Part 2

They twisted the string, and then doubled it and twisted it again, and so tied the harness. The gentleman and his son then got into the waggon again, and were going to ride up the hill. The gentleman hesitated a moment whether he ought to offer to pay the boy for his string or not. Do you think he ought to?

“I _would_ pay him,” whispered his little son; “he looks like a poor boy.”

“Yes,” replied his father,“but perhaps he would make a bad use of the money. Perhaps his father and mother would not like to have him have any money.”

“Why cannot you ask him?”

The gentleman then turned to the boy who was still sitting on the log, and said,

“What is your name, my little fellow?”

“Jonas.”

“Where do you live?”

“Sir?”

“Where do you live?”

The boy hesitated a moment as if he did not understand him. Then he said,

“I don’t know sir.--I don’t live any where.”

The little boy in the waggon laughed.

“Don’t know where you live?” said the gentleman. “Well, what are you doing out here?”

“I have been catching butterflies.”

“Where did you come from?”

“I don’t know sir.--I came from the city.”

“The city! What city?”

“I don’t know sir,--the city back there. I don’t know what the name of it is.”

“Do you live in the city?”

“No, sir, I am not going to live there any more?”

“Do your father and mother live there?”

“My father is dead; and I have not got any mother.”

“What has become of your mother?”

“I never had any, sir.”

The gentleman smiled a moment when he heard this answer, and then he looked serious and concerned and paused a moment. He seemed not to know what to do.

“But, Jonas,” said he again, “you say you do not live any where; where do you get your food and sleep?”

“Sir!”

“Where do you sleep at night?”

“I slept in Mr. Williams’ shed last night.”

“And where do you expect to sleep to-night?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Where did you get your breakfast this morning?”

“A man gave me some.”

“And where did you get your dinner?”

“I have not had any dinner, sir.”

“No dinner!--I should think you would be too tired and hungry to chase butterflies, without any dinner.”

“I was too tired, and so I stopped.”

The gentleman, after talking with the boy a little longer, concluded to take him into his waggon, and carry him home.

“Jump up behind into my waggon, Jonas,” said he, “and I will give you some supper.”

So Jonas jumped up behind and rode home with them. You will hear more about him hereafter, for who do you think this gentleman was? Why it was Rollo’s father, and the boy who was riding with him was Rollo himself. Jonas lived with Rollo a long time, and became a very industrious, useful boy. He used to take care of Rollo, and play with him.

A LITTLE LETTER.

This is a letter written to a little boy about as large as you. James is the name of the boy. James’ uncle wrote it.

The letter.

“Dear James,

Do you want me to write you a little letter about a robin? I think you do. Well; I will write it. Now I will begin. A robin is a bird. A robin has two wings and two legs; he flies in the air; it is his wings make him go. When he comes down to the ground, he hops along on his two legs. When he sees a worm he picks it up with his bill. Do you know what his _bill_ is? It is a mouth. Then he picks it up just as the hen does, and eats it. Now for the story.

Near the house where I live, there is a field; and in the field there is a tree. I was walking in the field, and went near the tree; as I went near it, a bird darted out of the tree, and sung out very loud; it made me start. When I saw it was a bird, I looked among the leaves and branches of the tree, and found there a pretty robin’s nest, and three eggs. Only think, a beautiful nest, with three eggs. I looked at them for a minute, and then went away and left them there. The next day, I walked down to the tree again, to see the nest and the pretty eggs. I pulled away the leaves, but the nest was not there. I stooped down on the ground, looked into the grass, and there I saw the robin. The poor robin was dead, the nest was torn in pieces, and the eggs were broken. I would send you one of the eggs, but it is broken so much, that I think it will not do. When the little robin was alive, he sung pleasantly, he made him a nest, and handsome eggs; but now the robin is dead, the nest is torn in pieces, and the eggs are broken. Poor robin; poor robin.

I have written this story of the robin for little James. I am very sorry that any boy should kill the poor robin and spoil its nest.

This is from your affectionate,

Uncle.”

ROLLO’S DREAM.

One day Rollo’s mother wanted him to do some errands for her. He went on one, reluctantly, but when she gave him another he murmured aloud. “Oh,” said he, “I wish I did not have so many errands to do. What a hard life I lead!”

This gave his mother pain, and he saw it. When he got back from this errand she told him there was nothing more for him to do. Rollo went and stood at the door a few minutes to see if there were any boys out there. But there were none, so he took a story-book in his hand and went down into the garden, and took his seat in the little arbor which his father had made for him, and began to read.

The arbor reminded him of his parents’ kindness, and this made him feel unhappy to think of his unwillingness to help his mother. These thoughts troubled him, and so he could not attend to his book. Presently he got lost in a reverie,--his book dropped over upon his lap. His head gradually sunk down,--and here you see Rollo fast asleep.

