Chapter 4

They sailed away in a paper boat, Nellie and Flo and Dan did, Wondering how they managed to float, For rather unsafe is a paper boat, Better it is to be candid! And after a voyage across the seas They came to an island of flowers and trees. And, wishing to feel rather more at ease, They anchored their craft and landed! A bright little Fairy cried out from the strand, "You're welcome my darlings, to Buttercup Land!"

They gazed around on a lovely scene, Nellie and Dan and Flo did, Golden the leaves of the trees, not green, No wonder they thought it a lovely scene, Happiness surely it boded! And buttercups grew on each inch of ground, No room for a pin could between be found, They gathered, and gathered, you may be bound, Till pinafores all were loaded! The bright little Fairy said, "Isn't it grand To rule o'er the kingdom of Buttercup Land?"

"Alas!" they cried, "it is late, so late, Home we must all be sailing!" Sorrowful they that they could not wait, But they were good darlings 'tis right to state, Duty was ever prevailing! And so they embarked in their paper boat, And soon on the sea were again afloat, A merry cheer rang from each childish throat, Tho' tears down their cheeks were trailing! The bright little Fairy cried, waving her hand, "Come soon again, darlings, to Buttercup Land!"

At last they came to their native shore, Nellie and Flo and Dan did, Noticing what they'd not noticed before, That beautiful too was their native shore, Better it is to be candid! Then one to the other remarked, "I say I think that the sun must be hot to-day! I've been fast asleep, and sailed far away, Where I on an Island landed!" They laughed for they lay, gather'd flow'rs in each hand, Mid buttercups sweet as in Buttercup Land!

E. Oxenford.

"TEASING NED."

Such a terrible tease was Ned! Mother's patience lasted longer than any one else's, but even _she_ was perhaps not altogether sorry when holidays were over and the boys were safely back at boarding-school. He teased the cats and the dogs and the chickens, teased the servants terribly with his mess and pranks; teased his bigger brother George, and more than all teased his good little sister Lizzie. "Lizababuff," she called herself, which was as near as her wee mouth could get to Elizabeth. George was something of a tease too, if the truth must be owned, only, beside Ned, people didn't notice him so much. Yet tease as they might, by hanging her dolls high out of reach in the walnut-tree, setting her dear black kitty afloat on the pond in a box, or laughing at her when she failed to catch little birds by putting salt on their tails, or any other way, and they had a great many, Lizzie never sulked; she forgave them directly, and wherever the boys played, in garden, orchard, or paddock, Lizzie's little fat face and white sun-bonnet could always be seen close by.

A very favorite place with the children was the paddock gate; here they would often swing for hours or amuse themselves by watching anything that might come along the road. Not much traffic passed that way, to be sure, but knowing every one in the village, they seemed to find enough to interest them.

"Here comes Tom Crippy with two baskets," cried Ned, as they all leaned over the gate one sunny afternoon,--an afternoon on which even Lizzie's sunny temper had almost given way, for both boys were in an especially teasing mood, and had brought tears very near her blue eyes more than once. "Don't they look heavy?" he went on. "My! He's got carrots and ripe apples in one. All ours are as hard as wood."

"Going to take them up to the house, Tom?"

"Not to yours, Master Ned," Tom answered, setting down his baskets and resting on a low wall. "This one is for you; but this one, with the apples, is for Mrs. Veale."

George looked at the baskets. "It is very hot, and you look tired right out," he said. "Suppose you leave Mrs. Veale's basket here while you take ours."

Tom Crippy agreed at once, and gladly made his way up to the house with his lightened load, Ned shouting after him, "I say, Tom, you may as well spare us an apple when you come back!"

"Wouldn't it be fun to hide his basket?" Ned went on; but, having offered to take care of it, both boys dismissed the idea as _mean_.

"Now for the apple," they said, when he returned.

In vain Tom protested, "I never promised it. It isn't mine to give! not even father's! Mrs. Veale has bought and paid for these apples."

George would have let him go after a bit; but Ned was somewhat greedy, and hankered after the apple, as well as after what he called a bit of _fun_.

