Part 3

“My name is Winter,” replied the old man. “What is yours?”

“I have not the faintest idea,” said the lady, closing her eyes again.

“Humph!” growled the old man, “a pretty person you are to take my place! Well, good-day, Madam Sleepyhead, and good luck to you!”

And off he stumped over the dead leaves, which crackled and rustled beneath his feet.

As soon as he was gone, the young lady in green opened her eyes in good earnest and looked about her.

“Madam Sleepyhead, indeed!” she re-echoed, indignantly. “I am sure _that_ is not my name, anyhow. The question is, What _is_ it?”

She looked about her again, but nothing was to be seen save the bare branches of the trees, and the dead, brown leaves and dry moss underfoot.

“Trees, do you happen to know what my name is?” she asked.

The trees shook their heads. “No, ma’am,” they said, “we do not know; but perhaps when the Wind comes, he will be able to give you some information.”

The girl shivered a little, and drew her green mantle about her and waited.

By and by the Wind came blustering along. He caught the trees by their branches, and shook them in rough, though friendly greeting.

“Well, boys!” he shouted, “Old Winter is gone, is he? I wish you joy of his departure! But where is the lady who was coming to take his place?”

“She is here,” answered the trees, “sitting on the ground; but she does not know her own name, which seems to trouble her.”

“Ho! ho!” roared the Wind. “Not know her own name? That is news, indeed! And here she has been sleeping, while all the world has been looking for her, and calling her, and wondering where upon earth she was. Come, young lady,” he added, addressing the girl with rough courtesy, “I will show you the way to your dressing-room, which has been ready and waiting for you for a fortnight and more.”

So he led the way through the forest, and the girl followed, rubbing her pretty, sleepy eyes, and dragging her mantle behind her.

Now it was a very singular thing that whatever the green mantle touched, instantly turned green itself. The brown moss put out little tufts of emerald velvet, fresh shoots came pushing up from the dead, dry grass, and even the shrubs and twigs against which the edges of the garment brushed broke out with tiny swelling buds, all ready to open into leaves.

By and by the Wind paused and pushed aside the branches, which made a close screen before him.

“Here is your dressing-room, young madam,” he said, with a low bow; “be pleased to enter it, and you will find all things in readiness. But let me entreat you to make your toilet speedily, for all the world is waiting for you.”

Greatly wondering, the young girl passed through the screen of branches, and found herself in a most marvellous place.

The ground was carpeted with pine-needles, soft and thick and brown. The pine-trees made a dense green wall around, and as the wind passed softly through the boughs, the air was sweet with their spicy fragrance. On the ground were piled great heaps of buds, all ready to blossom; violets, anemones, hepaticas, blood-root, while from under a huge pile of brown leaves peeped the pale pink buds of the Mayflower.

The young girl in the green mantle looked wonderingly at all these things. “How strange!” she said. “They are all asleep, and waiting for some one to waken them. Perhaps if I do it, they will tell me in return what my name is.”

She shook the buds lightly, and lo! every blossom opened its eyes and raised its head, and said, “Welcome, gracious lady! welcome! We have looked for you long, long!”

The young girl, in delight, took the lovely blossoms, rosy and purple, golden and white, and twined them in her fair locks, and hung them in garlands round her white neck; and still they were opening by thousands, till the pine-tree hollow was filled with them.

Presently the girl spied a beautiful carved casket, which had been hidden under a pile of spicy leaves, and from inside of it came a rustling sound, the softest sound that was ever heard.

She lifted the lid, and out flew a cloud of butterflies.

Rainbow-tinted, softly, glitteringly, gayly fluttering, out they flew by thousands and thousands, and hovered about the maiden’s head; and the soft sound of their wings, which mortal ears are too dull to hear, seemed to say, “Welcome! welcome!”

At the same moment a great flock of beautiful birds came, flying, and lighted on the branches all around, and they, too, sang, “Welcome! welcome!”

The maiden clasped her hands and cried, “Why are you all so glad to see me? I feel—I know—that you are all mine, and I am yours; but how is it? Who am I? What is my name?”

