LITTLE SIR CAT
Little Sir Cat Meets Jack and Jill
Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down
And broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.
As Little Sir Cat came to a pretty cottage, a yellow bird sang this Old Mother Goose song. And just then a little girl and boy ran out of the front door, and said:
"Mother, come see a cat with red top boots!"
"Don't wait, children. Get me a pail of water, for father will be home soon for dinner."
So Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
But, oh, dear me, I hate to tell
They spilt the water when they fell.
And poor Little Sir Cat's boots were spattered all over. But he didn't care, for the big warm sun soon dried them, and he set off once again on his journey through Mother Goose Country, and by-and-by he came to a giant's castle on a big high mountain.
LITTLE SIR CAT MEETS JACK AND JILL
"Come in," said the great big man. "You can sleep in my fur cap—it will make you a fine bed."
When Little Sir Cat woke up in the morning the sun was shining through the window and it was time to get up. So he hurriedly dressed, for he didn't know what time the Giant had breakfast and he didn't dare be late, and ran down to the dining room, where the Giant was just about to eat his buckwheat cakes and maple syrup. After they had finished, the Giant took him out to the stables and showed him all his horses. "I have a very small horse which I will give you," he said, and he led Little Sir Cat into another stable. There stood Dapple Gray, only, of course, he seemed like a little toy to the Giant, for his other horses were all giant horses, you see. And wasn't Sir Cat glad to see the little pony? Well, I guess he was, for he was tired walking and one of his boots had a hole in the toe.
"Oh, I'm so glad to see you, little master," whinnied Dapple Gray, as Little Sir Cat untied the halter and jumped on his back.
Well, after a while as he rode down the mountain he came to a little cottage all covered with climbing rose vines. In this cottage lived a shepherd and his wife who tended the sheep in the big meadow close by. "Are they little Bo Peep's?" asked Little Sir Cat; but the kind-faced shepherd said no, so Little Sir Cat rode on, and pretty soon you will hear what happened to the poor Lady Bug, unless
The Sun tomorrow morning
Should go upon a strike,
And want a penny extra
To do his daily hike!
[A BELL TALE]
There was an old sheep
With a bell on his tail.
It rang with a clatter
And clanged with a wail.
Whenever that poor little sheep
Hove in sight
The birds and the beasts
Disappeared in a fright.
[HOW A TORTOISE KILLED A GREAT POET]
There was once a boy in olden times who dreamed that he could write verses, and the dream came true, and he became a very famous writer. And the way it happened was that this boy, whose name was Æschylus, fell asleep one day while guarding the grapes in a vineyard. He dreamed that Bacchus, the god of the vine, came and told him that he could write poetry. Immediately he awoke and tried, and to his delight he found out that it was true.
He kept on writing, and afterwards became very famous. In those days prizes were given for the best tragedies, and at the age of 41 he won his first prize. He wrote, also, many wonderful plays, and for many years was esteemed one of the greatest of tragic poets.
When quite an old man, he was sitting in a field, plunged in deep thought. An eagle, which was flying overhead, mistook his bald head for a stone and dropped the tortoise which it was carrying in its claws to break its shell. The force of the blow killed the famous poet and warrior, who had fought in the Battle of Marathon and received great honors for his bravery as well as thirteen prizes for his tragedies. He might have written a great many more if the eagle had not dropped the tortoise.
[EASTER ON A FARM]
Finding Eggs Is Much Fun, but Hiding Them First Is More Fun
Easter was coming in a week and Donald, Elizabeth and Ruth were going to invite their two cousins to an Easter Egg Hunt.
Their mother had agreed to give them one egg out of every six which they brought in to Mary, their good-natured cook, and it was surprising how many egg nests these industrious little folks discovered in out-of-the-way places around the big barn and the farm buildings.
In fact the family had never been so plentifully supplied with eggs before, and their mother laughingly remarked that she thought it would be a good plan to continue the arrangement indefinitely, to which the children gave their hearty consent.
The day before Easter they had almost two dozen. With the help of their mother they dissolved the various colored powders which they had purchased at the drug store and poured the liquid into several tins. It was great fun boiling the eggs in green water, or yellow water, or blue water, as the case might be, and after they were all done, what a pretty pile of rainbow-colored eggs!
"Old Speckle and Rosy Comb wouldn't know what to make of them now, would they?" remarked little Ruth.
"No," answered Donald, "I wonder if we'd get a pink rooster if this one was hatched!" he added, jokingly, holding up a brilliant carmine egg.
"Well, let's hide them; you hide yours first, Ruth, 'cause you're the youngest. Remember, for goodness sake, where you put them in case we can't find them."
