Part 14

First he came to a farmer's yard, Where the ducks and geese declared it was hard That their nerves should be shaken, and their rest be marred By a visit from Mr. Fox O!

He seized the gray goose by the sleeve, Says he, "Madam Gray Goose, by your leave, I'll carry you off without reprieve, And take you away to my den O!"

He seized the gray duck by the neck, And flung her over across his back, While the old duck cried out, "Quack, quack, quack," With her legs dangling down behind O!

Then old Mrs. Flipper Flapper jumped out of bed, And out of the window she popped her head, Crying, "John, John, John, the gray goose is gone, And the Fox is off to his den O!"

Then John went up to the top of the hill, And he blew a blast both loud and shrill. Says the Fox, "That is fine music, still I'd rather be off to my den O!"

So the Fox he hurried home to his den, To his dear little foxes eight, nine, ten. Says he, "We're in luck, here's a big fat duck With her legs dangling down behind O!"

Then the Fox sat down with his hungry wife, And they made a good meal without fork or knife. They never had a better time in all their life, And the little ones picked the bones O!

THREE COMPANIONS

BY DINAH MARIA MULOCK-CRAIK

We go on our walk together-- Baby and dog and I-- Three little merry companions, 'Neath any sort of sky Blue as our baby's eyes are, Gray like our old dog's tail; Be it windy or cloudy or stormy, Our courage will never fail.

Baby's a little lady; Dog is a gentleman brave; If he had two legs as you have, He'd kneel to her like a slave; As it is, he loves and protects her, As dog and gentleman can. I'd rather be a kind doggie, I think, than a cruel man.

"'FRAID CAT!"

BY FRANK MUNRO

To Pussy-town, the other day, The movies came. And you must know, The only chance mice have to play Is when the cats Go to the show!

(Yes, mice have certain little "rights"-- Though I confess 'Em hard to see! And one is to stay up o' nights And steal our cheese-- If cheese there be!)

Well, in the playhouse, on the screen, The pussies saw (And so may you) True love run smoothly, I ween: But "also ran," A dog in blue!

The foolish cats, in great alarm, Dashed out, nor Asked for money back!-- A dog policeman has no charm When he is close Upon one's track!

They did not use their heads. I fear; (Some boys and girls Are just like that) And so the pussies now must hear The grown folks say "'Fraid cat! 'Fraid cat!"

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY

BY MARY HOWITT

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly, "'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy; The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, And I have many curious things to show when you are there." "Oh, no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain; For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly. "There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin; And if you like to rest a while, I'll snugly tuck you in!" "Oh, no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said, They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what can I do To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you? I have, within my pantry, good store of all that's nice; I'm sure you're very welcome--will you please to take a slice?" "Oh, no, no," said the little Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be, I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature," said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise; How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf; If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself." "I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say, And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den, For well he knew the silly Fly would soon be back again; So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly, And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly. Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing: "Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing; Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead."

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly, Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by: With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew-- Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue; Thinking only of her crested head--poor foolish thing! At last, Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den Within his little parlor--but she ne'er came out again!

#Everyday Verses#

BY ALDEN ARTHUR KNIPE

PICTURES BY EMILIE BENSON KNIPE

A LITTLE GENTLEMAN

When Mother drops things on the floor, My father asks me: "Who Should always pick them up for her?" And so I always do.

He says I haven't far to reach And that a gentleman Must do things for his Mother And be helpful as he can.

But Mother bends down just the same,-- She has to, don't you see? For after she's said "Thank you, dear," She stoops and kisses me.

TIME FOR EVERYTHING

There's a time to run and a time to walk; There's a time for silence, a time for talk; There's a time for work and a time for play; There's a time for sleep at the close of day. There's a time for everything you do, For children and for grown-ups, too. A time to stand up and a time to sit,-- But see that the time and actions fit.

UMBRELLAS AND RUBBERS

Umbrellas and rubbers You never forget, Whenever it's raining Or snowy or wet;

But if it should clear up, While you are away, Please bring them back home For the next rainy day.

WHISPERING IN SCHOOL

"Do not whisper" is a rule You will find in every school, And the reason here is given In a rhyme: For children all will chatter About any little matter-- And there'd be a dreadful clatter, All the time!

RECESS

The romping boys Make lots of noise, And run and jump and laugh and shout, While here and there, With quiet air, The girls in couples walk about.