And birds and flowers and rainbow-hued butterflies and sombre pine-trees all answered in joyous chorus, “Spring! the beautiful, the long-expected! Hail to the maiden Spring!”

A LESSON SONG.

BOW down, green Forest, so fair and good, Bow down, green Forest, and give us wood! The forest gives us tables, The forest gives us chairs, The bureau and the sideboard, The flooring and the stairs; The ships that skim the ocean, The cars in which we ride, The crib in which the baby sleeps, Drawn close to mother’s side. Bow down, green Forest, so fair and good, Bow down, green Forest, and give us wood!

Give up, ye Mines, so dark and deep, Give up the treasure that close ye keep! The mines are dug In the earth so deep, ’Tis there that silver And gold do sleep. Copper and iron, And diamonds fine, Coal, tin and rubies, All come from the mine, Give up, ye Mines, so dark and deep, Give up the treasure that close ye keep!

O Sea, with billows so bright, so blue! Full many a gift we ask of you: Corals, yes, and sponges, Clams and oysters, too, And the radiant pearl-drop The oyster hides from view. The fish we eat for dinner, The shells upon the shore, The whalebone for our mother’s gown, All these and many more. O Sea, with billows so bright, so blue! Full many a gift we ask of you.

Ye broad, green Meadows, so fresh and fair, Oh, ye have many a treasure rare! Flowers the loveliest, Barley and corn, Oats, wheat and clover tops, Berry and thorn; Grass for the flocks and herds, Herbs for the sick; Rice, too, and cotton, The darkies do pick. Ye broad, green Meadows, so fresh and fair, Oh, ye have many a treasure rare!

So earth and air, so land and sea Give kindly gifts to you and me. Should we not be merry, Gentle, too, and mild? Then the whole wide earth doth wait On each little child. Should we not, in quiet, At our mother’s knee, Praise our Heavenly Father, Thank Him lovingly,— Since earth and air, and land and sea Give kindly gifts to you and me? Since earth and air, and sea and land, Come from our Heavenly Father’s hand?

THE PATIENT CAT.

WHEN the spotted cat first found the nest, there was nothing in it, for it was only just finished. So she said, “I will wait!” for she was a patient cat, and the summer was before her. She waited a week, and then she climbed up again to the top of the tree, and peeped into the nest. There lay two lovely blue eggs, smooth and shining.

The spotted cat said, “Eggs may be good, but young birds are better. I will wait.” So she waited; and while she was waiting, she caught mice and rats, and washed herself and slept, and did all that a spotted cat should do to pass the time away.

When another week had passed, she climbed the tree again and peeped into the nest. This time there were five eggs. But the spotted cat said again, “Eggs may be good, but young birds are better. I will wait a little longer!”

So she waited a little longer and then went up again to look. Ah! there were five tiny birds, with big eyes and long necks, and yellow beaks wide open. Then the spotted cat sat down on the branch, and licked her nose and purred, for she was very happy. “It is worth while to be patient!” she said.

But when she looked again at the young birds, to see which one she should take first, she saw that they were very thin,—oh, very, very thin they were! The spotted cat had never seen anything so thin in her life.

“Now,” she said to herself, “if I were to wait only a few days longer, they would grow fat. Thin birds may be good, but fat birds are much better. I will wait!”

So she waited; and she watched the father-bird bringing worms all day long to the nest, and said, “Aha! they must be fattening fast! they will soon be as fat as I wish them to be. Aha! what a good thing it is to be patient.”

At last, one day she thought, “Surely, now they must be fat enough! I will not wait another day. Aha! how good they will be!”

So she climbed up the tree, licking her chops all the way and thinking of the fat young birds. And when she reached the top and looked into the nest, it was empty!!

Then the spotted cat sat down on the branch and spoke thus, “Well, of all the horrid, mean, ungrateful creatures I ever saw, those birds are the horridest, and the meanest, and the most ungrateful! Mi-a-u-ow!!!!”

MATHEMATICS.

I STUDIED my arithmetic, And then I went to bed, And on my little pillow white Laid down my little head.

I hoped for dreams of dear delight, Of sugar-candy bliss; But oh! my sleep, the livelong night, Was filled with things like this.