"Well, it won't be more than a mouthful apiece," said Tom, at last. "Who'll have first bite?" and he took a ripe, red apple from the basket.

"I," cried Ned at once.

"Well!" said Tom, "I should have thought you would have let the little lady!"

He looked at George, who at once blinded Ned's eyes. Widely, eagerly, he opened his mouth, to close his teeth upon--a carrot.

People who tease can rarely stand being teased themselves. Frantic with rage, Ned struck out right and left, then dashing the basket over, trampled and smashed the delicious apples with his feet.

Well, the apples had to be paid for, and the boys had to be punished; even mother couldn't overlook such an afternoon's work as _this_.

The boys' pocket-money would be stopped till the two shillings were made up. Threepence a week each, and a month seemed long to look forward to. Gloomily they leaned over the gate in the evening. Patter, patter, nearer and nearer came little feet. "Lizababuff has opened her money-box, and here is sixpence for George and sixpence for Ned."

How they hugged the sun-bonnet! "Lizzie, you are a brick! But we won't take your money, nor tease you any more!"

"DAISY."

Far in the Highlands of Scotland, nestling amid their rugged mountains, lay a beautiful farm. Here one of our boys lived with the good old farmer for two or three years, to be taught sheep-farming. Every summer he came to see us; and one year, as we were staying at a country house, he brought us a dear little pet lamb, which he had carried on his shoulder for many a mile across the country. It was a poor little orphan, its mother having died; but Willie had brought her up on warm new milk, which the farmer had given him. We at once named her Daisy, she was so white and fluffy, just like a snowball; and twice a day we used to feed her with warm milk out of a bottle. She very quickly got tame, roaming about and following us in our walks. She knew Sunday quite well, and never attempted to go to church with us but once; when we were half way there who should come panting after us but Daisy, so she had to be taken home, and very sulkily lay down beside Hero, the watch-dog, perhaps for a little sympathy. Of course she grew into a very big lamb, and as we had to go back to town for the winter a farmer offered to take Daisy and put her amongst his own flock of sheep. Next summer when we returned the first thing we did was to go and see Daisy. The flock was feeding in a meadow, and as we opened the gate a sheep darted from among them, came straight to us, and bleating out her welcome, trotted home with us. She went back to live with the farmer, and died at a good old age.

CHARLIE'S WORD.

"Well, children, I'll let you go and have this picnic by yourselves if you'll give me your word that you'll behave just as you would do if I were with you. Will you promise?"

"Yes, Nurse, we do promise; and we'll keep our word," said Algy Parker, "won't we?" and he turned round to Charlie, Basil, and little Ivy, as if to ask them to confirm his words.

"Yes, we promise," they repeated eagerly, full of delight to think that they might actually picnic by themselves for a whole day.

"Don't leave the Home Fields, mind," said Nurse. "You can't come to much harm there, I should think; and I should be glad of a free day, so as to get the nurseries cleaned out before your mother comes to-morrow; so mind your promise, and take good care of little Miss Ivy."

In a very short time all was ready. Cook had packed a most tempting lunch of ham sandwiches, plum-cake, and gooseberry turnovers, and this was placed in a basket on Algy's mail-cart; and then off he started, and Charlie and Basil, with little Ivy between them, ran after him down the long avenue, laughing and singing as joyfully as young birds.

The Home Fields lay at the bottom of the avenue, and the children were no sooner in them than Ivy gave a scream of delight. "The roses, Algy! The wild roses are out; oh, do pick me some!"

Ivy always got her own way with her brothers; and Algy obediently stopped, threw off his hat, pulled out his clasp-knife, and gathered a good bunch of the delicate blossoms for the little queen.

Charlie did not care for roses; he was better amused with the duck-pond, and began building a little pier for himself with some stones that lay near, much to the disgust of a pair of respectable old ducks, who considered the pond their private property, and very much resented Charlie's operations.

"Just listen to old Mrs. Quack preaching to me," cried Charlie, smiling to himself as he stood some little way in the pond. As he spoke, however, one of the stones of the pier slipped, and Charlie stumbled right into the water!

