PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER

BY ROSE LUCIA

Formerly Principal of the Primary School
Montpelier, Vermont
Author of "Peter and Polly in Spring," "Peter and Polly in Summer," and "Peter and Polly in Autumn."

AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY

NEW YORK
CINCINNATI
CHICAGO
BOSTON
ATLANTA

Copyright, 1914, by
ROSE LUCIA.
Copyright, 1914, in Great Britain.
PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER.
E. P. 21

To
C. M. G.

Frontispiece MAP

CONTENTS

PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER

PETER AND POLLY

Peter Howe is a little boy. Polly is his sister. She is older than Peter.

They live in a white house. The house is on a hill. It is not in the city. It is in the country.

There are no houses close about it. But there are trees and fields around it.

In summer these fields are green. In winter the snow covers them.

The fields and the hills are as white as the house. Then there is fun playing in the snow.

Peter likes to watch the snowflakes. He calls them "white butterflies." But he knows what they are.

His friend, the Story Lady, told him. They are just frozen clouds.

Peter said to her, "I think they are prettier than raindrops. They can sail about in the air, too. Raindrops cannot. I like winter better than summer."

"It will be winter soon, Peter," said the Story Lady. "But many things must happen first.

"The birds must fly away. The leaves must turn red and yellow. Then they will fall and you can rake them into heaps. We will go to the woods for nuts.

"All these things will happen before winter comes."

"Yes," said Peter. "And my grandmother must knit me some thick stockings. And my father must buy me a winter coat. Grandmother must knit some stockings for Wag-wag, too."

"But Wag-wag is a dog, Peter. Dogs do not need stockings."

"My dog does," said Peter. "He needs a coat, too. His hair is short. It will not keep him warm. I shall ask father to buy him a coat."

"Do, Peter," said the Story Lady. "It is good to be kind to dogs. And when Wag-wag wears his coat and stockings, bring him to see me. I will take his picture."

THE BIRDS' GAME OF TAG

It is fall. Summer is really over. But it is still warm. Jack Frost has not yet begun his work.

Peter and Polly have been watching the birds. For days they have seen great flocks of them. In the summer there were not so many together.

One day they saw several robins. These were flying from tree to tree.

Peter said, "I know they are having a party. They are playing tag."

"Perhaps they are," said his father. "Perhaps each bird is telling something to the bird he tags."

"What is he telling?" asked Peter.

"I think he is saying, 'Brother bird, don't you know that winter is coming? Soon the snow will be here. What shall we do then?

"'We cannot get food. We shall freeze. Come, let us fly away to the South. It is warm there.'"

"What does brother bird say?" asked Peter.

"I think brother bird says, 'It is a long way to the South. It will take many days and nights to fly there.

"'Are our children's wings yet strong enough? I do not like to go. But I know that we must.'"

"Doesn't he like to go, truly?" asked Peter.

"We do not know, Peter. The robins make their nests here. They lay their blue eggs here. They hatch their little birds here. They never do this in the South.

"Besides, they sing their beautiful songs here. They never sing them in the South. We like to think that they love the North better. But, of course, we do not know."

"How can they find their way back?" asked Polly.

"We do not know that, either, Polly. Many birds fly in the nighttime. Then they rest a part of the day."

"I couldn't find my way in the dark," said Polly.

"But the birds can," said father. "We do not know how. The winter home of some of our birds is thousands of miles from here."

"I like to watch the swallows," said Polly. "They sit in a line on a telephone wire. Then one flies to another wire. In a minute they all fly, too.

"I think that they are talking about going away soon. I hope they will not get lost."

"Yes," said father. "They will soon be gone. But perhaps some of these very birds will come back here next summer."

"I wish we could know them," said Polly.

"We shall have a few birds left this winter," said father. "You know some of them. You know the chick-a-dees and the woodpeckers. And this winter I shall show you others."

"May we hunt for nests and eggs, father?" asked Peter.

"We may hunt, Peter, but we won't find any eggs in winter. We shall find other things. Perhaps we shall find the white-footed mouse. He sometimes makes his home in an old bird's nest."

"Can a mouse climb trees, father? If he lives in a bird's nest, does he lay bird's eggs?"

"He can climb trees, Peter. But he cannot lay eggs. We will see if we can find Mr. White-foot some day.

"But first we will watch the birds fly away and the snow come."

