Front Cover
 Half Title
 The talking clock
 Title Page
 The talking clock
 Cock Robin
 The magic bucket
 The despised bulb
 Rudie and the fish
 The twin dollies'
 The twelfth-night cake
 The twelve little princesses
 Daddy's letter
 What the clock said
 Such luck!
 The little lone mermaid
 How the brooch was found
 Little lovers
 The little child-angel
 The dreadful secret of Will-o'...
 The hamper's story
 Where the fairies hide
 Dot and trot
 Fido and the swans
 Kitty's forgiveness
 A bone of contention
 Bluebeard's bluebells
 Mother Red-Cap
 The fairy with two voices
 "May we come, too?"
 The pic-nic
 The queen's ribbon
 Baby's cart
 Hilda's money-box
 Polite Polly
 The fighting flowers
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Title: The talking clock and the stories it told
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00081941/00001
 Material Information
Title: The talking clock and the stories it told
Physical Description: 1 v. (unpaged) : col. ill. ; 25 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Bennett, Harriett M ( Illustrator )
Hoyer, M. A ( Maria A ) ( Author )
Bennett, J. Emily ( Author )
Macquoid, Katharine S ( Katharine Sarah ), 1824-1917 ( Author )
Weatherly, Frederic Edward, 1848-1929 ( Author )
Mack, Robert Ellice ( Editor )
Nister, Ernest ( Publisher, Printer )
E.P. Dutton (Firm) ( Publisher )
Publisher: Ernest Nister
E.P. Dutton & Co.
Place of Publication: London
New York
Publication Date: [1892?]
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Animals -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Storytelling -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1892   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1892   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1892
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York
Germany -- Bavaria -- Nuremberg
Statement of Responsibility: illustrated by Harriett M. Bennett ; written by Mrs. Molesworth, Miss M.A. Hoyer, J. Emily Bennett, Mrs. Macquoid, Fred Weatherly and others ; edited and arranged by Robert Ellice Mack.
General Note: Date of publication from inscription.
General Note: Contains prose and verse.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00081941
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002225036
notis - ALG5308
oclc - 212375373

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Half Title
        Page 1
    The talking clock
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
    The talking clock
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
    Cock Robin
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
    The magic bucket
        Page 13
        Page 14
    The despised bulb
        Page 15
    Rudie and the fish
        Page 16
        Page 17
    The twin dollies'
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
    The twelfth-night cake
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
    The twelve little princesses
        Page 28
        Page 29
    Daddy's letter
        Page 30
        Page 31
    What the clock said
        Page 32
    Such luck!
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
    The little lone mermaid
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
    How the brooch was found
        Page 42
        Page 43
    Little lovers
        Page 44
        Page 45
    The little child-angel
        Page 46
        Page 47
    The dreadful secret of Will-o'-the-Wisp
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
    The hamper's story
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
    Where the fairies hide
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
    Dot and trot
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 64
    Fido and the swans
        Page 65
    Kitty's forgiveness
        Page 66
    A bone of contention
        Page 67
    Bluebeard's bluebells
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
    Mother Red-Cap
        Page 73
    The fairy with two voices
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
    "May we come, too?"
        Page 76
        Page 77
    The pic-nic
        Page 78
        Page 79
    The queen's ribbon
        Page 80
        Page 81
    Baby's cart
        Page 82
        Page 83
    Hilda's money-box
        Page 84
        Page 85
    Polite Polly
        Page 86
    The fighting flowers
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
    Back Matter
        Back Matter
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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!H ? old Cuckoo-Clock i the corner stands,
Pointing the hour with its moving hands,
And the little ones watch as they play around,
"Hark!" they cry as they hear the sound-
"Cuckoo Cuckoo !"
The whole day. through,
"Time is flying
For me and you!
Cuckoo 1"

And then when the clockman old, draws nigh
To wind up the clock as each week goes by,
The children come in the twilight dim,
"What does it tell you ?" they say.to him.

So he tells them tales, with a quaint soft smile,
As he winds up the little old clock the while,
And the children listen with wondering eyes,
To think that a clock can be so wise.
"Cuckoo Cuckoo I"
The whole day through,
"Time is flying
For me and you!
Cuckoo I"

For every night when the moon is pale,
The Cuckoo-Clock has many a tale,
Many a tale that it tells to him
As he sits and dreams in the moonlight dim.

And these are the tales the Cuckoo told
To the tender heart of the clockman old,
These are the tales-you can hear them too !
For they speak from the heart of the clock to you.
"Cuckoo Cuckoo "
All life through,
"Time is flying
For me and you I
Cuckoo !"
Frederic E. Weathely.

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,0.. s:._ IC-TAC, tic-tac," said the clock. Then the Cuckoo popped
out of his little house.
S'- "Cuck-oo Cuck-oo Cuck-oo !" he sang, and then
: popped in again and shut his little door.
"Is he alive ? whispered little Biddy. "Oh! Gus,
do you think he is alive ?"
"I don't know," said Gustavus, slowly, "p'raips he
Sis, or, p'raps he's a fairy !
"Oh! I wish he was," cried little Biddy, clapping
her hands, "then he could tell us lovely things. But
even if he isn't, clocks do seem to talk so, don't they, Gus, dear ?"
"But they all seem to say the same thing," replied Gus, ponderingly, "just
tic-tac, tic-tac."
"Oh no," said Biddy, oh, no. Why the clock in the dining-room says,
'tic, tic, tic,' and when it strikes it says, ting, ting, ting,' all in a hurry as fast
as fast, but the big old clock on the stairs, he says, 'tack-tick-tack,' and then
'dong, dong, dong.' Quite deep, like Father, when he pretends to be the wolf
going to eat Red Riding Hood. Oh! I am sure clocks talk-if you only knew
what they say!"
"Ah that is just it," said another voice, which made the children start and
look round. "But it is like learning a foreign tongue, Missey-one has to have
It was only old Mr. George, who came every week to wind up the clocks
and set them right, and the children liked him very much. It was he who had
brought the Cuckoo-clock a few days before, and now wanted to see if it had
kept proper time.
"Do they talk to you, Mr. George," said Biddy, earnestly, do they really
talk and tell you things ?"
Why, yes, Missey," said the old man, looking down at her with his bright

eyes twinkling, "they tell me plenty. Why think what long lives they have, and
what a lot they see. There's a clock I go to call upon every week at the
SManor House, that is a hundred and fifty years old by the date upon it, and it
has stood goodness knows how long in the old hall there. I think of all the
famous gentlemen and beautiful ladies it has seen, and all the wonderful things
it must have heard in its lifetime!"
"And does it tell you all about them? said Biddy, in an awed voice.
"Yes, yes," answered Mr. George, nodding his grey head, "but it is the clocks
and watches I have at home that tell me most. In the night when I lie awake
they go on talking and talking to each other, and telling each other such tales of all
they have seen and heard. I know all their voices, and say to myself, 'there's Grand-
father's clock telling the old watch what had happened when he was a gay young
striker;' and then the old kitchen clock in the corner begins to grumble that he
is getting stiff and old, and can't go on for ever marking off the time for folks who
pay so little heed to it."
"Oh! it is a fine thing to be a Clock-man, Missy," continued Mr. George, "I
wouldn't change places; no, not to be King of England."
"Did the Cuckoo tell you anything before you brought it to us ?" asked
"Has it got a story to tell ?" said Biddy.
Oh! ay that it has, and a fine one, too. It told me where it was made, in a
cottage in the great Black Forest in Germany, and all about little Gretchen, and
the trouble she got into about the lost
silver florin."
SOh tell us, tell us," cried Biddy.
"I can't now, Missy," said Mr. George. .
"I haven't time to-day, but another day I.
will, for I can generally find time to tell
stories to good little children."
"Every time you come," cried Gustavus, -.
"you will tell us a clock story, won't you?"
"When I can stay longer I will, but
I have so many places to go to, and I
know other boys and girls who have cuckoo-
clocks, and who want stories told them. "i4 .
But next week, perhaps your good Mamma
would let you come down to my little i' .
shop sometimes, and I could talk to you .. -
while I was working. But, good-bye, my
dears, now, good-bye."

S- w That afternoon
Biddy looked very
thoughtful, even in
the midst of a game
of battledore and
shuttlecock. All of a
sudden she dropped
her battledore.
"Oh Gus," she
exclaimed, "I have
S. thought of some-
"What is it ?"
"W _.idd. .W m said Gus.
"Come close,"
a g she answered. "I
"o Want to whisper.
Don't you 'member
what Mr. George said
about the clocks
talking best at nigt. Well, to-night we'll come down awful quiet, just tip-toe,
and perhaps the Cuckoo will really talk and tell us about Gretchen, itself."
It was a grand scheme, and the children talked about it in whispers all
the evening, and when they went to bed, as soon as nurse was gone they began
talking about it again, for the door stood open between their little rooms.
"We musn't go to sleep, Gus," said Biddy. "We must keep awake till every-
body has gone to bed and then we will creep out."
"No, I won't go to sleep," said Gus, but his voice sounded rather drowsy.
"Let u's say our multiplication table to make us keep awake," suggested Biddy.
"I'll begin, and you go on, and then I'll say the next. Twice one are two, now Gus."
"Twice two are-fo--ur," murmured Gus.
"Twice free are six," went on Biddy.
"Twice four are--
"Oh! Gus," cried Biddy, suddenly, with a great start, "We've been to sleep
ever so long. I'm sure it must be the middle of the night. Oh do come, quick."
Gus yawned, and felt very much inclined to stay where he was, but he was a
good-natured little fellow, so he got out of bed, and they opened the door and
peeped out on to the landing. There was a light burning in the hall, but perhaps

that was always so, for they felt quite sure that they had been asleep for hours, and
it was quite the middle of the night.

So downstairs they crept, as quiet as two little white mice, till all of a sudden
they were startled by something bumping up against their legs. But it was only

Pincher, who always slept in the hall, and hearing them moving, had come to meet.
his little friends.
"There's the Cuckoo," whispered Gus. "It is just going to come out, 'cause the
big hand is near the top."
"Yes, yes," answered Biddy, jumping up and down a little in her excitement.
"Oh listen hard, Gus-see, his door is just going to open !"
But lo at that moment, another door opened, and there was nurse just coming
up from her supper, who stared aghast at'seeing her nurselings white gowned and
bare toed, standing on the staircase just in the draught. There was no more
listening to Cuckoos that night, I assure you.
"Never mind," said Biddy, when they were safe and warm in bed again.
"Never mind-P'raps, after all, we shouldn't have understood the Cuckoo. He might
have talked German you know, and Mr. George will tell us all about it."
"But it's a week to wait," lamented Gus, unless we can coax Mother to let us
go to his dear little shop."
"And then we'll see all their insides," suggested Biddy. "Wheels, and wheels,
and wheels. Oh it will be ever so much nicer. And it was cold on the staircase,
Gus, I felt all shivery-and I'm so sleepy-good-night, Gus."
"Good-night," responded Gus. "Hark there's Cuckoo striking-ten-I thought
it was ever so late. Didn't you, Biddy ?"
But there came no reply, Biddy was in the land of dreams, and Gus soon
followed her.
The very next day Biddy and Gus coaxed Mother to let them go down to
Mr. George's little shop, and Mother was kind, and said they might go; and
that afternoon the good old Clock-man began telling them the stories that are
now collected in this pretty book.

goci join

.. ''", T in the garden, under a tree,
M.:ther was reading
": "Cock Robin" to me,
-., .And there stood the Sparrow,.
S W'ith bow and with arrow,
Looking as wicked
as wicked could be.


And the Fish, with his dish,
And the Fly, with his eye,
Waiting to see poor Cock Robin die.
While the sweet Turtle Dove,
Said "I mourn for my love,
And the Owl with his shovel was digging hard by.


1, 0

-~ bit

Then down in a minute,
Flew the Lark and the Linnet,
And the Beetle drew near,
with the Shroud he had made,
While old Parson Rook,
Came up with his book,
And the Thrush sang his psalm,
on a bush in the glade.

But just as the Bull
Was beginning to pull,
A knell on the bell,
at the top of the tree,
And the birds began sobbin',
Up jumped Mister Robin,
Looking as perky, as perky,
as perky could be.

"It is pleasant," said he,
Such a favorite to be,
And to have a sweet epitaph over one's head;
But I find the best plan
Is to live while I can,
And not to be buried until- I am dead !"
Fred E. Weatheriy.




t- l 2agic j-iicf,,

,CE( upon a time there lived in a pretty little cottage a Mother and
/ her son, Willie. The boy's Mother was so good to him, giving him
*.;.- everything that he asked for, and spending her time in thinking how
J best she could please him, that really he ought to have been the
happiest boy in the world. But Willie was not, for this simple
reason, he was a selfish little boy, thinking always about himself and never considering
others; and when he was naughty, which I am sorry to say, was far too often, he
never said he was sorry afterwards, and although his bad behaviour made his poor
Mother unhappy, he really didn't seem to care a bit.
Well, one hot Summer's day, he was sitting in the garden in front of the cottage,
making a daisy-chain, and beside him was a bucket his Mother had asked him to fill
with water from the well near by, for the pony, while she went to do her marketing
in the village. But it was so hot and Willie was so lazy, that the bucket remained
empty. Presently there came hobbling along the road a poor old woman; she seemed
very weary, and her clothes were covered with dust. "Little boy" she said, as she
arrived before the cottage, "will you please run to the well and fill your bucket with
water, and give me some to drink ? I'm so very tired and thirsty." But Willie
shook his head and mumbled something about the weather being too hot to fill
buckets, and that he, too, was tired. Still the old woman begged him to fetch the
water, but Willie lay on the grass and kicked his legs in the air and whistled.
"Bad boy cried the woman, at last, angrily. "The only way to make such
boys as you understand what unhappiness other people can feel, is to make you feel
what it is yourselves. However thirsty you may be, you shall never be able to fill
your bucket until you can truly say you are sorry for your naughtiness." Saying
which she tapped the bucket three times with her stick, and as she did so, strange
to say, it rang as if it had been a silver bell
instead of a wooden bucket. Then the old woman
went on her way, and soon disappeared along .'
the road. .
"Stupid old thing," said Willie, "what nonsense
she talked about my not being able to fill the
S bucket." After a little while he began to get .
thirsty, and as his Mother had not returned home, .*. -"
he went slowly off to the well, dragging the
bucket after him, grumbling to himself all the time. ., ~-'
Then he let the bucket down, and a minute after'
pulled it up full of nice cool water. -

"There, now," he cried, "I was sure the old woman was .talking nonsense.
But wonderful to tell, no sooner did he touch the bucket to place it on the
ground, than the water ran through it, so that there was not a drop left. Willie
was both puzzled and alarmed, he turned the bucket upside down to see if there
was a hole or a crack in it; but no, it was as good as when it was new. Then
he let it down the well again and filled it, but this time it was even worse, for as
soon as the bucket arrived at the top, and Willie stretched out his hand towards it,
the water ran away as if it had been poured into a sieve. Throughly frightened,
Willie would have rushed indoors, only at that moment he saw his Mother coming.
"Good boy," said she, "to fill the bucket, a little water is just what I want, for
for I'm so tired and thirsty."
"But, Mother," cried the boy, "I can't fill the bucket. Look, Mother, see how
the water runs away." And Willie let the bucket down the well, and the same thing
happened that had occurred before. Six times more did Willie and his Mother try
to draw water, but not a drop could they get. What can have come to the bucket?"
said the poor woman, "and what shall we do, for we haven't got another one."
Willie said nothing, but sat silently in the corner of the room that afternoon.
For the first time in his life he began to think that he had been a naughty and
selfish boy. He kept his eyes on his Mother's face, as she moved about the room,
and he noticed how tired she looked; then he thought about the poor old woman
who had -;..-1 him for a little water on the dusty road and he began to wonder
to himself how he could have refused her. At last, going to his Mother, he pulled
her face down to his, and whispered, "Mother, I have been a cruel, wicked boy,"
then he told her what he had done, and what the old woman had said about the
bucket. "I'm so sorry," he cried, and burst into tears
-" And one big tear trickled down his cheek, and fell into
the bucket at his side, and a minute after it was filled
with the clearest water. "Look, Mother," cried
: '" Willie, "the old woman must have been a
fairy." So indeed she must, and a good fairy,
'. : too, for she taught Master Willie a very good
lesson, one he never forgot. He turned over
.- a new leaf, and was kind to and thoughtful for
A others. The bucket also became like an ordinary
.. every-day bucket which was also a good thing,
,.. for although magic buckets are all very well in
; their way, it is perhaps better for general use
Sto have a bucket that will hold water when
S. you want it to.
.. .. Edric Vredenburg.


