Part 5

“A little girl named Isa had been very ill in a large city hospital,” said daddy. “But at last a joyful time came when Isa really seemed to be on the road to getting well, and very happy her mother and daddy were.

“‘Oh, little Isa,’ said her daddy, ‘we’re going to have a surprise for you. You know to-night is St. Valentine’s eve, and I have an idea my little daughter may be going to have all kinds of bright, heart-shaped presents!’

“‘Oh, daddy!’ said Isa, ‘instead of giving just me a valentine party couldn’t we have one for all the children in the hospital? I’m well enough to be moved into the big ward, and all the children who are able to be there can have a party with me, and we can have a huge valentine party. Oh, couldn’t we do that, daddy?’

“‘Yes, indeed,’ said her daddy.

“So in the evening the big ward was bright with red hearts strung from the ceiling and hanging over the beds. The lights were covered with red paper shades, and in the very center of the room was an enormous big heart, and what do you suppose was in the heart?”

“What?” asked Evelyn eagerly.

“Why, for every child there was a red ribbon. Each child pulled one ribbon attached to the heart and at the end was a beautiful present.”

FEBRUARY 14: Why There is a Saint Valentine’s Day

“St. Valentine,” said daddy, “was a bishop in the third century—that was many, many years ago. He was a very good, kind man and always went about doing kind things for people. But some of the Romans didn’t like him, and in those days the people were cruel. If they didn’t like any one or imagined he might do them harm, they had him beheaded, and Bishop Valentine, as he was then called, was beheaded.

“His friends felt dreadfully that such a good man should be so cruelly murdered, and for days they could talk of nothing else but of the good Bishop Valentine, and they’d tell one another of all his good deeds and of his love for all people and of his kindnesses. The older people would tell their children about him until before long they began to speak of him as St. Valentine, and that name clung to him.

“So that ever since then, through all the years that have passed, he has always been known as St. Valentine, and although he was so cruelly beheaded, still his deeds of charity and kindness will always be known.

“You see, that is why we send valentines around to tell people we’re thinking of them and are fond of them, and we call them valentines because they’re nice, thoughtful messages and are like the dear old St. Valentine.”

FEBRUARY 15: The Desk and the Ink-Well

“I misbehave most frightfully if children don’t pay me attention,” said the Ink-Well.

“Yes,” said the Desk. “And then you make me suffer.”

“Do you really know what I mean?” asked the Ink-Well.

“Of course,” said the Desk. “If, for instance, a little girl or a boy is pouring from the great big grandfather Ink-Bottle and is giving you something more in the way of a nice Inky fluid or drink, and if the little girl looks the other way, you spill.”

“I don’t spill. I turn a somersault, or I trickle down the desk.”

“Yes, down me,” said the Desk. “And do you think it is very nice to make me suffer?”

“Ha, ha,” laughed the Ink-Well, “as if you cared whether I trickled down over you or not. You are made of wood and you don’t care.”

“That’s so,” agreed the Desk, “but even if I am made of wood I like to be varnished and made over nice and fresh every little while. It’s just like having one’s face washed.”

“But people who have their faces washed,” said the Ink-Well, “(though I do believe they always wash their faces themselves) do so far more than once a year. That is as often as you get your face washed or varnished.”

“Well, I’m made of wood, you see,” said the Desk, “and so I don’t care. Once a year does quite nicely for me. Besides it would be quite utterly useless any oftener for you’d only spill over me and I’d get quite horrid looking.”

“That’s polite of you, I’m sure,” said the Ink-Well, “to say you’d look horrid with some of my nice ink on you. It adds a lot I think.”

“It may add ink,” said the Desk, “but it doesn’t add beauty.”

But the school bell was ringing and so the Desk and Ink-Well were silent.

FEBRUARY 16: Dr. Sun

“For over two weeks a little boy has followed me around,” said the Sun.

“Whatever do you mean?” asked the Sun Rays.

“He has been ill. He has had a very, very bad cold. Oh, he has been so wretched and he has not felt like doing anything. A little boy is pretty ill when he doesn’t feel like doing anything and wants to stay quiet.”

“That’s true,” said the Sun Rays. For how often they had seen small boys scampering and playing, and sometimes they had danced, too, for joy.

