III.

seal	reindeer	monkeys	crept
huge	dashing	elephants	hollow

"Look to the north," said the fairy.

And then the happy boy looked away over the great round world. He saw strange lands and strange people. Far off in the north he could see the land of snow and ice. There were the homes of the seal, the reindeer, and the white bear.

Children dressed in fur crept out of snow houses. They went dashing over the snow in sleds drawn by dogs.

Again the happy boy looked, and the wonder lands of the south lay before him. Gay flowers blossomed everywhere. Bright-colored birds found a safe home in the great forest.

He could see the lion and his mate in their home. Hundreds of monkeys played in the branches of the trees. Tigers ran through the tall grass, and huge elephants pushed their way among the trees and bushes.

Once more the happy boy looked through the Magic Windows, and oh, how wonderful! He could see into fairy land where animals talk, and where the playthings are alive.

"Oh, kind fairy, let me stay here," said the happy boy. "I can not leave this land of wonders."

"Would you like to have the Magic Windows for your own?" asked the fairy. "Then listen well. When the school bell rings, it will call you to the land of books. Through the Magic Windows of your books you may see greater wonders than fairies can tell or fairy land can show."

Another day came with the rising sun. Once more the school bell rang. Gladly the happy boy left his play, for in his books he would find the Magic Windows.

[THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS]

At evening, when the lamp is lit,
Around the fire my parents sit;
They sit at home and talk and sing,
And do not play at anything.

Now, with my little gun, I crawl,
All in the dark along the wall,
And follow round the forest track
Away behind the sofa back.

There in the night, where none can spy,
All in my hunter's camp I lie,
And play at books that I have read.
Till it is time to go to bed.

These are the hills, these are the woods,
These are my starry solitudes;
And there the river by whose brink
The roaring lions come to drink.

I see the others far away,
As if in firelit camp they lay,
And I, like to an Indian scout,
Around their party prowled about.

So, when my nurse comes in for me,
Home I return across the sea,
And go to bed with backward looks
At my dear Land of Story Books.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.

O, big round world, O, wide, wide world,
How wonderful you are.
Your oceans are so very deep,
Your hills reach up so far;
Down through your valleys wide and green,
Such mighty rivers flow;
Upon your great sky-reaching hills,
Such giant forests grow.—Alice C. D. Riley.

By permission of John Church Company,
owners of the copyright.

[A WONDERFUL BALL]

rough	surface	stretches	drifts
level	islands	feathery	dreary

I have heard of a wonderful ball which floats in the sweet blue air, and has soft white clouds about it as it floats along.

There are many charming stories to be told about this wonderful ball. Some of them you shall hear.

It is so large that many houses are built upon it. Men and women live upon it, and little children can play upon its surface.

In some places it is soft and green, like the long meadows between the hills. In other parts there are trees for miles and miles on every side. All kinds of wild animals live in the great forests that grow on this wonderful ball.

Then again in some places it is steep and rough. And there are mountains so high that the snow lies upon their tops all the year around.

In other parts there are no hills at all, but level land, and quiet little ponds of blue water. There the white water lilies grow and fishes play among the lily stems.

Now, if we look on another side of the ball, we shall see no ponds, but something very dreary. A great plain of sand stretches away on every side. There are no trees, and the sunshine beats down upon the burning sand.

We look again, and we see a great body of water. Many islands are in the sea, and great ships sail upon it.

Look at one more side of this ball as it turns around. Jack Frost must have spent all his longest winter nights here. For see what a palace of ice he has built for himself.

How cold it looks! See the clear, blue ice, almost as blue as the sky. And look at the snow, drifts upon drifts, and the feathery flakes filling the air.

Now, what do you think of this ball, so white and cold, so warm and green, so dreary and rough, as it floats along in the sweet blue air, with the flocks of white clouds about it?

I will tell you one thing more. The wise men have said that this earth on which we live is just such a ball. We shall know more about this when we are older and wiser.

[THE GREAT, WIDE WORLD]

Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful world,
With the wonderful water round you curled,
And the wonderful grass upon your breast—
World, you are beautifully dressed.

The wonderful air is over me,
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree;
It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.

You friendly earth, how far do you go,
With the wheat fields that nod and the rivers that flow,
With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles,
And people upon you for thousands of miles?
—William Brighty Rands.

[FLOWERS THAT TELL TIME]

sign	remained	refreshing	curls
jolly	nightgown	clambered	porch

Down in the grass plot of a pretty garden grew a little dandelion. He wore a green jacket, and his head was covered with sunny, yellow curls.