-e Despised ? BuIb.

( 'a sheltered corner of an old-fashioned garden there grew one.
Spring, a Dandelion, a Daisy, and some Snowdrops. They
,, ,, were almost the only t1i-.-.:, open in the garden, and that
made them feel very friendly to each other.
/ How nice it is to be a pretty flower," said the-
"And how delightful to be able to open and shut every
day," replied the Daisy.
"As I do," chimed in a Snowdrop, proud of the whites
bell that had been only a bud that morning.
"What is that little brown thing lying in the path," began
the Dandelion again.
"I cannot tell," answered the Daisy, "the gardener dropped it just now."
"Something dead," said the Snowdrop, quite shrivelled and dried up."
"I am not dead," cried the little brown thing, which was really a bulb, "if
some one would only put me in the ground, I should soon bear as lovely a flower
as any in the garden."
How the flowers laughed, and nodded, and shook their heads.
Only a few minutes afterwards a little boy came racing along the path followed
by a lady. He stopped where the flowers were growing, and cried, "Look at the
the weeds in my garden; Dandelions and common Daisies. I shall pull them all
up, or there will be no room for my seeds."
"Wait a little," said his Mother, "or you will have nothing left. What is
that by your foot?"
"A bulb," shouted Arthur with great delight. "Where shall I plant it?"
"As you have only one bulb, it should have the place of honour," said his
Very carefully the little boy dug a hole in the ground; tenderly placed the
despised bulb in it, and marking the spot with a big stick, away he ran as fast
as he came.
A month passed by, and one day when the sun shone so brightly it seemed
like Summer; there, in the middle of the child's garden, just where the shrivelled
looking bulb had been buried, stood a brilliant golden flower. It was only a
yellow crocus, but oh, how beautiful it looked, just like a fairy king's cup.
A. R.

/ I I'.^ udie and cffe YiiBfi.

) 0 Rudie played truant, and went a fishing instead of going to
ii J school. It was so nice down there by the cool rippling stream,
so much pleasanter than in the hot schoolroom, among a lot
-- of buzzing children, learning stupid lessons. He would catch
Sa lot of fish, and get Mother to cook them for supper.
But somehow the trout would not come to be caught, and
that gave Rudie time to recollect that when Mother found he
had not been to school she would probably whip him and put
him to bed without any supper, and he began to feel so
unhappy, and so frightened at the idea of the whipping that he
thought he dare not go home at all, and had better run away.
Splish splash Up popped a little fish and stared hard at Rudie.
"Oh!" said Rudie, "Why didn't you come to! be caught ?"
"Thank you," said the fish. "It isn't my turn yet. I have another year
before half my punishment is over."
"Are you being punished ? said Rudie, eagerly. "Oh I am afraid of being
punished, so I'm going to run away!"
"If you do," said the fish, "it will be ever so much worse. That's just what
I did. I'll tell you if you like ?" Oh! please do 1" said Rudie.
"Well," said the fish. "My Father is a great earl, and I am his only son.
He goes to the wars to fight for the King, and I wanted to go too, but he
said I was too young, and must stay at home and learn. But I thought I knew
enough, and one day, I got a suit of armour out of the armoury, and a horse
out of the stable, and off I rode. Now it happened that I met an old miller coming
home from market, and I thought what fun to startle him, so up I rode and
demanded his money, and he was so frightened that he threw me a purse of
gold, and ran off as hard as he could.
"Then I was scared myself, for I knew when my Father heard of it he would
be so angry, for he said Knights should protect people, not rob them, and I
was afraid to go home, and take my punishment. So, instead, I went off with
the miller's gold, and when that was gone I got more, and became just a common
"One night I lost my way, but at last I came to a ferryman's hut, by a broad
river, and I went in and asked for shelter. The ferryman was old and bent,-but
he made me welcome, and set before me a brown loaf and a few dry figs for supper.

I soon finished those, and asked .
for more.
"'I have no more,' he said.
'That is false,' I cried. I
can see three more loaves on
the shelf.' ..
"'Those are not mine,' he
answered. 'Of all I earn half
is for the poor, a quarter I
keep for myself, and the rest I
give to my little brothers, the
fishes, for the river is almost
frozen now, and they can get
little food I have given you
my share, but my brothers' and
sisters' portions are not mine to -. .
"Then I laughed, and I
seized the other loaves andi -
began to eat them, when the-
ferryman struck me a sharp
blow on the arm, I could not
move. And lo, as I looked at
him, he grew taller and grander, and a light
li.ne out round his head, and behold, he
w'ts no old ferryman, but the blessed
St. Christopher himself 'Go,' he said,
:' v\en years shall you be a fish, and
"1n years shall you be among the
Spoo-rst of the earth, and then when you
.. 1-ce borne your punishment come back and
,.tal;.- your armour, if you are fit to wear

Rudie rubbed his eyes. The fish was
.:ne,* but he still seemed to hear his

I'll go home," thought Rudie, "and
te-ll Mother, and ask her to whip me al

M. A. Hoyer.

'I-TS"r *...

p/ j r Tfie 5wirt Dollies!

fT was really a very anxious moment for two
twin Dollies who stood side by side in the
._ window of a village shop. They' were wax
* -- .-s. ', Dollies, with golden hair and blue eyes; they were
*.- : sisters, and very very fond of one another. These
SDollies had always looked forward with dread to
'"- being separated when the day should come for
.\ 1h 'd one of them to be bought, and the other left
S' behind; nevertheless, life in the shop-window was very
...i ...i ull, and when the hot sun shone in through the glass
S ; t was rather uncomfortable to wax Dollies, besides being
--.. very bad for their complexions. -
But the Summer had gone, and with it a number of bats and balls, china
mugs (presents for good girls and boys), tin soldiers, and Jacks-in-the-box, and
still the twin dollies remained behind.
"It strikes me," said one Dolly to the other at last, "that we cannot be
so lovely as we thought ourselves. Nobody seems to take any notice of us."
What the other Dolly would have replied it is impossible to say, for at that
moment a little boy and girl came round the corner, and gazed into the shop-
window, and both Dollies listened anxiously to their conversation.
"Now, Ella," said the boy, who was dressed in a sailor-suit, "what shall
we buy? I've got heaps of money in my pocket, so you choose your present."
It was a long time before Ella could make up her mind, but at last she
said, "I think, Jack, I should like one of those dollies."
"All right," replied Jack, "but which will you have? They are exactly alike."
After hesitating a little, Ella said she would like the one with the blue
sash, so the children went into the shop, and Jack bought the doll for his
sister, and a box of tin soldiers for himself.
"And I think I'll have the other dolly, too-the one with the pink sash,"
said Ella (Oh, how happy the, dollies felt; so they were not to be separated
after all). "To give to that poor little girl who was standing by the window
as we came in, and who looked as if she were longing for a toy."
The Dolly with the pink sash, if she had been anything else but a dolly,
would have fainted. Just fancy, going to live in a poor cottage, whilst her sister
was going to a grand house!
"Very well, said Jack, "do as you like, but I don't see what the little
girl wants with a doll, she already has a live baby in her arms."



~a~LI~R~na*~-~ll~,~i~ar~un~*~l~i~;j. ~i,~,7~*r;~Lai~P~i~65eo

But the shop-woman wrapped up the two Dollies in separate pieces of paper, and
they only had time to whisper to one another: "Good-bye, dear; perhaps it would
have been better for us to have grown old together in the window 1"
And, then, one Dolly was carried off to live at the Squire's big house, while the
other went to the humble cottage.
The Dolly with the blue sash had a very good time of it for about a fortnight,
Ella christened her Lady Victoria Vere de Vere, and dressed her in a new dress every
day, took her. for drives in a perambulator, and put her to bed in a comfortable cot.
Jack also treated her with the greatest respect, never failing to address her as "your
ladyship," when he spoke to her. In fact, she was so very grand, that she never
even thought of her less-fortunate sister. But this grandeur was not to last, for at
the end of the fortnight, Ella had a new toy, and poor Victoria lay neglected in the
cupboard in the nursery, and there, no doubt, she would have continued to stop,
if Jack, one fine morning, had not pulled her out, and, not being able.to find
his cricket-stumps, made a wicket of her, and bowled her left arm off. Then
when Ella and Jack went to the seaside, with spades and buckets instead of dolls,
Lady Victoria was put into a box in company with a lot of other broken toys, and
was stowed away in a lumber-room. Now, indeed, did she begin think of her
sister, and wished to be back with her in the shop-window. In the meantime,
the Dolly with the pink sash was taken to the cottage by the poor girl who
carried the baby, and she had no fine clothes given to her, and was only called
At first, she was very miserable, and would say to herself: What a shame it is
that I should be treated in this way, while my sister must be spending such a happy
time with the Squire's little girl. Here, I have only one dress, and that is rapidly
~ getting dirty. I'm not fit to be seen !"
But when she saw how happy she made the poor
child and the baby, she began to think differ-
..ently. The baby held her tight in her
little arms, and called her Dear Dolly 1"
And when baby got ill, so ill that she had
.- to lie in bed all day, Polly kept her company.
And when baby got worse, so much worse
/ \ that she had to be taken to a hospital Dolly
' Polly had to go too, for baby couldn't bear
Sh er out of her sight-the only toy she had
:.-.. -... ever had. And as Polly lay beside the sick
.. baby in the hospital, she said to herself: "I
.. .'. .'." .wouldn't change now for all the lovely dresses
\ .. :";,-.'.._. min the world. I only wish my sister were with
"-' ^' ~-- *- a/j

A- .L-
e'-' .

me here." And, so strange to say, Dolly Polly got her wish, for the very next day, a
big parcel came for the poor children, and on the parcel was written: With Jack
and Ella's love, we packed it ourselves;" and inside the parcel were any number
of toys, both old and new, and among them, with her left arm ;i :--, her dress
very much crumpled, and in a very bad temper, was Lady Victoria Vere de Vere.
But as soon as she saw her sister, her naughty, bad temper flew out of the window,
she was so happy and delighted.
That night, when all the little ill babies were fast asleep, and the toys talked and
walked about, the twin Dollies told each other their adventures, and Lady Victoria
came to the conclusion to spend the rest of her days in trying to make little sick
babies happy.
Luckily for the twin Dollies, Lady Victoria was given to a little girl who
lay in the next cot to Dolly Polly's baby, so the twin sisters could see one
another all day long. And Lady Victoria's baby loved her Dolly as much as
the other baby loved Polly, and that, you know, is saying a very great deal.

Well, I am glad to say, what with the doctors and the nurses, and all sorts
of nice things to eat, and, of course, the twin Dollies, the two babies got quwte
strong and well. Dolly Polly went back to the cottage, and lived happily ever
after with her baby. And Lady Victoria was taken to another cottage with her
baby, and lived equally happily.
Of course, it was very sad for the twin Dollies to have to part again, but
we can't expect to get everything in this world. To make little babies happy
is something, a very great deal the Dollies thought, and so do I, and so will
you if you will try it, that is to say if you haven't tried it already, which I
daresay you have.
Edric Vredenburg.

~ .,-, ""

hfie bwelfffi-R2iqif cpifc.

T was the most beautiful cake that the children had ever seen with
S the loveliest fairy hovering over its centre. And among the characters
Swas a boy Il., i: on a flute, and this was his story which the fairy
told them:


So Hans set out to seek his fortune. All he had in the world were the clothes
he had on his back, and his flute. But that flute was a very precious one Once
Hans had found a little old man in the Forest, almost dead with cold and hunger,
and he had managed to carry him into his Father's hut, and so saved his life. And
in return the old man had given him this flute and taught him to play upon it in a
wondrous manner. No one had ever heard such music before in the village near
which Hans and his Father, the woodman, dwelt, and the good folks whispered that
it was fairy music and had a magic power.
And now the woodman was dead, and Hans went forth to seek his fortune.
He set off to find his way to the King's Court; for there, perhaps, he might be
taken on among the King's musicians, for everyone knew that the King's band was
the finest in all the world.

It was a long way, but he got on very
well. When he came to a village he began 9: /.
to play on his flute, and in a very short time .
he had gathered enough groschen to pay for .-
his supper and bed. But one day he had to .
pass through a great forest, and it was so .
dense and wild that he lost his way and -
wandered about for many hours. At last it
began to grow quite dark, and he was so
tired that he was fain to lie down in a
sheltered mossy spot among the tree stems .-
to rest. He had a bit of bread in his pocket
which he ate, and then he curled himself :
round and went fast asleep. How long he
slept he never knew, but presently he was
awakened by the sound of voices. They seemed '"
to be men's voices, and quite near, for he' -
could hear distinctly what they said though they did not speak loud.
"He likes little girls best," said one voice. "He says they are more tender,
but then you know there is scarcely one left in the neighbourhood, except the little
Princess, it will be no end of a
bother to catch her!"
"Oh! well we must try," an-
swered another voice. "He has
been awfully disagreeable lately, and
S.. -" if we don't please him there's no
knowing what he might do !"
Hans was wide awake now. He
rose up from his lair in the fern
with great caution lest he should
make the slightest noise, and peeped
round the tree stems. There, in
the moonlight, he saw two men
standing, evidently consulting one
another. They were a villainous
looking couple, and their words, as
far as he understood them were as
wicked as their looks. He listened
breathlessly while they went on

"She is always taken out, every morning,"
said the taller of the two, "to wash her face in
the early dew, because the Queen thinks it so
good for her complexion. That will be our best
.. chance, for the guards don't like getting up so
..' early, and are sleepy and cross."
S''' "Well, then, let us get on; we have not
too much time, for the dawn will soon be breaking,"
.Ji..l the other. The two men went off, and Hans followed
them, cautiously. Though he could not quite understand
their words, he felt sure they were bent on some wicked
enterprise, which, perhaps, he might frustrate. But their legs were so much
longer than his, and the forest so thick and baffling, that before long they quite
outstripped him, and he lost sight of them among the trees. He wandered
about for some time, feeling very hungry and unhappy, till at last he happened
to come upon a beaten track.
"This, surely, will lead to some inhabited place," he thought. "I had better
follow it, at any rate."
He was right. Before long, he saw the gables of a house showing through
the branches ; and at last he reached a clear, open spot among the trees, on
one side of which stood a big, old house: and in the garden a woman was
hanging up clothes.
"Perhaps they will give me some breakfast ?" he thought, and went in at
the garden gate; but the woman had finished her task, and had disappeared in
at a side door; so he followed her and knocked.
Who is there ?" said a loud voice, and then the woman came to the door.
Hans was rather frightened when he saw her, and wished he had not come, for
the woman was so big and tall, and had so fierce a look, that she quite terrified
him. But it was too late to go back, so he asked as politely as possible if he
might come in and rest. She seemed to hesitate for a minute, but just then,
another voice-a very big voice, so loud, it made all the windows and doors shake-
shouted out, "Who is there, wife ?"
"It is-a boy !" she answered, half-reluctantly.
"Bring him in, then, at once !" yelled the voice, again; and the woman,
with a half-frightened look, caught Hans by the arm and pulled him in, shutting
the door behind him.
Poor Hans. He was, indeed, frightened when he saw himself in the presence
of the owner of the voice, and saw what he was like; for in the chimney-
corner, sitting before a roaring fire, was an awful-looking Ogre, with big glaring
eyes, long white teeth, and a very hungry expression.