THE STONE-WALL POST OFFICE

Around Peter's house is a beautiful field. This is Mr. Howe's hayfield. You can find it on the map in the front of this book.

The children like this field. All the year round, it is a pleasant place.

In the spring they find blue violets here. In the summer they watch the birds that make nests in the tall grass. In the winter they slide here on the crust.

At the farther side of the field, there are some trees. These are butternut trees. In front of the trees is a stone wall.

Peter and Polly like to play by this wall. Sometimes they play that it is a post office.

The holes in the wall are the boxes. There is a box for every one in the village. Peter has more than one box; so has Polly.

The children take turns being the postmaster. If Peter is the postmaster, Polly calls for the mail.

The real post office is in their father's store. So they have often seen Mr. Howe put the mail into the boxes.

They use little sticks for the post cards. Leaves are the letters. Stones are the packages. Sometimes the boxes are full of mail—especially Peter's and Polly's.

Often they play that it is Christmas time. Then the boxes are full of packages. It is fun to guess what is in each package.

One day Peter said, "There is a knife in this package. I like it. There is a hammer in this package. I will build a house with it.

"There is a game in this package. Will you play it with me, Polly? And, O Polly! There is a pony in this package! That is what I wish for most of all."

"But, Peter, a pony is too big to be in your post-office box. It would not come by mail."

"Then Santa Claus will bring it," said Peter. "If I get it, I do not care how it comes."

One day the children saw that the butternuts were falling.

Polly said, "Let's pick up all we can. We will put them in our post-office boxes. When they are full, we will bring your cart. Then we can take the nuts home. We will crack them next winter."

So they filled the boxes with nuts. The nuts were still green. The children stained their hands with them.

While they were playing with the nuts, they saw two squirrels. These sat in the trees above them. They watched Peter and Polly with their bright eyes, and scolded them a great deal.

"They want our nuts," said Polly. "But we have put them into our post-office boxes. We will keep them."

The next day the children went for their nuts. They took Peter's cart with them. What do you think they found?

Why, they found their boxes empty! The nuts were all gone!

"Some one bad has been here," said Peter.

Polly laughed. "You always say that, Peter. I think it was those squirrels. And I don't care, because they need the nuts to eat this winter."

"I don't care, either," said Peter. "I think we forgot to lock our boxes."

"Perhaps we did," said Polly. "But I guess the squirrels thought the boxes were theirs. When they called for their mail, they found the boxes full. How pleased they must have been! Let's pick up more nuts for them."

So the children again filled the post-office boxes with nuts. Then they went home and left them for the squirrels.

PLAYING IN THE LEAVES

One day Peter saw something that pleased him. It was a branch of red leaves on a maple tree.

He said to mother, "It will be winter soon."

"Why do you think so, Peter?"

"I have seen red leaves," said Peter.

"But, Peter, a few red leaves do not count. There are red leaves in the summer. You must watch until you see many red, yellow, and brown leaves."

"What makes the leaves red and yellow, mother? Is it magic?" asked Peter. "Can you do it?"

"Perhaps it is a kind of magic, Peter. It is like the clouds turning into snow. I cannot do that."

Then Peter watched for all the trees to turn. At last they were bright with colors.

The maples were red and yellow; the oaks a deep red. The beeches were a bright yellow.

Even the elm trees in front of the house were yellow. Now Polly liked more than ever to swing. The swing took her way up among the yellow leaves.

Then, one day, the leaves began to fall. Down they came, a few at a time. The next day more fell, and the next and the next.

Polly said, "They are prettier than the snowflakes. The snow is white. These have lovely colors. See them flying through the air."

At last most of the trees were bare. The leaves lay on the ground.

Then Peter said, "Oh, the poor trees! They haven't any clothes on. I am so sorry."

Polly said, "The leaves are not clothes. They are children. Now they have gone to bed. The snow is their blanket. When it comes, it will keep them warm. If we leave them alone, they will sleep all winter. I learned it in a poem."

"They cannot go to sleep yet," said Peter. "I shall not let them. I shall wake them up."

"How will you do that?" asked Polly.

"I shall run in them. That will keep them awake. I shall do it now. Come on! See if you can make as much noise as I can."

After a while the children raked the leaves into large heaps. Then they jumped in the heaps. This scattered the leaves. But the children did not care. They raked them up again.

Once Peter jumped where the leaves were not very deep. He came to the ground with a bang. He was surprised. But he was not much hurt.

