Part 2

ONCE there was a little boy called Tommy. His Mother sent him one day into the town to buy some needles. On his way home he got tired of carrying them, so when he saw a hay-cart which he knew would pass his Mother’s door he stuck the needles into a bundle of hay. When he got home his Mother said: “Well, Tommy, and where are the needles?”

“Oh! Mother, they will be here directly. I was tired of carrying them, so I stuck them into a hay-cart which is coming this way, and it will soon be here.”

“Oh, you stupid boy, Tommy! you _stupid_ boy! If you were tired of carrying the needles you should have stuck them into your coat.”

“I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”

A few days after, his Mother said: “Tommy, will you go into the town and fetch a pound of butter?”

Off went Tommy, bought the pound of butter, and put it all over his coat. When he got home his Mother said: “Well, Tommy, and where’s the butter?”

“I put it all over my coat, but the sun melted it.”

“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You should have put it on a nice white plate and covered it with a piece of white paper.”

“Oh! I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”

A few days after, his Mother said: “Tommy, Farmer Jones has given us a little hen. Will you go and fetch it?”

“Oh! yes,” said Tommy. Off he went, fetched the little hen, and put it on a white plate; but before he could put a nice piece of white paper over it, it had flown quite away!

When he got home, his Mother said: “Well, Tommy, and where is the little hen?”

“Oh! Mother, I did what you told me; I put it on a white plate, but before I could cover it with a piece of paper it flew quite away.”

“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You stupid boy! You ought to have put it in a wicker basket and shut down the lid.”

“I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”

A few days after, his Mother said: “Tommy, there is a plum pudding for dinner. Go and fetch a pound of brown sugar.”

Off went Tommy, bought the pound of sugar, and put it in a wicker basket, and shut the lid down tight. When he got home his Mother said: “Well, Tommy, and where’s the sugar?”

“Here it is, Mother, here it is.” And he opened the basket, but it was quite empty, for all the sugar had tumbled through the holes in the wicker-work!

“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You should have put the sugar in a paper bag and tied a piece of string very tightly round it.”

“I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”

Some time after, his Mother said: “Tommy, Farmer Jones has promised us a dear little puppy dog. Will you go and fetch it?”

“Oh! yes,” said Tommy. So off he went, fetched the little puppy dog, put it in a paper bag, and tied a piece of string _very_ tightly round its neck. When he got home and opened the bag, the poor little puppy was quite dead.

“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You stupid boy! You should have tied a string quite loosely round the little dog’s neck, and let it run after you, and you should have called, 'Hi, little dog!’”

“I’ll do better next time, Mother,” said Tommy, crying.

A long time after, his Mother said: “Tommy, will you go into the town and fetch a leg of mutton? Now, mind you bring it home very carefully.”

“Oh! yes,” said Tommy. So off he went, bought a leg of mutton, tied a piece of string round it, and dragged it after him on the ground, and said: “Hi, little dog! Ho, little dog!” and all the little dogs in the town came after him and ate the mutton, and when he got home there was nothing left but the bone!

When his Mother saw it, she said: “Really, Tommy, you are _too_ stupid; you really are _quite_ a goose.”

A little while after, Tommy was nowhere to be found. His Mother hunted everywhere for him; she cried “Tommy!” here and “Tommy!” there, but she could not find him. As she was coming through the yard and crying and calling, “Tommy! where’s my boy Tommy?” she heard a little voice that seemed to come from the poultry-house: “Here I am, Mother; here I am!”

She opened the door, and there was Tommy sitting on the goose’s nest. She asked him what he was doing, and he said: “Oh! Mother, you said I was quite a goose, so I thought I had better come and sit on the goose’s nest, and I’ve broken all the eggs!”

Wasn’t he a silly boy?

_Constance Milman._

THE NEW SHIP.

“WHERE are you off to, children?” said Mother. She was just stepping into the carriage to pay a round of visits when Geoffrey and his sister came running out of the house in a state of breathless excitement.

“We’re going down to the river to sail my ship, Mother,” said Geoffrey. “I’ll look after Rosie and see that she comes to no harm.”

