green Cae
some are nearly white.
come and see!”

So I followed Alfie out to the
chestnut trees ;

“ Fringes?”
and
er papa,

and, sure enough, he
was right.

At the ends of the twigs, all over
the trees, like tufts of fringe, were.
the chestnut-blossoms Alfie had been
watching for.

I broke off a branch.

_I showed Alfie that each thread
of the fringe was a blossom-stem.
We picked off the bits of blossoms
‘Alfie
said they were like beads on a string.
Alfie did not like to smell the
edor of the blossoms.

that grew along the stem.

Alfie went to see the chestnut
trees every few days.
One day he came back with a

sober face. He had something in
his hand. -
-“ See, papa,” said he, “the fringes

have turned brown; and they are all
~ blowing away.”

«© We will go down and see about
this,” said I.

We found the fringes had not all
blown away. One thread was left at
the end of almost every twig.

_ The tiny dry blossoms still clung
to these stems.

But soon Alfie’s quick eyes saw
that the one or two nearest the branch

--weregone. In their place were queer,

~ green balls.

' These balls were about as big as
- peas.

They had sharp prickles all
over them. |
. Alfie’s eyes. twinkled like stars

when I told him these Werle. yOUng
chestnut burrs.

~ watched the burrs.

Alfie cut one of them open with
his jack-knife. He found little chest-
nuts growing inside.

Then his eyes twinkled again.

After that, all Alfie
They grew fast

summer,

—*“to make up for blossoming so
late,” Alfie said. .
Soon they were as large as mar-.
bles. By
autumn the prickly green burrs were

Then as big as walnuts.

as big as Alfie’s own brown fist.

At last, one October day, after a
sharp frost, Alfie knew that nutting-
time had come.

Here and there, over the trees, the
Alfie could
see the plump, brown nuts inside.

burrs were half open.

Some of the nuts, and some of the
burrs, too, had fallen to the ground.

Alfie tried to pound the burrs open
with a stone. He pricked his fingers.
Then he stamped them open with his
little boot-heel.

He picked up his pocket full of nuts.

Then he climbed up and broke off.
a twig with two chestnut burrs on it.
He brought it in to me.

The burrs were beginning to turn
One

was wide open; and in it were three

brown. One was shut tight.
“aiuts:

was as downy and soft as velvet, and

as yellow as Bere.
_“ And, O, papa, "said Alfie, “the lit-

tle blossoms that didn’ t grow to burrs

‘The inside of the prickly burr

have stayed on-all summer. They

look like little burrs themselves, don’t

they, papa?” - : |
And papa ae they digs

‘WHERE DID i GO?

Ir was a beautiful ball of Soap.
it was a lovely golden-brown color.

It was so clear that you could see
through it.

They bought it to wash. the es
with. :
When the baby saw it, he cried
- for it.

Any smart baby would have cried
for it, because it was so pretty.

He took it in his small, fat, dim-
pled hands.

What fun it was to see it skip

away, and roll across the floor and

into the corners !

Once baby grabbed it very tight,
and bit it with his one tooth. But
it could not have tasted good, for he
made a dreadful face.

Then they gave him a bath in his:

little bath- ‘tub.

They aed this ar ball of sotieke
brown soap. -

Baby splashed it in the water.

He laughed, because it always |
slipped through his hands. _ oy

But they forgot to take the beau-
tiful ball of soap out when they took .
baby out.

They did not think of it until after
baby had played “This little pig
went to market” with his toes, and
had been kissed all over, and dressed,
and sung to sleep.

Then they went to look for it.

But it was gone.

There was nothing in the bath-tub .
but some soap-suds, with the sun-

‘shine making little rainbows in the.
- bubbles.

Where did tt £0 2.








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