While he slept he dreamed. Rollo dreamed that he lived in a small house, a great many miles away, and that his mother was there alone with him. She asked him one day to go and get a pail of water. “Oh,” said he, “I wish I did not have so much water to bring,--what a hard life I lead!”

He dreamed that just then he saw a cat lying down in the sun by the door. She seemed to have nothing to do. “Oh,” thought Rollo, “how I wish I were a cat. It would be such a _fine thing_ to be a cat.”

No sooner had he said this than he felt some how or other a strong desire to get down on his hands and knees,--he found himself growing smaller and smaller,--his fingers became sharp claws, and in short Rollo dreamed that he was turning into a cat.

He walked about, a minute or two, stretched himself, mewed and purred to ascertain that he was really a cat, and then laid down again in the sun to go to sleep. As he shut his eyes he said to himself, purring, “How glad I am that I have no more water to bring! What a fine thing it is to be a cat!”

Pretty soon he waked up and was hungry. His first thought was to go to his mother as usual, for some bread and butter. He went in and looked piteously up into his mother’s face and mewed. She did not mind him. He mewed louder. She paid no attention. Then he went to making a louder noise, as cats can, when necessary. His mother went and opened the door, and took the brush and drove him out, saying as he went, “_scat_.”

Rollo then thought he must go and catch some mice or starve. So he went down cellar, and posted himself before a little hole in the wall. He waited here an hour, and at length a little mouse peeped out. Rollo darted his paw out at him, but he missed him, and the mouse drew back into his hole where he was safe. Rollo waited many hours longer, but no mouse came. “This is worse than bringing water,” thought he. “I wish I _could_ get something to eat. What a hard life I lead!”

Just then he heard, that is, he dreamed he heard, a loud noise, moo-o-o, in the yard. He scampered up, hungry as he was, to see what was the matter. It was the cow lowing to be milked. She looked full and large, as if she had had as much as she could eat.

“In the green fields all day,” thought hungry Rollo, “with nothing to do but eat and drink and then lie down under the trees. Oh, how I wish I were a cow!”

He had no sooner said these words than he found himself growing very large. He felt something coming out of his forehead,--he put his paw up, though with difficulty, for his paw was growing into a large, stiff leg, and he found that horns were coming. By the time his leg was down again, it was changed entirely, and had a hoof at the end. He was becoming a cow. He lashed his sides with his tail, and walked about eating the grass in the yard, till he had satisfied his hunger, and then he said to himself, “How much better this is than watching for mice all day in a dark cellar. Oh, it is a fine thing to be a cow.”

After milking, they led Rollo into the barn, put a halter round his neck, and tied him in a dark, unpleasant stall. “Have I got to stay tied up here till morning?” thought Rollo. It was even so.

The next morning they drove him off to pasture. The boy beat him with a stick on the way, but he was so great and clumsy that he could neither escape nor defend himself. In the field, the flies bit and stung him, and though he could brush off some of them with his tail, yet the largest and worst of them always seemed to get upon places he could not reach. At night when he was coming home, some boys set a dog upon him and worried him till he was weary of his life. “Ah,” said he, “it is a terrible thing to be a cow,--what a hard life I lead!”

Just then the dog became tired of barking at him, and trotted away. “Oh,” said Rollo, “if I was only a dog. A dog can defend himself. Then a dog has plenty to eat and nothing to do. What a fine thing it would be to be a dog!” No sooner said than done. Rollo began to grow slender and small, his horns dropped off,--his hoofs turned back into claws again, his back became sleek and shining, and he found himself a beautiful, black dog, with hanging ears and a curled tail, and an elegant brass collar about his neck.

Rollo ran about the streets very happily for half an hour, and then went home. The dream seemed to change its scene here, and Rollo found himself in a beautiful yard belonging to the house where his master lived. He went home hungry, and they gave him a bone to eat. “What,” said Rollo to himself, “nothing but a bone!” He gnawed it for a while, thinking, however, that it was rather hard fare, and then began to think of going to bed. There was no bed for him, however; for his master came and took hold of his collar, and led him along towards a post in the yard, where he chained him, and throwing his bone down by his side, left him to watch for the thieves.

Rollo had a bad night. ’Tis true no thieves came, but he was all the time afraid they would come, and at every little noise he woke up and growled. Thus disturbed, and chilled by the cool air of the night, he passed his hours restlessly and miserably. “Ah!” said he, “dogs do not have so pleasant a life as I supposed. What a hard way this is to get a living!”

At this moment he heard a great many persons coming along; he started up and barked, for it was very early, though beginning to be light. A number of men were leading a huge animal along. It was an elephant. They were taking him into town for a show, and they came in early, so that nobody should see him without paying.

“That’s the life for me,” said Rollo. “What a gentleman of an animal the elephant is; he has a dozen men to wait upon him. Ha! Old Longnose, what a happy fellow you must be. Oh, if I was only an elephant!”

