THE FLAG-BEARER
BY CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
The primary class had a very beautiful American flag, and some child was going to carry it from the schoolroom across the park and into the Town Hall on the holiday. All the primary children would march after the flag, and they were going to sing “America” and “The Star Spangled Banner.” It would be a wonderful day and each child wanted to carry the flag.
No one was sure who would be chosen as flag-bearer, but their teacher had said the week before: “It will be the child who loves his country the most who will carry the Stars and Stripes. Try and do something for your country during the week.”
So the children had been very busy ever since doing all sorts of things that would show how they loved their country.
Marjory had been knitting for soldiers. Her grandmother had given her a pair of pretty yellow needles and a ball of soft gray yarn and had started a scarf. But the stitches would drop, and there was still enough snow for sliding on the hill back of Marjory’s house. Her knitting was not much further along on Saturday than on Monday.
“I will show how much I love my country,” Hubert said, and he asked his mother to take the gilt buttons from his great-grandfather’s soldier coat that hung in the attic and sew them on his reefer. Then he showed the bright buttons to all the other children, and they thought that Hubert looked very fine indeed.
“I shall wear them when I carry the flag next week,” Hubert told them.
But the children thought that perhaps Roger would be chosen as flag-bearer because he bought such a large flag with the money in his bank, and put it up on the flagpole in his front yard. Roger’s father helped him raise the flag on a rope so that he could pull it down at night, but once the Stars and Stripes were flying Roger forgot all about them. His flag stayed out in the wind and sleet, and its bright colors faded and the stripes were torn.
After all, the children decided, it would be Edward who would carry the flag. Edward had a dog named Trusty, and he decided to train him to be a Red Cross dog. He put a white band with a red cross on it around Trusty and harnessed him to a little express wagon to carry bundles. Trusty had never worn a harness in his life, or been fastened to anything. He tried to get away from the wagon, but Edward strapped the harness more tightly. The straps hurt Trusty, and it hurt his feelings to be made to drag the cart; but Edward drove him to and from the drug-store and the grocery and the butcher’s, carrying the parcels that Edward had always brought alone before.
The other children, too, all tried to do unusual things to win themselves the place of flag-bearer. They played their drums in the street and made soldier caps and wooden swords and drilled. The little girls dressed up and played army nurse with their dolls. The boys bought toy soldiers and horns at the toy shop. There was a great deal of noise everywhere.
Then it was the holiday, and everyone was greatly excited over what was going to happen. Whoever had a red ribbon, or a blue necktie, or a red-white-and-blue badge felt very proud indeed to wear it. Every child sat as still as a mouse as the teacher spoke to them.
“Marjory showed me five rows that she had knitted for a soldier when I went to her house a few days ago,” she said. “I wonder how many rows she has finished now?”
“Only five,” Marjory said softly.
Hubert touched the buttons on his reefer and sat up very straight in his place.
“I am wearing my great-grandfather’s soldier buttons,” he said.
“That ought to make you feel as brave as he was, when he earned the right to wear them in battle,” the teacher said; and Hubert suddenly thought that gilt buttons had not made him into a soldier at all.
The other children began to think, too, as they looked up at the Stars and Stripes at the end of the room. Edward remembered how the harness had hurt Trusty, and the boy with the drum remembered how he had awakened the baby from her nap. Roger thought of his torn flag, flapping in the wind on the top of the flagpole. No one said anything until the teacher looked at the end of the class and smiled, and said:
“Well, Peter!”
Peter smiled back, and tried to cover up the holes in his jacket sleeves, and tucked his old shoes under the seat. Peter’s father had gone to be a soldier, and there were his mother, and the two babies, and his grandfather who was blind, at home.
“What have you been doing all the week, Peter?” the teacher asked.
“Tending the babies so that mother could go to the factory and sew the soldiers’ uniforms,” Peter said. “And leading grandfather out for a walk when it was a sunny day.”
“Peter’s got a little flag hanging out of the window,” one of the children said, “and he’s so careful of it. He takes it in every night and puts it out again in the morning.”