He said to mother, "My teeth shut with a noise when I went down."

Mother said, "It is lucky that your tongue was not in the way. You would have bitten it badly."

"Come in now, both of you. You must wash your hands and faces. Father will be home soon. You may play in the leaves to-morrow."

HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN[1]

I'll tell you how the leaves came down.
The great Tree to his children said,
"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown,
Yes, very sleepy, little Red;
It is quite time you went to bed."

"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf,
"Let us a little longer stay;
Dear Father Tree, behold our grief;
'Tis such a very pleasant day
We do not want to go away."

So, just for one more merry day
To the great Tree the leaflets clung,
Frolicked and danced and had their way,
Upon the autumn breezes swung,
Whispering all their sports among,—

"Perhaps the great Tree will forget,
And let us stay until the spring,
If we all beg and coax and fret."
But the great Tree did no such thing;
He smiled to hear their whispering.

"Come, children, all to bed," he cried;
And ere the leaves could urge their prayer
He shook his head, and far and wide,
Fluttering and rustling everywhere,
Down sped the leaflets through the air.

I saw them; on the ground they lay,
Golden and red, a huddled swarm,
Waiting till one from far away,
White bedclothes heaped upon her arm,
Should come to wrap them safe and warm.

The great bare Tree looked down and smiled,
"Good night, dear little leaves," he said.
And from below, each sleepy child
Replied, "Good night," and murmured,
"It is so nice to go to bed!"

—Susan Coolidge.

[1] Copyright, 1889, by Roberts Brothers.

THE BONFIRE

The next day father said, "Peter and Polly, will you work for me? I wish to buy your leaves. I will give you a cent for three loads."

"Oh, goody, goody!" said Polly.

"Oh, goody, goody!" said Peter.

"You must put the leaves in a pile in the garden. I will show you where."

"What will you do with them, father?" asked Polly.

"You will see to-night, if you are good workmen."

In the night the wind had blown the leaves about. So the children raked them up once more.

Then they filled the big basket full. They packed in the leaves as hard as they could.

"That is to give good measure," said Polly. "Father always gives good measure at his store. So you and I must, too."

Every time they took a basketful to the garden, Polly made a mark on a piece of paper.

At last the yard was raked clean. They had taken to the garden twenty-nine loads. They had worked nearly all day.

At supper father said, "You are good workmen, chicks. Our yard looks very clean. It is ready for winter.

"You piled the leaves carefully in the garden, too. Now, how much do I owe you?"

"We took twenty-nine loads, father," said Polly. "I wish there had been one more to make thirty."

"Why do you wish that, Polly?"

"Because three goes in thirty better than in twenty-nine."

"Well," said father, "we will call it thirty loads, Polly. I saw you packing the leaves into the basket very hard.

"You are honest workmen to give me such good measure. Now, Polly, three goes in thirty how many times?"

"Ten times, father. So you owe us ten cents. We shall each have five cents."

"Very good, Polly. Here is your money. I have a surprise for you. Put on your coats and come to the garden. Mother will come, too."

In the garden they found father beside the pile of leaves. He had thrown many things upon it.

He said, "I came home early and cleaned up the garden. Now, what shall we do with all this stuff?"

"Burn it, burn it!" shouted both children at once. "A bonfire, a bonfire!"

"Very well," said father. "You may burn it. Here is a match for you, Polly. And here is one for you, Peter. Light your fire."

Polly and Peter lighted the great heap. Soon the red flames were leaping up. They made the garden bright. Farther away from the fire it was very dark.

"Oh, see, see, mother!" cried Polly. "The flames are as pretty as the red and yellow leaves. Have they taken the color from the leaves? How hot they are!"

The children danced around the fire until it died down. Then mother took them into the house. It was bedtime.

THE HEN THAT HELPED PETER

Peter is a nice little boy. But he can be very naughty. Mother and father know this. Grandmother Howe and Polly know it, too.

You see, Peter always wishes his own way. And you know this is not good for little boys and little girls.

Peter cannot have cake between his meals. He may always have milk to drink. Sometimes he may have bread and jelly, or bread and sugar.

He likes this very much. But he does not like the crusts of the bread. So he used to eat only the soft part. The crusts he threw away.

But at the table he could not throw them away.

Then he put them under the edge of his plate. You know how.

When mother took the plate, there would be a crust on the table. It did not look very well.

One day father said, "Peter, you are a big boy now. You are nearly five years old. You are old enough to eat your crusts.