' -V

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"Let me feel him," he said, stretching out a long arm, and seizing Hans in
his powerful grasp. Let me feel him-ugh thin as a herring. There, go and
sit down, and we will see what the men bring."
So Hans sat down, trembling; and, presently, there was a sound of footsteps,
and in rushed the two villains Hans had seen in the wood, and one of them
bore in his arms a most beautiful little girl. She was crying bitterly, but her
crying changed to terrified screams, as the Ogre seized her and began pinching her
little white arms.
"Oh oh oh he laughed. "Beautiful, beautiful-as plump as possible;
make haste, wife, with the saucepan !"
But as the woman ran for the saucepan, Hans Degan to play on his flute. As the
first few notes were heard, the Ogre stared; then he loosened his hold on the
little girl, who fled to Hans for protection, and then a quiver ran all through him.
"Catch hold of me," whispered Hans to the child, "or you will want to do it,
too." Then he went on playing, and as he did so, a most extraordinary thing
happened. For the Ogre, and the Ogre's wife, and the two villains, all rose up and
began to dance. They jumped, they skipped, they hopped, they twirled, till they
were gasping for breath, but yet they could not stop. On they went, bounding,
jumping, pirouetting, so that the floor creaked beneath their heavy tread, and outside,
the tiles and chimney-pots were all showering down with the shaking. They roared
to Hans to leave off, but he would not, till they were nearly dead with exhaustion,
and, then, suddenly changing his tune to one, very slow and soft, they all tumbled
in a heap on the old wooden settle, and were fast asleep in a moment.
"Now, come!" he whispered to the little girl, and seizing her hand, they ran
out of the Ogre's kitchen and along through the wood till they met a party of
searchers, who had been sent out to find the little Princess-for the little girl was
the only child of the King, and her loss had caused the utmost dismay.
"And who are you, my boy?" said the King, when they were brought in
triumph into the great hall of the Palace.
"My name is Hans," he answered, "and I am the son of Fritz the woodman
who is dead, and I have come, to seek my fortune."
"And what reward do you want for saving my daughter ?"
"I want to be made one of your musicians."
"Oh !" said the King, opening his eyes, (for of course he did not know yet what
Hans had done to the Ogres) "but can you play?"
For answer, Hans pulled out his flute and began. And at the first tune everybody
began to cry, so that the tears rolled down and splashed upon the floor, and at the
second tune, everyone began to laugh till their sides ached, and at the third tune, up
jumped the King, seized the Queen round the waist and waltzed with her all round
the Hall, followed by all the courtiers.

"That'll do," panted the King, as Hans stopped, "I am quite satisfied. You are
made Head Musician to the Court from this minute, and let us all go and have
some breakfast !"
But about the Ogres. Well the King sent a regiment of his tallest soldiers to
take them prisoners. But he need not have troubled, for their obstreperous dancing
had so shaken the house that it had fallen down and buried them while they were
asleep. And the heap under which they lie is called "The Giants Mound" to this
M. A. Hfoyer.

~*m, erldnd

S -. .H T is the way to Slumberland?
''- 'Tis but a little journey there;
Out of the nursery, shadow-spanned,
Out of the firelight, up the stair-
STIAt is the way to Slumberland.

I-1...:.- 1', e i : to Slumberland ?
Drooping lashes and tangled hair;
Little bare feet, a toy in hand,
Lisping lips and a baby prayer-
That's how we go to Slumberland !

What is the gate of Slumberland ?
Pillows soft and a curtain white,
Somebody watching, near at hand,
Crooning a lullaby low and light-
That is the gate of Slumberland!
Clifton Binghiam.

Tlfie Twelve

iiffre :Pince oe.

,f( 'C8 upon a time, there lived a great
SKing, whose name was Mesmerian, and
who was also a powerful enchanter. He
S was most anxious to have a son to succeed
him on his throne, and when the fairies sent
him twelve lovely little daughters, he got in
a great rage, and throwing them into a magic
sleep he locked them all up in a big cup-
S'board in an old palace. At least all but the
.. eldest Princess, Ida, who. was so beautiful that
even his hard heart relented, though he sent
her to the same palace with an old deaf and
dumb woman to take charge of her. Then he
] .% '. enchanted the palace, so that though it stood
.ii': n the midst of the city, no one remembered
II-- it, and not a sound was heard in it, or its
gardens, but the songs of the birds and the
clear little voice of Princess Ida.
Now, of course, Princess Ida knew nothing
about her little sisters. She had to play all alone
in the garden, and to read the old books in the library, and to tend her flowers, and
she often longed for a companion. But no one came, and only once a year her
Father paid her a visit. She was always glad to see him, though he rather
frightened her, and moreover he made her curious ; because every time he always
sent her away into the garden, while he went and peeped into a cupboard which
was kept locked. She knew he went, because once she followed him, and saw
him put a key in the lock, but when he turned and saw her he was so angry
that it made her quite ill. Now, on the morning after one of these visits, Ida
ran out into the garden as usual, and there she saw something shining and bright
lying on the path. It was a key, a golden key.
"Oh, how pretty!" she said, picking it up, "I wonder where it comes from?"
Then she gave a start as a thought struck her. "It must be the key of the
cupboard. Father has dropped it I O-oh! if I dared- !"

She looked at the key and longed for just one peep. But she was a well-
read little girl and knew her Bluebeard. Yet, of course, her Father wasn't wicked
like Bluebeard besides she would be careful not to drop the key. All the time
she was walking slowly back into the palace, and then upstairs; and then she
reached the cupboard, and then, somehow, the key got into the lock and she
peeped in.
"Oh oh !" she cried. Oh, you darlings !"
For there, instead of anything dreadful, sat eleven lovely little girls, in
eleven little armchairs, but they were all sound asleep.
Oh, you dears !" cried Ida. "I am sure you are my sisters."
And in she ran and kissed them all round, and as soon as she kissed them they
all woke up.
Why, where are we ? they cried, and who are you ?"
"You are in the Old Palace, and I am your sister Ida. Come down and
have some dinner. But, hark what a noise there is outside! What can be the
matter "
For the profound quiet of the palace was broken by shouts and cries o0
"Let us go and see," said the eleven. And down they ran. There stood the
great door of the palace open, and outside were crowds of people, and just
opposite a man knelt with his head on a block, and another man was just
going to cut it off, and beyond stood a group of grand gentlemen all in armour.
"It is Father," shrieked Princess Ida, "Oh, it is Father !" And so it was, for the
Emperor Ragymuffin and his twelve sons had that day conquered the city, and they
were just going to chop off King Mesmerian's head, as a bad king and wicked
"Oh stop-don't," cried Princess Ida, and followed by her sisters she rushed.
across, and they all fell on their knees before the Emperor.
The Emperor paused, and hesitated. Then one of his sons stepped up and
whispered something to him, and then another, and then another.
"Hum," said the Emperor, at last. Hum, ha! Exactly, well, young ladies-if
-hum-ha-if you will consent to marry my twelve sons, and your Father will
divide his dominions among you-I-I will accede to your request."
"We will do anything," sobbed the Princesses, to save our dear Papa."
And of course, King Mesmerian, agreed to the terms, and, moreover, was so
touched by the behaviour of his daughters, that he became a changed man and ended
his days as a holy hermit.
And the twelve Princesses and their bridegrooms lived happily all the days of
their lives.
M. A. Hoyer.

RE Daddys' IJLecfeq.

/' ; ." ERE'S a letter from Daddy,
A letter from over the foam,
/r' And three blots that are meant for kisses
For the dear ones he loves at home.
And the words are all crooked and blotted,
And the paper is torn, may-be;
For Daddy, you see, is a sailor,
Out on the deep blue sea.

SI 'm sitting on deck, my darlings,
And we're bowling over the foam,
But I'm thinking of you and Mother,
Safe in the dear old home.
And I'm wondering what you are doing,
And wondering what you'll say
When the postman brings you a letter
From Daddy so far away.

"Tell Mother she must not worry,
Help her in all her cares,
Do what she tells you always,
And never forget your prayers.
And God will keep you happy,
Gentle and pure and true,
And bring back your dear old Daddy,
Safe to \Mother and you !"
Fred E. Weatherly.

*r ''
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.~, -~b~

-4fiaf Mie gIocl zcuid.

T'IC-TOC, eight o'clock,
S Time to rise, begin the day;
Tic-toe, twelve o'clock;
Lessons over, now for play;

Tic-toc, five o'clock,
Bread and butter, jam and tea;
Tic-toc, eight o'clock,
Time tucked up in bed to be!
C. B.

'ucfl LhUCk!

HE geese wanted one thing, and Lisa, the goose-girl, wanted another.
.- "I call it a great shame," grumbled Mrs. Poosey to her husband,
the old gander, "that Lisa won't let us get through the fence, and
7 into the nice luscious meadow that lies beyond it, sloping down to
S the river."
"And the grass looks so rich and tempting, so much nicer than the grass this
side," echoed the six young geese, all in a chorus, stretching out their long
necks, and gabbling and hissing, and arguing over their grievance, as Lisa drove
them before her across the meadows to graze.
Lisa sighed when she heard this conversation and discussion going on. She
had lived so long with her geese that she seemed almost to understand their
language, and to know what all their noises and gestures meant. She understood
perfectly well now that they were intent on getting through the fence into
Farmer Schmidt's meadow, the moment her back should happen to be turned.
And Lisa knew something else that the geese did not know, and that was how
very angry Farmer Schmidt would be if he found them on his land-angry with
them, angry with her, and angry with her Mother, who, in her turn, would be
angry with Lisa. For she was only her stepmother, a hard, unkind woman, who
often treated poor Lisa very badly while her Father was away at sea. She sent
Lisa out on the meadows to keep the geese, though Lisa was growing a big girl
now, and would have liked to be doing something, such as learning things, or
doing house-work or needlework. But the unkind stepmother gave her no choice,
and Lisa knew that if she did not look well after the geese, not hard words
only, but even blows would fall to her share.
So, presently, when her snowy flock had settled to work feeding, Lisa sat
herself down on a grassy knoll, where she could keep one eye on them, and

/f %
'* \ ~ L


-4fiaf Mie gIocl zcuid.

T'IC-TOC, eight o'clock,
S Time to rise, begin the day;
Tic-toe, twelve o'clock;
Lessons over, now for play;

Tic-toc, five o'clock,
Bread and butter, jam and tea;
Tic-toc, eight o'clock,
Time tucked up in bed to be!
C. B.

'ucfl LhUCk!

HE geese wanted one thing, and Lisa, the goose-girl, wanted another.
.- "I call it a great shame," grumbled Mrs. Poosey to her husband,
the old gander, "that Lisa won't let us get through the fence, and
7 into the nice luscious meadow that lies beyond it, sloping down to
S the river."
"And the grass looks so rich and tempting, so much nicer than the grass this
side," echoed the six young geese, all in a chorus, stretching out their long
necks, and gabbling and hissing, and arguing over their grievance, as Lisa drove
them before her across the meadows to graze.
Lisa sighed when she heard this conversation and discussion going on. She
had lived so long with her geese that she seemed almost to understand their
language, and to know what all their noises and gestures meant. She understood
perfectly well now that they were intent on getting through the fence into
Farmer Schmidt's meadow, the moment her back should happen to be turned.
And Lisa knew something else that the geese did not know, and that was how
very angry Farmer Schmidt would be if he found them on his land-angry with
them, angry with her, and angry with her Mother, who, in her turn, would be
angry with Lisa. For she was only her stepmother, a hard, unkind woman, who
often treated poor Lisa very badly while her Father was away at sea. She sent
Lisa out on the meadows to keep the geese, though Lisa was growing a big girl
now, and would have liked to be doing something, such as learning things, or
doing house-work or needlework. But the unkind stepmother gave her no choice,
and Lisa knew that if she did not look well after the geese, not hard words
only, but even blows would fall to her share.
So, presently, when her snowy flock had settled to work feeding, Lisa sat
herself down on a grassy knoll, where she could keep one eye on them, and

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one on the distant sea she loved so to look at, and began to dream, singing
the while softly to herself. Lisa had a sweet fresh voice, and, though at home
her stepmother would chide her for making a noise, as she called it, out here in
the open air, under the blue sky, she could sing to her heart's content.
Away before her stretched the sea-the sea on which, somewhere or other, her
dear Father was sailing, and a great longing came over poor Lisa to get away from
her goose-girl life, and to do something less dull. So she sang sadly, and her eyes
grew wistful. The geese, ever and. anon, between their beakfuls of grass looked up
at her slyly.
"No chance yet," hissed Mr. Gander to his family. "But patience; perhaps
she'll sing herself off to sleep."
"How ever are we to get nice and fat by Michaelmas if we can't go into
that meadow!" grumbled a young goose who did not know much of life. "Lisa
said we must be fat by Michaelmas."
"Hold your tongue, you silly; you don't know what you are talking about,"
and Mr. Gander suppressed him sharply, and with a slight shudder. "Hold your
tongue, and be patient."
So the geese munched on, but Lisa suddenly stopped singing. For up from the
pond came a new sweet sound, sweeter even than Lisa's voice. It was borne on
the sea-breeze over to the little goose girl, rivalling in clearness and melody the
carols of the larks in the blue sky above. And when Lisa heard it, she sprang up
joyfully, and forgetting all about the geese, ran off in the direction from which the
music came.
It was little Hans, the neighbour's
boy, who was as fond of playing on his
flute as Lisa was of singing. But he got
scolded for it too; was told he was idle,
and so his plan was to go and hide him- .ei
self down by the reeds in the pond, when .
he got a chance, and play away, undis- .
turned, except by the sighing of the bul-
rushes as they waved in the wind, or the .
splashing of the frogs in the pool. ..
Lisa disappeared over the brow of the
hill. The geese saw her go, and hissed
softly among themselves. A sea-gull, .
flying above them, laughed an exasperating '
little laugh over her carelessness, but the.
chance for the geese had come.
"Come along I" hissed Mr. Gander.

"Hurry up !" put ii Mrs. Poosey, and with one accord they all waddled and
scrambled as fast as their ungainly feet would carry them down the hill, through
the fence into the forbidden land.
All but one. And that was the young goose, Gobbler by name, who had
spoken so carelessly and lightly of Michaelmas Day, a day to be dreaded indeed
by all properly-minded young geese. He was rather huffey over Mr. Gander's
anul'bln.., and had gone off by himself in the sulks. Down by the pond the grass
was better than on the fields by the sea, and Gobbler began to congratulate him-
self on being wiser than the others in having come there.
Now, Hans was busy play-
ing with all his might, his cheeks
blown out to their fullest extent
and thinking of nothing else
but his music, as he stood half
1idi-ii among the rushes by
1h i- dge of the pond, when
G-Gi-.l er approaching gently and
quietly, grubbing
among the grass and
reeds with his sharp
beak, suddenly per-
ceived Hans' bare toes,
and made a sharp peck
at them. Hans gave
a shriek, and dropped
his flute, the goose
made another peck,
Hans turned and fled,
making his way with
difficulty through the
rushes, the goose
waddled after, with
..here a peck and there
Sa peck at the poor
S" defenseless legs and
S -toes. And all the while
Lisa was hurrying down
S. the hill to hear Hans
play and the other
seven geese were

munching for their lives in Farmer Schmidt's
meadow. Hans could run faster than
Gobbler, who followed with out-stretched
neck and angry hisses which seemed to the
boy perfectly alarming; but a great tuft of
reeds came in his way in which Hans caught.
his feet, and, with a cry, tumbled head
over ears into the pond all among the newts
and frogs. When Lisa came running on '
the scene all she saw was his flute lying on
the bank, and his cap floating on the water.
Hans came up again in a moment,
though, more frightened than hurt, for the
pond was rather muddy than deep, and
Lisa helped him ashore. They recovered his --
cap and his flute and wrung the wet out
of his clothes, while Gobbler, quite subdued
by Lisa's appearance, gazed quietly at a little
distance, as meek as if he had never tried
to peck at anyone in his life.
It was only when Hans pointed out the
assailant who had led to this catastrophe,
that Lisa suddenly remembered her neglected charge.
"Oh Hans 1 Hans !" she exclaimed. "The geese, the geese! they will have
got into Farmer Schmidt's meadow!" and off she ran up the hill, and Hans
followed, dripping. It was his turn to help her now.
And, indeed, her fears were true. Down in the rich grass of the forbidden
ground, seven white geese, led by Mr. Gander, were enjoying themselves as much
as it is possible for geese to do. But there was worse still.
Along the path across the fields from the harbour came the dreaded Farmer
Schmidt himself, making straight to his meadow where those seven white patches
were plainly visible. But Farmer Schmidt was, not alone. By his side, talking to
him, walked a man in a blue jersey, and when Lisa saw that man she forgot all
about the geese again, and ran towards him, not in the least afraid of the angry
farmer, and flung herself into his arms with a cry of joy. It was her Father come
back from sea.
And when Farmer Schmidt saw how happy she was, he had not the heart to
scold her.
So there was luck all round for everyone-Lisa, the geese, and Hans; for all
but sulky, ill-tempered young Gobbler. Edith E. Cuthell.

