ACT IV

PLACE: Caliph's Palace.

TIME: Half-hour later.

CALIPH: Well, my friend, did you do as I told you?

WOODCUTTER: Yes, and Ali refused to shave my donkey.

CALIPH (to Courtier): Bid Ali come to me at once and bring his razors with him.

(Courtier leaves and returns with Ali.)

CALIPH: Why did you refuse to shave this man's companion? Was not that your agreement?

ALI (kissing the ground): It is true, O caliph, such was the agreement, but who ever made a companion of a donkey before?

CALIPH: True enough, but who ever thought of saying that a pack saddle is a part of a load of wood? No, no, it is the woodcutter's turn now. Shave his donkey instantly.

(Ali lathers the beast and shaves him in the presence of the whole court, and then slips away amid the laughter of the bystanders.)

CALIPH: Now, my honest woodcutter, here is a purse of gold for you. Always remember that the caliph gladly listens to the complaints of his people, poor and rich, and will right their wrongs if he can.

WOODCUTTER: Long live the Caliph!

COURTIERS: Long live the Caliph!

—EASTERN TALE.

[WINTER NIGHT]

Blow, wind, blow!

Drift the flying snow!

Send it twirling, twirling overhead.

There's a bedroom in a tree

Where snug as snug can be,

The squirrel nests in his cozy bed.

Shriek, wind, shriek!

Make the branches creak!

Battle with the boughs till break of day!

In a snow cave warm and tight

Through the icy winter night

The rabbit sleeps the peaceful hour away.

Scold, wind, scold!

So bitter and so bold!

Shake the windows with your tap, tap, tap!

With half-shut, dreamy eyes

The drowsy baby lies

Cuddled closely in his mother's lap.

—MARY F. BUTTS.

[HOPE'S DOLL]

It was Saturday morning. Elizabeth Brown sat by a window in the big kitchen making a pink dress for little Hope's doll.

On the chair beside her lay the doll, though you might not have thought of calling it one. It did not have curly hair—nor eyes that open and shut. In those days no child had toys like ours. Hope's doll was made of a corncob; the face was painted on a piece of linen stretched over a ball of wool on the end of the cob.

Little Hope was taking her morning nap. When Elizabeth had sewed the last neat stitches, she dressed the doll and laid it on the bed by the little girl. How happy Hope was when she awoke and saw it! She thought it the most beautiful doll in the world.

"What will you call your doll, Hope?" asked Elizabeth.

"I will name her for mother," said Hope. "I will call her Mary Ellen."

Hope played all the afternoon with her doll and was very happy. When the sunset gun sounded, she had to stop playing. With the Puritans, the Sabbath began at sunset, and no child could play after the gun was heard.

The little maid kissed her baby and went into the bedroom to find a warm place for it to stay until the next evening. There lay father's Sunday coat; what warmer nest could she find for Mary Ellen than its big pocket?

After breakfast the next day, every one got ready to go to meeting. Master Brown filled the little tin foot stove with hot coals from the hearth; then he took his gun from its hook. In those days no man went anywhere without his gun—not even to church, for the Indians were likely to come at any time.

Sometimes the firing of a gun was the call to worship. More often a big drum, beaten on the steps of the meeting house, told the people it was time to come together.

At the sound of the drum, Master Brown and his wife, with Elizabeth and Hope, started to church. From every house in the village came men, women, and children. They were always ready when the drum began to beat, for no one was ever late to meeting in those days.

Master Brown led his family to their pew and opened a little door to let them in. The pew was very much like a large box with seats around the sides.

The church was cold, for there was no fire. The children warmed their fingers and toes by the queer little foot stove their father had brought from home.

When every one was seated, the minister climbed the steps to his high pulpit. The sermon was always very long—three hours at least. The children could not understand what it was all about, and it was very hard for them to sit still and listen quietly.

Elizabeth was four years older than Hope, so she felt quite like a little woman. She sat up beside her mother and looked at the minister almost all the time; but sometimes she had to wink hard to keep awake. When she thought she could not let her feet hang down another minute, she would slip down to the footstool to rest.

