TIT, TAT, TOE!
Tit, tat, toe!
Three in a row!
The heavy schoolroom clock strikes loud and slow.
"Now every little one
May go and take his fun,"
The gentle teacher cries, "for the school is done."
Tit, tat, toe!
All in a row!
Out through the open door the merry children go,
Leaving only three,
Sad as sad can be,—
Wretched little culprits with their Spellers, as you see!
Tit, tat, toe!
Three in a row!—
Billy Bumble, Benny Bell, and little Kitty Coe.
Little Kitty sighs;
Little Benny cries;
And little Billy Bumble pokes his fingers in his eyes.
Tit, tat, toe!
Three in a row!
That's the game they played upon their slate, you know:
The 0's were made by Kate;
The crosses, by her mate;
While Billy kept the tally at the bottom of the slate.
When their class was heard,
They couldn't spell a word:
They put an "i" in burly, and they put a "u" in bird!
So, according to the rule,
They must study after school,
Or by and by they'll have to sit upon the dunce's stool.
Tit, tat, toe!
Three in a row!
The teacher's pencil taps on the desk broad and low.
"Now come," she says, "and spell;
I'm sure you'll do it well;
By the brightening of your faces, I readily can tell."
Tit, tat, toe!
Three in a row!
Straight to the teacher's desk the willing children go:
They say their lesson o'er,
Not missing as before,
Then fly away, determined to be idle never more.
Tit, tat, toe!
Three in a row!
Is a fascinating pastime the little people know;
But oh! it never pays
To walk in folly's ways;
For pleasure quickly passes, while pain much longer stays.
Olive A. Wadsworth.
THE KEEPER PUNISHED.
Elephants, when kindly treated, become very much attached to their keepers, and will obey their orders as readily as good children obey their parents.
But sometimes the keepers are cruel men, and, instead of managing the elephants by kindness, will goad them, and treat them badly.
One day a new keeper was set over an elephant named Tippoo, that had been accustomed to good treatment. This new keeper, if he had been wise, would have won the elephant's love by kindness.
Instead of that, the man kept thrusting his goad at the elephant, and hurting him without any good cause. Tippoo bore it patiently for some time; but at last, with his great trunk seizing his tormentor, he ran with him down to the river that was near by.
Here, after ducking the man several times in the water, he laid him down gently on the dry ground, as much as to say, "Now, sir, behave yourself, and treat me like a gentleman, or I will give you a worse ducking than that."
Finding that Tippoo was not to be trifled with, the man began to treat him well, and the elephant soon forgave him, and at last grew quite fond of him. Love wins love.
NEDDY'S SAND-BANK.
On lovely summer afternoons, when the sky is blue, and the sea bluer, I take my books or work, and go out to sit under a great oak-tree that stands at the top of a sand-bank, which slopes gently down to a broad, white, beach.
This sand-bank is a wonderful place for the children. Every fine day Neddy takes his box of playthings, and marches off to the sand-bank; and I think, as I kiss his dear rosy cheeks, what a nice, clean boy he is in his linen blouse, broad-brimmed hat with blue ribbons, white stockings, and neat buttoned boots. He returns after a few hours, looking like a little savage.
"Just fit to go into the wash-tub," Dinah says; and she is right.
What do they play on the sand-bank? I will tell you what they did yesterday, while I sat under the oak-tree and worked, and listened to their prattle.
"Let's build cities to-day," said Tommy Abbott. "Oh, yes!" said Jamie Newton. "I will build Boston," chimed in Neddy: "I don't know much about other places." After each had selected a city to build, they were silent for some time.
But by and by Neddy looked up, and called to me, "Oh, do come down here, mamma, and see my Boston!" So I climbed down the bank to visit his city. He had scooped a hole in the sand, lined it with clay, filled it with sea-water, and stocked it with his shining tin fish. Of course I knew at once this was the pond on Boston Common.
Jamie Newton, who studies geography, and knows all about great cities everywhere, made a model Philadelphia, with its long, wide streets. Jamie's streets were so clean, and so beautifully shaded with sprigs of evergreen, that Mary Whitman said her grandest doll, Arabella Rosetta, should take a nice ride through them. So Rosetta was set up in her carriage, and one tucked the crimson afghan about her dainty feet, while another opened her very best sky-blue parasol, (for Rosetta is particular about her complexion), and Mary put on her hat with the blue plumes, and pink roses, smoothed down her flounces, and said, "Be a good girl, Rosy. Don't stay out after dark, for the dew will spoil your clothes."
By and by it grew late. The sun sank down into the sea; while the moon, broad and full, rose from behind the hill; and I said, "Come, Neddy, we must run home to tea."
But Tommy Abbott, who had built a most wonderful Chicago, begged for a match to burn his city with. So the children gathered a heap of sticks and dry leaves; and Tommy set fire to the pile, and up and away flamed the beautiful city. Then we all went up to the hotel together, and very soon tea was ready; and it was a wonderful thing to see how the children disposed of bread and milk, baked sweet apples, and gingerbread.
After we went up to our room, I wrote this story, and read it to Neddy. How his eyes sparkled with delight! "It's just as true as I live, every word of it," he said as I finished.
"But, mamma, you forgot little Rose Ellsworth's town. She made a real hill, and covered it with grass, and dotted it all over with violets; and Daisy lent her a cow from her 'Noah's Ark;' and we made it stand up under a tree, and, if it had only whisked its tail, it would have looked almost alive.
"I think, mamma," he continued, "that Rose is the nicest little girl here. I've painted her picture in my album."
So I was not surprised, while looking over Neddy's pictures, to see that he had wasted a great deal of paint in trying to display Rose's pink cheeks and lovely golden hair: He had painted her cheeks redder than the reddest cherries you ever saw.
S. B. T.