“The doctor comes every day,” continued the Sun. “Sometimes he comes twice a day, and once he came three times. But every time he comes he tells the little boy always to sit in the sun! And he has been following me around. When I am shining into one window in the morning, there I see the little boy sitting by the window. In the afternoon when I choose an entirely different part of the house to shine in the windows, there is the little boy again. And for two weeks he has been doing this. Just following me around. I do feel so honored. And you, my good Sun Ray children, you should feel honored too.”

“We do,” said the Sun Rays.

“Listen now!” said the Sun. And they all stopped talking to listen.

There was the little boy sitting by the window, and by him stood his mother and a big man with a low voice. The man was carrying a little black satchel and he was talking.

“Well, how are you to-day, my boy?” he asked.

“Oh, much stronger and better,” said the boy. “I almost feel like getting out again.”

“You’ll be able to in a very few days now.”

“Oh, doctor,” said the mother, “you have saved my little boy’s life. He was so sick.” But the doctor shook his head.

“I did not save his life,” he said. “The Sun did that. The Sun fights germs better than medicines or doctors. We are needed to tell the people to take advantage of the Sun and use it, and we have to tell them what the trouble is. For the Sun can’t talk. If he could he would be one of the greatest doctors in the world. For he always carries his cure with him. Ah, now he helps me drive away the colds, the many horrid sicknesses that come when little boys have to stay in the house.”

“Dear father,” said the Sun Rays, “you are really Doctor Sun.”

“And you my little assistant nurses,” said the Sun.

FEBRUARY 17: Mr. Moon Hides

“What’s the matter?” asked the Earth.

“I’m tired,” said the Moon.

“All right,” said the Earth. “My shadow is always ready for you to hide behind when you want it.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” asked the Moon.

“I’m highly flattered,” said the Earth. “It is a great honor. Lots of people come out and look at us both at such times. For people call it an Eclipse.”

“What do they mean by that?” asked the Moon.

“They call it a total eclipse,” said the Earth, “when there is no Moon to be seen at all.”

“My! And they use words like that—total Eclipse—just to say that the Moon can’t be seen. Well, well, well, they do pay me a great compliment.”

The Moon talked to the Earth for a long time and the Earth’s shawl or shadow kept the moon from sight for several hours.

Before long the Moon grew a little restless. “I think I must be leaving,” he said.

“Sorry to see you go,” said the Earth. “You call on me so seldom. Your visits are so rare.”

“Oh,” laughed the Moon, “you are so nice to me, but where did you pick up that last word? Was it running around down on the earth where you heard it as it walked over you?”

“Words don’t run around,” said the Earth, “but the people who use them do. That word means that your visits are so few. I’d like to see you oftener.”

“Thank you,” said the Moon. “Perhaps because I come only now and again it is better, for you see it is more of a treat.”

“Maybe that is so,” said the Earth. “I always enjoy looking at you from afar, but I do thoroughly enjoy your calls.”

“Then I’ll come some time again,” said the Moon.

FEBRUARY 18: A Careless Master

“A horse,” said daddy, “was very thirsty.

“‘I don’t know how I can go on working so hard without a drink,’ he was trying to tell his master. But his master paid no attention.

“On and on they went. The horse’s tongue became so dry. He hung it out of his mouth, but the master didn’t notice—not even when he gave him a pat as he came out from a house where he had left a package.

“Now, a little fairy was hovering near-by. The fairy was the Princess Joy and she was in her long dress of mist-fog material. For the day was misty and there was a light fog. But not enough rain had fallen for the horse to wet his tongue. He had tried to hold his mouth open and get a drink that way but the rain-drops were not coming down. They were feeling shy and not like a trip to the earth.

“‘I’m so thirsty,’ said the horse again to himself.

“‘Thirsty,’ said the Princess Joy. ‘Why doesn’t your master give you something to drink? You’re a good horse. You go wherever he wants you to go—and so willingly, too. You’re so loyal and you are nice with his children and let them play with you whenever they want to. Can’t he give you a drink?’

“‘He has forgotten,’ said the horse. ‘He doesn’t mean to be cruel. He has just forgotten—that’s all.’

“‘Well, we’ll attend to that,’ said the Fairy Princess Joy.