Add forty jars of damson jam To fifty loaves of cake, Subtract a cow, and tell me how Much butter it will make.

Then add the butter to the jam, And give it to a boy, How long will ’t take ere grievous ache Shall dash his childish joy?

If twenty men stole thirty sheep And sold them to the Pope, What would they get if he should let Them have the price in soap?

And if he slew each guileless beast, And in pontific glee Sold leg and loin for Roman coin, What would his earnings be?

Next, if a Tiger climbed a tree To get a cocoanut, And if by hap the feline chap Should find the shop was shut;

And if ten crabs with clawing dabs Should pinch his Bengal toes, What would remain when he should gain The ground, do you suppose?

Divide a stick of licorice By twenty infant jaws, How long must each lose power of speech In masticating pause?

And if these things are asked of you, While you’re a-chewing of it, What sum of birch, rod, pole or perch Will be your smarting profit?

I woke upon my little bed In anguish and in pain. I’d sooner lose my brand-new shoes Than dream those dreams again.

Oh! girls and boys, who crave the joys Of slumber calm and deep, Away then kick your ’rithmetic Before you go to sleep!

BY THE FADING LIGHT.

THERE was only one chapter more to finish the book. Bell did want very much indeed to finish it, and to make sure that the princess got out of the enchanted wood all right, and that the golden prince met her, riding on a jet-black charger and leading a snow-white palfrey with a silver saddle for her, as the fairy had promised he would.

She _did_ want to finish it, and it seemed very hard that she should be interrupted every minute.

First it was dear Mamma calling for a glass of water from her sofa in the next room, and of course Bell sprang with alacrity to answer _that_ call.

But then baby came, with a scratched finger to be tied up, and then Willy boy wanted some more tail for his kite, and he could not find any paper, and his string had got all tangled up.

Then came little Carrie, and she had no buttons small enough for her dolly’s frock, and did sister think she had any in her work-basket?

So sister looked, and Carrie looked, too, and between them they upset the basket, and the spools rolled over the floor and under the chairs, as if they were playing a game; and the gray kitten caught her best spool of gold-colored floss, and had a delightful time with it, and got it all mixed up with her claws so that she couldn’t help herself, and Bell had to cut off yards and yards of the silk.

At last it was settled, and the little girl supplied with buttons, and Bell sank back again on the window-seat, _so_ glad that she hadn’t been impatient, and had seen how funny the kitten looked, so that she could laugh instead of scold about the silk.

“And when the golden prince saw the Princess Merveille, he took her hand and kissed it, for it was like the purest ivory and delicately shaped. And he said—”

Tinkle! tinkle! went the door-bell, and Bell, with a long sigh, laid down the book and went to the door, for Mary was out. It was old Mr. Grimshaw.

“Good-day, miss!” he said, with old-fashioned courtesy, “I have come to borrow the third volume of ‘Paley’s Evidences.’ I met your worthy father, and he was good enough to say that you would find the book for me. I am of the opinion that he mentioned the right-hand corner of the third shelf in some bookcase; I do not rightly remember in which room.”

Bell showed the old gentleman into the study and brought him a chair, and looked in the right-hand corners of all the shelves; then she looked in the left-hand corners; then she looked in the middle; then she looked on Papa’s desk, and in it and under it.

Then she looked on the mantel-piece, and in the cupboard, and in the chairs, for there was no knowing _where_ dear Papa would put a book down when his thinking-cap was on. All the time Mr. Grimshaw was delivering a lecture on Paley, and telling her on what points he disagreed with him, and why; and Bell felt as if a teetotum were going round and round inside her head.

At last, in lifting Papa’s dressing-gown, which hung on the back of a chair, she felt something square and heavy in one of the pockets; and—_there_ was the third volume of “Paley’s Evidences.”

She handed it to Mr. Grimshaw with her prettiest smile, and he went away thinking she was a very nice, well-mannered little girl.

And so she was; but—oh dear! when she got back to the window-seat the daylight was nearly gone.

Still, the west was very bright, and perhaps she could just find out.