“He saluted the flag and took off his hat to it when the parade went by the other day,” said another child. Everyone loved merry, ragged Peter, who could play so gayly when he had time for a game.
Just then they heard the band outside. It was playing, “The Red, White and Blue,” the music to which the children were to march with the flag.
“Who shall be our flag-bearer?” the teacher asked.
The children knew now. They were quite sure.
“Peter!” they said.
So Peter carried the Stars and Stripes across the park and into the Town Hall, with all the primary children marching like soldiers behind. The wind blew it around him like a cloak to cover up the holes in his jacket sleeves and his old shoes. Wherever he looked he could see the colors; the sky was as blue as the field in the flag, a few snow stars lay on the ground and the first robin redbreast sang on a branch over his head. And the children following Peter knew what the colors told them to do for their country—to be brave, and good, and true at home.
JOHNNY CHUCK FINDS
THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD[A]
BY THORNTON W. BURGESS
Old Mother West Wind had stopped to talk with the Slender Fir Tree.
“I’ve just come across the Green Meadows,” said Old Mother West Wind, “and there I saw the Best Thing in the World.”
Striped Chipmunk was sitting under the Slender Fir Tree, and he couldn’t help hearing what Old Mother West Wind said. “The Best Thing in the World—now what can that be?” thought Striped Chipmunk. “Why, it must be heaps and heaps of nuts and acorns! I’ll go and find it.”
So Striped Chipmunk started down the Lone Little Path through the wood as fast as he could run. Pretty soon he met Peter Rabbit.
“Where are you going in such a hurry, Striped Chipmunk?” asked Peter Rabbit.
“Down in the Green Meadows to find the Best Thing in the World,” replied Striped Chipmunk, and ran faster.
“The Best Thing in the World,” said Peter Rabbit, “why, that must be a great pile of carrots and cabbage! I think I’ll go and find it.”
So Peter Rabbit started down the Lone Little Path through the wood as fast as he could go after Striped Chipmunk.
As they passed the great hollow tree Bobby Coon put his head out. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” asked Bobby Coon.
“Down in the Green Meadows to find the Best Thing in the World!” shouted Striped Chipmunk and Peter Rabbit, and both began to run faster.
“The Best Thing in the World,” said Bobby Coon to himself; “why, that must be a whole field of sweet milky corn. I think I’ll go and find it.”
So Bobby Coon climbed down out of the great hollow tree and started down the Lone Little Path through the wood as fast as he could go after Striped Chipmunk and Peter Rabbit, for there is nothing that Bobby Coon likes to eat so well as sweet milky corn.
At the edge of the wood they met Jimmy Skunk.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” asked Jimmy Skunk.
“Down in the Green Meadows to find the Best Thing in the World!” shouted Striped Chipmunk, and Peter Rabbit, and Bobby Coon. Then they all tried to run faster.
“The Best Thing in the World,” said Jimmy Skunk. “Why, that must be packs and packs of beetles!” And for once in his life Jimmy Skunk began to hurry down the Lone Little Path after Striped Chipmunk, and Peter Rabbit, and Bobby Coon.
They were all running so fast that they didn’t see Reddy Fox until he jumped out of the long grass and asked:
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“To find the Best Thing in the World!” shouted Striped Chipmunk, and Peter Rabbit, and Bobby Coon, and Jimmy Skunk, and each did his best to run faster.
“The Best Thing in the World,” said Reddy Fox to himself, “why, that must be a whole pen full of tender young chickens, and I must have them.”
So away went Reddy Fox as fast as he could run down the Lone Little Path after Striped Chipmunk, Peter Rabbit, Bobby Coon, and Jimmy Skunk.
By-and-by they all came to the house of Johnny Chuck.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” asked Johnny Chuck.
“To find the Best Thing in the World,” shouted Striped Chipmunk, and Peter Rabbit, and Bobby Coon, and Jimmy Skunk, and Reddy Fox.
“The Best Thing in the World,” said Johnny Chuck. “Why, I don’t know of anything better than my own little home, and the warm sunshine, and the beautiful blue sky.”