^e Liffle

Sone l2ermaid.

-H. H was rather a lonely little Mermaid, for
she had no brothers or sisters, and being a
princess, she was not allowed to play with
; .anv one who was not of high birth, and it so happened
S that scarcely any of the nobility who attended the Court
'. tud any little children. Her Father and Mother, the
-. ... c M.r-King and Queen, lived in a splendid palace, built
f. coral and mother-of-pearl, surrounded by lovely gardens,
S where grew the choicest and most. beautiful sea-flowers,
and the little princess was most carefully educated, and
always went about attended by a guard of honour of four
i.ldier-crabs, and two great sword-fish, who protected her
fr:,m every danger.
She was taught to manage her slender silvery tail
with the most courtly grace; she could play upon the sea-harp, and sing the most
beautiful sea-songs, in the sweetest voice. She knew how to manage her flashing
mirror, when all the Court rose through the clear green waters, to sit on the rocks
in the moonlight, and to comb her golden locks, with a diamond comb, in the most
ravishing manner. But yet she was not a happy little Mermaid. She wanted some-
thing, though she knew not what it was-some one to play with, she thought it was;
someone to talk to.
"Oh! nonsense;" said her Mother, the Mer-Queen, when she complained
sometimes of being dull. "Princesses must never be dull."
"I wish I wasn't a Princess," said the little Mermaid sadly. She would have
cried if she had been an earth-maiden, but the sea-maidens have no tears. Once
they learn to weep, they are no longer mermaidens, but become daughters of the
sky, and are one step higher on the silver stairs.
"For shame, Princess," answered her Mother, severely. "I am quite astonished
at you. Go and practise your new tune, and let me hear no more complaints;"
and the Mer-Queen swam away into her own apartments, to look over the Court
jewels, and count up her pearls, which was her chief amusement.

.;"" y;I*


-. yr-r
-<* 'v

But to tell people they must not be
dull, and yet do nothing to cheer them
seldom does much good. The little
Princess went and practised as she was
bidden, but she still felt very sad, and
when she had finished she did not know
what to do. So she thought she would
S- go up and see if the little earth-children
S .were digging on the sands, and playing
..-.- by the sea-shore, as they often did. The
.'. Princess was very fond of watching them,
:'.- ."' .''-" and often longed to join in their chatter
and their play, but though she would
S. swim quite close to them, and call to
them they never seemed to see or hear
her. There was one little girl she was
particularly interested in. The others
called her Neeta, and the Princess often
wished she could make her see her, and
talked to her. Once she fancied Neeta
did notice her, for she looked so hard at the spot where she, the Princess was,
but at last little Neeta turned away, and only said to the other children: "I
thought I saw a great fish there !" "Fancy, thinking me a fish," said the Princess,
half offended, and yet she longed to play with Neeta.
But this morning it so happened, that no children were to be seen, and the
poor little Princess turned away disappointed. Just then, however, something white
flew past her on the wind, and dropped into the sea. At first she thought it was
a bird, but in a moment she stretched out her hand, and grasped it, for it was
no sea gull; no, it was a child's hat. She looked at it curiously, and then a
sudden desire to try it on seized her, and swimming to the shore she was soon
seated on a rock, and putting it on her golden curls, while she gazed in her
mirror to see the effect.
"Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!"
The Princess turned round at the cry, and there was little Neeta, who had
come running down to try and save her hat, standing close by, and gazing at
her with round eyes of wonder and awe. "Is it your hat?" she asked.
"Yes," said Neeta, almost too frightened to speak. "Oh, please will you
give it me back?"
"Oh, let me keep it," begged the Princess, "I have never had a hat before,
and I do so like it."

"But Nurse will be so cross," stammered Neeta. "She-she told me not to
go out, but I did so want to see the big waves. And they will all be so cross."
"Will they?" said the Princess. "Why?"
"They'll say I was disobedient and careless," replied Neeta, gathering courage.
"They are so cross, you can't think."
Then a great idea flashed into the Princess's mind. "If they are so cross,"
she said, "do come with me. I won't be cross, and I do so want someone to
play with. And you shall have all my pretty things, and we will have such
games and be so happy."
"But how can I come?" pouted Neeta, "the water will drown me."
"No, no, it won't, not if you look in my mirror; you will be just what you
wish. Oh, do, do come!"
Neeta hesitated. She thought how cross everyone had been lately, and what
a scolding she would get when she went home. And it would be lovely to see
the bottom of the sea, and be able to tell them all about it at home. She
hesitated, but when the Princess looked entreatingly at her, and held out her
mirror, she peeped in it--and in a moment, lo! she was diving through the
cool, green waters, her hand locked in that of the Princess; and she had no
frock on, and no legs, only a lovely silvery tail like a fish.
And what fun they had! The Princess showed Neeta all the Palace, and
the gardens, and the heaps of pearls and precious stones, and the wonderful
fishes and sea creatures gliding through the waters. And then there were
wonderful corals, and sea :i... ., and sea fruits (they had sea grapes and sea
melons for luncheon), and she sang her all her sweetest songs, and they played
no end of games, and there were no lessons and no tasks; and yet, and yet,
after a while Neeta began to feel miserable, and nothing the Princess could do
would cheer her.
I want to go home," said Neeta, one day. "I
want to see the others." .
"Why?" asked the Princess.
"Why ?" answered Neeta, impatiently. "Why ?
of course, because I love them."
What is love ?" said the Princess.
Neeta stared. Then she pondered. ..
"Love," she said at last. "It is-it is-oh, I ..J
don't know how to say it-but it makes you ache,
and yet it makes you glad. It is something here,"
and she touched her breast. Something that some-
times makes you sing and sometimes makes you cry.
But you know."

No, I don't said the Princess. Mermaidens are not like that; but if
you go I shall be all alone again. I shall have no one to play with or to talk
to. Oh, do stay !"
But Neeta began to sob and cry, for she was not a proper mermaid but
had a child's heart, and when the Princess saw her grief something awoke in
her own breast; a strange ache and pain such as she had never felt before.
"Come," she said at last. Come, we will go up to the shore, and you
shall have your wish."
Then they rose, hand in hand, through the still waters, and when they
reached the rocks the little Princess held out her mirror to Neeta.
And Neeta gazing in it was once more a little girl, and, with a cry of joy,
she sprang up the sands, ran towards home, not even staying to say good-bye.
Oh, stay-wait-promise' me ycu will come back sometimes !" cried the
little Mermaid. "Oh! I am all alone and you have so many to play with."
But Neeta never listened or turned, she had forgotten all about the Princess
in her hurry to reach home. Then it seemed to the little Mermaid that some-
thing broke in her breast, and then something that smarted gushed in her eyes,
for she had never felt warmth before, and then she burst into tears of sorrow for
the loss of her little playmate.

Where am I! Where am I ?" cried the little Mermaid.
"You are our comrade, our new little comrade," said a sweet voice,
and then she saw around her a fair company of tender faces and floating forms,
" and we are the children of Sunshine and Cloud-of Love and Tears."
M. A. Hoyer


T H89 dwelt a little Mermaid And the Coral Fairies heard her,
At the bottom of the sea, And they granted her the boon;
Where the Coral Fairies floated, And she came to earth a maiden,
And the fishes wandered free. At the birth of the new moon.
But she sighed, alas, so sadly, But her tiny feet, they pained her,
Though so pretty and so sweet, For the earth was hard and cold;
To become a fair earth-maiden, And she could not sing for sadness,
With two little twinkling feet. All her happy songs of old.






' -
SI~ a

T:, the C.:ral Fa,'
sh.: pl,.aded
T.- I, ta:l.!:-n lI,.:i e again,
F ...r 1,.-r little. h i:-itr-L
Lv.*Jr breaking,
\With It I,:,nn, Sa
ain.l pain;

So they called her home so gladly,
For they wept that she should roam,
And she crept, 0 so contented,
Once again a Mermaid, home C. B.

_-." the world goes up, and the world goes down,
City and country, meadow and town;
It rolls on its way, with a right good will,
For the children's feet won't let it stand still!

"ow 1fe JBroocr wasi Jound

Si7- TOW Mademoiselle Gladys, please to stand quiet, or
I V I shall tangle your hair !" remarked Justine, patiently,
S^ and for the third time, as she was dressing the
t litie girl for a Christmas party.
Gladys made a supreme effort to be still. But she
"^ '.;.s so excited, so impatient to be ready and off, that
it ,vas by no means easy. Chip, the fox-terrier, lying
'i. on the hearth-rug, blinked at her out of one eye.
.. "Ah it's easy enough for you to lie still, Chip,
You've no curls to be pulled and brushed, but then-
ah but then, you're not going to a party, Chip-
poor Chip !"
And, as Justine gave the final touches to her
sash, Gladys ... i.1'- l herself out of her grip, and with a bound of delight, bestowed
a parting kiss upon her little pet. Then she flew downstairs to where her Mamma
and Bertie were waiting in the hall for the carriage.
Papa came out of the dining-room to see them off.
"What a little swell, my Gladys !" he exclaimed, "a new frock !"
"And my burf-day brooch, see, Daddy !" she added, exhibiting her greatest
treasure-except Victoria, her jubilee doll, and her dog, Chip-namely, a little gold
brooch, with a diamond G, which she had persuaded Justine to let her wear, just for
this once.
Then the carriage came round and off they went. Outside the snow lay
white, and powdery in the streets, and it was very cold. But the house looked
bright and cheerful enough as they drove up. Every window was brightly
lit up, and the porch itself was decorated with evergreens and ivy, and hung

with gay Chinese lanterns, which swayed and -
flickered in the wind. Gladys' heart beat high _
with delight, and she sprang out of the carriage ..-_
with a bound, and ran eagerly into the brilliant .
hall beyond, which opened before her like fairy-land.
And like fairy-land it looked, too, to poor / "
little Jem, waiting, hungry, i.:., ,.1, and miserable,
out in the street, in the hope of e~ri!n a few -
pennies in calling cabs or opening carriage-doors; anl GI.-rvI. .
and all the other gay little children seemed to him like ilscb,
Glady's did enjoy her party.. She danced, she romped,
she laughed, she pulled crackers and ate sweetmeats, in one
wild whirl of delight, till the sad time came for going home;
then she nearly went to sleep in the carriage, and hardly roused
while Justine hastily undressed her, and put her to bed. She was just dozing
off in earnest, when a cry from the maid startled her. "Ah, Mademoiselle! and ze
brooch! Vere is it?"
Gladys sprang up alarmed, and searched her frock over, but the brooch was
not to be seen. They looked all over the room, but in vain. Gladys' sobs
brought Mamma, but she, too, was unsuccessful in finding any trace of the
beautiful little diamond "G." The brooch was lost, and Gladys cried herself to
sleep. What a sad end to such a delightful party.
The next morning everybody hunted all over the house. They sent to the
lady who had given the party, in the hopes that it might have been picked up
there, but with no success. The coachman did not find it in the carriage, and
,poor Gladys was in despair.
What with fatigue and with crying, and with having caught a little cold,
Gladys was kept in the nursery, and Bertie went out alone for a walk with
Justine. Gladys was very dull. She took Victoria out of her bed and tried to
play with her, but in a very half-hearted way, and then stood at the window
with her waiting for Bertie's return, and watching a little i ....1 boy sweep away
the snow off the pavement. Chip, who had stayed in to keep his little mistress
company, though he would much rather have been out, came and watched, too.
Directly he saw Bertie appear, he stood up on a stool on his hind legs, barking
so loudly, that the little sweeper-boy, who had paused in his work, and was
S looking at Bertie, glanced up at the window on hearing the noise. Directly he
: saw Gladys he dropped his broom, and hurried across the road to Bertie and
Justine on the doorstep. Then the door opened, and they all three entered the
S Abuse; and the next thing that Gladys knew was Bertie standing before her with
thn ldssadn
WI her

a beaming face, and his hands behind his back. "Guess, Gladys! Which hand
will you have? Quick quick!"
"Right !" she answered, puzzled: and Bertie extended a fat little paw, in which
lay-the diamond brooch.
Then everything was explained, how Gladys had dropped the brooch as she
jumped out of the carriage, how Jem had picked it up, how, attracted by Chip's
barking, he had recognized Gladys as the little lady who had lost it.
Poor Jem was made happy, by the present of a golden half-sovereign-more
money than he had ever possessed in his life, and Chip was rewarded by a large
piece of cake.
Edith E. Cuthell.

Liffle Lovers.

OU are a nice little girl, you are;
And I like you better than toffee, far;
Better than apples and cake and jam,
For I'm awfully fond of you, dear, I am!
Say, do you think you can love me, too ?
There's nobody else I love like you:
But if you are cross and say you don't,
I'll never speak to you more, I won't

There's lots of girls as pretty as you,
And I know they are longing to have me, too,
So make up your mind before I go,
And if you can love me, tell me so I

Why, I declare you are crying now,
There's a regular frown upon your brow;
Then give me a kiss and believe me true,
There's nobody else that I love like you!
F. E. Weatherly.


b"I h ~

I-- '~

The liiffle fiikc-JA ngef

.L LL the little child-angels were busy
in their gardens counting over their
flowers, for they knew that it was
Innocents' Day, and then they go down, once
.. a year, and carry their blossoms to the children
in the world below.
"I have such a big bunch of violets," said
S- one. "I can go into the town and give one
L' .t each to all the little children."
"And see my lilies," said another. "How
pleased they will be."
"But I have only one white rosebud," said
a third. "Nothing else has come out."
"But it is such a lovely one," said the
others, clustering round. "Don't grieve, darling,"
for the tears came into the eyes of the little
angel because he had only one flower. "It is better than all ours together."
Then one of the big, grown-up angels came and told the little child-angels
that the gate was open, and so they all flocked through and went down the
great silver-stairs, cj :.in, their flowers with them
Now the little White Rose Angel, with his one blossom, turned away from
the towns because he had only one flower to give away, and so went right into
the solitary parts where the country lay all white under its robe of pure snow.
Then he came to a lonely cottage, a very poor little place, far far away from
any other dwelling, and as he paused a moment he heard a sort of low sobbing
like someone in great distress. "I will go in here," he thought.
Now in the cottage, crouching over a dying fire, were two little children, a girl
and a boy. The girl was the bigger of the two and had her little brother in her
arms, and she was trying to soothe and comfort him, but he cned and wailed, for he
was but a tiny boy and could not understand many things.
"When will Father come home," he said, "and bring us some food and some
more wood to make a bigger fire burn?"
"He is sure, to be home in the morning," said the little girl, pushing the
dying embers together to make them burn a little brighter, "and then we shall
have; both food and warmth."

