Part 2

He asked them to come in to supper. Baucis gave the travelers bread and milk and honey.

On the table stood a pitcher half full of milk.

The travelers quickly drank the milk.

“What good milk!” said one of them. “May I have a little more, kind Baucis?”

“I am sorry,” said Baucis, “but there is no more milk.”

“Why,” said the traveler, “here is more milk!”

He took the pitcher and filled both bowls.

Baucis looked into the pitcher, and saw the white milk running in from the side. Soon it was full.

“May I have some bread, Mother Baucis,” said the traveler, “and a little of that honey?”

Baucis cut him some and found that the bread was no longer old and hard as it was when she and Philemon ate of it.

And, oh, the honey! It was better than any honey they had ever eaten.

“Who are you, wonderful travelers?” said Philemon.

“Your friends, my good Philemon. After this the pitcher will always be full of milk for you and Baucis, and for poor travelers.”

II

The next morning the travelers asked Philemon and Baucis to walk with them and show them the road.

When Philemon and Baucis turned to go back, the older traveler said, “Good Philemon and Baucis, you gave us not only milk and bread but also a kind welcome. Ask for anything you want, and you shall have it.”

Philemon and Baucis looked at each other and said, “Grant that we may die together.”

“You shall have your wish,” said the traveler. “Now look at your home.”

They saw a beautiful white castle standing where their little house had been.

The old people fell on their knees to give thanks. When they looked up, the travelers were not there.

Philemon and Baucis lived in the castle a long, long time. One morning they could not be found.

The people looked everywhere for them. At last they saw two large trees standing in front of the castle.

One was an oak, the other was a linden-tree. The people wondered where they came from. Just then the wind began to blow, and the trees seemed to be talking.

“I am Philemon,” said the Oak.

“I am Baucis,” said the Linden.

Whenever a traveler rested under the trees, the leaves seemed to say, “Welcome, dear traveler! Welcome!”

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE (_Adapted_).

NOVEMBER.

THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY.

One spring the Pilgrims planted corn as the Indians had taught them.

Summer brought the sunshine and the rain to ripen the corn.

Such a harvest as there was when autumn came!

“Let us have a day of thanksgiving for this great blessing,” said the Governor.

“A Thanksgiving Day! A Thanksgiving Day!” cried the Pilgrims.

“The Indians have been kind to us. We will ask them to our feast,” said the Governor.

So they began to get ready for the first Thanksgiving Day.

II

The Pilgrim fathers went hunting and fishing. They carried home duck, turkey, and fish.

The Pilgrim mothers made bread and cake from the corn. They baked plenty of pumpkin-pies.

What a good time the children had getting ready for the feast! They gathered the wild plums and grapes. They put pop-corn in the ashes of the wide fireplace. Then they watched until the “Snap! Crack! Snap!” was heard.

The Indians came, gaily dressed in skins, and paint, and feathers. They brought five large deer to the feast.

The Indians came in time for breakfast and stayed three whole days. So they must have had a good time. They played games, and danced, and sang.

Before the feast the Indians and the Pilgrims thanked God for His goodness to them.

Ever since then the people have kept Thanksgiving Day.

THANKSGIVING DAY LONG AGO.

The large kitchen was a busy place on Thanksgiving morning.

A log fire was burning in the fireplace. On the walls hung strings of dried apples. Long, yellow squashes hung up above.

A little girl sat beside the spinning-wheel dressing corncob dolls. She was taking care of the baby that lay in the queer old cradle.

Mother put the pudding in the kettle that hung before the fire. Then she said, “Come, Patty! It is time to set the table.”

Patty looked at the turkey that was roasting before the fire.

“I wish Thanksgiving came every day,” she said.

“What hard work that would make for Mother!” said Grandma, looking at the rows of pies.

After a while a loud shout made them all run to the door.

“Here they come! Here they come!” said Patty, dancing around the room.

Uncle John stopped the sleigh and out jumped Aunt Mary and the children.

What a good dinner it was! They all said that the turkey was the best they ever ate. And, oh, the pudding and the pies!