What of that?--it is a fine sunny day, and his boots will soon dry again, and he will not be a jot the worse.

Yes, quite true; but Nurse strictly forbade wet boots, and Charlie well knew that had she been there he would at once be sent back to the house to change them, and might think himself lucky if he escaped being put to bed as a punishment. Such things had happened before now in the Parker nursery; and Charlie recollected also there was no mother at home to-day to beg him off, as she often had done. But for all that Charlie's mind was made up; he had given his word to behave as if Nurse were by, and so he must go home.

"Perhaps she'll put you to bed," sobbed little Ivy.

"I can't help it," said Charlie sorrowfully. "I must keep my word."

So the poor boy trudged manfully back to the house to find his worst fears realized. Nurse was very busy and consequently cross; and on hearing Charlie's tale and seeing his boots, she sent him off to bed. "He'd be dry enough there," she averred.

Charlie knew there was no help for it, Nurse would be obeyed; so slowly and sorrowfully he began undressing, the large tears rolling down his cheeks, when the door opened and Mother stood there! She had come back sooner than was expected; and before Charlie quite realized all that was happening, Nurse had buttoned on his dry boots, and Mother and he were walking quickly towards the Home Fields. How the children did scream with delight when they found that Mother herself was going to picnic with them.

"You must thank Charlie that I am here," said Mother. "If he had not kept his promise to Nurse I should not have known where to find you;" and Mother looked fondly at her honest little boy.

"You see, I was obliged to," said Charlie simply: "I had given my word."

INDUSTRIOUS JACK.

Jack, the lock-keeper's son, does not idle away his time after his day's work is done. He is very fond of boat-making; and although he has only some rough pieces of wood and an old pocket-knife, he is quite clever in constructing tiny vessels. Perhaps, some day, he may become a master boat-builder. Perseverance and the wise employment of spare moments will work wonders.

A VISIT TO NURSE.

It was indeed a treat for the four little Deverils when they received an invitation from old Nurse to spend the day at her cottage. She had lately married a gardener, and having no children of her own, she knew no greater pleasure than to entertain the little charges she had once nursed so faithfully. She always invited the children when the gooseberries were ripe, and each child had a special bush reserved for it by name; indeed, Nurse would have considered it "robbing the innocent" had any one else gathered so much as one berry off those bushes.

When they were tired of gooseberries, there was the swing under the apple-tree, and such a tea before they went home! The more buttered toast the children ate the better pleased was Nurse; and she brought plateful after plateful to the table, till even Sydney's appetite was appeased, and he felt the time had come for a little conversation.

"I'm going to be a sailor when I grow up, Nurse," he observed, "and I'll take you a-sail in my ship. Gerry says he'll be a schoolmaster; he wants to cane the boys, you know. Cyril has decided to be an omnibus conductor, and Baby," he concluded, pointing his finger at the only girl in the family, with a half-loving, half-contemptuous glance, "what _do_ you think Baby says she'll do?"

Baby was just about to take a substantial bite out of her round of toast; but at Sydney's words she stopped halfway and said promptly, "Baby's going to take care of the poor soldiers."

Gerry, at the other end of the table, put down his mug with a satisfied gasp, and then burst out laughing, whilst Cyril raised his head and said solemnly, "The soldiers might shoot you, Baby."

Baby went on unconcernedly with her tea; and Sydney said loftily, "It's all nonsense, of course! She'll know better by and by. Children can't take care of soldiers, can they, Nurse?"

"Bless her heart!" said Nurse, as she softly stroked the fair little head, and placed a fresh plate of toast on the table.

"But can they, now?" persisted Sydney.

Nurse paused, then said slowly, "I did hear a story from an old soldier, and he certainly said it was a child who saved his life. It was in the Crimean War, and there had been a great battle, and he lay on the field, after all was over, with no one but the wounded and dead near him. He was very cold, and suffering fearfully from thirst, as people always do after gun-shot wounds, and he thought he would die there alone and uncared-for, when, in the moonlight, he saw a little drummer-boy picking his way amongst all the dead and dying, and gathering all the old gun-stocks that were lying about. When the lad had got enough, he set to work to make a fire, and then he boiled some water, and made tea, and brought some round to all the wounded men he could find. That hot tea was the saving of a good many lives, the soldier said; and the little lad was so cheery that the poor men plucked up heart, and felt that God had not forgotten them, as before they had been almost tempted to think."