Then the little Angel was very sorry, for all of a sudden, he knew that their
Father was lying cold and still under a great snow-wreath in the hills, and would
never come home any more.
"Sing to me," said the boy. "Sing to me, sister, sing about the flowers."
And the girl, though she was very week and ill, sang to him as he asked.


"The tall, white lilies, fair and sweet,
In Paradise bloom at our dear Lord's feet,
And on the earth He hath bid them blow, .
That we, the flowers of Heaven, might know.

And 'mid the meadows He bid spring up
The daisy white, and the buttercup: '
Those, too, in Heaven, I'll think we'll see,
When we bow down at our dear Lord's knee. -

And the crimson rose, with its sharp-set thorn,
Like the Crown that once for us was worn:
That, too, we'll find by our dear Lord's side, 4
When at last we all go Home to bide."

"I think I'll sleep now," said the boy,
drowsily. I ain't so cold now, I think. Good
night, sister !" '.
Good-night !" said the little girl. I'm -
tired, too, so will go to sleep till Father comes
in the morning."
Then as they slept, tight-folded in one another's arms, the little Child-Angel
came softly and put his white rosebud in their clasped hands. And the great Frost
Angel paced the earth all that night through, and it grew colder and colder with his
frosted breath, but the children slept on and on. And in the morning there were
two new little child-angels in Paradise.
But when the people came and found the two little frozen figures, they wondered
greatly, for in the tiny, ice-cold hands was clasped a lovely rosebud which filled the
poor little cottage with its fragrance. And the Priest took the flower, when they
laid the children to sleep in the quiet churchyard, and put it on the altar of the
little hill chapel, and there it blossomed till Easter Morn dawned-and then was seen
no more.
M. A. Hoyer.

"Tice Dreadfuf ecref

of "T ill-o'-ffie-q ip."
_,/ ,V, .

*'''' O-M'E heie, Effie 1 've a great secret!" said Barbara.
'"What is it ?" answered Effie.
"Will you promise me, truly and truly, never to tell?"
."i- "Well, I've had an accident with Mamma's old story-
book !" "Oh, Barbara! whatever have you done?"
"I blotted a page, but I've cut it out so that no one
will ever know. But you are so remembering in .-.ri-v!thi,;-,
that I was afraid you would miss it, so that's why I've told
you the secret." "But-- began Effie. "But what ?"
"But why not go and confess it to Mamma, at once ? She will forgive you.
She always does if we tell her the truth."
Barbara turned very red in the face, but it was not altogether cowardice, and
the dread of a scolding which made her look so guilty, as will presently be seen.
"Do, tell her!" urged Effie, to whom hiding anything from Mother was dreadful,
as it always is to good children. Barbara turned sulky.
"I wish," said she, "that I hadn't told you anything about it now, for I
believe you will go and tell of me to Mamma!"
"No, Barbara, for have I not promised to keep your secret ?" answered Effie,
"Hush !" returned her sister, quickly, "here's Uncle George-how early he's
come !" A very tall soldier-like man now entered the room, and the children rushed
into his open arms, and clung so round him, that he could scarcely walk across
to the fireside.
"How is the poetry getting on ?" said he, presently, taking the great arm-
chair by the fire, while Effie, who was the 3 '..rn..r and the greater favourite with
him, sat perched on his knee, gazing with admiration on his bronzed, brave
old face.
"Oh, Uncle GeC-i -!" cried Effie, "I cannot do mine-it's so difficult!"
"But," said he, "if Barbara and you can write such pretty lines to me on
my birthday, surely, Effie, you could have tried !"
"I have tried!" replied Effie, beginning to play with his gold-rimmed eye-
glasses, placing them across her own tiny nose.

"And what does my little mouse, Barbara, say ?" said he. "For I have the
prize in my pocket !" And putting his fingers in his waistcoat-pocket, he drew
out a little red-morocco case, in which was a tiny gold ring set with five dear
little pearls.
"Oh! Uncle George, I wish I had tried more!" exclaimed Effie, her eyes
sparkling over such a prize. "Or that you had given us something easier !"
"Why! What can be easier ? Old Will-o'-the-Wisp warning three poor little
children of their danger in the dreadful morass by which they must pass, and to
remember their parents' words, and the shocking result of disobedience-besides,
you have the title all ready for you, and six weeks to think it over-uncommonly
easy, it seems to me!"
Effie hung her head.
"Run, Barbara, and fetch your verses, and the ring shall be yours!"
Away ran Barbara, returning with a sheet of foolscap, on which she had
"printed," very carefully, these two verses:

Poor little children! .'
Return, I entreat!
My path is too wild .
For your tender feet. .'-'
"I dance all night long, .
Through blackest morass, '
And where my lamp leads
Your feet cannot pass."
"Well done! Well done, Barbara !" said her i-
Uncle. "Come and give me a kiss, you have
earned the ring right royally!"
Barbara blushed violently as she took the -
prize, and her Mother kissed her and made .
much of her, and everyone said what a clever f
little girl she was!.,f
Effie was so gentle about it, and praised M
her sister more than anyone.
But after this day, a change came over
Barbara, she walked sullenly about the house,
lost her appetite, took no interest in her dolls,
nor could she enter into any game with any heart with Effie, and at last she
grew so pale and quiet, that her Mother took her to a great physician.
"It looks like the brain," he said, "does she study much?"



~ ~




r, -~9~,-pg1%9E4rrF~s~~~



; '--.

I ", -


"Not very much," said Mamma, "but she is a very quick, intelligent child,
and can write little verses."
"Oh-ah--h'm-!" said the doctor, looking piercingly at Barbara.
Barbara quailed beneath the glance.
"She must rest-you must keep her out as much as you can in the open air,
she must not even read for a time!"
But his manner so terrified Barbara, that going home she said:" Mamma, I
am not ill It's a dreadful secret I have about Will-o-the-Wisp!"
Who has been frightening my little girl ?" said Mamma, fondly.
"Oh, Mamma, I've never been happy since the day Uncle George gave me the
prize for those verses. Oh, Mamma, forgive me! I copied them from your old
story-book, and I cut out the leaf. I never thought I should be found out, because
I did not know there was another book like it, in the world- "
Oh Barbara-there are thousands !" exclaimed her Mother, looking shocked.
"Yes, Mamma, now I know it. But I didn't then-and Uncle George would
be so unhappy if he knew-but I may die, and you may find it out-oh, Manmna!
I wish I had never been so wicked !"
Barbara, this is terrible such naughtiness and falseness in one so young You
must send your ring back, with a full confession to your Uncle, for that is the
only way you can make amends for having deceived him so terribly !"
Barbara clung to her Mother, sobbing.
"But, I think, my darling has suffered enough already, and I freely forgive
her. Barbara, no joy can ever come from any dishonest action."
"No, Mamma I know I know. I will never do it again, darling Mamma, I
promise you !"
The ring was returned, the confession made, and Barbara is regaining her lost
health and happiness.
Both Effie and she are trying once more to write poetry on the three little girls
who were saved by Will-o'-the-Wisp. Which of them will win, do you think ?
S. E. Benn;et.

*... ', .*.-= '...
....S- ,f^

-. ,, -' -' ..* "

5fie f imper'i $forv
d of s. e ws bigt s ie o ad te
'. [ ', ,

green banks on each side of the stream. One day, I and my companions
were cut down and flung into the water; we had a most refreshing bath, and then
'.-: ..'.. _. ,s ,,. ,. .' ... **. ..

Sfie lamper's tforv.

I-THE first thing I remember is standing in a lovely winding stream in a
f crowd of osiers. There was bright sunshine overhead, and there were
green banks on each side of the stream. One day, I and my companions
were cut down and flung into the water; we had a most refreshing bath, and then
we lay drying on the grass. I felt my outer skin tighten as I lay basking in the
golden sunshine, but suddenly I was taken up and put to a good deal of pain
by a pair of rough hands, which belonged to a hoarse rough voice, a red face,
and a shock head of hair. The twisting and pinching seemed to be a long time
doing, and the rough voice grunted and groaned as if its owner was the one who
suffered instead of poor me. At last, I found myself set on the ground in quite
a new shape. I had become a basket with a lid to it.
"Hulloa!" a pleasant voice said: "that's a jolly Hamper if you like; see how
green some of the osiers are! 'Tis well made, and strong, too, wouldn't I just
like to have that basket to keep ?"
"Don't you wish you may get it," the rough voice said; "and I should like
to know what you'd do with it?"
"I should line it," the girl said. Now I had recovered myself, I saw what
a cheerful face she had. "I'd line it with pink calico, and then keep my Sunday
hat and all my treasures in it; 'tis far too pretty to hold dirty things."
She touched me gently as she spoke, and I thought I should like to belong
to her.
"That one's going to London when the lot is ready," some one said.
While I had stood in the cool evenings down by the side of the river, I had
often heard girls ask about London as they walked past the place where I and
my companions grew in the big osier bed; the men they asked seemed to be

-- P- ~ jl~-.5

1 -~iii


able to say what London was like, and from the answers they made, I felt sure
that London must be the finest place in the world. I heard there was a river
there called the Thames, and I looked forward to a refreshing bath in this river on
my arrival, I was already wishing to find myself in the water again.
I was soon pitched up into a waggon with a number of other baskets,
clumsy ill-shapen creatures; they seemed good-natured, and were civil enough to
say that I had a right to the topmost place in the waggon, which rolled slowly
along on its broad wheels to London.
The journey made me hot and sleepy. I was roused by a noise, a rumbling
sound; it was soon more than a rumbling. I heard cries and shouts, and very
soon the waggon began to shake and sway about, till every inch of me ached.
At last we stopped, to judge by their voices there were men and boys, talking
all round the waggon. Some one gripped hold of me, and set me down on a
hard, dirty stone, a big flat stone, that seemed to stretch away on each side of
me. I saw that it was not only the stone that was dirty, but the men's faces,
and the walls of the buildings on both sides of the street. I shrank from all this
dirt; I shrank, too, from the dirty hands that lifted me, and sent me rolling down
a slanting board into a large square hole that showed in the dirty stone.
It was quite dark when I reached the bottom, but here again I was fortunate;
I was tenderly handled by someone in the cellar, and so far as I could judge in the
darkness, I was placed on the top of a pile of other baskets, and here, tired out by
my journey, I fell asleep.
In my sleep, it seemed to me I was once more rolling over a stony road, and
when I waked, I found myself-in broad daylight-in a small shop, with a man and
a woman. Bird-cages hung outside the shop, and inside were different sorts of
cages. A green and grey bird was chattering, others were singing, and there was a
squeaking noise in some of the other cages.
"Give me that pretty Hamper," the woman said. "That one with the green
streaks on its sides; it will just please the children, and I've got to pack these pigs
for the children at Agestone Manor House."
Pigs I felt myself shiver and shake. I had seen pigs down by the river, and
I well knew what nasty dirty creatures they were. I longed to cry out "Please
don't turn me into a pig-stye." First the woman lined me with clean straw,
then she put inside me several layers of soft, sweet-smelling hay, and then some big
green leaves. Then she went to one of the cages at the back of the shop, and,
after a while, she brought three little bundles, all wrapped in hay. She put these
in, then a little more straw on the top, and then she shut my lid firmly down, and
the man began to sew me up with string, as if I was never to come open again.
I thought they must be very small pigs, but I had no time to think; I was
hoisted up on a man's shoulder, and taken to the carrier's office, just as the

carrier's waggon came up. I heard someone say: "This side up-immediate-
alive. This had best go by first delivery to the station."
I did not pay much attention to this journey, I was too much troubled by the
behaviour of my passengers. There was a squeaking, and then a good deal of
scrambling in the hay. At last I felt a sharp bite in one of my sides. I shook and
shivered with pain and with fear; it was plain that the pigs were alive, and they
were trying to bite their way out. "Oh Oh! Oh!" There was another bite. It
was a great relief to be taken out of the stuffy luggage-van, and then a country lad
with rosy cheeks, put me in a light cart, and we drove along a narrow road.
It was lovely to be once more in the fresh air, and to see green hedges on each
side the way. At last we passed some great gates, and I saw in the distance
a big house. A little girl stood at one of the windows, and beside her was a
dog. The little girl clapped her hands when she saw us, and I heard the dog
bark. We drove on to the stable-yard, and a pleasant-looking man smiled as he
lifted me down. "This is for the little ladies," he said, "they've been expecting
this yer2 Hamper. I'll carry it in." I forgot all about the pigs, it was so nice
that somebody expected me. I was carried through several passages, into a large
place paved with white polished stone, and three dear little children-a boy and
two girls-came running to me from a door close by. "Oh, what a pretty hamper!"
both the little girls said, and I thought they were darlings. The boy did not
praise me, he said, "Open the Hamper, Jervis, quick! Here's a knife."
I was wondering what he would think of those little greedy pigs, and then,
I saw the eldest girl stoop and take into her arms a pretty little creature, only
as big as a rat, but white with black and yellow spots.
"Oh, you darling guinea-pig! Roger, see if you can't -"
find one for May," and she kissed the cruel, litil.
biting pig.
Roger soon found one for little May, and also: one .'-
for himself; and when Jervis carried me back to tlhe
yard, Roger and his sisters were still petting and fondly in .
those cruel little pigs. I felt a little sad;
I was glad to have brought pleasure to those .
sweet children, but I wished they could have cared s"
a little for me. I was roused by Jervis's voice.
"Jack, you shall have this Hamper," he. ,
said. "The Mistress told me to look her
out a nice one for you to take to your
Mother, full of flowering plants for her
garden, and you're going for your holiday

I felt sorry, I wanted another look at the pretty little ladies, and also I had
learned to dread journeys. This, however, was not a long one. Jack, the rosy-
cheeked boy, carried me on his shoulder to the station, and a heavy bundle in
his hand; but when we came to a pretty country station beside a river, a man
in a smock-frock met him and took his bundle.
"Well, Jack," he said, "glad to see you home, my boy."
I started with surprise, I felt so sure I had often heard this voice when I
stood in the osier-bed. We stopped at a cottage. An old woman and a girl
came out, and when they had lu;..-'.l and kissed Jack, they turned to look at
me. Jack was telling his Mother about the present inside me, but I did not hear
what he said. The girl had knelt down beside me, and I knew her at once.
"Oh, Father!" she cried, "if this isn't the pretty Hamper I so wanted to
keep, when it was sent away to London. Mayn't I have it now for my very own?"
You can fancy how happy I was when the Father said, "Yes, Lizzie, the
Hamper's yours."
Katherine S. Mliacquoid.

S lfiere flie Fairies' ide.