“My dear boy, I couldn’t think of letting you go by yourselves,” said Mother. “Father will be home to-morrow, and then he will take you,” she added, as she saw the children’s eager faces begin to cloud over. Then she kissed them both, got into the carriage, and drove away.

“It’s a jolly shame!” said Geoffrey crossly. “As if we should come to any harm! Why, I’m as well able to take care of you as Father. Of course I shouldn’t let you fall in.”

“Well, it’s no use,” sighed Rosie; “we can’t go, so we may as well think of something else to do.”

A rebellious frown gathered on Geoffrey’s face. “I’m going to the river,” he said; “I shall only stay a few minutes to see how the 'Dancing Polly’ sails. Mother will never know!”

Rosie hesitated a minute, but when she saw Geoffrey running down the drive without her, it was too much, and off she went after him.

For a whole hour the children spent a most delightful time sailing the “Dancing Polly,” but alas! the crew, which consisted of a wooden doll, fell overboard, and in stretching over to rescue it Rosie lost her balance and toppled into the river.

Geoffrey shrieked for help. “Rosie’s drowning! Rosie’s drowning!” he cried, and in a moment someone came dashing down the bank, there was a plunge, a moment of dreadful suspense, and then Rosie was lying on the grass with Father standing over her. Yes, it was Father, who was a captain in the Royal Navy, and who had come home from sea a whole day before he was expected.

“However did your Mother come to let you two mites go off to the river by yourselves?” said Father on their way home.

Geoffrey hung his head for a moment, and then, like a brave little man, he told his Father all the truth.

“Ah! Geoff, my boy,” said his Father, “you’ll never make a sailor if you can’t obey orders!”

And what did Mother say?

Why, not one angry word, for no sooner did Geoffrey see her than he burst into tears, and Mother put her loving arms round him and whispered: “My darling, I _know_ you won’t disobey me again!”

And Geoffrey never did.

_L. L. Weedon._

THE HAPPY LILY.

THERE was once a beautiful white Lily who lived in a green garden, and had all the happiness of sun and dew that can come into a flower’s life. Only one thing saddened her; now and then the gardener would come and gather some of her sisters: he took them away, and she never saw them again. One dreadful day the gardener came with a sharp knife and cut the Lily’s stalk and carried her away in his hand. As she went she shed bitter tears, and the gardener said: “What a lot of dew there is in this Lily!”

When she was brought to the house she was placed in a tall green vase and set by the bedside of a little sick child. When the child saw her beauty his tired eyes lighted up with pleasure, and he cried: “Oh, the dear Lily! Mother, when can I go out to see the other lilies growing?” And from that moment he began to get better.

“It was the Lily did it,” said his Mother, with tears of happiness. “He was so tired that if the Lily had not come to cheer him, he might have gone to sleep and never wakened here again.”

The Lily tried hard not to fade. She held herself up bravely, and day by day the sick child looked at the Lily and grew stronger and stronger. And at last a day came when he was well enough to be taken into the garden to see the lilies growing, and when he was gone the Lily drooped and drooped, for she felt that the end of her pretty green and white life was near. But though she was sad, she was not sorry, for she felt that she had done some good with her life. And as she drooped there a white butterfly came fluttering in. “Oh, happy Lily!” he cried. And she looked sadly at him. “I am not sorry—only sad,” she said.

“Sad,” he said; “do not you know what happens to all flowers who are able to help and comfort any little child? When they die, they turn into fairies and can fly for ever through all the green gardens of the world. The other flowers will only be flowers next year, but you will be a fairy.”

And as he spoke the Lily died and became a fairy, and she and the butterfly spread their white wings and flew out into the sunshine together.

_E. Nesbit._

CONTENTED CHARLIE.

NO one bothered about Charlie; he was so happy and contented that the other children half thought he really _preferred_ broken toys to whole ones. He toddled through life with a happy smile on his face, made a gee-gee of the old bench in the back-yard, and never once envied Tommy his fine new Dobbin.

It was not only in the matter of toys that Charlie failed to receive his just share. When black Biddy had a brood of seven chicks, and each of the children claimed one as a special pet, it was the lame one that was called Charlie’s. One day, Mother found her little lad sitting by himself on the doorstep, with Hopperty, as the lame chick was called, huddled up in his pinafore. “What’s the matter, Charlie boy?” said she, for she noticed that the little cheeks were very white and the pretty blue eyes heavy.