"I will give you a week in which to learn how. After that, I shall not expect to see any more crusts on the table."

Peter knew that, when his father spoke so, he meant what he said. But the little boy thought he would not eat his crusts until he had to do so.

He said to himself, "In a week I will begin to eat them all up. But now I will still put them under my plate."

So, every day when his plate was taken away, there were the crusts. Peter did not see his father look at them. And his father said nothing more about them.

By and by Peter began to think that his father had forgotten.

So, when the week was over, he said to himself, "I am sure that my father has forgotten. I am going to keep on leaving my crusts."

But his father had not forgotten. He was just waiting to see if Peter would obey.

That noon he saw that Peter had left a crust.

He said, "My son, you have not learned to eat your crusts. And you have not learned to obey. I must teach you."

Then Peter was more naughty still. He said, "I do not like old crust. I will throw old crust away. Then I cannot eat it."

He picked up the crust and jumped down from his chair.

His father called, "Peter!"

But Peter did not stop. He ran to the door and threw the crust out upon the grass.

His father went after him. "You may pick up your crust, Peter," said he.

This time Peter started to obey. He knew that he had been very naughty. But, before he could get to the crust, an old hen ran up. She snatched it in her bill and off she went.

Peter looked at his father. He was not sure what his father would do. He almost wished the hen had not taken the crust.

Father only laughed. He said, "That old hen is a friend of yours, Peter. If it had not been for her, you would have eaten that crust."

"I know it," said Peter. "And, father, I am sorry. I do not like to be naughty. I will be good. I will eat my crusts now to please you."

And after this he did.

THE FIRST ICE

"Water now has turned to stone,
Stone that I can walk upon."

One morning mother said, "Polly, will you go to the store for me? I need a can of corn. We must have it for dinner."

"May Peter go, too, mother?"

"Oh, yes, Peter may go, if he wishes. Run and find him."

Now Polly and Peter liked to go to the store. It belonged to their father. Sometimes they helped him unpack goods. Sometimes they sat still and watched the customers.

Sometimes he let them play keeping store. Once Polly had really sold some candy to another little girl.

But to-day they could not stay to play. They must get the can of corn for mother, and come home.

They went down the hill. At the railroad tracks they stopped. They looked for a train. They saw none, so they ran across the tracks.

Then they came to the bridge. You can find it on the map in the front of this book.

They stopped to look over the rail at the water, far below.

"O Polly!" said Peter. "What is on the water?"

"Why, it is ice, Peter. The top of the water is frozen. See, the ice goes nearly across the river."

"Ice, ice!" shouted Peter. "Now winter is almost here. The leaves have gone. The ice has come. Let's run and tell father."

The children ran to the store.

"Father, father," called Peter, "we have seen ice!"

"So have I," said father. "Where did you see it?"

"We saw it from the bridge. The river is frozen at the sides. It is not frozen in the middle."

"Yes," said father. "It freezes first at the edges, because the water flows more slowly there. In the middle it flows faster.

"Every cold night that ice will grow. It will soon cover the middle of the river, too. And at the same time it will grow thicker."

"By and by it will be so thick that we can walk upon it. Then it is time to learn to skate. Perhaps you can learn this winter."

"When the ice is thick enough, men cut it into blocks. What will they do with them?"

"Make houses of them," said Peter.

"O Peter, we are not Eskimos," said Polly. "I know, father. They will put the ice into big ice houses. They will keep it to use in the hot summer. I saw them doing it last winter."

"Right, Polly. That is where our ice comes from in the summer."

"Does all the water in the river freeze, father? Where do the fishes go? Are they in the ice?"

"The ice is lighter than the water, Peter. So it stays on top of the water. The bottom of our river does not freeze. The fishes are there. They do not mind the cold as we do.

"Did you come to the store just to tell me about the ice, chicks?"

"No, father," said Polly. "We came for a can of corn. We saw the ice when we were on the bridge."

"Then here is the corn. Take it to mother and tell her about the ice."

Off went the children. When they came to the bridge, Peter dropped some small stones on the ice. But it did not break.

"It must be thick now, Polly," said he. "I wish we could skate."

"We weigh more than those stones do, Peter. I think the cold will have to make the ice grow more before father will let us. And, anyway, we have no skates."

"Let's tell mother about that, too, Polly. Perhaps she knows where there are some."