“Now she knew that the horse’s master and the ice man did not like each other. ‘I’ll attend to this,’ she said to herself.

“The ice man was delivering ice from house to house along the same street where the master was delivering his parcels. The ice man had his ice in a little hand wagon he was pushing along himself.

“‘You shall have some fine ice water,’ whispered the fairy to the horse. ‘The best of ice water.’

“The Fairy whispered to the ice man, and though he didn’t know that the fairy had told him to leave his wagon in just such a place, he did so.

“‘Now walk up a little bit,’ she said to the horse.

“The horse began to lick a fine piece of ice. Ah, such a drink as he had. The ice melted so fast against his dry tongue, and there was a great deal in the side of the wagon. He licked the ice until half of a piece had gone.

“Just then the ice man and his master came out at the same time. There the horse was having his drink.

“‘You owe me for a piece of ice,’ said the ice man. ‘I can’t sell that piece now. Why don’t you give your horse some water? What are you—cruel to animals, eh?’

“This made the master feel very badly. ‘I forgot,’ he murmured. ‘I shall pay you for the ice and I’ll never forget again.’

“‘The first good speech I’ve heard you make. You’ve always been too careless and thoughtless before, but now we’ll be friends, and I do believe you’ll never forget your fine animal again.’ And the master agreed.”

FEBRUARY 19: The Cat Show

“There were cats at the Cat Show,” said daddy, “such as are never seen in any kitchen. Cats on velvet cushions who looked far too haughty ever, ever to crawl under a good old stove on a torn cushion. For at this Cat Show there were cats whose families were old and noble in the history of Catland. And cats of all colors! They were even lavender and so many other queer colors for cats to be!

“And such wonderful fur they had! It was soft and silky and combed so well. They wore bright ribbons, and their cushions matched! And they were fed the most delicious bits of meat and fish—and drank cream, real, real cream!

“But two cats were talking. One was named Royalty and the other Nobility.

“‘What do you think of the Show?’ asked Royalty.

“‘It’s about the same as most,’ said Nobility, with a yawn.

“‘How dull they are!’ snarled Royalty. And some passer-by said,

“‘That cat is so highly bred, you see. Did you notice how he snarled?’

“‘Isn’t that too absurd!’ said Royalty. ‘As if it were something very fine to be cross. I’m cross because of these people. They make such a fuss over me. They spoil me, and then some of my poor little sisters and brothers are left by these very same people to starve in the city all summer, while they go off and shut up their houses!’

“‘What do you mean?’ asked Nobility. ‘You haven’t any sisters or brothers who live in kitchens, have you?’ And Nobility’s back rose in surprise.

“‘Indeed, I have,’ said Royalty, ‘and I’m proud of it! Do you for one moment think that my family were born in Egypt or India—or Malta—or wherever they say the family came from? Do you know where my family came from? From the alleys and side streets where they used to hunt for scraps of food—almost any kind of food.

“‘Then, you see, the family were ambitious, and somehow we became kitchen cats, and we lived on milk and good food.’

“‘But how did you ever come here?’ asked Nobility.

“‘Because my little master wanted to make some money to buy a bicycle. He thought perhaps I’d win a prize at a small Show which was given at that time. He fed me up, put a ribbon around my neck, and had me sit on a purple cushion. I won a prize and I’ve been winning them ever since. I was bought for a great deal of money, and I make a lot! But what does that mean to me? Nothing! All I want to say is that if only I knew Grown-Up talk I’d say to all these people that they could admire me if they wished but to please remember my sisters and brothers when the summer comes again.’”

FEBRUARY 20: The Queer Pets

“A funny old woman,” commenced daddy, “lived all alone. Her chief delight in life was to have all the chickens, geese and ducks she could, and let them walk anywhere they pleased. They could go right into the parlor or into the kitchen, whichever suited their fancy. Luckily, for the good of the parlor, they really preferred the kitchen. All the food was there, and they liked to eat better than anything else.

“Now, this old woman was very peculiar, too, and she looked it. But the funniest thing about her was that all the animals she had were queer looking too. The geese seemed to be a little different from any other geese. The ducks had even more hideous feet than most ducks have, and they were all of rather strange colors.