A game begins, But no one wins, Although they play with might and main, For long before The game is o'er The bell rings out for school again.

AFTER SCHOOL

Although we like to go to school, We're rather glad to put away Our books and slates and other things, When it is over for the day.

And off we go to play and romp, While teacher, who is good and kind, Is left behind all by herself-- But then, perhaps, she doesn't mind.

MONDAY'S LESSONS

Study them well on Friday, For it's much the better way, Because when once they're finished You've all Saturday for play.

AT DINNER

No matter where we children are We run in answer to the bell, And dinner comes in piping hot; It makes us hungry just to smell.

Poor Father sharpens up his knife, And carves with all his might and main; But long before he's had a bite Our Willie's plate comes back again.

We eat our vegetables and meat, For Mother, who is always right, Says those who wish to have dessert, Must show they have an appetite.

And when a Sunday comes around, So very, very good we seem, You'd think 'most any one could tell That for dessert we'd have ice-cream.

VALOR.

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS.

There isn't any giant Within this forest grim, And if there were, I wouldn't be A bit afraid of him!

A DOMESTIC TRAGEDY

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS

My doll, my doll, my Annabel, She's really feeling far from well! Her wig is gone, her eyes are out, Her legs are left somewhere about, Her arms were stolen by the pup, The hens ate all her sawdust up, So all that's really left of her Is just her clothes and character.

THE CAPITALIST.

I always buy at the lollipop-shop, On the very first day of spring, A bag of marbles, a spinning-top, And a pocketful of string.

IN MERRY ENGLAND.

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS.

In merry, merry England, In the merry month of May, Miss Mary Ella Montague Went out in best array. Her wise mama called out to her, "My darling Mary Ella, It looks like rain to-day, my dear; You'd best take your umbrella!" That silly girl she paid no heed To her dear mother's call. She walked at least six miles that day, And it never rained at all!

THE GOOSE GIRL.

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS.

Oh, I'm a goose, and you're a goose, and we're all geese together. We wander over hill and dale, all in the sweet June weather, While wise folk stay indoors and pore O'er dusty books for learning lore. How glad I am--how glad you are--that we're birds of a feather: That you're a goose, and I'm a goose, and we're all geese together!

THE PHILOSOPHER

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS

Let me make you acquainted with Mrs. O'Toole, Though she's had little learning, she's nobody's fool, She loves her fine geese, but when they are dead She'll comfort herself with a new feather bed.

EVERY-DAY VERSES

BY ALDEN ARTHUR KNIPE

PICTURES BY EMILIE BENSON KNIPE

THIRSTY FLOWERS

I have a little wat'ring-pot, It holds two quarts I think, And when the days are very hot I give the plants a drink.

They lift their heads as flowers should, And look so green and gay; I'm sure that if they only could, "We thank you, Sir," they'd say.

SHARING WITH OTHERS

Sometimes Mother gives to me Such a lot of money--See! But it's very hard to buy All the things you'd like to try, And you always share your penny With a child who hasn't any.

POCKETS

Pockets are fine For marbles and twine, For knives and rubber bands; So, stuff them tight From morning till night With anything else but hands!

WAITING FOR DINNER

When one is very hungry, It's hard to wait, I know, For minutes seem like hours And the clock is always slow.

There isn't time to play a game, You just sit down and wait, While Mother says, "Be patient, Our cook is never late."

It's best when one is hungry, To think of other things, For then, before you know it, The bell for dinner rings.

THE CRITIC

If only more people would write fewer books How well pleased I would be! If all the authors would change into cooks 'T would suit me perfectly.

DIPLOMACY

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS

The Widow Hill has a fine plum-tree! The Widow Hill is fond o' me. I'll call on her to-day! The plum-tree grows by her front door. I've been meaning to call for a week or more To pass the time o' day!

IF I WERE QUEEN.

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS.

If I were Queen of Anywhere, I'd have a golden crown, And sit upon a velvet chair, And wear a satin gown. A Knight of noble pedigree Should wait beside my seat, To serve me upon bended knee With things I like to eat. I'd have bonbons and cherry pie, Ice-cream and birthday cake, And a page should always stay near by To have my stomach-ache!

THOUGHTS IN CHURCH

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS

Oh, to be a sailor And sail to foreign lands-- To Greenland's icy mountains And India's coral strands! To sail upon the Ganges And see the crocodile, Where every prospect pleases, And only man is vile.

