Chapter 4

By and by a great hungry Wolf came up to her. He wished to eat her up, but as he heard the woodman Hugh's axe at work close by, he was afraid to touch her, for fear she should cry out and he should get killed. So he only asked her where she was going. Little Red Riding-Hood innocently told him (for she did not know he was a wicked Wolf) that she was going to visit her grandmother, who lived in a cottage on the other side of the wood. Then the Wolf made haste, and ran through the wood, and came to the cottage of which the child had told him. He tapped at the door.

"Who's there?" asked the old woman, who lay sick in bed.

"It is Little Red Riding-Hood, Grandmamma," answered the Wolf in a squeaky tone, to imitate the voice of her grandchild.

"Pull the string, and the latch will come up," said the old lady, "for I am ill and cannot open the door."

The cruel Wolf did so, and, jumping on the bed, ate the poor grandmother up.

Then he put on her night-cap and got into bed. By and by Little Red Riding-Hood, who had lingered gathering flowers as she came along, and so was much later than the Wolf, knocked at the door.

"Who's there?" asked the Wolf, mimicking her grandmother's voice. "It is Little Red Riding-Hood, dear Grandmamma," said the child. "Pull the string and the latch will come up," said the Wolf.

So Red Riding-Hood came in, and the Wolf told her to put down her basket, and come and sit on the bed. When Little Red Riding-Hood drew back the curtain and saw the Wolf, she began to be rather frightened and said,

"Dear Grandmamma, what great eyes you have got!" "All the better to see you with, my dear," said the Wolf, who liked a grim joke. "And what a large nose you have, Grandmamma!" cried the child. "All the better to smell you with, my dear." "And, oh! Grandmamma, what long white teeth you have!"

Alas! she reminded the greedy Wolf of eating.

"All the better to eat you with!" he growled; and, jumping out of bed, sprang at Red Riding-Hood.

But just at that moment Hugh the woodman, who had seen the sweet child go by, and had followed her, because he knew there was a Wolf prowling about the forest, burst the door open, and killed the wicked animal with his good axe. Little Red Riding-Hood clung round his neck and thanked him, and cried for joy; and Hugh took her home to her mother; and after that she was never allowed to walk in the greenwood by herself.

It was said at first that the Wolf had eaten the child, but that was not the case; and everybody was glad to hear that the first report was not correct, and that the Wolf had not really killed Little Red Riding-Hood.

Little Miss Jewel

Little Miss Jewel Sat on a stool, Eating of curds and whey; There came a little spider Who sat down beside her, And frightened Miss Jewel away.

Little Girl

Little girl, little girl, where have you been; Gathering Roses to give to the Queen. Little girl, little girl, what gave she you? She gave me a diamond as big as my shoe.

Little Betty Blue

Little Betty Blue lost her pretty shoe; What can Little Betty do? Give her another, to match the other, And then she can walk in two.

I'm Grandmamma

Last night when I was in bed, Such fun it seemed to me; I dreamt that I was Grandmamma, And Grandmamma was me.

But she was such a tiny girl, And dressed in baby clothes; And I thought I smacked her face, because She wouldn't blow her nose.

An I went walking up the street, And she ran by my side; And because I walked too quick for her, My goodness, hoe she cried.

And after tea I washed her face; And when her prayers were said, I blew the candle out, and left Poor Grandmamma in bed.

The Babes In The Wood

A long time ago there lived in an old mansion in the country a rich gentleman and his wife, who had two dear little children, of whom they were very fond. Sad to relate, the gentleman and lady were both taken ill, and, feeling they were about to die, sent for the uncle of the children, and begged him to take care of them till they were old enough to inherit the estates.

Now this uncle was a bad and cruel man, who wanted to take the house, the estates, and the money for himself,--so after the death of the parents he began to think how he could best get rid of the children. For some time he kept them till he claimed for them all the goods that should have been theirs. At last he sent for two robbers, who had once been his companions, and showing them the boy and girl, who were at play, offered them a large sum of money to carry them away and never let him see them more.