As soon as he had said this, he could feel his nose lengthening into a slender trunk,--his body swelled out to a great size,--his feet grew large, and his black, shining skin turned into a coarse, rough, grey hide,--and he found himself walking along the road, with a man on his head.

He arrived at the great stable where he was to be exhibited, thinking that it was an admirable thing to be an elephant. They gave him something to eat, and soon the men and boys came in to see him. For half an hour he had a fine time, walking around, carrying boys about on his tusks,--taking his keeper’s head into his mouth,--picking up nuts and pieces of gingerbread with the finger and thumb at the end of his proboscis,--laying down and rising again at the keeper’s command. Pretty soon, however, he got tired, and when the keeper ordered him to lay down, he concluded that he would not get up again. But the keeper taught him by blows that he was not his own master, if he was a gentleman. New troops of starers kept coming in, and Rollo got tired out completely with going over and over again the same evolutions. He could hardly stand at last, and when they left him for the night, and he lay down to try to rest, and he reflected that it must be just so to-morrow, and the next day, and so on as long as he lived, he was almost in despair. “Oh!” said he, how foolish I was to wish to be an elephant! I had rather be any thing else. What a hard life I lead!

“And then such a window as this to look out of, after my hard day’s work,” said he, as he turned his eye upward towards a little square hole in the stable wall. “What a window for an elephant’s residence!”

As he looked out this hole, his eye rested upon a green tree growing in a garden behind the wall. A bird was perched upon a branch, singing an evening song.

“Ah, you little bird, what a happy time you must have there,--free as air, and full of happiness. You find plenty to eat, you have your own pleasant home upon a lofty tree, out of the reach of any danger. You go where you please with your swift wings. Oh, if I only had wings, how easily I could escape from all my troubles.”

As he said this, his long proboscis which was lying over his leg as he was reclining upon the stable floor, began to straighten out and stiffen,--turning into a huge bill,--feathers began to come out all over him--his immense body dwindled down to the size of an ox, then to that of a sheep, and finally he became smaller than a dove. Beautiful wings covered his sides. He hopped along upon the floor, and finding that he was really a bird, he leaped up and flew out of the window,--away from the ugly stable forever.

He spent a pleasant night among the trees, and early the next morning was singing blithely upon a branch. A man came into the field with something in his hand. Rollo looked at him, happy to think that no man could catch him or hurt him, now that he had such a pair of wings. In a minute the man held up the thing he had in his hands and pointed at him. Rollo had just time to see that it was a gun, and to stretch his wings in terrible fear, when,--_flash_,--BANG,--went the gun, and down came the poor bird to the ground, with his wing and leg torn away, and a dozen leaden shot lodged in his red breast,--for he was a robin. The terror and pain waked him up, and he found himself sitting in his arbor, with his book on the ground, where it had fallen from his hand. He got up, and went to the house, thinking that a discontented mind would find trouble enough in any situation, and that a boy with kind parents, a pleasant home, and plenty of food and clothing, ought not to complain of his lot, even if he was called upon sometimes to help his mother.

THE COLD MORNING.

One pleasant morning in the fall of the year, little Charles, who had been sleeping on the trundle-bed in his mother’s chamber, waked up and opened his eyes. He looked around him, and saw that his father was dressing himself.

“Father,” said he, “may I get up too?”

“It is pretty cold this morning; can you bear the cold long enough to dress yourself?”

“But, father, I need not stay here; I can take up my clothes and run down into the parlor, and dress me there by the fire.”

“No, it is not proper for any body to go to the parlor till they are dressed. Besides, perhaps the fire is not built yet.”

By this time, Charles’ nose had become pretty cold; so he said, “Well, I believe I will wait;” and he drew his head under the bedclothes again.

In a few minutes he became warm again, and thought that it would not be very cold if he should get up, and that if it was, he should not mind it. He looked out a second time, and said,

“Father, do you think I should have time to dress me before you get ready to go down stairs?”

“I think you will, if you are quick.”

“Do you think I could help you any in building the fire?”

“Yes, you might hand me the wood and carry out the ashes, and after the fire is built, you might sweep up the hearth.”

“Then I will get up,” said Charles; and he sprang out of bed, and began to dress himself.

In a few minutes, however, he began to be cold, and to shiver, and his fingers grew numb, and he began to wish he had waited a little longer. At last he stopped dressing himself.

“Father,” said he, “it is colder than I thought it was. I have a great mind to get into bed again.”

“Well,” said his father, “you can do as you please; but how far have you got, in dressing yourself?”

“I am about half dressed.”

“Then it will take you about as long to undress again as it would to finish dressing, and be ready to go down.”

Charles stood a moment shivering and thinking.

“So it will,” said he; “I wish I had not put on my jacket.”