You see, the game was for each one to hide his share, and when all the eggs were hidden they were to invite their two cousins over and everybody was to hunt as fast as he could, except, of course, for his own eggs, so as to get as many as possible, for "findings were keepings."
It took little Ruth quite a while to hide hers. She put a big red egg carefully in the oat bin and covered it over with oats. The next one she put deep down in the bran bin, and then she looked around for another safe place. There was father's old coat hanging on a nail by the harness room. In the pocket nearest her she slipped a green egg carefully lest it fall through a possible hole in the well-worn garment, but the lining was sound and the egg was safe out of sight.
The door of the harness room was ajar. Ruth stepped inside and looked around. The very thing! An old tin can stood half-hidden in the corner behind a pile of rubbish. In went the purple egg, and now she had only two left.
"What shall I do?" said Ruth to herself. Just then an old lantern hanging on the wall met her eyes, and in a moment she had carefully lifted the dingy shade and placed an egg inside. Only one egg was now left, and soon that was tucked away behind an old picture advertising harness, which rested on a beam running along the side of the wall.
"No one must hunt for his own eggs," said Donald. "Then it will be fair for all. All ready!" and away they went.
The two cousins had been told that the barn, the wagon house and the orchard were the places where the eggs were hidden, and in a few minutes a yell was heard in the barn. Dan had discovered Ruth's green egg in the overcoat pocket.
"I've got one!" screamed Ruth from the wagon house, as she pulled out a yellow beauty from under the seat of the old buggy. Then a shout was heard from Donald, and the can in the corner of the harness room gave up its prize.
"Who'll get the last one?" Here and there they ran, looking with the utmost care, but the little egg still defied the hunters. "Let's give up and let Donald have it," they at last agreed, and Donald, proudly marching up to a big cherry tree, from a crotch of a limb just above their reach picked out a red egg, the only one that had resisted successfully all efforts of capture.
[WHEN ROBIN RED-BREAST ARRIVES]
Everybody loves Robin Redbreast. Who of us in early spring is not gladdened by the sight of this red waistcoated little chap hopping about on the lawn? But few of us stop to think that our robin is totally unlike the English robin, the dear old Robin Redbreast of nursery days; he who covered with leaves the Babes in the Wood and was shot by the Sparrow with his little arrow!
The Redbreast of Europe is only half the size of our robin, being about five inches and three-quarters from the tip of its bill to the end of its tail feathers. Its color is a yellowish olive-brown. The throat and breast are of a reddish orange color, and this gives to him the name of Redbreast.
They remain all the year round, and when the fields and gardens are covered with snow, making it difficult for them to obtain food they come up to the door steps, picking up the crumbs which are thrown to them. When they are well treated they soon become very familiar and make themselves quite at home, entering the cottage door and often roosting confidently over night in the warm kitchens. Their trust and confidence have made friends for them everywhere and they become domestic pets in almost every country in Europe. Their song is sweet and plaintive and is heard from early spring until late in the autumn. In this respect they are very like our own bluebird.
English books of natural history are full of interesting narratives of the beautiful confidence in man shown by the Redbreast in selecting a place for its nest.
Our pair chose for their nest a shelf in a schoolroom in which there were seventy children and directly over the heads of a little class of girls, who never once disturbed them. One of the little birds died and the parents carried out its dead body during school hours. The other four little robins were fed and reared, day by day, in the presence of the seventy children. Do you wonder that the boys and girls of England are so fond of their Robin Redbreast?
The robin of North America belongs to a very different family—that of the thrushes. It is nearly twice the length of the English bird and more than twice its size. Audubon calls it the Migratory Thrush, because it leaves us when winter comes on and does not return until the frost is out of the ground.
Like the robin of Europe, our bird also has a confiding disposition. It builds its nest early in the spring, long before there are any leaves to hide it. It is a devoted parent and when taken sufficiently young is easily tamed and becomes strongly attached to its benefactor.
With the coming of the first robin we feel sure that spring is here. Looking out of the window, we see our little friend with his red breast shining in the sunlight, singing his simple song of faith and hope.
[AFTER MOTHER'S SAID GOOD NIGHT]
When I'm in bed I feel so small,
And all the shadows seem so tall.
The little light out in the hall
A thin bright line throws on the wall;
It squeezes thro' the crack between
The half-closed door and nursery screen.
And after I have said my prayer
And mother's footstep on the stair
Grows fainter, fainter, fainter, there
Creeps over me a sort of scare;
It prickles me from toe to head
And seems to wiggle all the bed.
But if I cuddle down and keep
Real quiet, and don't kick my feet,
And have the clothes all smooth and neat,
Why, pretty soon I fall asleep;
And then the fairies from their glen
Play with me till it's day again.