After dinner the fun began. There were games and songs, and at last a dance.

Grandma and Grandpa stood at one end. Father and little Patty stood at the other end. Then up and down the long kitchen they went, laughing all the time.

In the evening they sat around the log fire. They told stories, roasted apples, and ate the nuts the children had gathered.

At last they said good night. Then Uncle John put Aunt Mary and the children in the sleigh, and drove home through the softly falling snow.

Soon every one in the old farm-house was in bed and asleep.

Pussy sat in the warm firelight, alone, in the large kitchen.

THANKSGIVING DAY.

Over the river and through the wood, To Grandfather’s house we go; The horse knows the way To carry the sleigh Through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river and through the wood; Oh, how the wind does blow! It stings the toes And bites the nose, As over the ground we go.

Over the river and through the wood, To have a first-rate play. Hear the bells ring, “Ting-a-ling-ding!” Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river and through the wood, Trot fast, my dapple-gray! Spring over the ground, Like a hunting-hound! For this is Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river and through the wood, And straight through the barn-yard gate. We seem to go Extremely slow, It is so hard to wait!

Over the river and through the wood; Now Grandmother’s cap I spy! Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done? Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie!

LYDIA MARIA CHILD.

WHITTIER.

When Whittier was a little boy, he lived on a farm.

In the summer he ran about with bare feet. He went swimming and fishing.

His merry whistle could be heard as he hunted for strawberries.

He knew the songs of the birds. He liked to watch them make their nests and feed their young.

When he went into the woods, the squirrels played about him. They let him see where they hid their nuts.

He watched the bee gather honey from the flowers. He knew how it made its house.

Often, at night, he sat on the door-step to eat bread and milk.

Then he could see the clouds and hear the frogs. Sometimes the fireflies flew about looking like little lanterns.

He tells of all those happy times in a poem called “The Barefoot Boy.”

II

In another poem called “Snow-Bound,” Whittier tells what he did in the winter.

One morning they looked out to find everything covered with snow.

“See the well!” said one of the boys. “It looks like a castle.”

“That pole looks like an old man,” said another.

Just then their father called out, “Boys! Make a path.”

With merry shouts they made a path to the barn. In one place the snow was so deep that they played it was a cave.

The old horse heard them and put his head out of the barn window to see the fun.

The rooster heard them coming and crowed a good morning.

They fed the farm-yard animals and gave them straw for their beds.

In the evening they all gathered around the fireplace.

The dog lay asleep in the warm firelight. The cat opened and closed her yellow eyes as she sat beside him.

The boys roasted apples and ate the nuts which they had gathered.

Then their father told them a story about the Indians. Mother talked of the days when she was a little girl.

When bedtime came, they said good night.

The wind roared around the house. The snow fell through the roof upon their beds. But the children did not know it, for they were soon fast asleep.

PATTIE’S NEW DRESS.

When Pattie was a little girl, long ago, she needed a warm new dress.

Grandmother said, “I’ll spin the wool for it.”

“And I’ll weave the cloth,” said Sister Rachel.

“And I’ll make the dress,” said the little girl’s mother.

The sheep had given the wool from their backs for Pattie’s new dress.

“It is as soft as down, and as white as milk, and as beautiful as snow,” said Pattie.

Grandmother carded the wool fine and smooth. Then she fastened it on her spindle and sent the spinning-wheel whirling round.

“Zu-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m!” sang the wheel, as it turned. “Zu-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m!”

Pattie’s brother said it sounded as if there were bees in the room. “Zu-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m!”

As Grandmother drew the thread out from the fleecy wool she said,

“A hum and a whirl, A twist and a twirl, This is the way good yarn is spun.”

II

Pattie stood by to watch her spin. She asked more questions than Grandmother had time to answer.

“Will there be a pocket in my new dress,” she asked, “and buttons down the back?”

“And, oh, Grandmother! What color is it going to be?”

“I know,” said Brother Joe. He had just come in from the woods with some walnut bark.