“One day not very long ago there flew around the neighborhood a strange looking bird. He seemed to be quite alone.

“But soon, to every one’s surprise, they saw him playing with the strange looking geese, ducks and chickens that belonged to the old woman. He never wanted to fly in the house, but they saw that she brought out water and crumbs to him. And the old woman welcomed with joy one more strange creature.”

FEBRUARY 21: Harry’s Composition

“Harry was a very clever little boy,” daddy said. “The teacher of the class to which Harry belonged had had all the pupils write original compositions to recite at the Washington’s Birthday entertainment.

“The day before the entertainment (at which, of course, all the mothers and daddies of the children were to be present) a rehearsal of everything was to take place. It was Harry’s turn to recite his composition. As he got up on the platform his legs were shaking, and every one saw how nervous he was.

“He began, then he faltered, and then he broke down and sobbed. Harry, the hero of the school, was crying. Could it be true? The pupils looked at him with pity. What could be the trouble, they asked themselves.

“‘Teacher,’ he finally said between his choking sobs, ‘I didn’t write that composition. I cheated. I copied it out of an old book I found. I’m not worthy to recite on Washington’s Birthday.’

“And then he rushed from the platform down to his seat, and, putting his head in his hands, he cried and cried.

“‘You’ve done a thing worthy of George Washington’s Birthday, Harry,’ said the teacher. ‘You’re not able to act a lie, and because you are truthful you will still recite the composition, giving the name of its real writer.’”

FEBRUARY 22: Father of His Country

We all know the old answer to the question of “Who was George Washington?”

Many a time have we gaily answered the question as we’ve pounded fists on the table:

“First in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen.” And at the end of that we’ve had a nice little winding up of pounding.

There is hardly a place, it seems, that in some way is not connected with Washington. Perhaps at one time or another he had made his headquarters there, or a chair is preserved carefully because Washington sat in it!

At Mount Vernon, where Washington lived, one can see the very rooms through which Washington walked, his bed-room, and the very four-poster bed in which he slept. And around the house are the grounds which Washington loved and through which he wandered, down to the banks of the Potomac River.

Time and time again George Washington faced difficulties of a bitterly hard nature. But he never flinched.

Time and time again Washington saw his men suffering or deserting. But Washington suffered with them and he never lost courage.

Time and time again Washington was doubted; jealous groups tried to work against him. But Washington went straight on, doing as he should and not stooping to “play favorites” or to be a “favorite.”

There was the time, too, when the country he loved doubted him, and showed him cruel ingratitude. But Washington did not turn from his course. It was the hardest of all to bear but he was the Father of his Country and—his children did come back to him.

And then—when everywhere people were singing his praises, shouting them, exclaiming them, Washington never lost his head.

He never let his own little inner feelings of likes and dislikes keep him from being fair.

Always fair, always just, always true to the country whose government he really made, he is the Father of his Country in truth.

After the Revolutionary War, as after all wars, the country was in a frightfully upset state and the people were the same. Then it was that Washington held together the country, made its government, and slowly but steadily brought order out of the most frightful disorder.

In those days people traveled by stage-coach; cities were small and far apart, the country was spread out and rumors and prejudices were hard to overcome.

But all of these tangled threads and oh, so tangled were they, Washington unraveled!

His Christmas Days, too—often how unlike Christmas they were! One was spent at Valley Forge when everything was frozen and the men went forth seeking food. Another was spent at New Windsor where the suffering from the cold had been intense, but there was brightness that day because of the arrival of a great wagon filled with shirts and warm clothing for Washington and his men. And yet another Christmas was that when the famous crossing of the Delaware River took place.

Washington—whom historians all call very great.

Washington—the Father of his Country!

FEBRUARY 23: The Stamp Traveler

“I am very superior,” said the Postage Stamp. “I travel all over the world. My family have always traveled. We don’t stay in one place—of course sometimes we do—but more often we go away. Now and again our little one-cent brothers go about the town, but we, the noble two-cent stamps, how we travel.”

“You don’t travel any more than we do,” said the Envelope upon which the stamp was stuck fast.

“I disagree with you,” said the Stamp.

“That makes no difference to me,” said the Envelope. “But if you disagree with me, why don’t you leave me?”