So Peter and Polly hurried up the hill to find their mother.

THE THREE GUESSES

"Polly and Peter," said Mr. Howe, "I have something for you. It is something to use in the winter, and not in the summer. You may have three guesses."

"It can't be a sled," said Polly, "for we have sleds."

"It can't be a coat," said Peter, "for we have coats."

"And we have mittens and leggings and overshoes, too," said Polly.

"It might be my pony," said Peter.

"No," said Polly. "It couldn't be, Peter. We can use a pony in the summer. Let's not guess that."

"Is it good to eat, father?" asked Peter. "I am hungry now."

"No, Peter. And there are four of them; two for each of you. They are hard and shiny."

"Guns, guns!" shouted Peter.

"One guess is gone, Peter. What would you do with two guns?"

"Are they for us to wear, father?" asked Polly.

"Yes, Polly, but not all the time. You cannot wear them in the house."

"Then I know what they are, father. If there are two for each of us, that is one for each foot. Can't you guess now, Peter?"

"Rubber boots," shouted Peter.

"I think it is skates, father. And I am glad. I have wished for some ever since we saw the ice."

"You have made a good guess, Polly. Bring me the box that is in the hall."

Out of the box Mr. Howe took two pairs of shining new skates.

"Oh, goody, goody!" cried both children, when they saw what was in the box.

"We will go skating now," said father. "Then we can try them."

At the edge of the river he stopped. He put on the children's skates. Then he put on his own.

"I will show you how to do it," he said. "Then I will help you just a little."

He showed them how to strike out, first

with one foot and then with the other. His tracks looked like this:

Then Polly tried, but her tracks looked like this:

"That is not the way, Polly," said her father. "You are skating with your right foot. But you are only pushing with your left. You must skate with both. Watch me again."

Then Peter tried. His tracks looked like this:

The cross marks the place where Peter fell down. But he did not care. He got up and tried again.

Polly was doing better. So her father took hold of her and helped her a little.

He said, "I wish you to learn alone. Then you will be a good skater. If I help you all the time, you will never be able to skate alone."

Polly said, "That is what my teacher tells us. She says, 'I will show you how to do it. And I will help you a little. Then you must try for yourself.'"

"That is good," said father. "You must learn to do things alone. Your teacher and your father will not always be near."

Soon the skates were taken off. "We must not stay too long the first time," said father. "You may come again to-morrow. You may skate every day until the snow comes."

"Oh, may we, father, may we?" cried Peter and Polly, jumping up and down. "And when the snow comes, we can sweep it off the ice."

"Maybe I shall not wish for any snow now," said Peter. "Maybe I like skating better."

"You will get the snow just the same, my son," said father. "So you may as well wish for it. It is sure to come."

"Now, good-by. We have all had a good time. Take my skates home with you and dry them when you dry yours. Then they will not rust. We will bring mother the next time we come."

THE FIRST SNOWSTORM

One morning mother called to Peter, "Wake up, Peter! Look out of your window. Winter has come."

Peter had been dreaming about a big snow man who chased him. He jumped out of bed and said, "You didn't get me that time, old snow man. I woke up too soon."

He ran to the window. The ground was white. The trees were white. The air was full of the white butterflies that Peter likes so well.

"Oh! Oh!" he shouted. "I must go out to play! I must go out to play!"

"Not until you are dressed, Peter," said mother. "Then you must have breakfast. After that you may go out."

At breakfast father said, "It has snowed a foot since dark yesterday. How many inches is that, Polly?"

"It is twelve inches, father. Do you think this snow has come to stay? Or will it melt away?"

"I think that it will stay, Polly. It is time for sleighing."

Peter and Polly put on their coats and caps, their leggings, overshoes, and mittens. Then they were ready to go out.

At first Peter ran about in the yard. He kicked up the snow as he ran. It flew all over him.

"Polly, Polly!" he called. "I am a snow man now. I shall chase you as the one in my dream chased me."

He ran after her. Just as he caught her, she slipped. Down they both went. They were covered from head to foot with snow.

"Now we are both snow men," said Polly. "Let's go and shake the little trees."

These were two fir trees. They were at the side of the house. Polly took hold of the end of a low branch. Peter stood under the tree, while Polly shook it. Down came a shower of snow.

Then Polly stood under the other, while Peter shook that. Down came another shower of snow. Some of this went into Polly's neck. But Polly did not care.

"Now we will show grandmother how white we are," she said.