Chapter 4

Suddenly Boris remembered what he had come for. He was looking for the wide green country, for a place where grass grew everywhere. "This is the funniest thing in the world," he thought scratching his head. "Wherever I walk in New York I come to water. So many people and water on every side of them! How do they ever get out?" As soon as he thought of this, he began to look around. Across the East River he could see a giant bridge leaping from New York over to another city and on the bridge were trains and cars shooting back and forth and autos and horses and people. "So that is the way they get out!" he thought.

Then he looked to the west, to the Hudson River. "No bridges there!" he said. "It's too wide." Then he suddenly remembered the ferry boat that had brought him from Ellis Island. "Ferry boats, of course," he thought. And sure enough there were ferry boats and ferry boats going back and forth from New York to the other side and to the little islands out in the harbor too!

Now Boris walked along thinking hard about all this water all around New York. Just then he noticed a lot of people coming up out of a hole in the sidewalk. "The Subway," he thought, for you remember he had been on the subway. But the name over the steps didn't spell "subway." He looked at it for a long time. At last he could read it. "Hudson Tubes" it said. Hudson Tubes? What could that mean? Boris wanted to know. So he walked right up to a woman coming out of the hole.

"What are the Hudson Tubes and where do they take you?" he asked.

The woman laughed. "They take you to New Jersey, of course," she said.

"Is that over there?" Boris asked, pointing across the Hudson. "And do they really go under the Hudson River?"

"Yes, to be sure they do. Where do you want to go?" she answered and then Boris remembered what he had been hunting for. "I want to go to a wide green country where there is grass everywhere. But every way I walk in New York I come to water. I know because I've walked east and I've walked west and I've walked north and I've walked south," he said, feeling a little like crying for he was very tired and he _was_ only a little boy too. The woman smiled and she looked nice when she smiled. "You see, boy," she said, "New York is an island, so of course, you come to water every way you walk. And it's so full of people that there isn't any wide green country left,--except the Parks of course."

"Yes, I know the Parks," said Boris, "but that isn't quite what I mean!"

The woman smiled again. "There _is_ a wide green country when you get out of the island," she said. "You'll find it some day I'm sure," and then the woman hurried away. Boris was very, very tired. So he took the subway home. When he came in his mother called out, "Did you find the wide green country, Boris?"

"No," said Boris, "I couldn't, you see. Because what do you think New York is?"

"What do I think New York is, Boris? Why, it's the biggest city in the world!"

"That's not what I mean. What do you think it _is_? What is it built on I mean?"

"What is it built on? On good sound rock I suppose!"

Boris laughed and laughed. "No, no," he said. "I mean it's an island. Every way you walk, if you walk long enough, you come to water. Now isn't that the funniest thing?" And Boris's mother thought it was funny too.

"So many people and all to live on an island!" she kept saying to herself. "I should think it would make them a lot of work!"

And Boris who remembered the bridges and the ferry boats and the "tubes" thought so too!

Boris, he went out to walk To find the country wide And he walked west and west he walked But he found the Hudson wide! And so he turned himself about And walked the other way And he walked east and east he walked And there East River lay!

But Boris he went out again To find the country wide And he went north and north he went To Harlem River's side. Again he turned himself about And went the other way And he went south and south he went And there the harbor lay!

Then Boris scratched his head and thought: "Whatever way I go There's always water at the end Whatever way I go! New York must be an island An island it must be So many people all shut in By rivers and by sea!

They've bridges and they've ferry boats Across the top to go; They've subways and they've Hudson tubes To burrow down below To get things in, to get things out How busy they must be! In that enormous big New York On rivers and on sea!"

SPEED

This story is a definite attempt to make the child aware of a new relationship in his familiar environment.

The verse is for the older children. The story has lent itself well to dramatization.

SPEED

Once there was a big beautiful white ox. His back was broad, his horns were long and his eyes were large and gentle. He went slowly sauntering down the road one sunshiny summer day. As he walked along he swung from side to side carefully putting down his small feet. And this is what he thought:

"I am pleased with myself--so large, so broad, so strong am I. Is there anyone else who can pull so heavy a load? Is there anyone else who can plow so straight a furrow? What would the world do without me?"

Just then he heard something tearing along the road behind him. "Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty." In a moment up dashed a big, black horse.

