Part 6

I, your sister, Silver, Pure and fair and white, I was made, like you, to give Pleasure and delight. Mines in Colorado, And in far Peru, Yield my shining whiteness up To be a mate for you.

The forks and spoons, And the baby’s cup, The plates that are set Where the Queen doth sup, The coffee and teapots, The cream pitcher, too, The money to buy them, All show my hue.

I am Father Iron! I am not a beauty, But when called upon, you’ll find I will do my duty. Melted in the furnace, I am wrought and cast, Making now a tiny tack, Now an engine vast.

The horseshoes, the boilers, The stoves, the sinks, The cable that holds The good ship with its links, The tongs and the poker, The wire so fine, The pickaxe and shovel, Are mine, are mine.

Hail, my Father Iron! I, your son, am Steel. Heating and then cooling Men did me anneal. With the silver’s brightness, With the strength of iron, Here I stand, a metal All men may rely on.

I flash in the sword, In the dagger keen; In rails and in engines My glint is seen. The scissors, the needle, The knife and the pen, And many more things I have given to men.

_All together._ So, ever and ever, hand in hand, We circle the earth with a four-fold band. The servants of man so leal and true, By day and by night his work we do.

THE HOWLERY GROWLERY ROOM.

IT doesn’t pay to be cross,— It’s not worth while to try it; For Mammy’s eyes so sharp Are very sure to spy it: A pinch on Billy’s arm, A snarl or a sullen gloom, No longer we stay, but must up and away To the Howlery Growlery room.

_Chorus._—Hi! the Howlery! ho! the Growlery! Ha! the Sniffery, Snarlery, Scowlery! There we may stay, If we choose, all day; But it’s only a smile that can bring us away.

If Mammy catches me A-pitching into Billy; If Billy breaks my whip, Or scares my rabbit silly, It’s “Make it up, boys, quick! Or else you know your doom!” We must kiss and be friends, or the squabble ends In the Howlery Growlery room.

_Chorus._—Hi! the Howlery! ho! the Growlery! Ha! the Sniffery, Snarlery, Scowlery! There we may stay, If we choose, all day; But it’s only a smile that can bring us away.

So it doesn’t pay to be bad,— There’s nothing to be won in it; And when you come to think, There’s really not much fun in it. So, come! the sun is out, The lilacs are all a-bloom; Come out and play, and we’ll keep away From the Howlery Growlery room.

_Chorus._—Hi! the Howlery! ho! the Growlery! Ha! the Sniffery, Snarlery, Scowlery! There we may stay, If we choose, all day; But it’s only a smile that can bring us away.

THE SPECKLED HEN.

THERE was once a hen with brown speckled wings and a short black tail. She stood in a shop window, on a bit of wood covered with green baize, and kept watch over the eggs with which the window was filled.

“I may be stuffed,” said the hen, “but I hope I know my duty for all that!”

There were many eggs, and some of them were very different from the eggs to which she had been accustomed; but she did not see what she could do about that.

“Their mothers must be people of very vulgar tastes,” she said, “or else fashions have changed sadly. In my day a hen who laid red or blue or green eggs would have been chased out of the barnyard; but the world has gone steadily backward since then, I have reason to think.”

She was silent, and fixed her eyes on a large white egg which had been recently placed in the window.

There was something strange about that egg. She had never seen one like it. No hen that ever lived could lay such a monstrous thing; even a turkey could not produce one of half the size.

Whence could it have come? She remembered stories that she had heard, when a pullet, of huge birds as tall as the hen-house, called ostriches. Could this be an ostrich egg? If it was, she could not possibly be expected to take care of the chick.

“The idea!” she said. “Why, it will be as big as I am!”

At this moment a hand appeared in the window. It was the shopkeeper’s hand, and it set down before the hen an object which filled her with amazement and consternation.

It _looked_ like an egg: that is, it was shaped and coloured like an egg; but from the top, which was broken, protruded a head which certainly was not that of a chicken.

The head wore a black hat; it had a round, rosy face, something like the shopkeeper’s, and what could be seen of the shoulders was clad in a bottle-green coat, with a bright-red cravat tied under the pink chin.