“And he said, ‘Princess, my heart is yours! Therefore, I pray you, accept my hand, also, and with it my kingdom of Grendalma, which stretches from sea to sea. Ivory palaces shall be yours, and thrones of gold; mantles of peacock feathers, with many chests of precious stones.’ So the princess—”

“Bell!” called Mamma from the next room. “It is too late to read, dear! Blindman’s Holiday, you know, is the most dangerous time for the eyes. So shut the book, like a dear daughter!”

Bell shut the book, of course; but a cloud came over her pleasant face, and two little cross sticks began beating a tattoo on her heart.

Just at that moment came voices under the window,—Carrie and Willy boy, talking earnestly. “Would a princess be very pretty, do you suppose, Willy? prettier than Bell?”

“Ho!” said Willy, “who cares for ‘pretty?’ She wouldn’t be half so nice as Bell. Why, none of the other fellows’ sisters—”

They passed out of hearing; and even so the cloud passed away from Bell’s brow, and she jumped up and shook her head at herself, and ran to give Mamma a kiss, and ask if she would like her tea.

TOBOGGANING SONG.

WHEN the field lies clear in the moon, boy, And the wood hangs dark on the hill, When the long white way shows never a sleigh, And the sound of the bells is still,

Then hurry, hurry, hurry! And bring the toboggans along; Tell mother she need not worry, Then off with a shout and a song.

A-tilt on the billowy slope, boy, Like a boat that bends to the sea, With the heart a-tilt in your breast, boy, And your chin well down on your knee,

Then over, over, over, As the boat skims over the main, A plunge and a swoop, a gasp and a whoop, And away o’er the glittering plain!

The boat, and the bird, and the breeze, boy, Which the poet is apt to sing, Are old and slow and clumsy, I know, By us that have never a wing.

Still onward, onward, onward! Till the brook joins the meadow below, And then with a shout, see us tumbling out, To plunge in the soft, deep snow.

Back now by the side of the hedge, boy, Where the roses in summer blow, Where the snow lies deep o’er their winter sleep, Up, up the big hill we go.

And stumbling, tumbling, stumbling, Hurrah! ’tis the top we gain! Draw breath for a minute before you begin it— Now, over, and over again!

SONG OF THE TILT.

UP and down and up we go! I am an eagle and you are a crow: Flap your wings, and away we fly, Over the tree-top, up to the sky.

Up and down and up we go! I am an albatross white as snow, You are a sea-gull, winging free Out and away to the open sea.

Up and down and up we go! I am a wild duck sinking low, You are a wild goose soaring high, The hunter is after us! fly! oh, fly!

Tumble and bump! and down we go! My leg is broken! oh! oh! OH!! Your nose bleeding? poor little Tot! Well, never mind! let’s play we are shot!

THE LAZY ROBIN.

THE mother robin woke up in the early morning and roused her three children.

“Breakfast time, my dears!” she said; “and a good time for a flying lesson, besides. You did well enough yesterday, but to-day you must do better. You must fly down to the ground, and then I will show you how to get worms for yourselves. You will soon be too old to be fed, and I cannot have you more backward than the other broods.”

The young robins were rather frightened, for they had only had two short flying lessons, taking little flapping flutters among the branches. The ground seemed a long, long way off!

However, two of them scrambled on to the edge of the nest, and after balancing themselves for a moment, launched bravely out, and were soon standing beside their mother on the lawn, trembling, but very proud.

The third robin was lazy, and did not want to fly. He thought that if he stayed behind and said he was sick, his mother would bring some worms up to him, as she had always done before. So he sat still in the nest, and drooped his head.

“Come along!” cried the mother robin. “Come, Pecky! Why are you sitting there alone?”

“I—don’t feel very well,” said Pecky. “I don’t feel strong enough to fly.”

“Oh!” said his mother, “then you had better not eat any breakfast, and I will send for Doctor Woodpecker.”

“Oh no, please don’t!” cried Pecky, and down he fluttered to the lawn.

“That’s right!” said the mother robin, approvingly. “I thought there was not much the matter with you. Now bustle about, my dear! See how well your brother and sister are doing! I declare, Toppy has got hold of a worm as long as himself. It will get away from him—no, it won’t! There! he has it now! Ah! that was a good mouthful, Toppy. You will be a fine eater!”