So Johnny Chuck stayed at home and played all day among the flowers with the Merry Little Breezes of Old Mother West Wind, and was as happy as could be.
But all day long Striped Chipmunk, and Peter Rabbit, and Reddy Fox, and Bobby Coon, and Jimmy Skunk, ran this way and ran that way over the Green Meadows trying to find the Best Thing in the World. The sun was very, very warm, and they ran so far and ran so fast that they were very, very hot and tired, and still they hadn’t found the Best Thing in the World.
When the long day was over they started up the Lone Little Path past Johnny Chuck’s house to their own homes. They didn’t hurry now, for they were so very, very tired! And they were cross—oh, so cross!
Striped Chipmunk hadn’t found so much as the leaf of a cabbage. Bobby Coon hadn’t found the tiniest bit of sweet milky corn. Jimmy Skunk hadn’t seen a single beetle. Reddy Fox hadn’t heard so much as the peep of a chicken. And all were hungry as hungry could be.
Half way up the Lone Little Path they met Old Mother West Wind going to her home behind the hill. “Did you find the Best Thing in the World?” asked Old Mother West Wind.
“No!” shouted Striped Chipmunk, and Peter Rabbit, and Bobby Coon, and Jimmy Skunk, and Reddy Fox, all together.
“Johnny Chuck has it,” said Old Mother West Wind. “It is being happy with the things you have, and not wanting things which some one else has. And it is called Con-tent-ment.”
[A] From “Old Mother West Wind,” by Thornton W. Burgess; used by permission of the author and the publishers, Little, Brown & Company.
LITTLE WEE PUMPKIN’S THANKSGIVING[B]
BY MADGE A. BINGHAM
It was the night before Thanksgiving in Peter Pumpkin-eater’s garden. Great Big Pumpkin, Middle-Sized Pumpkin, and Little Wee Pumpkin were speaking together.
“All here?” asked Great Big Pumpkin.
“I’m here,” answered Middle-Sized Pumpkin.
“I’m here,” answered Little Wee Pumpkin. “But I heard Peter say that he would pull us to-morrow and send us away.”
“That will be fine!” said Great Big Pumpkin. “I hope we shall make good pies for some one’s dinner. I wish we could go to the palace.”
“So do I,” said Middle-Sized Pumpkin. “Maybe we could see the King.”
“I should like to see Cinderella,” said Little Wee Pumpkin. “But I am not large enough to go to the palace. Still, I wish I could make some one glad on Thanksgiving Day.”
Little Wee Pumpkin was the first to wake in the morning. Peter had opened the garden gate, and Cinderella was walking into the garden.
Little Wee Pumpkin opened her eyes and listened.
Cinderella was beautiful, and Little Wee Pumpkin knew that she was good and kind. She was carrying a basket full of yellow flowers.
“They are for you, Peter,” she said, laughing. “I have brought them from the palace garden. They are for your Thanksgiving.
“Now you must help me find the right pumpkin for a jack-o’-lantern. It is to make a little girl glad. She has been ill a long time, and must have a jack-o’-lantern for Thanksgiving.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Peter; and they went from vine to vine.
First, they stopped at Great Big Pumpkin, but that was too large. Then they stopped at Middle-Sized Pumpkin, but that was too flat. Then they stopped at Little Wee Pumpkin, and that was just right.
“This is the pumpkin for the jack-o’-lantern, Peter,” she said, pointing to Little Wee Pumpkin. “This will make the little girl glad.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Peter, as he pulled Little Wee Pumpkin from the vine.
“The two large pumpkins shall go to the palace, to the King,” said Cinderella. “They will make fine pies for his Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Peter, as he pulled the two pumpkins from the vines.
So Great Big, Middle-Sized, and Little Wee all had their wishes.
[B] From “Mother Goose Village,” by Madge A. Bingham, published by Rand, McNally & Company, and used by special arrangement.
THE COMING OF THE KING[C]
BY LAURA E. RICHARDS
Some children were at play in their playground one day when a herald rode through the town, blowing a trumpet, and crying aloud: “The King! The King passes by this road to-day!”