The little black eyes met the hen’s troubled glance with a bright and cheerful look.

“Good-morning!” said the creature. “It’s a fine day!”

“What are you?” asked the hen, rather sternly. “I don’t approve of your appearance at all. Do you call yourself a chicken, pray?”

“Why, no,” said the thing, looking down at itself. “I—I am a man, I think. Eh? I have a hat, you see.”

“No, you are not!” cried the hen, in some excitement. “Men don’t come out of eggs. You _ought_ to be a chicken, but there is some mistake somewhere. Can’t you get back into your shell, and—a—change your clothes, or do _something_?”

“I’m afraid not,” said the little man (for he _was_ a man). “I don’t seem to be able to move much; and besides, I don’t think I was meant for a chicken. I don’t _feel_ like a chicken.”

“Oh, but look at your shell!” cried the poor hen. “Consider the example you are setting to all these eggs! There’s no knowing _what_ they will hatch into if they see this sort of thing going on. I will lend you some feathers,” she added, coaxingly, “and perhaps I can scratch round and find you a worm, though my legs are pretty stiff. Come, be a good chicken, and get back into your shell!”

“I don’t like worms,” said the little man, decidedly. “And I am _not_ a chicken, I tell you. Did you ever see a chicken with a hat on?”

“N—no,” replied the hen, doubtfully, “I don’t think I ever did.”

“Well, then!” said the little man, triumphantly.

And the hen was silent, for one cannot argue well when one is stuffed.

The little man now looked about him in a leisurely way, and presently his eyes fell on the great white egg.

“Is that _your_ egg?” he asked, politely.

The hen appreciated the compliment, but replied, rather sadly, “No, it is not. I do not even know whose egg it is. I expect to watch over the eggs in a general way, and I hope I know my duty; but I really do not feel as if I _could_ manage a chicken of that size. Besides,” she added, with a glance at the black hat and the bottle-green coat, “how do I know that it will be a chicken? It may hatch out a—a—sea-serpent, for aught I know.”

“Would you like to make sure?” asked the little man, who really had a kind heart, and would have been a chicken if he could. “There seems to be a crack where this ribbon is tied on. Shall I peep through and see what is inside?”

“I shall be truly grateful if you will!” cried the hen. “I assure you it weighs upon my mind.”

The little man leaned over against the great white egg, and took a long look through the crack.

“Compose yourself!” he said, at last, looking at the hen with an anxious expression. “I fear this will be a blow to you. There are five white rabbits inside this egg!”

The speckled hen rolled her glass eyes wildly about and tried to cackle, but in vain.

“This is too much!” she said. “This is more than I can bear. Tell the shopkeeper that he must get some one else to mind his eggs, for a barnyard where the eggs hatch into rabbits is no place for me.”

And with one despairing cluck, the hen fell off the bit of wood and lay at full length on the shelf.

“It is a pity for people to be sensitive,” said the little man to himself, as he surveyed her lifeless body. “Why are not five rabbits as good as one chicken, I should like to know? After all, it is only a man who can understand these matters.”

And he cocked his black hat, and settled his red necktie, and thought very well of himself.

THE MONEY SHOP.

JACK RUSSELL was five years old and ten days over; therefore, it is plain that he was now a big boy. He had left off kilts, and his trousers had as many buttons as it is possible for trousers to have, and his boots had a noble squeak in them. What would you have more?

This being the case, of course Jack could go down town with his Mamma when she went shopping, a thing that little boys cannot do, as a rule.

One day in Christmas week, when all the shops were full of pretty things, Jack and his Mamma found themselves in the gay street, with crowds of people hurrying to and fro, all carrying parcels of every imaginable shape.

The air was crisp and tingling, the sleigh-bells made a merry din, and everybody looked cheerful and smiling, as if they knew that Christmas was only five days off.

_Almost_ everybody, for as Jack stopped to look in at a shop window, he saw some one who did not look cheerful. It was a poor woman, thinly and miserably clad, and holding a little boy by the hand.

The boy was _little_, because he wore petticoats (oh, such poor, ragged petticoats)! but he was taller than Jack. He was looking longingly at the toys in the window.

“Oh, mother!” he cried, “see that little horse! Oh, I wish I had a little horse!”