“It will be the color of a—chestnut.”

“Brown, brown, brown!” cried Pattie.

Mother made a dye with the walnut bark. Sure enough, when she dipped the yarn into the dye it came out a beautiful brown just as Pattie had guessed.

Then Sister Rachel fastened the yarn in the loom and began to weave.

The treadle went up and the treadle went down with a click and a clack. Such a merry sound!

Away the shuttle went to carry the thread under and over, and in and out.

When the cloth was woven Sister Rachel took it out of the loom. Mother was all ready to begin the dress.

“Snip, snip, snip!” went her sharp scissors.

“Stitch, stitch, stitch!” flew her shining needle.

Long after Pattie was in bed and fast asleep that night, Mother was busy sewing.

Grandmother and Rachel helped, too, and the dress was ready the very next day.

It had pockets, two of them, bound with red.

It had buttons down the back like a row of red berries.

Jack Frost had come in the night and the cold winds had begun to blow. But Pattie did not care.

“I’m warm as toast in my new woolen dress,” said little Pattie.

MAUD LINDSAY (_Adapted_).

DECEMBER.

CHRISTMAS CAROL.

And all the bells on earth shall ring, On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, And all the bells on earth shall ring, On Christmas Day in the morning.

And all the angels in heaven shall sing, On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, And all the angels in heaven shall sing, On Christmas Day in the morning.

And all the souls on earth shall sing, On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, And all the souls on earth shall sing, On Christmas Day in the morning.

OLD SONG.

THE BIRDS’ CHRISTMAS FEAST.

Far away across the sea, there is a very cold country.

The ground is covered with snow almost all the year, and the birds cannot get enough to eat.

So every Christmas the children are the birds’ Santa Claus.

In the summer the children go into the fields and gather grain for the birds.

The day before Christmas such a wonderful thing happens!

Over the snow the birds come from north, south, east, and west.

They sit upon the porch, upon the roof of the house, and sometimes look in at the windows.

“Here we are, little friends!” they seem to say.

On Christmas morning, a tall pole with a bunch of grain on the top is set before every door.

Then such a twittering is heard from the birds, and such merry shouts from the children!

It would be hard to tell which has the better time, the birds or the happy children.

Suggested by CELIA THAXTER’S Poem, “The Sparrows.”

PICCOLA.

Fred and May lived one winter in a country where the sun was always bright and warm.

What good times they had playing in the garden!

One day they saw a queer little girl watching them. She did not look like the little girls they played with at home.

She wore a long red dress. On her feet were little wooden shoes.

She said that her name was Piccola. She told them that she was alone all day, because her mother went out to work.

Fred and May asked her to come and play with them in the garden.

One day the children were talking about Santa Claus.

“Who is that?” asked Piccola.

“Why, Piccola!” said May. “Did you never hear of Christmas?”

“Yes,” said Piccola. “We go to church on Christmas Day, and hear beautiful singing.”

Then the children told her all about Santa Claus.

“Hang up your stocking on Christmas Eve,” said May. “He will come down the chimney and fill it with toys.”

Piccola could hardly wait to tell her mother about Santa Claus.

“I wonder what he will give me,” she said.

“Do not look for him this year, little daughter,” said her mother. “I shall be thankful if we have enough to eat.”

But Piccola knew that Santa Claus would not forget her.

II

On Christmas Eve Piccola did not have any stocking to hang up. So she put her little wooden shoe in front of the fireplace.

“I’m sure Santa Claus will not care if it is a shoe,” she said.

The next morning Piccola awoke before it was light. She ran softly to the fireplace to see what was in her shoe.

“Oh, Mother, Mother!” cried the happy little girl. “See what Santa Claus has given me!”

She ran to her mother with the shoe in her hand. A little bird had come down the chimney. There it lay in the shoe, looking up at her with its two bright eyes.

Piccola fed it and warmed it. Then she carried it into the garden to show it to Fred and May.

They gave her candy, and toys, and a doll. But Piccola liked the gift of Santa Claus best of all.