"Greetings," lowed the ox, slowly turning his large gentle eyes on the excited horse. "Why such haste, my brother?" The horse tossed his mane. "I'm in a hurry," he snorted, "because I'm made to go fast. Why, I can go ten miles while you crawl one! The world has no more use for a great white snail like you. But if you want speed, I'm just what you need. Watch how fast I go!" and clopperty, clopperty he was off down the road. As the ox watched the horse disappear he thought of what he had heard.

"He called me a great white snail! He said he could go ten miles while I crawled one! Surely this swift horse is more wonderful than I!"

Now as the horse went frisking along this is what he thought. "I am pleased with myself. I am sleek, I am swift--swifter than the ox. What would the world do without me?"

Just then he heard a strange humming overhead. He glanced up. The sound came from a wire taut and vibrating. Then he heard fast turning wheels coming "Kathump, kathump." And what do you think that poor frightened horse saw coming along the road? A self-moving car with a trolley overhead touching the singing wire! His eyes stuck out of his head and his mane stood on end he was so scared. What made it go, he wondered.

"Hello, clodhopper," shrieked the electric car. "I didn't know there were any of you four-footed curiosities left. Surely the world has no more use for you. Where you go in half a day, I go in an hour; where you carry one man, I carry ten. If you want speed I'm just what you need. Just watch me!" He was gone leaving only the humming wire overhead. The poor horse thought of what he had heard.

"He called me a clodhopper! He said he could go in an hour where I take half a day! Surely this swift car is more wonderful than I!"

Now the trolley went swinging on his way thinking, "I am pleased with myself. My power is the same as the lightning that rips the sky. I am swift,--swifter than the ox--swifter than the horse. What would the world do without me?"

Just then he heard a terrifying noise. It sounded like a mightly monster coughing his life away. "Chug, a chug a chug a chug, chug." Then to his horror he saw coming across the green field a gigantic iron creature with black smoke and fiery sparks streaming from a nose on top of his head.

"Well, slowpoke," screamed the engine as he came near the car. "Out o' breath? No wonder. You're not made to go fast like me, for I move by the great power of steam. Look at my monstrous boilers; see my hot fire. Where you go in half a day, I go in an hour; where you carry one man I carry twenty. If you want speed I'm just what you need! Goodbye. Take your time, slow coach." And chug, chug, he was off leaving only a trail of dirty smoke behind him. The poor trolley car thought of what he had heard.

"He called me a slowpoke! He said he could go in an hour where I take a half day! Surely this ugly engine is greater than I!"

Now the engine raced down to the freight depot which was near the great shipping docks. As he waited to be loaded he thought:

"I am pleased with myself. I am swift--swifter than the ox, swifter than the horse, swifter than the electric car. What would the world do without me? I serve everyone, I go everywhere----"

Just here he was interrupted by the deep booming voice of a freight steamer lying alongside the wharf. "Tooooot" is what the voice said, "you ridiculous landlubber! You go everywhere? What about the water? Can you go to France and back again? It's only I who can haul the world's goods across the ocean! And even where you _can_ go, you never get trusted if they can possibly trust me, now do you? Did you ever think why men use river steamers instead of you? Did you ever think why men cut the great Panama Canal so that sea could flow into sea? Well, it's simply because they're smart and prefer me to you when they can get me. You eat too much coal with your speed,--that's what the trouble is with you--you ridiculous landlubber!"

This long speech made the old steamer quite hoarse so he cleared his throat with a long "Toooot" and sank into silence.

"Of course, what he says is true," thought the engine. "At the same time it is equally true that _on land_ I _do_ serve everyone, I go everywhere----"

Just here he was interrupted again by a most unexpected noise. It sounded half like a steel giggle, half like a brass hiccough. It made the engine uneasy. He was sure someone was laughing at him. Majestically he turned his headlight till it lighted up a funny little automobile who was laughing and laughing and shaking frantically like this and going "zzzzz."

"You silly little road beetle," shouted the great engine, "what on earth's the matter with you?"