One of the two robbers began coaxing the little boy and girl, and asking them if they would not like to go out for a nice ride in the woods, each of them on a big horse. The boy said he should if his sister might go too, and the girl said she should not be afraid if her brother went with her. So the two robbers enticed them away from the house, and, mounting their horses, went off into the woods, much to the delight of the children, who were pleased with the great trees, the bright flowers, and the singing of the birds.

Now, one of these men was not so bad and cruel as the other, and he would not consent to kill the poor little creatures, as the other had threatened he would do. He said that they should be left in the woods to stray about, and perhaps they might then escape. This led to a great quarrel between the two, and at last the cruel one jumped off his horse, saying he would kill them, let who would stand in the way. Upon this the other drew his sword to protect the children, and after a fierce fight succeeded in killing his companion.

But though he had saved them from being murdered, he was afraid to take them back or convey them out of the wood, so he pointed out a path, telling them to walk straight on and he would come back to them when he had bought some bread for their supper; he rode away and left them there all alone, with only the trees, and birds and flowers. They loved each other so dearly, and were so bold and happy, that they were not much afraid though they were both very hungry.

The two children soon got out of the path, which led into the thickest part of the wood, and then they wandered farther and farther into the thicket till they were both sadly tired, but they found some wild berries, nuts and fruits, and began to eat them to satisfy their hunger. The dark night came on and the robber did not return. They were cold, and still very hungry, and the boy went about looking for fresh fruit for his sister, and tried to comfort her as they lay down to sleep on the soft moss under the trees.

The next day, and the next, they roamed about, but there was nothing to eat but wild fruits; and they lived on them till they grew so weak that they could not go far from the tree where they had made a little bed of grass and weeds. There they laid down as the shades of night fell upon them, and in the morning they were both in heaven, for they died there in the forest, and as the sun shone upon their little pale faces, the robins and other birds came and covered their bodies with leaves, and so died and were buried the poor Babes in the Wood.

[Page 17--Girl's Stories]

Cinderella

Cinderella's mother died while she was a very little child, leaving her to the care of her father and her step-sisters, who were very much older than herself; for Cinderella's father had been twice married, and her mother was his second wife. Now, Cinderella's sisters did not love her, and were very unkind to her. As she grew older they made her work as a servant, and even sift the cinders: on which account they used to call her in mockery "Cinderella." It was not her real name, but she became afterwards so well known by it that her proper one has been forgotten.

She was a sweet tempered, good girl, however, and everybody except her cruel sisters loved her. It happened, when Cinderella was about seventeen years old, that the King of that country gave a ball, to which all the ladies of the land, and among the rest the young girl's sisters were invited. So they made her dress them for this ball, but never thought of allowing her to go.

"I wish you would take me to the ball with you, sisters," said Cinderella, meekly.

"Take you, indeed!" answered the elder sister with a sneer, "it is no place for a cinder-sifter: stay at home and do your work."

When they were gone, Cinderella, whose heart was sad, sat down and cried; but as she sorrowful, thinking of the unkindness of her sisters, a voice called to her from the garden, and she went to see who was there. It was her godmother, a good old Fairy.

"Do not cry, Cinderella," she said; "you also shall go to the ball, because you are a kind, good girl. Bring me a large pumpkin."

Cinderella obeyed, and the fairy touched it with her wand, turned it into a grand coach. Then she turned a rat into a coach-man, and some mice into footmen; and touching Cinderella with her wand, the poor girl's rags became a rich dress trimmed with costly lace and jewels, and her old shoes became a charming pair of glass slippers, which looked like diamonds. The fairy told her to go to the ball and enjoy herself, but to be sure and leave the ball-room before the clock struck eleven. "If you do not," she said, "your fine clothes will all turn to rags again.