“Did you hear that?” they said. “The King is coming. He may look over the wall and see our playground: who knows? We must put it in order.”
The playground was sadly dirty, and in the corners were scraps of paper and broken toys—for these were careless children! But now, one brought a hoe, and another a rake, and a third ran to fetch the wheelbarrow from behind the garden gate. They labored hard, till at length all was clean and tidy.
“Now it is clean!” they said; “but we must make it pretty, too, for kings are used to fine things; maybe he would not notice mere cleanness, for he may have it all the time.”
Then one brought sweet rushes and strewed them on the ground; and others made garlands of oak leaves and pine tassels and hung them on the walls; and the littlest one pulled marigold buds and threw them all about the playground.
When all was done the playground was so beautiful that the children stood and looked at it, and clapped their hands with pleasure.
“Let us keep it always like this!” said the littlest one; and the others cried: “Yes! yes!”
They waited all day for the coming of the King, but he did not come; only, toward sunset, a man with travel-worn clothes, and a kind, tired face passed along the road, and stopped to look over the wall.
“What a pleasant place!” said the man. “May I come in and rest, dear children?”
The children brought him in gladly, and set him on the seat that they had made out of an old cask. They had covered it with an old red cloak, to make it look like a throne; and it made a very good one.
“It is our playground!” they said. “We made it pretty for the King, but he did not come, and now we mean to keep it so for ourselves.”
“That is good!” said the man.
“Because we think pretty and clean is nicer than ugly and dirty!” said another.
“That is better!” said the man.
“And for tired people to rest in!” said the littlest one.
“That is best of all!” said the man.
He sat and rested, and looked at the children with such kind eyes that they came about him, and told him all they knew; about the five puppies in the barn, and the thrush’s nest with four blue eggs, and the shore where the gold shells grew: and the man nodded, and understood all about it.
By-and-by he asked for a cup of water, and they brought it to him in the best cup, with the gold sprigs on it, then he thanked the children, and rose and went on his way; but before he went he laid his hand on their heads for a moment, and the touch went warm to their hearts.
The children stood by the wall and watched the man as he went slowly along. The sun was setting, and the light fell in long slanting rays across the road.
“He looks so tired!” said one of the children.
“But he was so kind!” said another.
“See!” said the littlest one. “How the sun shines on his hair! it looks like a crown of gold.”
[C] From “The Golden Windows,” by Laura E. Richards; published by Little, Brown & Company, Boston. Used by permission of the publishers.
THE LITTLE PIG[D]
BY MAUD LINDSAY
Once upon a time a little black-and-white pig with a curly tail went out to take a morning walk. He intended to go to the Mud Puddle, but before he got there he came to a garden gate that was stretched wide open.
“Umph, umph,” said the little pig, when he saw it; “isn’t this fine? I have wanted to get into this garden ever since I can remember.” And in he went as fast as his four short legs could carry him.
The garden was full of flowers. There were pansies, and daisies, and violets, and honeysuckles, and all the bright flowers that you can name. Everything was in the proper place. There were tulips on either side of the garden walk, and hollyhocks stood in a straight row against the fence. The pansies had a garden bed all to themselves, and the young vines were just beginning to climb up on the frame that the gardener had made for their special benefit.
“Umph, umph, nice place,” said the little pig; and he put his nose down in the pansy bed and began to root up the pansies, for he thought that was the way to behave in a garden.
While he was enjoying himself there the brown hen came down the road with her family. She had thirteen children, and she was looking for a nice rich spot where they might scratch for their breakfast. When she saw the open gate she was delighted.
“Cluck, cluck, come on,” she said to her chicks.
“Peep, peep, peep,” said the little chickens, “is it a worm?”
“It is a beautiful garden, and there is nothing that I like better than to scratch in a garden,” answered the hen, as she bustled through the gate. The chickens followed her, and soon they were all busy scratching among the violets.
They had not been there very long when the red cow walked by the garden. She was on her way to the Pond, but when she saw the open garden gate she decided at once to go in.
“Moo, moo,” she said, “this is delightful. Tender flowers are such a treat.” And she swished her tail over her back as she nipped the daisies from their stems.