J O OCIC was very happy that day. Claire,
his little cousin, had come to spend it
with him, and, after dinner, they ran
down to the wood, which skirted the
bottom of the home-field.
Such a pretty wood, it was, with the smooth,
gray stems of the beech-trees, rising up out of
the moss and fern, and spreading their boughs
overhead like a roof; but there was one tree in
particular that Jock loved best.
"Look here, Claire," he cried, "this tree is
hollow-just peep in!"
And Claire peeped in, but could not see
very much.
"Uncle Tom says," whispered Jock, "that the
fairies hide in that, and that sometimes he can
see them. And more than that, he says he can
hear them, and that they tell him the stories he
tells us, and he can tell jolly stories."
"I can hear," said Claire, slowly, "a sort of

`-- --


humming, and-a-whispering-but I
can't hear any words." "No! no
more can I!" said Jock, "Uncle says
it is because I haven't cut my wisdom
teeth-but I shan't do that till I'm a
big man." "Oh! do tell me one
of his stories !" said Claire, suddenly.
"Let us sit down here on this lovely
moss, and you tell it me."
"I don't know if I can," an-
swered Jock, "but I'll try. I'll tell
you the one he told us last week
about 'The Ungrateful Prince.'
Once upon a time, there was i
a King, and he had two children,
Prince Kraft and Princess Liebchen.
But the King was dying, and he
called the children to his bedside,
and bade them be good and love
one another, and be obedient to his
brother, their Uncle, who would rule
over the kingdom till they were old enough to govern it themselves.
"But the Uncle was a cruel Uncle. He wanted to be King himself, so when
his brother was dead, he thought over all the ways in which he might get rid
of his Nephew and Niece, but he didn't know how to manage it, because all
the people were so fond of them. So he consulted an old witch, and she told
him she could make a drink of herbs, which would quite alter anybody who drank
it, so that they would scarcely be recognized by their nearest relations, and he
promised her a great purse full of gold when she brought it to him. One day
he called to the children to come to him, and there he showed them two little
silver cups full of something that smelt deliciously. 'See,' he said, 'what this
kind woman has brought you for a birthday treat. Just taste this lovely stuff.'
"It tasted most delicious, and the children drank it up, but after they had
done so, it had the most wonderful effect on them. For Princess Liebchen grew
more lovely than ever, but Prince Kraft shrivelled up into an ugly, wizened,
little dwarf. 'Oh! Brother!' shrieked the Princess 'what have they done to you!'
"' I'll take the boy,' said the old Witch to the Uncle, 'and say he is my
grandson; but what will you do with the girl?' 'I'll put her in the prison tower !'
said the Uncle. And so he did, and then he made himself King. So the poor little
Princess sat up in the prison tower. But she was so good and sweet, that her

gaolers grew very fond of her, and at last they helped her to escape. But she had
to disguise herself. She took off her little crown, and put on a cap, and a peasant
maiden's dress. She wandered about a long time, getting shelter and food here and
there from kind people, till one evening, she came to a little house, and knocked
at the door. Presently, a window opened, and a queer old creature in a hood,
with streaming grey hair, looked out. Now, this old creature was the Witch, and
she knew the Princess, at once, so she opened the door, and there was the
wizened Dwarf, and Liebchen knew it was her brother. She ran up to him,
and kissed him, and said how she longed to help him. 'Do you really want to
help him ?' asked the Witch, who had begun to be angry with the Uncle for not
giving her more reward. 'Oh, yes!' answered the Princess. 'And will you give
anything you have ?' 'Of course I will !' said Liebchen. 'Then, first, I must have
your hair !' and the Witch snipped off Liebchen's golden hair in a trice. And,
now, I must have your eyes !' 'My eyes !' faltered the Princess. 'Oh must I
be blind?' 'Oh please do, Liebchen !' cried Kraft. 'If you love me, you will.
It is so horrid to be an ugly little dwarf, like this.' So the poor little Princess
Liebchen let them take her lovely eyes, and then she was blind. But her brother
was a beautiful Prince, once more; so off they set together, to go back to the city.
"But, alas Prince Kraft had a black spot in his heart. He soon began to
get tired of taking care of his poor little blind sister. Then he looked at her, and
thought how ugly she looked, with her cropped hair and blinded eyes. 'Oh Kraft,'
said Liebchen, presently, 'I am so tired-I must sit down.' 'Yes,' he said, 'I am
sure you must be. You rest here, and I'll run on and try and find a horse for you
to ride.' And Liebchen sat .waitin till she was cold and hungry. Then she tried
to walk, but she couldn't see, and she tripped and tumbled. She called Kraft!
Kraft! Kraft !' but no one answered, and at last she could go no further. She
would have wept, but she had no eyes to weep with, and her heart ached as if it
would burst, and then all grew dark, and at last she fell sound asleep !
Now, near there, a Hermit lived, and one morning he went into the wood
and there he saw a maiden lying asleep. He tried to wake her, but he could not;
so he laid her in a tomb in his little chapel. And he wondered so much at her
beauty, that being clever, he carved a statue of her, and placed it over her tomb.
Meantime, the wicked Prince had been made King, and forgot all about his sister,
till one day, while out hunting, he came to the chapel, and went in just out of
curiosity. But as he did so, he gave a great cry, for there he saw a figure
carved in white stone, the figure of Liebchen. He caught hold of the tomb, and
behold, as his hand touched the stone, from beneath the half-veiled lids sprang out
two tiny springs of clearest water, and mingling, rippled over the chapel floor to the
green sward outside. And all knew they were the tears of the forsaken maiden,
burst forth at the touch of the cruel brother's hand." M. A. Hoyer.



L j,


Dof and' Trof.

SHEY called him Dot because he was the
S. littlest. All the rest of the family were
'-* growing big and busy with lessons, and Dot
*. was alone in the nursery. He had no playfellows
his own age, and he was rather dull sometimes.
SBut then Trot came, and Dot was never dull any
More. It was on Dot's birthday. Like every other
-child, Dot took care to wake up quite early on
Shis birthday morning; and he had just opened his
S. eyes when Trot pushed open the door with his
little black nose, and, walking in, stood in front of
Dot's bed, looking up at him with his round, goggly
}eyes. Trot had been made beautiful in honour of
the great day. Someone had hung a wreath of
roses round his short, fat little neck, but Trot did
not quite appear to relish the adornment, and tried
to scratch it off. Then Mamma lifted him into the bed, and introduced him to
his little master and playfellow, Dot.
After this, Trot and Dot were inseparable. The little pug was so knowing
and clever, and had such funny little ways that made Dot laugh. He would
play hide and seek with a ball, hunting for it everywhere till he found it. He
would not eat his dinner alone, but insisted on having his plate put down beside
Dot's high chair. But if Trot had a fault, it was that he was a rather greedy
little dog about biscuits. He was so clever, ,he soon got to know where Nurse
kept Dot's biscuits. Directly he heard the cupboard open he would jump up,
even though he had appeared to be fast asleep, and hurry up and beg for some.
And Dot would beg for him, too, and so between them Trot generally got his
Now there was one person in the house, or rather in the yard, who did
not admire Trot as much as everybody else did. This was old Jowler, the
watch-dog-a very big, grave, faithful person-who had lived for years in the
kennel by the stable-gate, looking after the house and the family generally. If
Jowler had been asked he would probably have told you that he considered Trot -
rather a silly little bit of a dog, almost beneath his notice. Only occasionally
did solemn old Jowler condescend to have a game of play with the pug.
All the Summer through Trot walked and played with Dot. But when the
Winter came, with cold, wet days, the two were much shut up in the nursery,

S which neither of them liked at all. Each would
S much rather have been out of doors. Dot
Grumbled sometimes, and Trot sought every
-', opportunity of escaping, which was hardly fair
S i." on Dot. For Trot could run out with no
'..'' hat on his little black head, or coat on his
t fat body, and required no shoes on his little
: white paws. Whereas Nurse insisted on Dot's
putting on his great-coat and cap, and his fur-
., .. lined boots. Then Trot never caught cold, and
Dot did sometimes.
One bright morning, during a sharp frost,
the two were ready for their walk; Dot, after
\ putting crumbs on the window-sill for the poor
/ little birds, dressed, and Trot scampered round
-.."` ./ him, barking, and was much excited. Then Nurse
was suddenly called away for a moment, and
Trot, perceiving the door open, seized the oppor-
tunity and disappeared through it. After him went Dot. He could not catch
Trot, for Dot had only two legs, and Trot four, but he followed as fast as
he could. It was cold and crisp, but, oh! so jolly out of doors. Trot pranced
and bounded about, and Dot ran after him, down the garden-path, till they came
to the pond. There, lo, and behold! the water was covered with a sheet of
white ice.
"Tum along, T'ot! Tum and have a slide!" cried Dot, catching up the fat
pug, which was as much as his arms could hold, and trying to copy his big
brother, ran on to the ice.
But the ice was unexpectedly slippery. There came a slide, indeed, a slip,
and a terrible tumble. Both Dot and Trot sat down suddenly on the ice. Off
went Dot's cap, and Trot was half-throttled by Dot's arm round his neck. He
was up first, and tore away across the ice. Up scrambled Dot, and rushed after
him. But Trot was the lightest ; the ice that would bear him, gave way under the
weight of the little boy : and just as he sprang on to the bank, he heard a fearful
crash, and saw Dot's curly golden head disappear in a large hole under the water.
Now, what do you think that clever little Trot did? First, he stood and barked
upon the bank, as if calling to Dot to come out, which, of course, poor Dot could
not do. Trot barked and barked for some time, but in vain. And then he trotted
off hurriedly to where old Jowler lay dozing in his kennel.
Somehow or other, we don't quite know how, in their mute dog-language, I
suppose, the little pug roused the big dog, and made him understand that he needed

. ...



- t

rr --
rz*r ';rb

ma 1
~j aA~' u

;tr tPryi

i f



Q ri6v ine .



his help. Jowler got up and trotted off to the pond, Trot bounding in front to
show the way, as it were.
Now what do you think good old Jowler did? When the pair reached the
ice, he spied poor little Dot's curly head floating in the water in the hole. He
just jumped in, and seized the little boy by his frock; and by the time Nurse,
who had been hunting everywhere for Dot, came running down the path, frightened
and -.i.. :.in:, Jowler had dragged the little boy safe to land.
'It was some time before Dot went out again. For he caught a bad chill
in consequence of his cold bath. He said it was all Trot's fault for escaping
into the garden, and enticing him to follow. But no one scolded Trot, because
he with Jowler had saved Dot's life.
Edith E. Cuthell.

Yido and 1fe wan.

P-IIDO ran down to the brink of the lake,
S And began a barking protest to make;
"This lake, let me tell you, is mine," said he,
"You're trespassing on my property !"

"Dear me," said the Swans,
"don't niake such a row
\V'l, v..'r rli..:ulous bow-wow-wow;
I _I-' .irii.i: are large,
and you're very small,
.-!|| i:.11._ly there's room
:.;,' in the world for us all."
Gray Severn.

.- e' ^

,. .. .
. --..-. :.. "''
-,. _

,A .ffy. 4orgivene ,.

C H Mamma!" sobbed little Kitty, "look
/ what naughty Vixen has done!" "It's
i. only that old chocolate-box, ma'am,"
i- observed Nurse, "children do set store
Son such rubbish!"
Nurse spoke in this way to make light
Sof the whole affair, but Mamma knew how

", "' .., She took Kitty on her knee, dried her tears
and kissed her golden head, saying:
"I hope you did not attempt to punish
Vixen ? She is only a little dog and knows no better."
"No, Mamma-I-I only pushed her away!" stammered Kitty.
"Even that would make her little heart very sad," said Mamma.
"But the picture of the boat is all torn off!" sobbed Kitty, afresh.
Never mind! We must try and forgive Vixen. I am sure that she feels
she has been naughty! Turn and look at her, Kitty! She is begging you to
forgive her!" At last, little Kitty stroked poor Vixen's head.
"Now, my sweet, I am going to see dear Grandmamma for an hour, and
when I return, I hope my little girl will have been brave enough, not to cry
any more!" Kitty's eyes were very red when Mamma came back, but Nurse said,
that she had not given way to tears again, although she had not had the heart
to play with any of her toys.
"I never see a child take on so about a rubbishy box," said Nurse, "and as
for Vixen, ma'am, she's run away into the garden, to hide herself!"
"Come to me, Kitty," said Mamma, "I think the fairies must have told
Grandmamma about your misfortune, because she had this all ready for me to
bring to you!" Kitty gave a little cry of delight, for it was such a pretty bon-
bon box, tied up with pink ribbon, and on the lid was a picture of the most
mischievous kitten you ever saw.
Kitty ran into the garden with her new treasure, and joyously called Vixen.
The clever dog saw in an instant that the past was forgotten, and that her
little mistress was happy once more, so she bounded to her side.
Vixen loved sugar-plums, but waited patiently, wagging her tail, while Kitty
opened the lid.
"Here, Vixen! I'll give you this large one, to show you I forgive you
about the old box !" S. E. Bennett.

[,- S ~Bone
, .'" .

of ?onfcnfioll.

J ..CEc there was a little dog
S Who found a little bone,
~- He thought, as little dogs will do
'Twas his and his alone.
Said he, "I'm very hungry, so
I'll have this for my own !"

So he sat him in his corner,
With the bone between his feet,
And growled although his temper
It was naturally sweet;
He soon became a picture sad,
Of selfishness complete !

.. "-." -

There was a second little dog,
Who saw the other's bone,
And wished and wished with all his might,
He had one for his own.
But dared not beg a bit of him,
He had so surly grown.

Now, little dogs, and little folks,
Should never greedy be;
I shouldn't like to think that you
Behave so selfishly;
That he was very selfish,
I'm sure you will agree.

If you've a pretty picture-book,
With rhymes and pictures fair,
Don't take it to a corner,
And sit surly with it there;
Let others who would like to look,
Your pleasure in it share.
Gray Severn.

,~, .f



Ilue6eaid'i Bluebells.

. ItC

-4 --~

t was a strange thing, but the very flowers we wanted most for
'l\' iiiMu- 'is birthday, were the bluebells which grew in "Bluebeard's"
17.' ..wood! His real name was Hungerford, but we always called him
"Bluebeard," not that he had murdered any wives, that we knew
of, in fact, we did not know anything about him, except that he
lived in an enormous red house, quite away from the village, and
was very severe about letting people into his woods.
It was last Spring, when Mamma was so ill, that we were
staying in this little village, which was so tiny, that it only had
one crooked street in it, and the only shop-that could be called a
shop-was the butcher's. The real shops were a long way off, and we had to go
by train to them, so that it was impossible to get Mamma a birthday present
without letting her knowing it.
"We can only give her flowers !" I said to Gerald and Daisy. "I do wish we
could make friends with that keeper, and ask him to let us into the wood !"
"But, Molly, we can get lilat-" said Daisy, who cannot speak plainly, yet.
"Lilac! Yes, I know, but we have brought Mamma lilac, twice from the farm;
there is nothing special in that !"
"Let's try again, in old 'Bluebeard's' wood," cried Gerald, "perhaps the poacher
won't turn us away, this time !"
Gerald would call the man a poacher, but he was, I am sure, some kind of
keeper, to prevent people breaking the trees in the plantations. Mamma, at any
rate, thinks so.
"No, Gerald!" I said. "If we were to get into that fenced-in part, we should
be stealing!"
"Pooh !" answered he., "Just a girl's excuse, when she afraid!"
On the birthday morning, just as we sat down to breakfast in the nursery, Daisy
came running in quite excitedly with the news, that Mr. Hungerford was ill. Nurse
had heard it.
"What! old 'Bluebeard' ?" said Gerald.
"Yes !" replied Daisy, nodding her head, mischievously.
"All right! Now we can get his bluebells, without being found out." And
Gerald looked at me in a daring way, because he knew that I thought it wrong, and
Daisy thought so, too, only she was not brave enough to say so to Gerald.

2 .

?Fhrecli i iIi-

T he y ,.: ii-ii Iii I -III .-I

For -oc I fii -.-,

r .