“My head’s so funny, Mother!” said Charlie.

The next day there were six children playing in the field behind the house, and one little boy lay tossing on his bed upstairs.

Now, you would have thought that amongst so many children one would scarcely have been missed, but _Charlie_ was. The children felt as though they could not play, now that he was not with them. Then they remembered what a sweet, unselfish little fellow he had been.

“We gave him the lame chicken!” said Dora regretfully.

“I never once offered him a ride on Dobbin,” sighed Tommy.

“I don’t think any of us were _very_ kind to him,” said Alice. “He was so contented that we thought anything would do for him.”

The week that Charlie was ill was the most miserable the children had ever spent, and when at the end of that time the Doctor said the worst was over and Charlie began to mend, there was _nothing_ his brothers and sisters would not have given him, they were so thankful. The chickens were secretly carried up to Charlie’s bedside, but Mother said she could _not_ have the sick-room turned into a poultry-yard.

“But we gave him the lame chicken,” the children pleaded; “and oh! Mother, we _are_ so sorry!”

“Well,” said Mother, “he loves Hopperty best now; but, my darlings, Charlie will be down amongst you all soon, I hope, and then you must remember to try and be as unselfish to him as he has always been to you.” The children did not forget Mother’s words, and as for Charlie, he is the happiest little boy in the world, and the other children are all the happier too, I know, for having learnt to be a little more like their unselfish little brother.

_L. L. Weedon._

OUR CAT’S TALE.

THIS is a true story, but you needn’t believe it unless you like. It happened to a cat I know, who has never said anything untrue in her life. One day when this cat had gone down to the sea to bathe, she was standing on the steps of her bathing-machine looking at the sea and wondering whether it would be cold—as I daresay you have often done—when she saw something golden and gleaming in the water. She thought it was a fish, and dived into the water at once. But it was no fish; it was a yellow sea-cat, with fins and a fish’s tail—a sort of cat-mermaid.

The cat who told me the story said that the sea-cat took her by the paw and led her down into the deep parts of the sea and showed her wonderful things. Everything in the sea-cat’s world is just the opposite of what it is here. Whatever is wet here—milk, for instance—is dry down there; and whatever is dry here—such as a cat’s bed—is wet there.

But I never allow my friend the cat to talk much of this adventure. Not because I don’t believe her; but because I think it may make her proud if she talks too long about the wonderful things she saw there. Anyhow, I don’t see how you can doubt a cat’s word. A cat hasn’t any words, do you say? No—that’s just it.

_E. Nesbit._

DOING NOTHING.

TOMMY would not learn his lessons. He wouldn’t do his sums, he upset the ink over his geography book, and smashed his slate. He tore a leaf out of his grammar and made a paper boat of it. He ought to have been punished, but he wasn’t, because his Mamma thought that dear Tommy must be ill or he wouldn’t behave so badly; so, thinking the fresh air would be good for him, she asked him to pick her a bunch of buttercups out of the meadow, but Tommy said he would rather not—he didn’t want to do anything ever again.

Tommy was not a bad little boy generally, but sometimes the idle fairy, who is no bigger than a grain of mustard-seed, though very strong, sat in his ear and whispered naughty things to him. He threw all his lesson-books in a heap on the school-room floor, and went out to the orchard, where he ate seven big apples one after the other, and lay on his back looking up at the apple-trees, and trying to feel glad that he had had his own way. Presently he sighed.

“What do you want?” said a voice, and Tommy saw a little red-cheeked man in a green cap, swinging on one of the apple boughs and looking at him.

“I only want to do nothing,” whined Tommy; “it’s very hard they won’t let me.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” said the little man, “come with me,” and, taking Tommy’s hand, he led him through a convenient little door which opened in the trunk of the apple-tree. It led straight into the most beautiful garden in the world.

“Now then,” said the little man, “do nothing as hard as you like.” And he plumped Tommy down on a grassy bank.

Presently a troop of merry children came by with balls and hoops. Tommy jumped up to catch a golden ball that rolled his way.

“Lie down, sir,” said the little man, for all the world as though he had been a dog, Tommy thought; “you wanted to do nothing, remember!”