In the morning, he stood up boldly, lifting his jolly little face to catch the dewdrops. In this way he took his morning bath, and he found it very refreshing. At dusk he put on his green nightgown and went to bed very early.

The mothers said, as they called the children from their play, "See, there is the good dandelion! He knows when it is time to go to bed."

As the dandelion grew older, his yellow curls turned white. Then the children would blow—one, two, three times. If all the hairs blew away, it was a sign that mother wanted them at once.

If there were ten hairs left, the children said, "Mother wants us at ten o'clock." If but two hairs remained, they said, "Mother will look for us at two o'clock."

When the children awoke in the morning, they saw the morning-glory cups peeping in at the windows. "Six o'clock! Time to get up!" they said. "The morning glories are calling us."

Every afternoon the four-o'clocks bloomed. Their red and white flowers told the children that their father would soon be home.

In the evening the moon flowers unfolded their great white blossoms on the vines that clambered over the porch. "Now it is bedtime," said the children, "for the moon flowers are looking down at us."

All day long the time flowers, like our clocks, are telling us the time of day.

—Kate Louise Brown.

[DANDELION]

Dandelion, dandelion,
Where's your cup of gold?
Where's your jacket green and trim
That you wore of old?
Then you nodded to the birds
In a jaunty way,
And you danced to every tune
The breeze could play.

Dandelion, dandelion,
Age comes creeping on,
And your wig is snowy white,
Golden locks are gone;
But you've had a merry time
Since your days began,
And even now you're a cheery,
Blithe old man.
—George Cooper.

[THE FARMER'S WHEAT FIELD]

stalk	threshed	breeze	flour
plump	healthy	bearded	grain
forth	neighbor	thousand	cheer

here was once a stalk of wheat that grew in the middle of a field. It was very tall and it lifted its head high and nodded in the wind.

All around it were a thousand other stalks not quite so tall. Every one was looking up at the sun and bowing to its neighbor, and saying, "Good morning."

"How bright and golden we are!" said the tall stalk; "and how beautiful we look, standing together like a great army of soldiers! The sun shines to cheer us. And when the gentle rains fall, how sweet and refreshing they are!"

"Yes, yes!" said the other stalks, waving back and forth in the morning breeze. "All the world is very kind to us. We have nothing to do but to live and grow and become bright and golden like the sun."

"Ah," said the tall stalk. "It is true that we must live and grow and become yellow and golden. But after that, there must be something else for us to do."

The very next day the farmer came into the fields to look at his wheat. He took some of the bearded heads and rubbed them between his hands. They were full of plump, round, golden grains.

"What fine flour these will make, and what good bread for little Alice," he said. "The wheat is fully ripe and it must be cut at once."

Then all the golden-headed stalks waved back and forth in the wind. "Now we understand it all," they whispered. "It is for the sake of the farmer's fair little girl that we are here.

"She must live and grow and be healthy and beautiful. There is nothing that can help her to do this so well as good bread made from the best of wheat."

Very soon the golden stalks were cut. The wheat was threshed and ground into the finest of flour. And then the flour was baked into fresh, white loaves of bread.

But little Alice did not know that her bread was made of the wheat that she had seen growing in the big field where the daisies bloomed.

—W. E. Baldwin.

[THE SONG OF THE WHEAT]

Back of the bread is the snowy flour;
Back of the flour is the mill;
Back of the mill the growing wheat
Nods on the breezy hill;
Over the wheat is the glowing sun
Ripening the heart of the grain;
Above the sun is the gracious God,
Sending the sunlight and rain.

THE OLD MILL WHEEL.

[THE SONG OF THE MILL WHEEL]

Round and round it goes,
As fast as water flows,—
The dripping, dropping, rolling wheel
That turns the noisy, dusty mill.
Round and round it goes,
As fast as water flows.

Turning all the day,
It never stops to play,—
The dripping, dropping, rolling wheel
That keeps on grinding golden meal.
Turning all the day,
It never stops to play.

Sparkling in the sun,
The merry waters run
Upon the foaming, flashing wheel
That laugheth loud, but worketh still.
Sparkling in the sun,
The merry waters run.
—Selected.

Boats sail on the rivers,
Ships sail on the seas,
But the clouds that sail across the sky
Are prettier far than these.

There are bridges on the rivers,
As pretty as you please,
But the bow that bridges heaven,
And overtops the trees,
And builds a bridge from earth to sky
Is prettier far than these. Christina G. Rossetti.