So Cinderella got into the coach, and drove off with her six footmen behind, very splendid to behold, and arrived at the King's Court, where she was received with delight. She was the most beautiful young lady at the ball, and the Prince would dance with no one else. But she made haste to leave before the hour fixed and had time to undress before her sisters came home. They told her a beautiful Princess had been at the ball, with whom the Prince was delighted. They did not know it was Cinderella herself.

Three times Cinderella went to royal balls in this manner, but the third time she forgot the Fairy's command, and heard eleven o'clock strike. She darted out of the ball-room and ran down stairs in a great hurry. But her dress all turned to rags before she left the palace and she lost one of her glass slippers. The Prince sought for her everywhere, but the guard said no one had passed the gate but a poor beggar girl. However, the prince found the slipper, and in order to discover where Cinderella was gone, he had it proclaimed that he would marry the lady who could put on the glass slipper. All the ladies tried to wear the glass slipper in vain, Cinderella's sisters also, but when their young sister begged to be allowed to try it also, it was found to fit her exactly, and to the Prince's delight, she drew the fellow slipper from her pocket, and he knew at once that she was his beautiful partner at the ball. So she was married to the Prince, and the children strewed roses in their path as they came out of church.

Cinderella forgave her sisters, and was so kind to them that she made them truly sorry for their past cruelty and injustice.

The Three Bears

Once upon a time three bears lived in a nice little house in a great forest.

There was Father Bear, Mother Bear, and Baby Bear.

They had each a bed to sleep in, a chair to sit on, and a basin and a spoon for eating porridge, which was their favourite food.

One morning the three bears went to take a walk before breakfast; but before they went out they poured the hot porridge into their basins, that it might get cool by the time they came back. Mr and Mrs Bear walked arm-in-arm, and Baby Bear ran by their side. Now, there lived in that same forest a sweet little girl who was called Golden Hair. She, also, was walking that morning in the wood, and happening to pass by the bear's house, and seeing the window open, she peeped in.

There was no one to be seen, but three basins of steaming hot porridge all ready to be eaten, seemed to say "Come in and have some breakfast." So Golden Hair went in and tasted the porridge in all the basins, then she sat down in Baby Bear's chair, and took up his spoon, and ate up all his porridge. Now this was very wrong. A tiny bear is only a tiny bear, still he has the right to keep his own things. But Golden Hair didn't know any better.

Unluckily, Baby Bear's chair was too small for her, and she broke the seat and fell through, basin and all.

Then Golden Hair went upstairs, and there she saw three beds all in a row. Golden Hair lay down on Father Bear's bed first, but that was too long for her, then she lay down on Mother Bear's bed, and that was too wide for her, last of all she lay down on Baby Bear's bed, and there she fell asleep, for she was tired.

By-and-by the bears came home, and Old Father Bear looked at his chair, and growled:

"Somebody has been here!" Mother Bear growled more softly: "Somebody has been here!"

Baby Bear, seeing his chair broken, squeeled out "Somebody has been here, and broken my chair right through!"

Then they went to the table, and looked at their porridge, and Father Bear Growled:

"Who has touched my basin?" And Mother Bear growled: "Who has touched my basin?" And Baby Bear squeaked: "Somebody has broken mine and eaten up all my porridge!" They went upstairs and Father Bear growled: "Who has been lying on my bed?" And Mother Bear growled: "Who has been lying on my bed?" And Baby Bear squeaked out: "O! here is a little girl in my bed; and it must be she who has eaten my breakfast and broken my chair and basin!" Then Father Bear growled: "Let us eat her up!" Then Mother Bear growled: "Let us eat her up!" And Tiny Bear squeaked: "Let us eat her up!"

But the noise they made awoke Golden Hair; she startled out of bed (on the opposite side) and jumped out of the window. The three bears all jumped out after her, but they fell one on the top of the other, and rolled over and over, and while they were picking themselves up, little Golden Hair ran home, and they were not able to catch her.