I'd love to see the heathen Bow down to wood and stone, But his wicked graven image I'd knock from off its throne! The heathen-in-his-blindness Should see a thing or two! He'd know before I left him What a Yankee boy can do!

#THE DAYS OF THE WEEK#

THIS IS THE WAY

This is the way we wash our clothes, Wash our clothes, Wash our clothes; This is the way we wash our clothes, So early Monday morning.

This is the way we iron our clothes, Iron our clothes, Iron our clothes; This is the way we iron our clothes, So early Tuesday morning.

This is the way we mend our shoes, Mend our shoes, Mend our shoes; This is the way we mend our shoes, So early Wednesday morning.

This is the way we visit our friends, Visit our friends, Visit our friends; This is the way we visit our friends, So early Thursday morning.

This is the way we sweep the house, Sweep the house, Sweep the house; This is the way we sweep the house, So early Friday morning.

This is the way we bake our cake, Bake our cake, Bake our cake; This is the way we bake our cake, So early Saturday morning.

This is the way we go to church, Go to church, Go to church; This is the way we go to church, So early Sunday morning.

DAYS OF BIRTH

Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace,

Wednesday's child is brave and glad, Thursday's child is never bad,

Friday's child is loving and kind, Saturday's child is clear in mind,

The child that is born on the Sabbath day Is fair and wise and good and gay.

THE WASHING

They that wash on Monday Have all the week to dry; They that wash on Tuesday Are not so much awry; They that wash on Wednesday Are not so much to blame; They that wash on Thursday Wash for very shame; They that wash on Friday Wash because of need, And they that wash on Saturday, Oh, they are lazy indeed!

SOLOMON GRUNDY

Solomon Grundy, Born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, Worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, Buried on Sunday: This is the end Of Solomon Grundy-- Born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married, _etc._

BABY'S PLAY DAYS

How many days has my baby to play? Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday.

WHICH DO YOU CHOOSE?

"Oh, ho! little maidens, all in a row, And each one wearing a butterfly bow. Which is the prettiest, Betty, or Lou, Dolly, or Polly, or Sallie, or Sue? I do not know, so I'll have to ask you."

SEVEN LITTLE MICE

BY STELLA GEORGE STERN

Little-Mouse-Sunday found a great, big bun; Little-Mouse-Monday wished that _he_ had one; Little-Mouse-Tuesday was fat enough without; Little-Mouse-Wednesday sat down to sulk and pout, Said Little-Mouse-Thursday, "_I'll_ get one for myself!" Said Little-Mouse-Friday, "There's another on the shelf"; Little-Mouse-Saturday began to beg and squeak; "Come on!" said all the seven, "we've enough to last a week!"

VISITING

"Good morning, Monday! Tell me how is Tuesday?" "Very well, Dame Wednesday. Please to tell Miss Thursday, Also little Saturday, To call on Mister Sunday."

LITTLE TOMMY'S MONDAY MORNING

(_In a meter neither new nor difficult_)

BY TUDOR JENKS

All was well on Sunday morning, All was quiet Sunday evening; But, behold, quite early Monday Came a queer, surprising Weakness-- Weakness seizing little Tommy! It came shortly after breakfast-- Breakfast with wheat-cakes and honey Eagerly devoured by Tommy, Who till then was well as could be. Then, without a moment's warning, Like a sneeze, that awful Aw-choo! Came this Weakness on poor Tommy. "Mother, dear," he whined, "dear mother, I am feeling rather strangely-- Don't know what's the matter with me-- My right leg is out of kilter, While my ear--my left ear--itches. Don't you know that queerish feeling?" "Not exactly," said his mother. "Does your head ache, Tommy dearest?" Little Thomas, always truthful, Would not say his head was aching, For, you know, it really wasn't. "No, it doesn't _ache_," he answered (Thinking of that noble story Of the Cherry-tree and Hatchet); "But I'm tired, and I'm sleepy, And my shoulder's rather achy. Don't you think perhaps I'd better Stay at home with you, dear mother?"

Thoughtfully his mother questioned, "How about your school, dear Tommy? Do you wish to miss your lessons?" "Well, you know," was Tommy's answer, "Saturday we played at football; I was tired in the evening, So I didn't learn my lessons-- Left them all for Monday morning, Monday morning bright and early--" "And this morning you slept over?" So his mother interrupted. "Yes, mama," admitted Tommy. "So I have not learned my lessons: And I'd better wait till Tuesday. Tuesday I can start in earnest-- Tuesday when I'm feeling brighter!"