“My dear,” said the poor woman, sighing, “if I can give you an apple to eat with your bread on Christmas Day, you must be thankful, for I can do no more. Poor people can’t have pretty things like those.”

“Come, Jack!” said Mrs. Russell, drawing him on hastily. “What are you stopping for, child?”

“Mamma,” asked Jack, trudging along stoutly, but looking grave and perplexed, “why can’t poor people have nice things?”

“Why? Oh!” said Mrs. Russell, who had not noticed the poor woman and her boy, “because they have no money to buy them. Pretty things cost money, you know.”

Jack thought this over a little in his own way; then, “But, Mamma,” he said, “why don’t they buy some money at the money shop?”

Mrs. Russell only laughed at this, and patted Jack’s head and called him a “little goose,” and then they went into a large shop and bought a beautiful wax doll for Sissy.

But Jack’s mind was still at work, and while they were waiting for the flaxen-haired beauty to be wrapped in white tissue paper and put in a box, he pursued his inquiries.

“Where do you get your money, Mamma dear?”

“Why, your dear Papa gives me my money, Jacky boy. Didn’t you see him give me all those nice crisp bills this morning?”

“And where does my Papa get _his_ money?”

“Oh, child, how you _do_ ask questions! He gets it at the bank.”

“Then is the bank the money shop, Mamma?”

Mrs. Russell laughed absent-mindedly, for, in truth, her thoughts were on other things, and she was only half-listening to the child, which was a pity. “Yes, dear,” she said, “it is the only money shop I know of. Now you must not ask me any more questions, Jack. You distract me!”

But Jack had no more questions to ask.

The next day, as the cashier at the National Bank was busily adding up an endless column of figures, he was startled by hearing a voice which apparently came from nowhere.

No face appeared at the little window in the gilded grating, and yet a sweet, silvery voice was certainly saying, with great distinctness, “If you please, I should like to buy some money.”

He looked through the window and saw a small boy, carrying a bundle almost as big as himself.

“What can I do for you, my little man?” asked the cashier kindly.

“I should like to buy some money, please,” repeated Jack, very politely.

“Oh, indeed!” said the cashier, with a twinkle in his eye. “And how much money would you like, sir?”

“About a fousand dollars, I fink,” said Jack, promptly. (It does sometimes happen that big boys cannot pronounce “th” distinctly, but they are none the less big for that.)

“A thousand dollars!” repeated the cashier. “That’s a good deal of money, young gentleman!”

“I know it,” said Jack. “I wants a good deal. I have brought some fings to pay for it,” he added, confidentially; and opening the big bundle with great pride, he displayed to the astonished official a hobby-horse, a drum (nearly new), a set of building blocks and a paint-box.

“It’s a _very_ good hobby-horse,” he said, proudly. “It has real hair, and he will go _just_ as fast as—as you can _make_ him go.”

Here the cashier turned red in the face, coughed and disappeared. “Perhaps he is having a fit, like the yellow kitten,” said Jack to himself, calmly; and he waited with cheerful patience till he should get his money.

In a few moments the cashier returned, and taking him by the hand, led him kindly into a back room, where three gentlemen were sitting.

They all had gray hair, and two of them wore gold-bowed spectacles; but they looked kind, and one of them beckoned Jack to come to him.

“What is all this, my little lad?” he asked. “Did any one send you here to get money?”

Jack shook his head stoutly. “No,” he said, “I comed myself; but I am not little. I stopped being little when I had trousers.”

“I see!” said the gentleman. “Of course. But what made you think you could get money here?”

The blue eyes opened wide.

“Mamma said that Papa got his money here; and I asked her if this was a money shop, and she said it was the only money shop she knowed of. So I comed.”

“Just so,” said the kind gentleman, stroking the curly head before him. “And you brought these things to pay for the money?”

“Yes,” said Jack, cheerfully. “’Cause you buy fings with money, you see, so I s’pose you buy money with fings.”

“And what did you mean to do with a thousand dollars?” asked the gentleman. “Buy candy, eh?”