Bluebeard

Once there lived in a lovely castle a very rich man called Bluebeard. A short distance off lived an old gentleman with two lovely daughters, named Fatima and Annie. Bluebeard visited their house, and at length proposed to Fatima, was accepted by her, and they were married with great splendour. He took her home with him to his castle, and permitted her sister Annie to reside with her for company for a time.

She lived very happily in her new home, her new husband was very kind to her, and allowed her to have everything she wished for, but one day he suddenly told her that business called him away from home, that he should be away some days, and handed her the keys to his wardrobe, treasures, and all parts of the castle, he also gave her one key of a small closet, and told her that she might unlock every door in the castle, but not the closet door, for if she did so, she should not live an hour longer. He then left home fondly kissing her at the door.

Her sister and herself returned into the castle, and enjoyed themselves in unlocking room after room, looking over the curiosities, treasures, &c, until Annie became tired and lay down to rest on a rich sofa, and fell asleep. Fatima, as soon as she saw that her sister was asleep, felt a womanly curiosity, an irresistible temptation to unlock the forbidden closet, and take a peep.

She tripped lightly up to the door, turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open, and, oh! horror! there were five or six dead ladies lying in the closet, with their marriage rings on their fingers. She at once concluded that they were Bluebeard's previous wives, she let the key drop in her fright into the blood on the floor, she picked it up and attempted to wipe it, but the blood would not come off. She awoke her sister, and they both tried, but they could not get it off, and gave it up in despair.

Just then Bluebeard suddenly returned, and asked his wife if she could please to hand him the keys. She trembling did so. He said "How came the blood on the closet key? You have disobeyed me, and shall die at once."

She begged a few minutes to say her prayers and just as he was going to chop her head off, her two brothers arrived at the castle, burst open the door, killed the cruel wretch, and rescued their sisters.

[Page 18--Girl Land]

My Girl

A little corner with it's crib. A little mug, a spoon, a bib, A little tooth so pearly white, A little rubber-ring to bite.

A little plate all lettered round, A little rattle to resound, A little creeping--see! she stands! A little step 'twixt outstretched hands.

A little doll with flaxen hair. A little willow rocking chair, A little dress of richest hue, A little pair of gaiters blue.

A little school day after day, A little "schoolma'am" to obey, A little study--soon 'tis past-- A little graduate at last.

A little muff for wintry weather, A little jockey-hat and feather, A little sac with funny pockets, A little chain, a ring, and lockets.

A little while to dance and bow, A little escort homeward now, A little party somewhat late, A little lingering at the gate.

A little walk in leafy June, A little talk while shines the moon, A little reference to papa, A little planning with mamma.

A little ceremony grave, A little struggle to be brave, A little cottage on the lawn, A little kiss--my girl was gone!

Good and Bad

There was a little girl, And she had a little curl Right in the middle of her forehead When she was good She was very good, But when she was bad, she was horrible.

My little Daughter's Shoes

Two little rough-worn, stubbed shoes A plump, well-trodden pair; With striped stockings thrust within, Lie just beside my chair.

Of very homely fabric they, A hole is in each toe, They might have cost, when they were new, Some fifty cents or so.

And yet this little, worn-out pair Is richer far too me Than all the jewelled sandals are Of Eastern luxury.

This mottled leather, cracked with use, Is satin in my sight; These little tarnished buttons shine With all a diamond's light.

Search through the wardrobe of the world! You shall not find me there So rarely made, so richly wrought, So glorious a pair.

And why? Because they tell of her, Now sound asleep above, Whose form is moving beauty, and Whose heart is beating love.

They tell me of her merry laugh; Her rich, whole-hearted glee; Her gentleness, her innocence, And infant purity.

They tell me that her wavering steps Will long demand my aid; For the old road of human life Is very roughly laid.

High hills and swift descents abound; And, on so rude a way, Feet that can wear these coverings Would surely go astray.

Sweet little girl! be mine the task Thy feeble steps to tend! To be thy guide, thy counsellor, Thy playmate and thy friend!

And when my steps shall faltering grow, And thine be firm and strong, Thy strength shell lead my tottering age In cheerful peace along.