Pecky sat still, with his head on one side. He felt quite sure that if he waited and did nothing, his mother would take compassion on him and bring him some worms. There were Toppy and Flappy, working themselves to death in the hot sun. He had always been his mother’s favourite (so he thought, but it was not really so), and he was quite sure that she would not let him go hungry.

So he gave a little squeak, as if quite tired out, and put his head still more on one side, and shut his eyes, and sat still. Now his mother did not see him at all, for her back was turned, and she was eating a fine caterpillar, having no idea of waiting on lazy birds who were old enough to feed themselves.

But some one else did see Master Pecky! Richard Whittington, the great gray cat, had come out to get his breakfast, too, and he saw the lazy robin sitting still in the middle of the lawn with his eyes shut.

Richard could not have caught one of the others, for they all had their wits about them, and their sharp black eyes glanced here and there, and they were ready to take flight at a moment’s notice.

But Richard Whittington crept nearer and nearer to the lazy robin. Suddenly—pounce! he went. There was a shrill, horrified squeak, and that was the last of poor Pecky Robin.

The mother robin and her two other children flew up into the tree and grieved bitterly for their lost Pecky, and the mother did not taste a single worm for several hours.

But Richard Whittington enjoyed his breakfast exceedingly; and he was as good-natured as possible all day, and did not scratch the baby once.

THE BOY’S MANNERS.

THE Boy was going out to Roxbury. He was going alone, though he was only five years old. His Aunt Mary had put him in the horse car, and the car went directly past his house; and the Boy “hoped he _did_ know enough to ask somebody big to ask the conductor to stop the car.”

So there the Boy was, all alone and very proud, with his legs sticking straight out, because they were not long enough to hang over,—but he did not mind that, because it showed his trousers all the better,—and his five cents clutched tight in his little warm hand.

Proud as he was, the Boy had a slight feeling of uneasiness somewhere down in the bottom of his heart. His Aunt Mary had just been reading “Jack and the Bean-stalk” to him, and he was not quite sure that the man opposite him was not an ogre. He was a very, very large man, about twelve feet tall, the boy thought, and at least nine feet round. He had a wide mouth, full of sharp-looking teeth, and he rolled his eyes as he read the newspaper. He was not dressed like an ogre, and he carried no knife in sight; but it might be in one of the pockets of his big gray coat.

Altogether, the Boy did not like the looks of this man at all, but nobody else seemed to mind him. A pretty girl sat down close beside him,—a plump, tender-looking young girl,—but the big man took no notice of her or anybody else, and kept on reading his newspaper and rolling his eyes.

So the Boy sat still, only keeping a good lookout, so that if this formidable person _should_ pull out a knife, or begin to grind his teeth and roar, “Fee! fi! fo! fum!” he could slip off the seat and out at the door before his huge enemy could get upon his feet.

The car began to fill up rapidly. Soon every seat was occupied, and several men were standing up. One of them trod, by accident, on the ogre’s toe,—the Boy could not help calling him the ogre, though he felt it might not be right,—and he gave a kind of growl, which made the Boy quiver and prepare to jump; but his eyes never moved from his newspaper, so the Boy sat still.

By and by a poor woman got in, with a heavy baby in her arms. She looked very tired, but though there were several other men sitting down beside the big gray one, no one moved to give the woman a seat.

The boy remembered his manners, and knew that he ought to get up; but then came the thought, “If I get up, I shall be close to the ogre, for there is no standing-room anywhere else. I am wedged so close between these two ladies that I can hardly get out: and if I do, there cannot possibly be room for that large woman.”

The Boy gave heed to this thought, though he knew in his heart that it did not make any difference. Just then the tired woman gave a sigh and shifted the heavy baby to the other arm.

The Boy did not wait any longer, but slipped at once down from his seat. “Here is a little room, ma’am!” he said, in his clear, childish voice. “There isn’t enough for you, but you might put the baby down, and rest your arms.”

At that moment the car gave a lurch, and the Boy lost his balance and fell forward,—right against the knees of the ogre.