“Cluck,” said the hen, “Peep,” said the chicks, “Umph,” said the little pig, for they were pleased to have company. While they were talking a rabbit with very bright eyes peeped in at the gate.
“Oh, is it a party?” he said when he saw the red cow, and the pig with a curly tail, and the hen and chickens.
“Come in,” said the pig, “and help yourself. There is plenty of room.” So the rabbit hopped into the garden and nibbled the green leaves and the young vines.
“How many of us are here?” asked the red cow, but before any of them could count, the gardener came home.
When he looked into the garden he began to cry: “Oh, my pretty pansies! my dear daisies! my sweet violets! my tender young vines!”
“What is he talking about?” said the chickens.
“I suppose he wants us to go out,” answered the hen; and she ruffled her feathers and quarreled as the gardener came hurrying toward them.
Then the cow ran one way and the pig ran another. The little chickens got lost in the bushes, and the rabbit hid in the vines. The hen cackled, and the pig squealed, and the gardener scolded. By the time he had driven them all out of the garden the sun was high in the sky.
“Umph, umph,” cried the little pig, as he scampered down the road, “we will all come back to-morrow.”
But when they went back the next day the garden gate was fastened close, and not even the smallest chicken could get inside.
[D] From “More Winter Stories,” by Maud Lindsay; used by permission of the publishers, Milton Bradley Company, Springfield, Mass.
THE TRAVELS OF THE LITTLE TOY SOLDIER
BY CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
He was the largest and the best dressed and the bravest looking of all the toy soldiers in the toy shop. Some of the toy soldiers were made of paper, and these tore easily if they even tried to drill. Some of the toy soldiers were made of tin, and these bent if they had an encounter.
But this toy soldier, who stood head and shoulders above the others, was made of wood. He had once been part of a great pine tree that stood in the forest, and his heart was as brave and true as the heart of the tree.
His trousers were painted green, with yellow stripes; and his jacket was painted red, with gold buttons. He wore a painted blue cap upon the side of his head, with a band that went under his chin, and he carried a wooden gun in one arm. He could stand alone, for his wooden legs were glued to a block of wood, and his eyes were black and shining, and his mouth was painted in a smile.
When the Toy Soldier went from the toy shop to live in Gregory’s house the little boy thought that he had never seen such a fine soldier in his life. He made him captain of all the soldier ninepins and guard of the toy train, and he took him to bed with him at night. Then, one day, James, who lived next door and was Gregory’s neighbor, came over to play with Gregory.
“What a nice Toy Soldier!” James said.
“Yes, he’s mine,” Gregory said.
“May I play with him?” James asked.
“No, I said he was my Toy Soldier,” Gregory answered.
“Then I’ll take him,” James said.
“I won’t let you,” Gregory said.
Then the two little boys began pulling the Toy Soldier to see which could get him away from the other, and the Toy Soldier did not like it at all. He was fond of a good battle, but not of a quarrel. He decided that he would not stay in a house where there was a quarrelsome boy, and so he tumbled out of a window that was close by and fell, down, down, to the street below.
The Toy Soldier had not lain long on the sidewalk when Harold passed by and picked him up.
“I wanted a toy soldier and here is the finest one I ever saw,” Harold said; and he slipped the soldier inside his coat and started on, for he was going to school. The Toy Soldier lay close to Harold’s watch that was tick, tick, ticking the time away, but Harold loitered, and at last he stopped to play a game of marbles with another little boy whom he met. “I don’t care if I am late for school,” he said.
“Oho!” thought the Toy Soldier, and as the two little boys played he dropped out from under Harold’s coat and into the gutter. When Harold reached school, late, the Toy Soldier was gone.
Joe found the Toy Soldier in the gutter and ran home with him to his mother.
“I have a Toy Soldier!” he said.
“How brave he looks,” said Joe’s mother.
All the rest of the day the Toy Soldier went about with Joe and listened to what he said and watched what he did.
“I can’t go to the grocer’s; I’m afraid of his dog.”