“I meant no lessons,” said Tommy.

“You didn’t say so,” said the little man. “Besides, all those children have done their lessons, or they would not be allowed to stay here.”

Some more children came by riding on white ponies. One pony had no rider. Tommy started up. It would be lovely to ride that long-tailed pretty little pony.

“Lie down, sir,” said the apple-man crossly; “you came here to do nothing and I’m going to see that you do it.”

“I am doing something anyhow,” said Tommy suddenly. “I’m sitting down.”

“All right,” said the apple-man; “we’ll soon settle that;” and a strong hook suddenly caught Tommy by the back of his clothes and hung him up in the air. “Now you are not doing anything, anyway,” said the little man; “the hook is doing the work.”

Imagine being hung up by a hook just out of reach of everything, while long processions of little green men came and offered you all the things you wanted most in the world—cricket-bats and ferrets, paint-boxes and hard-bake, guinea-pigs, catapults, and white mice, marbles, buns, and sheaves of letters with valuable foreign stamps on them. Tommy cried with rage, but the little apple-man only laughed, and kept saying: “How do you like doing nothing, eh!—jolly, isn’t it?” Then he saw his Mother coming along the path, and to his horror he saw that a leopard was slinking after her. He called aloud, but she did not hear.

“Oh, let me go and drive the leopard away,” he cried to the little green man; “it will eat my Mammy—I know it will. Oh, Mammy, Mammy!” but she did not hear, and the little man said: “Oh, nonsense! if you haven’t got the pluck to master a simple addition sum, you can’t master a leopard, you know”; but Tommy struggled so hard that the hook gave way and he fell with a bounce on the orchard grass. He rushed off to find his Mother. To his delight she was safe, and there was no leopard about in the house or garden.

He threw his arms round her neck. “Mammy,” he said, “I do love you so. I’ll learn everything and do everything you tell me.”

“Ah!” thought his Mother, “the fresh air has done him good.”

But it was not the fresh air; it was the little apple-man.

_E. Nesbit._

GREEDY TODDLES.

TODDLES was a greedy boy. If ever he had a cake or and orange, he would go away by himself to eat it, so that he might not have to give any away. He was a _very_ greedy boy.

One day he sat on the fence at the end of his mother’s garden eating a slice of bread-and-butter, and an old crow flew down from a tree close by and looked at the food longingly.

“I’m hungry,” said the crow, for Toddles lived in the land where birds can talk. “Give me a few crumbs of your bread.”

But the greedy boy took no notice; he just went on eating the bread-and-butter and never offered the bird a crumb. Then the hungry crow turned upon him angrily, and pecked his bare legs until he screamed with pain. Down the garden path ran Toddles, and the crow ran after him. At each step the boy seemed to dwindle and grow smaller, whilst the crow grew and grew, until he was larger than the largest eagle. Then he made a peck at Toddles, caught him up in his beak, and flew away with him, and put him into a cage that hung from the topmost branch of the tallest tree. “There you shall stay,” he said, “until you have learned to be a better boy.”

It was dreadfully uncomfortable in the cage, and Toddles cried and screamed until he made himself quite ill, and the crow sat on the branch beside him and teased him and laughed at him the whole day long. When the next morning came, the bird gave him a piece of bread and left him. He had just begun to eat it, when a little voice beside him piped, “Give me a crumb!”

It was a little Jenny Wren, and she looked so pitifully at the boy that he broke off a corner of his food and gave it to her. Toddles could have eaten it up in no time, he was so hungry, but just as he had commenced he heard a little dog barking on the ground below. It was a thin, starved little creature, and Toddles, whose heart was growing much softer, broke his morsel of bread in two, and threw half to the dog. The next morning the little boy was very hungry indeed, and the food that was given him was less than ever. Just as he was going to eat it, he heard a child crying, and, peeping between the bars of his cage, he saw a little hungry child. She had had no food for days, she said, and Toddles was so sorry for her that he dropped her the whole of his breakfast. Then the crow came swooping back, opened the door of the cage, and taking the little fellow in his beak, flew back with him to his mother’s garden, and dropped him on the fence where he had first found him.