We made haste over breakfast, and stole out of the house-so that M:nm.a
should not hear us-taking our two little dogs, "Mona" and "Leo," with us, but
leaving old Nero at home in his kennel, beca-se we thought the keeper would
be more cross with a big dog than with little ones, if he should meet us, and
reached the wood without meeting anyone except some very timid country children.
"Come along, Molly!" cried Gerald to me, beginning to scramble over the
fence. "What are you afraid of?"
"Nothing-but Daisy and I are going to try and find the keeper; he will be
kind if we tell him it is Mamma's birthday !"
"I shan't wait returned Gerald.
"Well, take care that a big policeman does not come and carry you off,
Gerald, for you're trespassing "
Just at that moment a young man, with a very laughing face, passed us.
"Hulloa! youngsters, what are you doing here ?" he said, stopping suddenly.
Daisy fell behind me, she is such a timid little mite, and Gerald turned very
pale and jumped off the fence. I was very much afraid, but I answered him directly.
"We want some of cross old Mr. Hungerford's bluebells, just a few for Mamma's
birthday, to surprise her. We are waiting to see the keeper, to ask him to allow
us-- "
"Oh, cross old Mr. JHungerford, eh ? Doesn't he like you in his woods ?"
"No," I said, "he's a very strict old man about children."
He burst out laughing.
"We call him 'Bluebeard,'" said Gerald, boldly, now that the danger seemed
"So ho is that what you call him ? You had better not let him hear you-
here is the keeper, look!"
The man whom Gerald called the poacher came across the road, touching his


lk )

cap to our new companion.
"Steele, these children wish to gather
wild flowers in these woods," he said. "There
is no objection, I suppose?" The ferocious-
looking man eyed us all, sternly.
"Well, no, sir, and them little dogs
they've got, too?"
"Certainly, the little dogs-they can
do no harm." The man touched his
cap again, and went away.
"Oh, thank you for asking! I said.
"Come along, children! I will shew
you where the bluest grow."

"There are no shops in the village, although -..,1
we had thought of three presents for Mamma," 1 .
said Gerald, as we walked along. \ .-
"And what were they?" inquired our new
"A penknife, a key-ring, or a diary-book,"
answered Gerald. "But Mamma is much better
for the change of air; we've been here two 4 '
months." .
"Indeed!" said the stranger, and then he '.
pointed to a bank in the distance which was
quite blue with flowers.
"I hope Mr. Hungerford won't be angry -
with the keeper for letting us in," I said, "Do
you think he will ? he's such a cross old man."
"Oh, no," he's not such a griffin as all
that-well, good-bye, children," he answered, and, waving his hand, he disappeared.
We had gathered an enormous bunch of bluebells, and were returning home,
when we met nurse coming to fetch us, so we ran to show her our flowers
with triumph.
My! that is a fine bunch," she exclaimed.
We found Mamma waiting for us with eagerness.
"Children," she said, "there is some mystery, look at this!" and she held up
an immense bouquet of the loveliest hot-house flowers you can imagine.
There was a card with it, on which was written-
From Bluebeard."
"I know," cried Gerald, "that was 'Bluebeard' himself who took us in the
wood for the flowers."
Bluebeard-and we never knew it! Yes, now that I come to think of it, it
must have been he.
So we told Mamma all about our exciting adventure over her birthday present,
and although she was so delighted with "Bluebeard's" bouquet, she seemed to care
for ours the most.
S. Emily Bennett.

Iq..-_, '


~ r

; r'Z


~. ?i

j12offieq Ied-7ap.

S' iWO dear little children once wandered away,
SFar into the world one fine Summer's day,
In search of a fairy who lived in a wood,
S And who every one knew was exceedingly good.
We'll ask for," they said, as they walked hand in hand,
"The bestest of things to be had in the land,
We'll be very polite, and say, 'please would you mind?'
And dear Mother Red-Cap is sure to be kind."
They found Mother Red-Cap and made their demand,
For the "bestest of things to be had in the land."
"My dears," said the fairy, "from the day of your birth,
You've had the best things to be found on the earth."
The very best things for all little girls,
Better than toffee, or rubies and pearls,
The best things of all, all others above,
Is your home, and your Mother, and dear Mother's love.
Edric Vredenburg.

Thfe IJairy wiffi Two 'Voiced

.3 WO very tiny children came with their parents to live in a cottage
which stood in a sort of glen up among the hills. It was a very
: pretty place, though rather lonely, but this the children did not mind.
Their Father was out at work all day, and their Mother had much
to do at home; where, besides all the house work and the cooking,
and the looking after the cow and the pig, and the cocks and hens, she had the
baby to mind. For the baby was still tinier than its brother and sister. It could
not yet talk or walk, or do anything but lie smiling, and sometimes, I daresay,
crying a little in its cradle, or in its Mother's arms.
So the two elder children had to play about a good deal by themselves
There was no help for it, for their Mother knew it would not be good for them to
keep them all day beside her in the small rooms of the cottage, nor even quite close
at hand. They needed to run about, to climb and scramble, and tumble and play
like all little animals, in order that they should grow strong and active, and


j12offieq Ied-7ap.

S' iWO dear little children once wandered away,
SFar into the world one fine Summer's day,
In search of a fairy who lived in a wood,
S And who every one knew was exceedingly good.
We'll ask for," they said, as they walked hand in hand,
"The bestest of things to be had in the land,
We'll be very polite, and say, 'please would you mind?'
And dear Mother Red-Cap is sure to be kind."
They found Mother Red-Cap and made their demand,
For the "bestest of things to be had in the land."
"My dears," said the fairy, "from the day of your birth,
You've had the best things to be found on the earth."
The very best things for all little girls,
Better than toffee, or rubies and pearls,
The best things of all, all others above,
Is your home, and your Mother, and dear Mother's love.
Edric Vredenburg.

Thfe IJairy wiffi Two 'Voiced

.3 WO very tiny children came with their parents to live in a cottage
which stood in a sort of glen up among the hills. It was a very
: pretty place, though rather lonely, but this the children did not mind.
Their Father was out at work all day, and their Mother had much
to do at home; where, besides all the house work and the cooking,
and the looking after the cow and the pig, and the cocks and hens, she had the
baby to mind. For the baby was still tinier than its brother and sister. It could
not yet talk or walk, or do anything but lie smiling, and sometimes, I daresay,
crying a little in its cradle, or in its Mother's arms.
So the two elder children had to play about a good deal by themselves
There was no help for it, for their Mother knew it would not be good for them to
keep them all day beside her in the small rooms of the cottage, nor even quite close
at hand. They needed to run about, to climb and scramble, and tumble and play
like all little animals, in order that they should grow strong and active, and


But sometimes she could not help
feeling a little anxious, for they were
"V- only very tiny, and till now they had
lived in a town, and there had been no
question of their playing about, out of
"You'll be very good, dears-don't
stray away from each other, and don't
get to quarrelling. Quarrelling always
leads to mischief," she would often say
as she tied their hats on, and fastened
r their little jackets.
Ver And, "Yes Mother, we'll be good,"
the small pair would reply.
.. And for some time when they came
home again their talk would be all of
the birds they had heard singing, or the
Flowers they had plucked, of how the
S. little brook went chattering over the
stones, and a squirrel darted up a tree
Srjust as they had caught sight of his fine
'oly I bushy tail.
SBut after a while their Mother heard
'them talking in a way she could not
Wun:ler t'n.1--:,,tinel it a v. ht th,-y said to her, more often snatches of talk
between themselves which she overheard. And at last she grew uneasy, and said to
her husband she trusted there was nothing "uncanny" up there in the woods
where Dirk and Molly were so fond of wandering.
"Why should you think so ?" he asked.
"From their talk," she replied. "They say such strange things about some
one they see, or at least talk with up there. To-day they came running home all
beaming with smiles. 'We've been good,' they said, 'so good and so happy. So
good and so happy, she said so.' But two days ago they looked sad, and their eyes
were tearful, and I heard them at night crying by themselves, and Dirk said to
Molly, I won't shout naughty at you any more, and then she won't say I'm naughty,
will she, sister ?' "
"Well, well," said the Father, "whoever it is, it's no one who teaches them any
harm, seemingly. It may be just their own fancies. Can't you ask them who it is ? "
"I have asked them," said the Mother. "But they only seemed puzzled.
'She lives up there,' is all they can say, and 'she has two voices-one for good Dirk

and good Molly, and one for naughty Dirk and naughty Molly.' And when they
said 'naughty,' they seemed like to cry. I was afraid of upsetting them, and I
thought I'd wait and ask you what you thought."
"We must see," said the Father. "It is not always well to meddle too closely
with children's fancies-we must see."
For he was a wise man, and he had not yet forgotten his own childhood.
But the next day the children looked so downcast and sad when they came
home that their Mother could not but ask them what was wrong.
Bursting into tears, they threw themselves into her arms.
Oh Mother, dear," they cried, "we have been so naughty-and she-she
won't love us any more-she said so!"
"Who is 'she,' dears. Whom are you speaking of. Is it someone who lives
near us ?"
The children looked at each another, and then glanced round.
"Don't tell, Mammy," they whispered, "it's a secret. We asked her if it
was, and she called back to us, 'A secret !' She's a fairy, Mother, like the fairies
in the woods, you've told us pretty stories of." "We asked her that, too, 'Are you
a fairy ? and she called back, 'A fairy !' said Dirk.
"And she has two voices, a good and a naughty one, for when we are good
and naughty," added Molly. "But to-day, she said 'naughty,' and she called, 'I
don't love you !'" and, again, Molly's tears burst forth.
A light dawned upon their Mother.
"Mayn't I talk to the fairy, too ? she said. "I don't think she'd be angry.
Let us go and see !"
And, soon, they were all climbing up the glen, baby, too-of course, baby could
not be left alone at home-till they came near to where the fairy lived.
"Ask her, Dirk," said Mother, softly, "ask her if Mother may come, too !"
Dirk ran on a few steps, and his clear childish voice rang out shrilly-
"Fairy, may Mother come, too ?"
Mother come, too," came the answer, in softer tones.
Dirk ran back overjoyed.
"Yes, yes," he cried. "The fairy says Mother may come too."
He dragged his Mother by the skirt. She was quick and ready, and she saw
that the children's pretty fairy might be turned to good account.
"Fairy, kind fairy," she said, "Dirk and Molly were naughty, this morning."
"Naughty, this morning," agreed the voice.
"But they are sorry now."
"Sorry, now."
"Will you forgive them ?"
"Forgive them," replied the sweet tones.

"They will not quarrel any more, but will love each other well."
"Love each other well."
"You will love them, if they are good ?"
"Love them, if they are good."
Mother looked at the children. There eyes were sparkling.
"How nice the fairy speaks to Mother," they said, "She says so many words."
"And all in her pretty voice," added Molly.
Then Mother turned to go home again, for baby must be put to sleep.
"I will leave you here to play, dears," she said. "The fairy will always answer
you in her kind voice unless she hears you speaking unkindly and roughly to each

We won't, we
forgive us."
And I think it
children other than

won't, dear Mother," they said. "Thank you for asking her to

was very seldom, if ever again,
softly and lovingly.

that Fairy Echo spoke to the

Louisa IMolesworth.

"JCLIY we come, Too0'?

P LEfSE, little Mistress, dear,
Our mute petition hear;
Home is both dull and drear
When you're away;
Both of us miss you so,
Time goes so very slow,
We'll both be good, you know,
Let us come, pray!

Snow will not hurt our feet;
Hear us our plea repeat-
Please little Mistress, sweet,
Take us with you!
Indoors, there's no delight;
Outside, the world's so bright;
With you we're happy, quite-
"May we come, too?"
Clfton Bingham.


.-' ,
.* .-. -, .-

Tfie fic-nic.

a fat's too horrible," exclaimed Tip, the Pomeranian dog, indignantly.
Shows such a want of taste and feeling," said his friend Budge, the
other pet dog of the family. The wretched thing came, too, with a
saucepan tied to his tail."
"iAnd he now has a ribbon round his neck, and is coming to have tea with
us in the wood this afternoon," continued Tip, with a growl.
The fact of the matter was, that the two dogs, Tip and Budge, were exceed-
ingly cross because another dog had been taken into the household, and it had come
about in this way. Little Maggie, a day or two before, while out bowling her
hoop, had met a poor half-starved doggie with a tin saucepan tied to his tail; he
looked so hungry and miserable, that she carried him home,, after taking the sauce-
pan off his tail, so that he could wag it with pleasure, and begged her Father to let
her keep him, arid Papa having said "Yes," she and her brother Bob gave the new
doggie a supper and a bath, and combed his hair, tied a ribbon round his neck,
called him Rover, and made him quite handsome and respectable-looking ; and as
he was a very well behaved little dog, he was to go and have tea with the children
in the wood. Now all this disgusted Tip and Budge so much that they would not
speak to Rover, and would have liked to have bitten him, only they dared not,
for if they had, they most likely would have been whipped.
Well, it was a delightful little pic-nic, although Tip and Budge were so dis-
agreeab'l. There were strawberries and cream, cake and biscuits, and plenty of

nice new milk. And it was such a warm, lovely, sleepy sort of day, with the
birds singing in the trees, and the bees humming in the leaves, that after tea
Maggie fell fast asleep, while Bobbie toddled off alone after the pretty butterflies
that he could never catch.
Such a lazy, dreamy sort of a day, that nurse fell asleep in the nursery, and it
was quite late before she went to the wood to fetch the children home; and when
she did so she could only find Maggie, still asleep. Bobbie was nowhere to be
found. No, although she hunted here, there, and everywhere; and when she and
Maggie called "Bobbie, Bobbie," only the birds replied to them, singing in the
trees, and the bees humming in the leaves. Then, oh dear! there was such a hurry
and a scurry. Papa and Mamma, and Janet, the cook, all came to hunt for Bobbie,
and they hunted high and they hunted low, but still Bobbie was not to be found;
and it was so late that the birds went home to roost and the bees flew back to their
hives. But presently they heard a barking in the distance, and then they discovered,
for the first time, that Rover was missing too, so they all went in the direction of
the sound, until they came to the further end of the wood, and there was Rover
seated beside a big hollow tree, barking with all his might, and inside the hollow
tree there lay, cuddled up asleep, little Master Bobbie. His father picked him up
and carried him home, when he was put to bed, and he didn't know till next
morning how anxious he had made everybody. If it had not been for faithful
Rover, Bobbie, very likely, would have had to sleep in the hollow tree all night.
Tip and Budge felt rather ashamed of themselves for having been cross to the
new doggie, and from that day forth did everything they could to please him, and
taking them all round there isn't a happier family of children and dogs in the whole
world than Maggie and Bobbie, Tip, Budge, and Rover.
Edric Vredenburg.

cT HE Man in the Moon is looking down
On you and me, and village and town;
How did he get there? I don't know.
He must have climbed the big rainbow;
Perhaps he crept into a telescope,
And was shot right up-if so, let's hope
He didn't get hurt. It's pretty plain
He couldn't go there by ship or train.
Anyway, there he is, you see,
A long way off from you and me;
I don't think he'll come down again soon.
I'm sorry-aren't you?-for the Man in the Moon! C. B.

S"R6on. -

H 9nd was great '

preparing for the event.
Indoors all the maids were
busy hanging up tapestries
and curtains, and spreading
carpets, while the men
strewed the great Hall with
fresh green rushes, and out of
doors all was bustle with the :-_mlh,.
of huntsmen and dogs, while tha.: I: i
and prickers were ranging the v-a:t ,
and placing the nets for the greL .- 0f
deer. For all the deer in the park were to be stared from their quiet haunts, and
driven by the t ee the Queen and her ladies and gentlemen would be
stationed, so that they could shoot at them as they fled past.
But poor little Lady Dorothy, the Earl's daughter, was in great grief. Not only
did she love all the beautiful dapple-coated creatures, and hated that they should
be slain, but there was one pet doe of which she was especially fond. It was so
tame that it would come to her in the woodland dells at her call, and feed out of
her hand, and let her pet and caress it at her will. But now, how was she to
save her pet from a cruel fate! Poor little Dorothy wept bitterly as she thought
of it !
Presently the guests arrived, the Queen, riding amid her ladies, all glittering in
silk and jewels, and there was a grand banquet, and after it, as the Queen sat in
her chair of state on the raised dais, the Earl bade his little daughter come and
dance with her cousin Hugo, before the Queen. And Dorothy danced so prettily,
that the Queen called her to come to her, and bent down to kiss her, but in so
doing, she saw that Dorothy's eyes were wet with tears.
"Why little maiden," se e said kindly, what is the matter ? Hath aught
grieved thee ?"