“I can’t put in that nail. I am afraid that the hammer will slip and hit my finger.” This was what the Toy Soldier heard.
Then it was Joe’s bedtime, and the Toy Soldier went upstairs with him to bed, but Joe cried all the way.
“I’m afraid of the dark!” he said.
When Joe was asleep the Toy Soldier slipped out of his hand and fell into a scrap basket. He knew very well that he couldn’t stay with a child who was a coward.
No one saw the Toy Soldier when the basket was emptied in the morning. He went with the scraps into a huge bag, and then into a wagon, and then into a factory where men sorted the cloth to make it into paper. One of these men found the Toy Soldier and took him home to his little boy, who was lame and had to stay alone all day.
“Has it been a good day, John?” his father asked.
“Oh, yes!” laughed John as he hugged the Toy Soldier.
“You have my supper ready just in time,” his father said, watching the soup bubbling in a shining pot on the stove.
“And I cleaned a little and set the table,” John said.
“Has your back hurt you very much to-day?” asked his father.
“A little, but I don’t mind that,” John said. “See how fine the Toy Soldier looks standing on the table!”
“Oho!” thought the Toy Soldier, “now I have found a place where I can stay. Here is another soldier, cheerful and willing to work, and brave!”
WHAT HAPPENED TO DUMPS
BY CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
Once upon a time there was a queer little elf named Dumps, who lived all by himself in a dark little house down in a valley. Ever since he could remember, things had gone wrong with him.
He shivered in the cold and kicked the coal bucket when the fire wouldn’t burn. He howled when he stumbled over his own dinner pots that he had left in the middle of the floor; and he stood in his front door and scowled when other happy elves went by without speaking to him.
He and his family had lived like that for years. When any elf wanted to describe something very sad he would say it was “Down in the Dumps.” And so Dumps went on without a single happy day.
But suddenly the elves decided to give a party. Oh, it was going to be a very jolly party indeed, and Dumps heard about it. Almost every elf who passed was whistling, or singing something cheerful. And some of them carried their best green suits to the Wood Fairy’s house to be pressed. And when Dumps heard about the party, he cried so loud because he knew he wouldn’t be invited that the Wood Fairy heard him. The noise disturbed her, and she went down to Dumps’ house to see what was the matter with him now.
“Tell me all about it, from the beginning, my dear,” she said to poor little Dumps.
“I can’t see the sunshine!” Dumps howled.
“Of course, you can’t,” said the Wood Fairy. “Your windows are dirty. Get some nice spring water in your little pail and wash them.”
Dumps had never thought of doing that. When he washed the windows the sunbeams streamed in like a golden ladder.
“Is there something else the matter?” the Wood Fairy asked.
“My fire won’t burn, even though I kick the coal bucket every day,” Dumps sobbed.
“Well, try blowing the fire,” the Wood Fairy suggested.
Dumps had never thought of doing that. His bellows were stiff, but he blew them very hard, and—crackle—there was a nice bright fire, and his kettle began to sing!
“Is that all?” asked the Wood Fairy.
“Oh, no!” Dumps sighed, “The other elves are giving a party, and I’m not invited.”
“It is for all the elves, and you don’t have to be invited,” the Wood Fairy said. “Stand up straight and let me brush your suit. Now run along, my dear.”
So Dumps started up the hill to the party, laughing all the way, for he just couldn’t help it. You see, he had so many years of being one of the Dumps to make up for! He laughed until all his wrinkles were gone, and he was puffed out with happiness. He started bees buzzing, and grasshoppers fiddling, and crickets chirping.
“Who can this new, fat, cheerful elf be?” asked all the other elves, as Dumps arrived at the party, turning a double-somersault into their midst. “We are all here except Dumps, and of course this isn’t he?”
Then Dumps showed them how he could turn back-somersaults, and make a see-saw out of a rush leaf. He taught them how to play baseball with white clover heads, and how to make a swing of braided grasses. He surprised himself with all the good times he was able to think up.
“Of course, this isn’t Dumps,” the other elves decided. “His name must be Delight.” And Dumps never told them their mistake, for it wasn’t really a mistake at all. Now, was it?