The Old Cradle

And this was your cradle? Why, surely, my Jenny, Such slender dimensions Go somewhat to show You were a delightfully Small picaninny Some nineteen or twenty Short summers ago.

Your baby-day flowed In a much troubled channel; I see you as then In your impotent strife, A tight little bundle Of wailing and flannel, Perplexed with that Newly-found fardel called Life,

To hint at an infantine Frailty is scandal; Let bygones be bygones-- And somebody knows It was bliss such a baby To dance and to dandle, Your cheeks were so velvet, So rosy your toes.

Ay, here is your cradle, And Hope, a bright spirit, With love now is watching Beside it, I know. They guard the small nest You yourself did inherit Some nineteen or twenty Short summers ago.

It is Hope gilds the future-- Love welcomes it smiling; Thus wags this old world, Therefore stay not to ask, "My future bids fair, Is my future beguiling?" If masked, still it pleases-- Then raise not the mask.

Is life a poor coil Some would gladly be doffing? He is riding post-haste Who their wrongs will adjust; For at most 'tis a footstep From cradle to coffin-- From a spoonful of pap To a mouthful of dust.

Then smile as your future Is smiling, my Jenny! Tho' blossoms of promise Are lost in the rose, I still see the face Of my small picaninny Unchang'd, for these cheeks Are as blooming as those.

Ay, here is your cradle! Much, much to my liking, Though nineteen or twenty Long winters have sped; But, hark! as I'm talking There's six o'clock striking, It is time Jennie's baby Should be in its bed.

Frederick Locker

A Little Goose

The chill November day was done, The working world home a-faring, The wind came roaring through the streets, And set the gas lamps flaring.

And hopelessly and aimlessly The seared old leaves were flying, When, mingled with the sighing wind, I heard a small voice crying,

And shivering on the corner stood A child of four or over; No hat nor cloak her small soft arms Or wind-blown curls to cover.

Her dimpled face was stained with tears; Her round blue eyes ran over; She crushed within her wee, cold hands A bunch of faded clover.

And one hand round her treasures, While she slipped in mine the other, Half-scared, half-confidential, said "Oh! please, I want my mother."

"Tell me your street name and number, pet; Don't cry, I'll take you to it," Sobbing, she answered, "I forget-- The organ made me do it."

"He came and played at Miller's steps; The monkey took the money; And so I followed down the street, That monkey was so funny.

I've walked about a _hundred hours_, From one street to another; The monkey's gone; I've spoiled my flowers: Oh! please, I want my mother."

"But what's your mother's name? And what's the street? now think a minute." "My mother's name is mamma dear, The street--I can't begin it."

"But what is strange about the house, Or new--not like the others?" I guess you mean my trundle bed-- Mine and my little brother's.

Oh! dear, I ought to be at home, to help him say his prayers; He's such a baby, he forgets, And we are both such players.

"And there's a bar between, to keep From pitching on each other; For Harry rolls when he's asleep-- Oh! dear, I want my mother."

The sky grew stormy, people passed, All muffled, homeward faring; "You'll have to spend the night with me," I said at last, despairing.

I spied a ribbon about her neck. "What ribbon's this, my blossom?" "Why, don't you know?" she smiling asked, And drew it from her bosom.

A card with number, street, and name! My eyes astonished, met it. "For," said the little one, "you see I might some tome forget it.

And so I wear a little thing That tells you all about it; For mother says she's very sure I might get lost without it.

Eliza S. Turner

[Page 19--Girl Land]

Girls

There's the pretty girl, And the witty girl, And the girl that bangs her hair; The girl that's a flirt, And the girl that is pert, And the girl with the baby stare.

There's the dowdy girl, And the rowdy girl, And the girl that's always late; There's the girl of style, And the girl of wile, And the girl with the mincing gaits

There's the tender girl, And the well-read girl, And the girl with the sense of duty There's the dainty girl And the fainty girl And the girl that has no beauty.