The automobile gave one violent shake, turned off his spark and said in an orderly voice, "It struck my funny bone to hear you say you went everywhere _on land_, that's all. Don't you realize you're an old fuss budget with your steam and your boiler and your fire and what not? You're tied to your rails and if everything about your old tracks isn't kept just so you tumble over into a ditch or do some fool thing. Now I'm the one that can endure real hardships. Sparks and gasoline! you just sit right there, you baby, you railclinger, and watch me take that hill! Honk, honk!" And he was off up the hill.

The engine slowly turned back his headlight till the light shone full on his shiny rails. He thought of what he had heard. "He called me a railclinger--yes, that I am. How can that preposterous little beetle run without tracks? I'm afraid he's more wonderful than I."

Now the automobile went jouncing and bouncing up the rough road puffing merrily and thinking, "I'm mightily pleased with myself. Look at the way I climb this hill. There's nothing really so wonderful as I----"

Just then he heard a sound that made his engine boil with fright. Dzdzdzdzdzr--it seemed to come right out of the sky. He got all his courage together and turned his searchlights up. The sight instantly killed his engine. Above him soared a giant aeroplane. It floated, it wheeled, it rose, it dropped. It looked serene, strong and swift. Down, down came the great thing. Through the terrific droning the automobile could just make out these words:

"Dzdzdzdz. You think you're wonderful, you poor little creeping worm tied to the earth! I pity all you slow, slow things that I look down on as I fly through the sky. Ox made way for horse, horse made way for engine, car and auto but all,--all make way for me. For if you want speed, I'm just what you need. Dzdzdzdzdz."

And the great aeroplane wheeled and rose like a giant bird. The automobile watched him, too humbled to speak. Up, up, up, went the aeroplane--up, up, up 'til it was out of sight.

SPEED

The hounds they speed with hanging tongues; The deer they speed with bursting lungs; Foxes hurry, Field mice scurry. Eagles fly Swift, through the sky, And man, his face all wrinkled with worry, Goes speeding by tho' he couldn't tell why! But a little wild hare He pauses to stare At the daisies and baby and me Just sitting,--not trying to go anywhere, Just sitting and playing with never a care In the shade of a great elm tree. And the daisies they laugh As they hear the world pass, What is speed to the growing flowers? And my baby laughs As he sits in the grass, We all laugh through the sunshiny hours,-- Through the long, dear sunshiny hours! For flowers and babies And I still know 'Tis fun to be happy, 'Tis fun to go slow, 'Tis fun to take time to live and to grow.

FIVE LITTLE BABIES

This story was originally written because the children thought a negro was dirty. The songs are authentic. They have been enjoyed by children as young as four years old.

FIVE LITTLE BABIES

This is going to be a story about some little babies,--five different little babies who were born in five different parts of this big round world and didn't look alike or think alike at all.

One little baby was all yellow. He just came that way. His eyes were black and slanted up in his little face. His hair was black and straight. He wore gay little silk coats and gay little silk trousers with flowers and figures sewed all over them. When he looked up he saw his father's face was yellow and so was his mother's. And his father's hair was black and so was his mother's. And when he was a little older he saw they both wore gay silk coats and gay silk trousers with flowers and figures sewed all over them. But the baby didn't think any of this was queer,--not even when he grew up. For every one he knew had yellow skin and wore silk coats and trousers. So of course he thought all the world was that way.

But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew his mother loved her little yellow baby with slanting black eyes. And he loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying:

"Chu Sir Tsun Ching Min. Tsoun Sun Gi Gi. Koo Yin Fee Min Kwei Hua Shiang Lee Pan Run Yin. Fon Chin Yoa Sir. Loo Yi To Choa Yeo Liang Sung. Tsun Tze Doo Soo Soo Wei Gun. Tsin Tsin."

For all this happened in China and he was a little Chinese Baby.

* * *

Another little baby was all brown. He just came that way. His eyes were black and his hair was black. He wore pretty colored silk shawls and little silk dresses. And when he looked up he saw his father's face was brown and that he wore a big turban on his head. And he saw that around his mother's brown face was long soft hair. He saw that she wore pretty colored silk shawls and long silk trousers and bare feet. But the baby didn't think any of this was queer,--even when he grew up. He thought every one had brown skin and that everybody dressed like himself and his father and his mother.

But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he knew his mother loved her little brown baby with black eyes. And he loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying:

"Arecoco Jarecoco, Jungle parkie bare, Marabata cunecomunga dumrecarto sare, Hillee milee puneah jara de naddeah, Arecoco Jarecoco Jungle parkie bare."