Elizabeth was often ashamed of Hope, who could not sit still ten minutes. She tried to listen to the sermon, but could not. When she began to stir about a little, her mother shook her head at her. She sat still for a few minutes, but was soon restless again.

Presently she began to be sleepy and laid her head upon her father's arm for a nap. Just then she felt something in his pocket. A happy smile came over Hope's face; she was wide-awake now. Slipping her hand into the wide pocket, she drew out Mary Ellen and smoothed her wrinkled gown.

Master Brown's thoughts were all on the sermon, and even Mistress Brown did not notice Hope for a little time. When she did, what do you suppose she saw? Hope was standing on the seat showing her doll to the little girl in the pew behind her.

Oh, how ashamed her mother was! She pulled her little daughter down quickly and whispered, "Do you want the tithingman to come? Well, sit down and listen." Taking Mary Ellen, she slipped the doll into her muff.

Little Hope did sit down and listen. She did not even turn around when the kind lady behind them dropped a peppermint over the high-backed pew for her. She was very much afraid of the tithingman, who sat on a high seat. He had a long rod with a hard knob on one end and a squirrel's tail on the other.

When he saw a lady nodding during the sermon, he stepped around to her pew and tickled her face with the fur end of the rod. She would waken with a start and be, oh! so ashamed. She would be very glad the pew had such high sides to hide her blushing face.

Perhaps you think the boys who sat on the other side of the church had a good time. But there was the tithingman again. When he saw a boy whispering or playing, he rapped him on the head with the knob end of the rod. The whispering would stop at once, for the rod often brought tears and left a headache.

Besides keeping the boys from playing and the grown people from going to sleep, the tithingman must turn the hourglass. In those days very few people could afford clocks, but every one had an hourglass. It took the fine sand just one hour to pour from the upper part of the glass into the lower part.

When the sand had all run through, the tithingman turned the glass over and the sand began to tell another hour. The glass was always turned three times before the minister closed the service. Then the men picked up their muskets and foot stoves, the women wrapped their long capes closely about them, and all went home.

At sunset the Puritan Sabbath ended. The women brought out their knitting and spinning, or prepared for Monday's washing, and the children were free to play until bedtime.

—MARGARET PUMPHREY.

[NAHUM PRINCE]

More than a hundred years ago, our country was at war with England. George Washington was at the head of our army. As you know, he and his men were fighting for our country's freedom.

The English army was larger than our army, and General Washington needed all the men he could get. The regular troops were with him.

In one little town in Vermont all the strong, able-bodied men had gone to the front. News came that the English and the Americans were about to meet in battle. The Americans needed more men and called for volunteers. Old men with white hair and long beards volunteered. Young boys with smooth cheeks and unshaven lips volunteered. There wasn't a boy in the village over thirteen years of age who didn't volunteer.

Even lame Nahum Prince offered himself. He brought out his grandfather's old gun and got in line with the others. He stood as straight and tall as he could—as a soldier should stand.

Soon the captain came along the line to inspect the volunteers. When he saw Nahum, he said, "No, no, Nahum, you cannot go; you know you cannot. Why, you could not walk a mile. Go home, my lad."

Just then the good old minister came by. "Yes, Nahum," he said, "you must stay at home. Who knows but that you will find a greater work to do for your country right here?"

And lame Nahum dropped out of the line.

Then the volunteers marched off, every man and boy in the village except Nahum Prince. Poor Nahum! His heart was heavy.

"What can I do for my country in this small village?" he said to himself. "Oh, I wish I could be a soldier!"

He walked toward his home slowly and sadly. Just as he passed the blacksmith shop, three horseman galloped up to the door.

"Where is the blacksmith?" asked one.

"He and all the men and boys have gone to join the army," said Nahum. "There isn't a man or a boy in town except me. I wouldn't be here if I were not lame."

"We cannot have this horse shod," said the rider to the others. "We shall not reach there in time."

"Why, I can set a shoe," said Nahum.

"Then it is lucky you are left behind," said the man. "Light up the forge and set the shoe."

Nahum lighted the fire, blew the coals with the bellows, and soon put on the shoe.

"You have done a great deed to-day, my boy," said the rider as he thanked Nahum and rode away.

The next week the boys came home and told of a great battle. They told how the Americans were about to lose the fight when Colonel Seth Warner, leading a band of soldiers, rode up just in time to save the day.