Suggested by CELIA THAXTER’S Poem, “Piccola.”

THE STAR-CHILDREN.

Queen Sunshine lived in a wonderful red and blue castle.

She wore a dress of gold. Whenever she came out from her castle everything became light.

She had many children whom she loved very dearly, and they also wore dresses of gold.

Their good servant, the Moon, who followed after them, wore a dress of shining silver.

In another country across the sea lived Queen Darkness.

She always wore the same black dress. Wherever she went all things became dark.

She was alone and unhappy and often wished that she had children like those of Queen Sunshine.

One day when Queen Sunshine’s children were playing on the seashore, a little boy fell into the water.

“Oh, help me! Help me!” he cried.

One of his sisters tried to help him, and she, too, fell into the sea.

By and by, when the Moon came to take them home, not one child was on the shore. They had all fallen into the water.

The Moon looked at the sea, and saw that it was black.

“Oh!” she cried. “Queen Darkness is there! She has taken all the dear children.”

II

The Moon was so sorry for Queen Sunshine that she would not go home and tell her that Queen Darkness had taken the children.

She said to Queen Darkness, “Let me go with the children.”

Queen Darkness gladly carried their good servant, the Moon, to her dark castle to live with Queen Sunshine’s children.

She named them the Star-children. Queen Darkness always keeps the Star-children near her. The little ones are so close together that they look like a silver ribbon on her dress.

Ever since, their mother, Queen Sunshine, has been looking for her children.

Whenever she comes in her golden dress to the shore of the sea, the water is so bright that she cannot find them.

Queen Darkness does not let the Star-children go out when it is light, but once every night she leads them across the sky.

Their mother always follows after them. Sometimes she sees one of her children far away.

The kind old servant, the Moon, sometimes runs away and comes to Queen Sunshine to tell her about her children.

From the German of FRAULEIN MEISSNER (_Adapted_).

THE STARS.

Do you know what the little stars do at night? They play on a deep blue hill. Mother Moon watches to keep them in sight, For they’re never, never still.

Do you know what the little stars do at dawn? They sink in a sun-kissed sea, And there they sleep till the day is gone, As still as still can be.

MAY MOORE JACKSON.

RAPHAEL.

Long, long ago, across the sea, there lived a master artist.

He made, in clay, such beautiful bowls and vases, that people came from far and near to buy them.

Some young men lived with him. The master artist taught them how to make the same beautiful things.

One summer day, one of these young men was very sad. A little boy with golden hair ran up to him and said, “Dear Luca, why are you so unhappy?”

“Oh, Raphael!” said Luca. “The great duke wants us to paint him a bowl and a vase. The master says that the artist who makes the most beautiful one may live with him always. He will also have a gift from the duke.”

“When must the bowl and the vase be ready?” said Raphael.

“In three months,” answered Luca.

Raphael threw his arms around Luca’s neck.

“Let me try to paint them for you,” said the little boy with golden hair.

“You dear child!” cried Luca. “You are only seven years old. You cannot help me.”

Raphael was very sorry for his dear Luca.

“Oh, Luca, I love you so! Please let me try,” he said again.

Then Luca said, “You may try, Raphael. It can do no harm. I can never paint the vase and the bowl.”

II

Raphael was glad now that his father had taught him how to draw.

He was glad, too, that the master artist had taught him how to put the colors on the clay.

All through the long summer days the child worked alone. He would not let any one see his painting till it was done.

One day he showed Luca his work.

“Dear Luca, see!” he said. “There are the vase and the bowl for you to give the duke!”

Luca fell on his knees before the little boy.

“Wonderful child!” he said. “I cannot call this beautiful work mine. It would not be right.”

The next day the duke came to look at all the vases and the bowls.

“Here is something very beautiful,” he said, taking a bowl in his hand. “Who painted this?”

The master artist turned to the young men and said, “Who did this work?”

But no one answered.

Then a little boy with golden hair went to him. “I painted it,” he said. “I, Raphael.”

Tears of joy came into the great duke’s eyes. He took a golden chain from around his neck and gave it to Raphael.