After a moment’s pause, he concluded to finish dressing, and he went on resolutely through it; and just as his father opened the door, he took hold of his hand, saying that he was ready.

“Father,” said he, as they were going down stairs, “I think that when any body means to do any thing, he ought to think of all the difficulties before he begins, and then go through it quickly without stopping.”

“Why?” said his father.

“Because I grew colder while I was standing still, not knowing what to do, than all the time while I was dressing me. And now I shall be very cold before we get the fire built. Father, I don’t see what makes it cold. I wish it was always warm as it is in summer.”

“While we are building the fire, I will explain it to you,” said his father. So they went down stairs.

* * * * *

When Rollo read this story he said he was sorry it left off without telling why it is colder in the winter than in the summer, because he thought he should like to know. So at breakfast that morning, he asked his father to explain it to him.

“Yes,” said his father, “I will explain it to you. It is because in the winter the sun moves through such a part of the sky that he does not shine so well upon the part of the world which we live in, as he does in the summer.”

Rollo listened attentively to what his father said, but he thought he did not understand it very well. So he said he meant always to dress himself quick in the cold morning, and not keep beginning and leaving off as Charles did.

HOW TO READ RIGHT.

I wish all the boys and girls who may read this book to learn by it to read right, and now I shall tell you how to read right. But first I must explain some things to you about the way in which books are printed. What I am going to tell you now, is what Rollo’s father explained to him, after he had learned to read in easy reading, and had learned all the stops,--the comma, and the period, and the interrogation mark, and all the stops. I shall explain them to you by the help of a story, which I am going to put in here. I shall stop telling the story every few minutes to explain some things about the way of printing it. Here is the beginning of the story:--

Once there was a man who thought he would go up upon a mountain.

That is the beginning of the story; but I wish to stop a moment to ask you to look at the letters which it is printed with, and see whether they are as large as the reading before it. Is it printed in just as large letters, or larger, or smaller? Yes, it is smaller. I am going to have all the story printed in smaller print. The reason is because the principal thing I wish to do now, is to explain to you how to read, and I only wish for the story to help me,--so I put it in smaller print, or as they generally call it smaller _type_. It is very often so in books. One part is printed in larger, and the other part in smaller type. The most important is in large type. The least important is in small type. If you will ask your father or mother, or your brother or sister, if you have one old enough, they will show you books with large and small print in them. Whenever you see any thing printed in smaller print than the rest of the book, you ought not to read right on without thinking any thing of it; but you ought to pause a minute, and observe it, and think what the reason is. Now I will begin my story again in small print.

Once there was a man who thought he would go up upon a mountain; so he rode along on his horse till he came as near to the mountain as he could, in the road,--and then he turned off into the woods and rode on until he came to the foot of the mountain. He could ride no farther; so he tied his horse to a tree.

Then he began to walk up the mountain.

Do you see that when we come to the word _tree_, just above there, that we leave off printing in that line. There is a period, and then the rest of the line has nothing in it. It is blank, as they call it, that is white, all white paper. The next part of the story begins in the next line. The next part of the story is, these words, “Then he began,” and that is printed in the next line. And if you look at it, you will see that it is not exactly at the beginning of the line. The word “Then” is not printed as near the side of the page as the other lines above it are. There is a little space left blank. Do you see the little space left blank before the “Then”? Now what do you suppose is the reason why we left off in the middle of the line and began again in the next line, leaving a little blank space? Why, it is because I had finished telling you all about the man’s _coming to_ the mountain, and was now going to tell you about his _going up_ the mountain, and so I thought it would be best to leave off for that line, and begin again in the next. Should you like to know what such a place is called? It is called a new paragraph. A new paragraph is made whenever we come to any new part of the story. If you look back over the leaves of this book you will find a great many new paragraphs on all the pages. If any person says any thing in the story, we put what he says in a paragraph by itself. See if you can find some new paragraphs.

Now, when you come to any new paragraph in your reading, you ought not to read right forward without stopping or noticing it at all. You should pause a little when one paragraph ends, and then begin again when the new paragraph begins, so that those who hear you read, and who are not looking over, may know by the sound of your voice, that you have come to a new paragraph.

Now I will go on with the story, again, beginning at the new paragraph.

Then he began to walk up. He scrambled through the bushes for some time, and at last came out into a smooth, but muddy path. Here, however, he was in no little difficulty, for the path was so slippery that notwithstanding all he could do, he seemed rather to be sliding _down_, than climbing up.

Here we come to the end of another paragraph. And I wish you to look at the word “_down_” in the last line. Do you see any thing strange about it? Is it printed like the other words?

Once I asked some children to look at a word printed so, and to tell me what the difference was between it and other words. One said it looked fainter. Another said it looked smaller. A third said it was not printed with good ink. But the true explanation is, the letters of the word are slanting. That is all. It makes the word look a little fainter.