Nahum said nothing, but he knew that Colonel Warner would not have arrived in time if he had not set that shoe. And it was really Nahum Prince and Colonel Seth Warner who won the victory of Bennington.

[THE LITTLE COOK'S REWARD]

Betty lived a long, long time ago on a farm in North Carolina. She knew how to clean up the house, to wash the dishes, to sew, and to cook. She knew how to knit, and to spin and weave, too.

One day Betty's father said, "Let us go to town to-morrow. President Washington is passing through the South, and a man told me to-day that he will be in Salisbury to-morrow."

"Yes," said Betty's brother Robert, "and our company has been asked to march in the parade. One of the boys is going to make a speech of welcome."

"I should like to go," said their mother, "but I can't leave home."

"Oh, yes, you can, mother," said Betty. "I have stayed here by myself many times, and I can stay to-morrow. You go with father, and I will take care of things."

The next morning every one on the place was up before the sun. Robert was so impatient to start to town that he could scarcely eat any breakfast. Mother was so excited that she forgot to put coffee in the coffee pot.

At last every one had left, and Betty was alone. "I wish I could see the President," she said, "and I do wish I could see his great coach. Father says that it is finer than the Governor's. Four men ride in front of it, and four behind it. The servants are dressed in white and gold. How I wish I could see it all!"

While Betty was talking to herself, she was not idle. She washed the dishes and she cleaned the house. Then, as it was not time to get dinner, she sat down on the shady porch.

"I wonder whether General Washington looks like his picture," she said. "Oh, if I could only see him!"

But what sound was that? Betty stood up, and shading her eyes with her hands, looked down the road. Four horsemen came along at a gallop. Then there followed a great white coach, trimmed with gold and drawn by four white horses. There were four horsemen behind the coach, and last of all came several black servants.

All stopped at the gate. A tall handsome man stepped from the coach and came up the walk. Betty felt as if she could neither move nor speak. She remembered, however, all that her mother had taught her, and she made a low curtsy as the gentleman reached the steps.

"Good morning, my little maid," he said. "I know it is late, but would you give an old man some breakfast?"

Betty's cheeks grew as pink as the rose by the porch. She made another curtsy and said, "Indeed, I will. I am the only one at home, for father, mother, and Robert have gone to Salisbury to see the great Washington. But I am sure I can give you some breakfast. Father says that I am a good cook."

"I know you are, and that you are as brisk as you are pretty. Just give me a breakfast, and I promise you that you shall see Washington before your father, mother, or brother Robert does."

"I will do the best I can, sir," Betty said.

The other men came in, and all sat on the porch and talked while Betty worked. Getting her mother's whitest cloth and the silver that came from England, she quickly set the table. She brought out a loaf of new bread and a jar of fresh honey. Then she ran to the spring house and got yellow butter and rich milk. She had some fresh eggs that had been laid by her own hens. These she dropped into boiling water. Last of all she cut thin slices of delicious ham.

When everything was ready, Betty went to the porch and invited the strangers in. Her cheeks were now the color of the red rose by the gate.

The visitors ate heartily of all the good things Betty had prepared. As the tall, handsome gentleman rose to go, he leaned over and kissed her. "My pretty little cook," he said, "you may tell your brother Robert that you saw Washington before he did, and that he kissed you, too."

You may believe that Betty did tell it. She told it to her children, and they told it to their children, and I am telling it to you to-day.

—MRS. L.A. McCORKLE.

[ROCK-A-BY, HUSH-A-BY, LITTLE PAPOOSE]

Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, little papoose,

The stars come into the sky,

The whip-poor-will's crying, the daylight is dying,

The river runs murmuring by.

The pine trees are slumbering, little papoose,

The squirrel has gone to his nest,

The robins are sleeping, the mother bird's keeping

The little ones warm with her breast.

The roebuck is dreaming, my little papoose,

His mate lies asleep at his side,

The breezes are pining, the moonbeams are shining

All over the prairie wide.

Then hush-a-by, rock-a-by, little papoose,

You sail on the river of dreams;

Dear Manitou loves you and watches above you

Till time when the morning light gleams.