For all this happened in India and he was a little Indian baby.

* * *

Now another little baby was all black. He just came that way. His eyes were black and his hair was black and curled in tight kinky curls all over his little head. And this little baby didn't wear anything at all except a loin cloth. When he looked up he saw the black faces and kinky black hair of his father and his mother. And when he was a little older he saw that they didn't wear any clothes either except a loin cloth and a feather skirt and some shells. Neither did this baby think any of this was queer,--not even when he grew older. He thought all the world looked and dressed like that.

But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he knew his mother loved her little black baby with kinky black hair. And he loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying,

"O tula, mntwana, O tula, Unyoko akamuko, Usele ezintabeni, Uhlu shwa izigwegwe, Iwa.

O tula, mntwana, O tula, Unyoko w-zezobuya, Akupatele into enhle, Iwa."

For all this happened in Africa and he was a little negro baby.

* * *

Still another little baby,--he was the fourth,--was all red. He just came that way. His eyes were black and his hair was straight and black. He was bound up tight and slipped into a basket and carried around on his mother's back. He didn't think this was queer, even when he grew up. He thought all little babies were carried that way. And he thought all fathers and mothers had red skin and black hair and wore leather coats and trousers trimmed with feathers. For his did.

But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew his mother loved her little red baby that she carried on her back, and he loved to have her take him out of his basket bed and rock him in her arms and sing to him, saying:

"Cheda-e Nakahu-kalu Be-be! Nakahu-kalu Be-be! E-Be-be!"

For all this happened in America long, long ago, and he was a little Indian baby.

* * *

The last little baby, and he makes five, was all white. He just came so too. His eyes were blue and his hair was gold and he looked like a little baby you know. And he wore dear little white dresses and little knitted shoes. When he looked up he saw his father's white skin and his mother's blue eyes. When the baby was big enough he saw what kind of clothes his father and his mother wore,--but the story doesn't tell what they were like. And when the baby was big enough he saw they all lived in a big dirty noisy city, but the story doesn't tell what kind of a house they lived in. And the story doesn't tell whether he thought any of these things queer when he was little or when he grew up; probably because you know all these things yourselves. But the story does tell that long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew his mother loved her little white baby with blue eyes and golden hair. And it tells that he loved to have her rock him in her arms and sing to him this song:

"Listen, wee baby, I'd sing you a song; The arms of the mothers Are tender and strong, The arms of the mothers Where babies belong! Brown mothers and yellow And black and red too, They love their babies As I, dear, love you,-- My little white blossom With wide eyes of blue! And your wee golden head, I do love it, I do! And your feet and your hands I love you there too! And my love makes me sing to you Sing to you songs, Lying hushed in my arms Where a baby belongs!"

For all this is happening in your own country every day and he is a little American baby. Perhaps you know his father,--perhaps you know the baby,--perhaps, oh, perhaps, you have heard his mother sing!

ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY

This story made a special appeal to the school children because the school building was originally a stable in MacDougal Alley. They had even witnessed this evolution from stable to garage. The children have seemed to enjoy the rhythmic language without any sense of strangeness.

ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY

Once the barn was full of hay, Now 'tis there no more. I wonder why the hay has left the barn?

The old horse stood in the stall all day. He wanted to be on the streets. He was strong, was this old horse. He was wise, was this old horse. And he was brave as well. And he was proud, oh, very proud to be strong and wise and brave! He wanted to be on the streets, And he wondered what was wrong That now for ten long days No one had to come harness him up. Old Tom, the aged driver, seemed to have gone away, And only the stable boy had given him water and oats, And poked him hay from the loft above. And as the old horse thought of this He reached up high with his quivering nose, And pushing his lips far back on his teeth, Pulled down a mouthful of hay. But as he stood chewing the hay Again he wondered and wondered again Why nobody needed him, Why nobody wished to drive.