Smilingly his mother eyed him, Then she said, "Go ask your father-- You will find him in his study, Adding up the week's expenses. See what father says about it."

Toward the door went Tommy slowly, Seized the knob as if to turn it. Did not turn it; but, returning, Back he came unto his mother. "Mother," said he, very slowly, "Mother, I don't feel so badly; Maybe I'll get through my lessons. Anyway, I think I'll risk it. Have you seen my books, dear mother-- My Geography and Speller, History and Definitions,-- Since I brought them home on Friday?" No. His mother had not seen them. Then began a search by Tommy. Long he searched, almost despairing, While the clock was striking loudly. And at length when Tommy found them-- Found his books beneath the sofa-- He'd forgotten all his Weakness, Pains and aches were quite forgotten. At full speed he hastened schoolward. But in vain, for he was tardy, All because of that strange Weakness He had felt on Monday morning.

Would you know the name that's given, How they call that curious feeling? 'Tis the dreaded "Idon'twantto"-- Never fatal, but quite common To the tribe of Very-lazy. Would you know the charm that cures it-- Cures the Weakness "Idon'twantto"? It is known as "Butyou'vegotto," And no boy should be without it.

Now you know the curious legend Of the paleface little Tommy, Of his Weakness and its curing By the great charm "Butyou'vegotto." Think of it on Monday mornings-- It will save you lots of trouble.

St. Saturday

BY HENRY JOHNSTONE

Oh, Friday night's the queen of nights, because it ushers in The Feast of good St. Saturday, when studying is a sin, When studying is a sin, boys, and we may go to play Not only in the afternoon, but all the livelong day.

St. Saturday--so legends say--lived in the ages when The use of leisure still was known and current among men; Full seldom and full slow he toiled, and even as he wrought He'd sit him down and rest awhile, immersed in pious thought.

He loved to fold his good old arms, to cross his good old knees, And in a famous elbow-chair for hours he'd take his ease; He had a word for old and young, and when the village boys Came out to play, he'd smile on them and never mind the noise.

So when his time came, honest man, the neighbors all declared That one of keener intellect could better have been spared, By young and old his loss was mourned in cottage and in hall, For if he'd done them little good, he'd done no harm at all.

In time they made a saint of him, and issued a decree-- Since he had loved his ease so well, and been so glad to see The children frolic round him and to smile upon their play-- That school boys for his sake should have a weekly holiday.

They gave his name unto the day, that as the years roll by His memory might still be green; and that's the reason why We speak his name with gratitude, and oftener by far Than that of any other saint in all the calendar.

Then, lads and lassies, great and small, give ear to what I say-- Refrain from work on Saturdays as strictly as you may; So shall the saint your patron be and prosper all you do-- And when examinations come he'll see you safely through.

#NUMBER RHYMES#

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

One Two Three Four Five I caught a hare alive.

Six Seven Eight Nine Ten I let it go again.

OVER IN THE MEADOW

BY OLIVE A. WADSWORTH

Over in the meadow, In the sand, in the sun, Lived an old mother toad And her little toadie one. "Wink!" said the mother; "I wink," said the one: So she winked and she blinked In the sand, in the sun.

Over in the meadow, Where the stream runs blue, Lived an old mother fish And her little fishes two. "Swim!" said the mother; "We swim," said the two: So they swam and they leaped Where the stream runs blue.

Over in the meadow, In a hole in a tree, Lived a mother bluebird And her little birdies three. "Sing!" said the mother; "We sing," said the three: So they sang and were glad In the hole in the tree.

Over in the meadow, In the reeds on the shore, Lived a mother muskrat And her little ratties four. "Dive!" said the mother; "We dive," said the four: So they dived and they burrowed In the reeds on the shore.

Over in the meadow, In a snug beehive, Lived a mother honeybee And her little honeys five. "Buzz!" said the mother; "We buzz," said the five: So they buzzed and they hummed In the snug beehive.

Over in the meadow, In a nest built of sticks, Lived a black mother crow And her little crows six. "Caw!" said the mother; "We caw," said the six: So they cawed and they cawed In their nest built of sticks.

Over in the meadow, Where the grass is so even, Lived a gray mother cricket And her little crickets seven. "Chirp!" said the mother; "We chirp," said the seven: So they chirped cheery notes In the grass soft and even.