"That was a brave boy," said Sydney. "But still, you know, Nurse, Baby couldn't do that."

"Deary, no!" exclaimed Nurse. "But, you see, Master Sydney, if people are bent upon helping others, they'll find out ways for themselves, for there's plenty in need of help. I know a rough lad now who does his best to keep straight and please 'his lady,' as he calls his Sunday teacher. She writes to him sometimes, and he's as proud of those letters as if they came from the Queen."

"Yes, you might write letters, Baby," Sydney graciously allowed.

"And you can pray for the soldiers, dearie," said Nurse. "There's no knowing the good you may do them by that."

But the carriage now came for the children, and the visit to Nurse was over.

A VISIT TO THE RABBITS.

Little Ann was eating her breakfast in the nursery, so she did not know anything about the new rabbits. She had not been well, so nurse did not wake her, but let her sleep on till Rose and Lucy had gone into the garden.

She dipped a piece of toast into the milk in her cup, then she looked up and said, "Where Rosy and Lucy, nurse?"

And nurse said, "They have gone to see the rabbits."

"Me go too," said Ann, pushing away her cup.

But nurse said, "Not yet," for Ann was not well enough "to go out of doors."

Now, whilst nurse and Ann were talking, Rose and Lucy had gone as fast as they could to see some new rabbits their father had bought. They had talked to the gardener about them, and had said,--

"We will bring something for them to eat, and they like milk to drink; they don't drink water, do they?"

"Oh, yes, they do, miss; it is quite a mistake to suppose they don't drink water. It is very cruel to keep them without it; I always put a good saucer of water in the pen, and they can drink it or not as they like."

Then John went away to his work, and Rose and Lucy felt they could scarcely wait till the next day to see the rabbits.

The next morning Rose and Lucy went off quite early after breakfast.

They had taken their baskets with some crusts of bread and some parsley, for they thought they should like to feed them.

They found John waiting for them, and he opened the door of the hutch.

"Are not they beauties, miss?" he said.

"Oh, the loves!" said Rose; "may I have one of them to nurse, John? I would not hurt it; I would be very gentle with it."

"Well," said John, "I don't like rabbits being handled too much, but you may hold one of them just for a minute or two till I come back."

And he lifted out one of the rabbits and placed it on Rose's lap.

She stroked it gently, and the rabbit did not seem afraid, but nibbled at a piece of parsley that she held for it. When she had nursed it for a short time, Lucy said that she also must have a turn.

After that John returned, and put the rabbit back into the hutch, where the little girls placed crusts for them to eat.

JIMMIE'S NIGHTMARE.

Jimmie and Daisy, and Baby Dot were all staying for their holidays at pleasant Sandown, in the Isle of Wight, and a fine time they were having. The mornings were spent in building castles and digging wells on the broad, yellow sands, and, when not _too_ hot, the afternoons frequently passed in like manner; while in the cool sun-setting time after tea, their father always took them for a nice walk over the cliffs to Shanklin, or along the country lanes to Yaverland, or away to some lovely inland meadow where they could pick big white marguerites and golden buttercups as many as their hands could hold.

One morning Daisy was busily looking for nice pieces of seaweed and pretty little stones to ornament a grotto she and Jimmie had built, when she heard him calling, "Daisy! Daisy! _You_ don't know what _I've_ got!"

Of course she ran to look, and found Jimmie on his knees, watching with great interest the movements of a tiny crab, who seemed to have come out for a walk without his mother, and lost his way.

"Poor little thing!" said tender-hearted Daisy. "It doesn't like the hot sun. Let's put it in some cool, shady place, where the sea will come up to it."

"I'm going to take it home with me," answered Jimmie.

"What for? You haven't got a 'quarium."