Now this made poor Dorothy's tears fall fast indeed, but all she could sob out
was, "My dear, dear little doe!"
"Your doe ?" exclaimed the Queen, "what doth the child mean ?"
"Please your Grace," said Hugo, who was a fearless little fellow, and loved
his cousin very much, "She hath a pet doe among the deer in the Park and she
fears it will be slain to-morrow in the great hunt !"
Then the Queen laughed, and taking from her neck a rich and beautiful ribbon
of green and white silk, she gave it to Dorothy.
"See here," she said; "think you, you can find your pet in the morn ?"
"Oh yes" said Dorothy, "She comes to the oak glade nearly always for me
to feed her."
"Well then," went on the Queen, "then bind this ribbon firmly about her
neck, and you, my Lord"--and here the Queen turned to the Earl who stood
behind her chair, "must order that the trumpeters give warning to all in the hunt,
that whoever shall hurt or harm the doe bearing my ribbon, shall fall under my
severest displeasure!"
Very, very early, the next morning, did Dorothy and Hugo steal out, down to
the oak glade, and there they found the gentle creature waiting for her little mis-
tress. And they bound the ribbon, safe and sure, around the doe's neck, and in all
the hunt that day, though many a gallant hart and hind were slain, not one dare
injure the Queen's doe, as they called it.
On the morrow the Queen departed to go further on the great progress she
was making throughout her kingdom, and as she bade farewell to her host and
hostess, she turned to little Lady Dorothy, and said-
Will you come to my Court, little maiden, and serve me ?"
"That will I, right joyfully, Madam ?" cried Dorothy, who was full of gratitude.
"Then you must pray the Earl, your father, to bring you, when you are old
enough !" replied the Queen, and meanwhile ask me what you will."
"Then, please your Majesty," said Dorothy, eagerly, "When I come to Court,
may Hugo come to ?"
"What, always for others ?" said the Queen, smiling. "Well, be it so, Hugo
shall come and be my page.
So when Dorothy was old enough, the Earl took her to Court, and the Queen
made her one of her Maids of Honour, and none were fairer than she. And, bye-
and-bye, she married her cousin Hugo, and the Queen granted them for their coat-
of-arms, a doe, bearing a ribbon around her neck, and for a motto, "Always for
M. A. Hoyer.


~a I


6b's' Cart.

HIA VE a little pussy,
I put her in my cart,
And went to pay a visit,
To my Sweet-Heart.
took my Dollies with me,
Determined to be gay,
ut ere we'd gone a mile or two,
Pussy ran away.

Pussy ran away, dears,
Over went the cart,
Whatever shall I say, dears,
To my Sweet-Heart?
I'll tell him all my trouble,
That's what I will do;
Punch's nose is broken,
And Baby's black and blue.

And when I've told my story,
He's so sweet and kind,
He'll pick the broken pieces up,
And tell me not to mind;
He'll give me lots of new dolls,
And set me in his cart,
And round the world I'll travel,
With my Sweet-Heart !"
Fred. E. Weatherly.


* 5 lssy; ran
th-'cr uic;
~vrkatevc<. :I
i nkr' S, -..


7;~.; i

:*Ea a


1~iId's' J'Joney-J-oBo.

.-. 4.r / Y / TI open my Money-box, Mother?'
said Hilda, "I want to see how much
N --- ( there is in it."
"Oh! yes," answered Mother; so Hilda got
it out of the cupboard, and opened it, and
out poured all the money.
"Oh! what a lot!" exclaimed Hilda; and,
indeed, there did seem a quantity of coins. So many bright new pennies and half-
pennies, and so many dull old ones, and the half-crown Uncle Ned had given her
on her birthday, and three threepenny bits, and a sixpence Grannie had paid her for
working her a nice new kettle-holder.
Hilda spread all the money out on the table and looked at it.
"There will be more than I shall want for the Pets, I am sure!" she said.
"What shall I do with the rest?"
"But how many pets are there now?" inquired Mother; "and what do they
cost you?"
"Well, first," said Hilda, "there are my dear doves. There are seven of them,
the darlings, but they really have very large appetites. I must buy them food. And
then there is my hen, Xantippe-she is sitting on nine eggs, so I suppose there will
be nine chickens, and I expect they will be tremendously hungry."
"Why do you call her Xantippe ?" asked Mother, laughing.
"Oh! Mother, didn't I tell you," replied Hilda. "It is because she is always
clucking and squawking in such a scolding voice, and the week you gave her to me I
read in my history at school about a poor man called Socrates; he was very wise
and used to ask people dreadful puzzling questions,
but he had such a cross wife, who was always scold-
ing him and talking at him. So I thought my hen
was rather like her, and I gave her the name, and .
she knows it quite well, and seems to like it. Well,
there will be corn to buy for her, and then there 1 -
are Topsie and Flopsie." "The Kittens 1" exclaimed .
Mother. "Surely they don't cost you anything!" ".
"Oh 1 yes, they do," said Hilda, nodding. "At least '" "
not Topsie, but Flopsie does! Martha was going to

drown Flopsie, and I thought it so sad for Topsie to be all alone, with no one to
play with-just like me without any brothers or sisters-and I begged her to spare
Flopsie's life. But Martha said she couldn't keep such a lot of cats, they would
drink so much milk. Then I promised I would pay her a penny a week for
Flopsie, and I owe her six weeks. But still I shall have
a lot of money left !"
"I am going to walk over to the town this afternoon, .
said Mother, "to do some shopping, and you can go with I .
me. And if you like you shall buy some wool and some
pins, and I will teach you how to knit a pair of baby's
shoes" 1"
"But what is the use of knitting baby's shoes, when we haven't got a baby ?"
asked Hilda in a disconsolate voice.
"One never knows," said Mother. The angels might bring us a baby, or if
they didn't bring it to us they may take one to somebody else, and you could
give it your shoes."
"So I could !" cried Hilda. "Oh, yes, Mother, thank you. I would like to do
that very much."
So Hilda went with her Mother to the shop, and bought some pretty white
and pink wool, and a pair of shining knitting-pins, and Mother taught her how
to make the baby's shoes. It was rather difficult at first, but she was a patient
little girl, and took pains, and at last the shoes were finished.
"They look rather limp," thought Hilda, as she gazed at them standing side
by side on the table. Oh! I wish a dear little baby would come and put
them on !"
And strange to say that very night the angels came silently flying down,
with a soft little bundle in their arms, and the next time Hilda saw her shoes,
they were limp no longer, for inside each was a dear, fat little baby's foot, and best
of all, the baby itself was the darling little sister she had so greatly longed for.
M. A. Hoyer.

folife foll.

I SS Polly and her Dolly
Were sitting on a log,
f. When up, out of the river,
'-3 There jumped a little frog.

And he said "Good morning, Missie!
And pray how may you be ?"
"I'm very well," said Polly,
"And how are you?" said she.

"If you'll come and sit beside me
I'll wipe you nice and dry,
And we can have a cosy chat
Together you and I."

But ere the little maiden
Had turned her sunny face,
There stood a fairy on the log
In little froggie's place.

And she said "My little maiden,
Because you've been polite,
I'll be your friend for ever,
And guard you day and night."

The moral of my song is this:-
When seated upon logs
Be most polite to animals,
Especially to frogs.
Fred E. TVeatherly.

The Fiqhfinq Yrowero.

.. '' I T are you staring at, Hodgie ?" said Mother one afternoon,
..:' -' .lihen she came up to the nursery.
Hodgie was standing at the window, his fat brown hands
clasped behind him, his holland blouse looking rather bunchy and
untidy, instead of smoothly hanging down straight and neat below
his red leather belt. And even when he heard his Mother's
voice he scarcely turned round-only just enough not to seem rude-while he
murmured or muttered something about the wind and .the flowers. But that tiny
glance over his shoulder was enough to show two things-that his eyes were
red and his face very solemn. Nurse gave Mother a look which meant "There's
been some stormy weather up here, ma'am."

; ;

folife foll.

I SS Polly and her Dolly
Were sitting on a log,
f. When up, out of the river,
'-3 There jumped a little frog.

And he said "Good morning, Missie!
And pray how may you be ?"
"I'm very well," said Polly,
"And how are you?" said she.

"If you'll come and sit beside me
I'll wipe you nice and dry,
And we can have a cosy chat
Together you and I."

But ere the little maiden
Had turned her sunny face,
There stood a fairy on the log
In little froggie's place.

And she said "My little maiden,
Because you've been polite,
I'll be your friend for ever,
And guard you day and night."

The moral of my song is this:-
When seated upon logs
Be most polite to animals,
Especially to frogs.
Fred E. TVeatherly.

The Fiqhfinq Yrowero.

.. '' I T are you staring at, Hodgie ?" said Mother one afternoon,
..:' -' .lihen she came up to the nursery.
Hodgie was standing at the window, his fat brown hands
clasped behind him, his holland blouse looking rather bunchy and
untidy, instead of smoothly hanging down straight and neat below
his red leather belt. And even when he heard his Mother's
voice he scarcely turned round-only just enough not to seem rude-while he
murmured or muttered something about the wind and .the flowers. But that tiny
glance over his shoulder was enough to show two things-that his eyes were
red and his face very solemn. Nurse gave Mother a look which meant "There's
been some stormy weather up here, ma'am."

; ;


I .

I ;iIU L'

i/ .




-4=W -

~~ 'I"'

And Mother soon saw two other sights. Blanche was sitting in a dark
corner pretending to be very busy undressing her doll, and Nora was not
pretending anything at all, but letting the tears run down her cheeks, while little
sobs shook her every now and then, and there was a great big hole torn in her
pretty frilled muslin apron, just at the very front, where it showed.
Sometimes it's best not to seem to notice things, but it was no good
pretending not to see Nora's right-out crying.
Mother sat down, not far from Hodgie and called Nora to her.
"What's the matter, Nora?" she said. "Is it the tear in your pinafore
you're in trouble about? It is a pity. How did it happen ?"
At this the little girl burst out into a loud wail. Mother told her she must not
make such a noise but speak quietly, and then "we'll see what can be done."
So after a bit Nora told her story. It was partly her apron she was crying
about, "'cos Nurse said it were kite a new one," and partly a lot of other
grievances. There had been quite a breeze in the nursery.
"It begunned," said Nora, "wif Hodgie wanting a doll to be the queen in his
percession. And Blanchie wouldn't give hers, and she said I must give mine. And
I wouldn't, 'cos Hodgie called her names."
"Whom?" asked Mother. "Blanchie?"
"No; my dolly. He said she was a snub-nose, and he pulled her nose and
nearly brokened it, and he wouldn't have her for his queen, and I catched him,
and Blanchie took her dolly out of Hodgie's arms,
and w\v all foughtened. And Hodgie gave Blanchie
..A' a b:L1 slap, and her said he was a cow- not
brave, you know-and that made him so angry
...., .. th.lt 1e- cried, and then my apron had got tored,
a.. nd d -.lly was all scrumpled up and I cried, and it
*, ".| \"-t;s all drefful. Slapping and pushing 'like bad little
tielrs :ind lions' Nora said." And this long tale of
.. ,',.,c V..Ias too much for Nora; she melted into
S ano:tler flood of tears.
S..' M-ther took her up on her knee. "Come,
S. dea.r, it's no good crying any more. I feel sure
SH'il.ie and Blanche are sorry too. Suppose you
_a ll tree have a good making-up, and kiss each
"thL r. It's no use saying who was worst; put
".'' -- all the wrong into a bag of forgetfulness
S' together and shake it up, and then open
the bag and take out some nice forgivings
and kisses; that's far the best plan."

The children couldn't help smiling at Mother's funny
way of putting things. But they took her advice. Blanche
came out of her corner and whispered, "I'm very
sorry;" and Hodgie turned round from his window and
said, "So am I," and then the kisses finished it all off
But still the little boy turned towards the window,
as if something he saw. there was very interesting.
"What is it you keep looking at so ?" asked his
"It's the flowers," said Hodgie. He was only five. :
"They does so seem as if they was fighting-like-like
us," he added, in a very low voice .'.
Mother looked out too. It was a windy day, and
just on that side of the house the garden was much'
exposed. The plants and flowers were certainly flinging
themselves about, and rapping and thumping each other
rather wildly. She could not help smiling a little at
Hodgie's fancy.
"I hope the poor flowers didn't hear what was going on up here a few
minutes ago," she said, gravely. "It would be such a bad example."
Hodgie looked very solemn. Mother was in fun, of course, but I don't think
he quite understood that.
Not very long after, she went downstairs, having kissed the children for good-
night, for it was near their bed-time.
Hodgie was very quiet while he was being undressed; the last thing that he did
before leaving the nursery was to look out of the window. Yes, the hitting and
slapping and shaking were still going on, for the wind was rising.
"I'm afraid they did hear," thought the little fellow, as he fell asleep.
What was that sound ? He heard it faintly, then more loudly-then, at last it
seemed to wake him quite up. It was a sound of crying and weeping, and amidst it
he heard his own*name.
"Hodgie, Hodgie, do come down to us. We're so unhappy and so sore and
spoilt, and some of us are torn in pieces, and it's all your fault."
Up jumped Hodgie, rubbing his eyes. Who was speaking to him? Was it
Blanchie or Nora ? No-be peeped into their room, they were both quietly asleep-
he could see them by the moonlight which was very bright. But again he heard that
sad cry. "Hodgie, Hodgie, do come!"
It came from the garden-and without waiting to dress himself down he trotted.
He did not feel cold, and oddly enough the door was open, so he got out quite

easily. But once in the garden, oh, what a sight! The flower-beds were a mass of
ruins-the tall lilies lying on the ground, all their beauty gone, the roses crushed and
broken, the sunflowers' faces hidden in the soil, while from all sides came the woeful
cry, "Oh, Hodgie, Hodgie, it was your bad example."
What a night he had Lifting, up one, wiping the soiled petals of others, tying
and binding and straightening all that he could. Dear, dear, never did gardener work
harder than Hodgie in the moonlight, till at last things began to improve a little
and the garden to look less desolate.
"Thank you," whispered the bruised and repentant flowers, "we'll go to sleep
now till the morning and we'll never fight again, Hodgie," and with a sigh the
little gardener went back to bed.
It was quite morning when he woke. The sun was shining and the
wind had ceased. From the bedroom window Hodgie could see nothing of the
garden, but he begged Nurse to dress him quickly that he might have a little
run before breakfast, and he pattered off downstairs as fast as he could.
When he got to the garden he rubbed his eyes with astonishment. It didn't
look so very different from usual. Some of the flowers were straggling and blown
about, some few bruised and broken, but several lifted up their faces with sweet
joy to wish him and the sunshine good morning. And on one rose which he
stooped to scent, there was a drop of dew like a tear.
"Perhaps her's been sorry and is going to be good now," thought Hodgie.
But still-where were all the sticks and things up ?-he remembered fetching
them from the tool-house so well. He felt very puzzled. Suddenly he saw someone
coming-someone who liked a little fresh air before breakfast, too. It was Mother.
Hodgie ran to her and told her all that had happened.
"My darling," she said as she kissed him, "it was a dream. Perhaps it was
rather foolish of me to make that little joke about your setting the flowers a bad
example; but still I hope neither they nor the birds nor anyone
will ever hear quarrelling or fighting, or anything but happy
s sounds through the nursery window again."
"We're going to be werry ;.: :.d children,"
said Hodgie, "you'll see, Mother."
And he trotted in to tell the wonderful
S,':'.* "" story of his dream to Blanchie and JNora and
'" .. Nurse. But, as he passed the flower-beds, he
S shook his head: he was not quite sure but that
_'. .- Mother was mistaken.
'.:" .: '. "They have been fighting some," he said to
X .."- himself.
Louisa Molesworth.

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