Then Jack looked up into the gentle gray eyes and told his little story about the poor woman whom he had seen the day before. “She was so poor,” he said, “her little boy could not have any Christmas _at all_, only an apple and some bread, and I’m sure _that_ isn’t Christmas. And she hadn’t _any_ money, not any at all. So I fought I would buy her some, and then she could get _everything_ she wanted.”

By this time the two other gentlemen had their hands in their pockets; but the first one motioned them to wait, and taking the little boy on his knee, he told him in a few simple words what a bank really was, and why one could not buy money there.

“But you see, dear,” he added, seeing the disappointment in the child’s face, “you have here in your hands the very things that poor woman would like to buy for her little boy. Give her the fine hobby-horse and the drum and the paint-box, too, if you like, and she can give him the finest Christmas that ever a poor boy had.”

Jack’s face lighted up again, and a smile flashed through the tears that stood in his sweet blue eyes. “I never fought of that!” he cried, joyfully.

“And,” continued the old gentleman, drawing a gold piece from his pocket and putting it in the little chubby hand, “you may give that to the poor woman to buy a turkey with.”

“And that,” cried the second old gentleman, putting another gold piece on top of it, “to buy mince-pies with.”

“And that,” cried the third old gentleman, while a third gold piece clinked on the other two, “to buy a plum-pudding with.”

“And God bless you, my dear little boy!” said the first gentleman, “and may you always keep your loving heart, and never want a piece of money to make Christmas for the poor.”

Little Jack looked from one to the other with radiant eyes. “You are _very_ good shopkeepers,” he said. “I love you all _very_ much. I should like to kiss you all, please.”

And none of those three old gentlemen had ever had so sweet a kiss in his life.

A LONG AFTERNOON.

“WHAT _shall_ I do all this long afternoon?” cried Will, yawning and stretching himself. “What—shall—I—do? A whole long afternoon, and the rain pouring and nothing to do. It will seem like a whole week till supper time. I know it will. Oh—_dear_—me!”

“It _is_ too bad!” said Aunt Harriet, sympathetically. “Poor lad! What will you do, indeed? While you are waiting, suppose you just hold this yarn for me.”

Will held six skeins of yarn, one after another; and Aunt Harriet told him six stories, one after the other, each better than the last.

He was sorry when the yarn was all wound, and he began to wonder again what he should do all the long, long afternoon.

“Will,” said his mother, calling him over the balusters, “I wish you would stay with baby just a few minutes while I run down to the kitchen to see about something.”

Will ran up, and his mother ran down. She was gone an hour, but he did not think it was more than ten minutes, for he and baby were having a great time, playing that the big woolly ball was a tiger, and that they were elephants chasing it through the jungle.

Will blew a horn, because it spoke in the “Swiss Family Robinson” of the elephants’ trumpeting; and baby blew a tin whistle, which was a rattle, too; and the tiger blew nothing at all, because tigers do not trumpet.

It was a glorious game; but when Mamma came back, Will’s face fell, and he stopped trumpeting, because he knew it would tire Mamma’s head.

“Dear Mamma!” he said, “what _shall_ I do this long, long afternoon, with the rain pouring and nothing to do?”

His mother took him by the shoulders, gave him a shake and then a kiss, and turned him round toward the window.

“Look there, goosey!” she cried, laughing. “It stopped raining half an hour ago, and now the sun is setting bright and clear. It is nearly six o’clock, and you have just precisely time enough to run and post this letter before tea-time.”

THE JACKET.

“TAILOR, tailor, tell me true, Where did you get my jacket of blue?”

“I bought the cloth, little Master mine, From the merchant who sells it, coarse and fine. I cut it out with my shears so bright, And with needle and thread I sewed it tight.”

“Merchant, merchant, tell me true, Where did you get the cloth so blue?”

“The cloth was made, little Master mine, Of woollen threads so soft and fine. The weaver wove them together for me; With loom and shuttle his trade plies he.”

“Weaver, weaver, speak me, sooth, Where got you the threads so soft and smooth?”

“From wool they’re spun, little Master mine. The spinner carded the wool so fine. She spun it in threads, and brought it to me, Where my sounding loom whirrs cheerily.”

“Spinner, spinner, tell me true, Where got you the wool such things to do?”