For almost every day Old Tom would harness him up To a dear little, neat little, sweet little carriage And down the alley they'd go and around to the front of the house. And there he'd stand and wait, this dear, this steady old horse, Flicking the flies with his tail, Till the door of the house would open wide And out would come his mistress dear with the baby in her arms, And running along beside Would come her little boy, the little boy he loved so well, Who gave him sugar from his hand and patted his nose and neck. And into the carriage they all would get, His mistress and baby and little boy. And Tom would tighten the reins a bit And off down the street they'd go, Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clop. When he was out on the streets,-- This dear old, steady old horse,-- He knew just what to do, when to go and when to stand still. And when with clang! clang! clang! Fire engines shrieked down the street He'd stand as still as a rock So his mistress and her baby were never frightened a bit! And the little boy laughed and watched and laughed! And when the great policeman, so big in the middle of the street, Held up his hand, The old horse stopped But watched him close For the first wave of the hand that would tell him to go ahead. Always the first to stop, Always the first to go, The old horse loved the streets.

Now he wanted the streets. And while he stood and chewed his hay and wondered what was wrong, Suddenly there came a rumble Of noises all a-jumble, A quaking and a shaking A terrifying tremble Making the old horse quiver and stand still! It came from the alley, His own peaceful alley Where he knew every horse, every coach, every wagon! Bump, thump, like a lump of lead jolting, Bang, whang, like a steam engine bolting, Down it came crashing Down it came smashing, Till it stopped with a snort at his own stable door! The old horse pulled at his halter And strained to look round at the door. Out of the tail of his eye he could see The doors, the doors to his very own barn, Swing wide under the crane where they hoisted the hay. And there in the alley, oh what did he see This old horse with his terrified eye? A monster all shiny and black With great headlights stuck way out in front, With brass things that grated and groaned As the driver pulled this thing and that. And there on the back of this monster Sat old Tom Who had driven him now for fifteen long years. And out of the mouth of the monster, as there opened a neat little door, Stepped his mistress dear With her eager little boy and the baby in her arms. And the poor horse trembled to see those that he loved so well So near this terrible monster. "'Twill eat them all!" he thought. And for the first time in all his brave and prudent life The old horse was frightened. He raised his head, He spread his nostrils, He neighed with all his strength. His mistress dear Would surely hear, Would hear and understand! He wanted to save her, save the boy and save the little baby From this terrible ugly beast Snorting there so near! And his mistress dear, she heard. But did she understand? She came and laid her hand upon his quivering side. "Poor dear old horse," she said, "Your day is gone and you must go!" What could she mean? What could she mean? What could she mean? "You have been strong; but not so strong as is our new machine! You have been brave; but see this thing, this thing can know no fear! You have been wise; but this machine is like a part of Tom. He pulls a lever, turns a wheel and this machine obeys! Poor dear old horse Your day is gone And now you too must go!" So that was what she meant! So that was what she meant! So that was what she meant!

* * *

The old horse heard but how could he understand? How could he know that she had said They wanted him no longer? How could he know that this big monster, this new automobile Was going to do his work for them And do it better than he! He knew that something was wrong. He was puzzled and sad and frightened. With head drooped low and feet that dragged He let old Tom untie his rope And lead him from the stall. For one short moment as he passed the shiny automobile He straightened his head and widened his nostrils And snorted and snorted again. But there within the monster, lying safe upon a seat, He saw the little baby Laughing and all alone. And the old horse was puzzled, was puzzled and frightened too. Then old Tom pulled him gently through the wide swinging doors And led him down the alley. Past the stables with other horses, Past the grooms and stable boys, Down the alley he knew so well Went the old horse for the last time. For he never came back again. They had no need of him; they liked their auto better! Down the alley he slowly went And as he turned into the street below One last long look he gave to the stable at the end, One last long look at his mistress dear with the baby in her arms, One last long look at the little boy waving and calling: "Goodbye, goodbye". One last long look, and then he was gone!

Once the barn was full of hay: Now 'tis there no more. I wonder why the hay has left the barn?

THE WIND

This story is composed entirely of observations on the wind dictated by a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class. Every phrase (except the one word "toss") is theirs. The ordering only is mine.

THE WIND

In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing, But in a winter storm it growls and roars.

Sometimes the wind goes oo-oo-oo-oo-oo! It sounds like water running. It makes a singing sound. It blows through the grass. It blows against the tree and the tree bows over and bends way down. It whistles in the leaves and makes a rustling sound. The tree shakes, the branches and leaves all rustle. The wind knocks the leaves off the trees and tosses them up in the air. Then it blows them straight in to the window and drags them around on the floor. It makes the leaves whirl and twirl.