"To play with, of course."

"Oh, Jimmie, it won't like that!" cried Daisy, in real anxiety. "It wants to be in the water. You don't know how to feed it, or anything, and it'll die!"

"No, it won't. You're silly--you're only a girl, and you're _frightened_ of it. _I_ know!" said Jimmie scornfully.

"I'm not afraid of it one bit!" Daisy protested. "I'd pick it up with my fingers. But I'm sure it must be frightened of you. Oh, Jimmie, _do_ let me put it in the sea again, there's a dear, good boy!"

Jimmie, however, lest he should lose his prize, caught it up in a twinkling, and stuffed it in his pocket. "You go there!" he said. "And if you nip, I'll pay you!"

Daisy's distress was evident, and tears were gathering in her blue eyes; for she knew that everything which has life has feeling too, and she could not bear to have even a baby crab made uncomfortable. But Jimmie, I am sorry to say, was not so tender over her, nor enough of a man to give up his own way in a little thing to make his sister happy. So, in spite of her entreaties, poor wee crabbie was condemned to durance vile in the hot and stifling pocket of Jimmie's knickerbockers, and Daisy had a sorry spot in her heart for the rest of the morning.

When the children went indoors they found that their favorite uncle had arrived from London, and was proposing an early dinner, and a trip to Carisbrooke. In the pleasant excitement which this caused, everything else was forgotten. Even when Jimmie's suit was changed, he never gave one thought to the captive crab.

Their excursion to the old castle proved delightful. Jimmie, who had only got as far as Richard II. in his history-book, and was not very fond of learning, became quite eager to get on fast, and come to the place where it told about King Charles and his imprisonment, and how he tried to get out of the tiny window shown them by the guide. Somebody remarked that "Liberty is sweet," and Jimmie remembered writing the very same in his copy-book; but it did not occur to him to consider that it is just as sweet in its way, to a little, sea-loving crablet as to a king.

It must have been the unusual state of excitement in which Jimmie went to bed that night that caused the events of the day to become oddly mixed up in a horrible dream. He thought _he_ was a prisoner, not in a castle, but in the sand grotto which he and Daisy had been making in the morning, and that his jailor was a giant crab! A tiny hole in the side of the grotto, about two inches square, was his only way of escape, and unless he could manage to squeeze himself through that, he would be crushed to death by a pair of great claws as thick as a man's body. Nearer and nearer they came, harder and harder he struggled, and gurgled and gasped. No wonder that at last his cries aroused his mother in the next room, and that she came running to see what was the matter!

"Oh, that awful crab! Save me, save me! Oh--oh--oh!" yelled Jimmie, only half awake. And then to his increased horror he found that his dream was at least partly real, and that his own escaped prisoner was crawling briskly over his pillow in the evident hope of finding the ocean somewhere down on the other side. Having the creature come upon him like that when he least expected it, and immediately after such a dream, Jimmie fairly screamed with fright, and wouldn't lie down in bed again until Daisy, who had been awakened by the commotion from a lovely dream about the dear Carisbrooke donkey who works at the well, came and fetched the wandering crustacean away, and put it among a lot of damp seaweed in her tin pail, where it seemed very glad to stay.

First thing in the morning, before breakfast, Jimmie carried the poor little creature down to the shore, and left it at the edge of the waves. Moreover, he could not help thinking it very sweet of Daisy that she never once said, "Served you right," and he privately made up his mind that another time if she very much wanted him not to do a thing, he wouldn't do it.

ON STILTS.

Who are these giants walking in the street? Only Hal and his friends, Tom Miller and James Little. They have made stilts from pieces of wood they bought at the lumber-yard. Hal and James can walk very well on their new toys, but Tom is not so successful. He must lean against the wall, and the other boys laugh at him.

A SONG OF THE WANDERING WIND.

Listen, Children! That's the breeze Speaking to you as he flees. "I have no home; I rove I roam Hark! I'm passing through the trees"

"Oer the world from end to end, Light of wing, my way I wend. Where'er I pass, the trees, the grass Bow their heads, and corn doth bend"