“From the old sheep’s back, little Master dear! The farmer he cut it and washed it clear; The dyer dyed it so bright and blue, And brought it to me to spin for you.”

“Now tailor and merchant, and weaver, too, And spinner and farmer, my thanks to you! But the best of my thanks I still will keep For you, my good old woolly-backed sheep.”

THE FIREWORKS.

ONCE upon a time a little girl went to see the fireworks on Boston Common. She was a very small girl, but she wanted to go just as much as if she had been big, so her mother said she might go with Mary, the nurse. She put on her best bonnet, and her pink frock, and off they went.

The Common was crowded with people, and in one part there was a dense throng, all standing together, and all looking in one direction. “We must stand there, too,” said Mary; “there’s where the fireworks are going to be.” So they went and stood in the dense crowd; and the little girl saw the back of a fat woman in a red plaid shawl, but she could not see anything else. Oh, yes! she saw the legs of the tall man who stood next to the fat woman, but they were not very interesting, being clad in a common sort of dark plaid: the shawl, at least, was bright, and she could tell the different colours by the lamplight.

Now there was a movement in the crowd, and people cried, “Oh! oh! look at that! Isn’t that a beauty?” And they clapped their hands and shouted; but the little girl saw only the plaid shawl and the uninteresting legs of the tall man. The people pressed closer and closer, so that she could hardly breathe. She held tight to Mary’s hand, and Mary thought she was squeezing it for pleasure, and said, “Yes, dear! ain’t they lovely?” The little girl tried to say, “I can’t see anything but the plaid shawl!” but just then the tall man turned round, and looked down on her and said, “Bless me! here’s a little girl right under my feet. Can you see anything, my dear?”

“Nothing but the red shawl and the back of your legs,” said the little girl, sadly.

“Hi, then!” said the tall man; “up with you!” And before the child could say a word, he had taken her two hands and lifted her lightly to his shoulder.

“Put your arm round my neck,” said the tall man. “I had a little girl once, just like you, and I know how to hold you. So, now you are all right!”

“Thank the kind gentleman, dear!” said Mary. “I’m sure it’s very good of him.”

The little girl was too shy to speak, but she patted the tall man’s neck, and he understood as well as if she had spoken. Now she saw wonderful sights indeed! Fiery serpents went up into the sky, wriggling and hissing, dragging long tails of yellow flame behind them. Coloured stars, red, blue and green, shot up in the air, hung for an instant, and then burst into showers of rainbow light. There were golden pigeons, and golden flower-pots, and splendid wheels, that went whirling round so fast it made the little girl dizzy to look at them. The child gazed and gazed, breathless with delight. Sometimes she forgot where she was, and thought this was fairy-land, all full of golden dragons, and fluttering elves, as the story books described it; but if she chanced to look down, there was Mary, and the kind face of the tall man, and the red shawl of the fat woman. By and by came a great burst of light, and in the midst of crimson flames she saw the Goddess of Liberty, standing on a golden ball, waving the starry flag in her hand: thousands of stars shot up, blazed and burst; loud noises were heard, like cannon-shots; then, suddenly, darkness fell, and all was over.

The crowd began to disperse.

“Now, little one,” said the tall man, “you have seen all there is to see.” And he made a motion to put her down; but the little girl clung tight to his neck.

“Did your little girl ever kiss you?” she whispered in his ear.

“Bless your little heart!” said the man, “she did, indeed; but it’s long since I’ve had a little girl to kiss me.”

The child bent down and kissed him heartily on the cheek. “If it hadn’t been for you,” she cried, “I should have seen nothing at all except the plaid shawl. I think you are the kindest man that ever lived, and I love you very much.” And then she slipped down, and taking her nurse’s hand, ran away home as fast as she could.

JINGLE.

THE sugar dog lay in the toe of the stocking, And rocking, As if in a cradle, he called to the drum To come. But the ball and the gray flannel pig were too cunning, And running, With Noah’s Ark, filled the stocking quite up To the top.

The jumping-jack could not get into the stocking. How shocking! He had to climb up on the foot of the bed Instead. But the rag doll was wise, and while baby was sleeping, Came creeping, And nestling under the sweet baby arm, Lay warm.

SEE-SAW.