The little boy said, “But it is Luca’s. I painted the bowl for him to give to you.”

But Luca did not hear him. He was kneeling again at the feet of the wonderful child.

LOUISE DE LA RAMÉE’S “The Child of Urbino” (_Adapted_).

JANUARY.

THE GREAT WHITE STOVE.

Karl had no mother and his father was very poor.

The only beautiful thing in their little house was a white stove. It was very large, and it had wonderful colored pictures all over it.

Karl and his brothers and sisters loved it dearly. In the summer they covered it with flowers.

In the winter the children sat around the stove, while Karl drew them pictures and told them stories.

One cold winter night the father came home very late. He could not find work, and the children had not enough to eat.

By and by the little ones went to bed.

Then the father told Karl and his sister that he had sold the great white stove.

“Oh, no, Father!” cried Karl. “You will not send our dear stove away.”

“I must,” said his father. “It is a wonderful stove. There is a man who will give me a great deal of gold for it. I must have gold to buy bread for my little ones.”

“Wait awhile,” said Karl. “I will help. I am sure there is work I can do.”

Karl’s father shook his head and went away. He thought such a very little boy could not help him.

All that night Karl lay on the floor beside his dear white stove.

II

In the morning the man came and carried the stove away in a wagon. Karl was so unhappy that he could do nothing but cry and cry.

“I love it so,” he said. “Better than anything on earth.”

Then he said, “I will go with it.”

He ran quickly after the wagon and climbed into it.

By and by when no one was looking, he hid inside the great white stove. It was very dark, but it was warm, and soon he was fast asleep.

When Karl opened his eyes, he wondered where he could be. He lay quite still and listened.

He traveled a long, long time. At last the stove was set down on a soft rug. Then some one said, “What a wonderful stove!”

The door was opened, and Karl jumped out. He fell on his knees before a man who had a very kind face.

“Oh,” cried he, “please do not send me away! Let me stay here with my dear white stove.”

“Poor child!” said the man, as he laid his hand on Karl’s hand. “Why did you hide in the stove? Tell me for I can help you. I am the king.”

III

Karl was glad to tell the king all about the great white stove. He told him how much they all loved it. He said that they had to send it away because they had no bread to eat.

“Do let me stay with it,” he said again. “I will cut wood for it and feed it. The stove loves to have me feed it, for I have done it so long.”

“But what else do you wish to do?” said the king.

“I should like to paint pictures, beautiful pictures, like those on the stove,” said the little boy.

So the king told Karl that he could stay in the castle with the great white stove.

Karl became a great artist and painted beautiful pictures. Then the king gave him the stove.

Karl sent it back to the little house where his father still lived. He often went there to see his father and the great white stove.

He was thankful that he had traveled so far inside of the stove that winter day.

LOUISE DE LA RAMÉE’S “The Nurnberg Stove” (_Adapted_).

THE FLOCK OF DOVES.

The world was like a wilderness Of soft and downy snow; The trees were plumed with feathery flakes, And the ground was white below.

Came the little mother out to the gate To watch for her children three; Her hood was red as a poppy-flower, And rosy and young was she.

She took the snow in her cunning hands, As waiting she stood alone, And lo! in a moment, beneath her touch, A fair white dove had grown.

A flock she wrought, and on the fence Set them in bright array, With folded wings, or pinions spread, Ready to fly away.

And then she hid by the pine-tree tall, For the children’s tones rang sweet, As home from school through the drifts so light, They sped with merry feet.

“O Nannie, Nannie! See the fence Alive with doves so white! Oh, hush! don’t frighten them away!” They whisper with delight.

They crept so soft, they crept so still, The wondrous sight to see, The little mother pushed the gate, And laughed out joyfully.

She clasped them close, she kissed their cheeks, And lips so sweet and red. “The birds are only made of snow! You are my doves,” she said.

CELIA THAXTER.

THE MIDNIGHT SUN.

Naka lives where it is very cold. There is snow and ice nearly all the year.