“I can’t,” said the Stamp.

“Of course you can’t, you poor dear,” said the Ink which had made the address on the envelope. “You’re stuck to the Envelope, and no matter how hard you quarrel you still have to stick.”

“Well, I’d like to know if you don’t have to stay on too,” said the Stamp.

“Ah, but I have fun when I’m being put on. Sometimes I make a nice smudgy spot, and then the Creature who has been writing with me does not know what to do.

“The Creature will argue like this, ‘Now shall I let the Envelope go as it is, or shall I address a fresh one? There is something queer about this Ink.’ Then it is that I chuckle. ‘No,’ the Creature continues, ‘I think I will not notice the smudgy spot. Maybe the persons getting it will think that the rain has made it look so badly—rain often gets at a letter.’

“And so the Creature blames it on the rain, and I go off quite free.”

“That’s not to your credit when you’re guilty,” said the Envelope.

“We mustn’t quarrel,” said the Postage Stamp, “as now we’re off for a trip. The man is putting us in a bag. Then we go on a train—then to a new Post Office, and at last we reach the place for which we started.”

“Yes,” said the Ink, “the place I have marked with my ink!”

FEBRUARY 24: How Rowdy Shared His Home

“Rowdy was a beautiful and very handsome bulldog. He had a lovely white throat, too, and when he went out into the street he wore a fine big collar, which made him look very distinguished,” said daddy, “and he belonged to a little boy named Alfred. Alfred’s mother was a very rich lady, and Rowdy had all the comforts that any dog could possibly ask for. He slept in Alfred’s room in a beautiful basket.

“Alfred and Rowdy were really inseparable companions. Alfred was not a very strong little boy. He couldn’t join in all the sports that other little boys enjoy. Because of Alfred’s ill health he and Rowdy were all the better companions.

“Alfred had a phonograph, which he used to play a great deal. Rowdy would sit before it, so delighted at the music. He’d put his head first on one side and then on the other. Of course Alfred would talk to him and ask him how he was enjoying the music. Rowdy would wag his tail to show he thought it was fine.

“In the afternoons Alfred and his mother used to take drives in a lovely big open Victoria. One afternoon it was beautifully bright and sunny. Alfred’s mother said:

“‘We’ll go for a nice long drive to-day.’

“‘Rowdy!’ called Alfred, for Rowdy was fast asleep on the sofa.

“Rowdy jumped up eagerly as if he knew something pretty nice was going to happen.

“‘Rowdy, how would you like to take a drive? Speak and say if you would like it.’

“So Rowdy wagged his tail and gave a bark as if to say, ‘Charmed!’ Rowdy’s best collar was put on, and off they started. They had not gone far before they passed a poor, pathetic little waif dog. Rowdy was not snobbish and proud as some dogs might have been, brought up in all the comforts he had always had. Instead he seemed to feel very sorry for the little waif dog and whined sadly. Then he tried to jump out of the carriage.

“‘Do you want to take the little waif dog driving?’ said Alfred to Rowdy. And Rowdy showed as well as he could that he would like that tremendously.

“They took the poor little homeless dog back with them and gave him good food and a nice home. Rowdy seemed to be glad to give such happiness to a little friendless dog, and he seemed to feel that it was giving the dog rare pleasure to have a master like Alfred.”

FEBRUARY 25: The Tired Eagles

“In the house where Kenneth lived there was a chair which had always fascinated him. It was a very, very old chair, and Kenneth’s mother and daddy were very proud of it,” said daddy to Jack and Evelyn. “Kenneth’s daddy had bought it at a sale of old and curious things. It was a Roman chair, and on either side were two heads of eagles. These four heads in all always made Kenneth wonder, for they looked so very life-like. He used to imagine that even little wooden eagles must get very tired of always being just the same. And late one afternoon, sitting in the chair he fell asleep.

“‘You’re terribly tired, aren’t you?’ said the first eagle, who suddenly seemed to be looking at him.

“‘Yes, I’m a little tired,’ Kenneth admitted.

“‘Well, you’re not as tired as we are,’ said the second eagle.

“‘No, indeed!’ said the third eagle. ‘You’re only tired because you’ve played so many games. We’re tired because we’re always still.’