“You have learnt your lesson, Toddles,” said he, “so there is no need to punish you any more.” And Toddles _had_ learnt a lesson, for he was never greedy again.

_L. L. Weedon._

THE SANDMAN.

“WILL you get out of my way, lumbering elf? This is the third night I have tumbled over you.”

“Softly, good Father Sandman, softly! If you were not so blind you would have seen me. Have you put all your children to bed, old Father Sandman?”

“Go along for a teasing, impertinent imp!”

Pipistrello laughed shrilly as he swung himself to and fro on the branch of a low shrub, chanting—

“Close, little eyelids, close up tight, for the Sandman’s come to town!”

The old fellow had gone into his cave; it was nearly dark now. Boum! An old brown shoe came flying out, and, catching the elf as he swung, toppled him neatly on to the grass beneath. He was not hurt, for the Sandman goes very softly shod, that the children may not hear him. But he was extremely angry. “Very good!” he cried, shaking his morsel of a fist; “to-day you, Father Sandman, and to-morrow me! Mark my words, you will be sorry for it before the moon is many nights older.”

A chuckle was heard coming from the cave, and that was all. Pip went off, meditating revenge. In the middle of supper he snapped his fingers gleefully. “The very thing,” he cried; and he began to hum; “Close, little eyelids, close up tight, for the Sandman’s come to town!”

Old Father Sandman was hunting about his cave in a fine state of mind. “Ach! where is my bag of sand? Where can it have gone? It is the children’s bedtime; the Nurses and the Mammas will be wondering where I am! My sand-bag, my precious sand-bag—oh, if I could but find it!” The poor old gentleman trotted to and fro, and seemed nearly distracted.

“I wish I could help you,” said a bat, who generally shared his cave; “I have been asleep all day, you know, and have seen no one.”

“If you will let me ride on your back,” cried the old fellow eagerly, “I might catch my brother Sandman, who lives the other side of the wood, before he goes out. He would lend me some sand, perhaps.”

“Come along then,” said the bat.

But the second Sandman declined to help. Poor Father Sandman got back to his cave, and there was Pip swinging on the same branch as before, and looking very malicious. “I believe,” gasped the old gentleman, “that it is you that stole my sack!”

Pip laughed, and skipped out of reach, crying: “My turn to-day, Father Sandman.”

But although mischievous, he was not a bad-hearted sprite, and presently he went and fetched the sand-bag. Then he made a bargain. “Father Sandman, will you say you are sorry?”

“Pipistrello, I will say I am sorry,” was the reply.

“And you won’t bear malice?”

“I will not bear malice—give me my bag.”

“One thing more. Will you let all the children sit up half an hour longer in winter, and an hour in summer?”

“It can’t be done—well, perhaps, if I must—yes, then; but the babies must go to bed a quarter of an hour earlier all the year round.”

“Please yourself about the babies,” said Pip. “Catch, Father Sandman!”

The next minute the old fellow, with his sack on his back, and a smile on his face, was trotting off to the town.

_Sheila._

DODO’S KITTEN.

YOU mustn’t go into the morning-room, Dodo—don’t forget, will you?

“No, Mother,” Dodo answered, but she didn’t seem very pleased. It happened that she was a very curious little girl, and always liked to know what was going on, and she was quite certain that something interesting was taking place now.

Mary and Eric had just come out of the morning-room, whispering together, and if Eric, who was younger than Dodo, might go in, she thought it was very unkind of Mother not to let her.

Dodo was so cross that she sulked nearly all the afternoon, and was so tiresome when nurse was dressing her to go down to the drawing-room, that the other children were ready long before she was.

But at last she trotted downstairs, with Spot at her heels—Spot _always_ waited for Dodo—and as the two of them passed the morning-room door, they both stopped.

Strange to say, Spot was quite as curious as Dodo. He sniffed at the door, and whined, and wagged his short stumpy tail violently to and fro. The little girl’s hand was on the handle of the door. Should she turn it? Surely one little peep _couldn’t_ matter?

It always seemed to Dodo that the handle turned of its own accord. _I_ don’t think it could have done so, but at any rate the door opened a little way, and out dashed a fluffy white kitten. In an instant Spot was after it, and chased it down the hall and out into the garden.