And sometimes the wind is frisky. It whisks around the corners. It comes blowing down the street. It blows the papers round and round on the ground. It tears them and rares them, then up, it takes them sailing. It sweeps around the house, blowing and puffing. It blows the wash up. It blows the chickens off the trees. It makes the nuts come rattling down. It turns the windmill and makes the fire burn. It blows out the matches, it blows out the candles, it blows out the gas lights. It hits the people on the street. Some it keeps back from walking and some it pushes forward. It unbuttons the coat of a little girl, it unbuttons her leggings too and the little girl feels all chilly in the frisky wind. It blows up her skirt. It pulls off her hat and blows through her hair till she feels all chilly on her head too. Puff! it goes, puff! puff! Then off go other hats spinning down the street. It gets under umbrellas and turns them inside out. The frisky wind blows harder and harder. The houses shake. The windows rattle. And the people on the street are whirling and twirling like the leaves.

Sometimes there is a storm. The wind roars over the ocean and makes the waves bigger than the ships. The waves go up and down, and up and down, and the ship goes rocking and rocking, this way and that way, this way and that way, to the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, back and forth and back and forth. A boat gets tossed on the sea. The sails are all torn to pieces by the storm. The masts get broken off and fall down on the ship. The ship just rocks and rocks. Then pretty soon it bumps into a rock and is wrecked and sinks. And all the men get drowned.

The wind growls and roars over the mountain. There is thunder and lightning. The thunder says, "Boompety, boom, boom, boom!" The lightning is all shiny. The rain comes pouring down. The wind whistles in the trees. It blows a tree over. It crashes down. The lightning goes crack! and splits the tree in two. And then the tree catches on fire and the leaves burn like paper.

In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing, But in a winter storm it growls and roars.

THE LEAF STORY

All the content and many of the expressions were taken from stories on dried leaves dictated by a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class.

THE LEAF STORY

I want to fly up in the air! If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet And the wind blows Perhaps I'll fly up in the air! Listen! Something stirs in the dried leaves, The tree bends, the tree bows, The wind sweeps through the brown leaves. The brown leaves crackle and rattle and dance, They rustle and murmur and pull at the bough, They shiver, they quiver till they pull themselves loose And are free. Up, up they fly! Little brown specks in the sky. They twist and they spin, They whirl and they twirl, They teeter, they turn somersaults in the air. Then for a moment the wind holds its breath. Down, down, down float the leaves, Still turning and twisting, Still twirling and whirling, The brown leaves float to the earth. Puff! goes the wind, Up they fly again With a little soft rustling laugh. Then down they float. Down, down, down. On the ground the leaves go as if walking or running. They go and then they stop. They scurry along, Still twisting and turning, Still twirling and whirling, They hurry along, With a soft little rustle They tumble, they roll and they roll.

I want to fly up in the air! If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet And the wind blows, Perhaps I'll fly up in the air.

A LOCOMOTIVE

In the daytime, what am I? In the hubbub, what am I? A mass of iron and of steel, Of boiler, piston, throttle, wheel, A monster smoking up the sky, A locomotive! That am I!

In the darkness, what am I? In the stillness, what am I? Streak of light across the sky, A clanging bell, a shriek, a cry, A fiery demon rushing by, A locomotive That am I!

MOON MOON

(_To the tune of "Du, du, liegst mir im herzen._")

Moon, moon, Shiny and silver, Moon, moon, Silver and white; Moon, moon, Whisper to children "Sleep through the silvery night." There, there, there, there, Sleep through the silvery night.

Sun, sun, Shiny and golden, Sun, sun, Golden and gay; Sun, sun, Shout to the children "Wake to the sunshiny day!" There, there, there, there, Wake to the sunshiny day.

AUTOMOBILE SONG

A-rolling, bowling, fast or slow, A-racing, chasing, off we go. The jolly automobile Whizzes along with flying wheel. We go chug, chug-chug, chug-up! Then we go s-l-i-d-i-n-g down. We go scooting over the hills, We go tooting back to town.

SILLY WILL

In this story I have used a device to tie together many isolated familiar facts. I have never found that six-year-old children did not readily discriminate the actual from the imaginary.

SILLY WILL