Zodiac Town

VOLUME I. HEXAPOD STORIES
Twelve stories about the six-footed creatures, the fascinating little insects that children see every day. As interesting as fiction, yet holding a wealth of biologic and nature-study information, this is an ideal volume for younger children. Illustrated by Robert J. Sim. Library Edition, bound in light-blue silk cloth. $1.25
VOLUME II. BIRD STORIES
A book of bird Biographies which will be loved by all who love birds both for the sweetness and strength of the stories, and for the illustrations which give such intimate sketches of real birds as can only be drawn by an artist who is also a naturalist. Illustrated by Robert J. Sim. Library Edition, bound in light-blue silk cloth. $1.25
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS BOSTON
Amos and Ann And the Journeying Man
Copyright, 1921, by
NANCY BYRD TURNER
The author makes grateful acknowledgment of permission to reprint in this book verses that have appeared in The Youth’s Companion , St. Nicholas , and other periodicals.
Amos and Ann had a poem to learn, A poem to learn one day; But alas! they sighed, and alack! they cried, ’Twere better to go and play. Ann was sure ’twas a waste of time To bother a child with jingling rhyme. Amos said, “What’s the sense in rhythm— Feet and lines?” He had finished with ’em!
They peered at the poem with scowly faces, And yawned and stumbled and lost their places. Then—a breeze romped by, and a bluebird sang, And they shut the book with a snap and a bang; Shut the book and were off and away, Away on flying feet;— Never did squirrels move more light, Or rabbits run more fleet!
Over a wall and down a lane And through a field they ran; And “Where shall we go?” said Amos. “Oh, And where shall we stop?” cried Ann. Then all at once, round the curve of a hill, They pulled up panting and stood stock-still; For there, by the edge of a ripplety brook, In a deep little, steep little place, Sat a long-legged youth, with a staff and a book And a quaint, very quizzical face. His cap and his trousers were dusty green And his jacket was rusty brown, And he whittled away on sweet white wood, With shavings showering down. He whittled away ’twixt a laugh and a tune, With fingers as light as thistles.