{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_51734/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_51734","id":"gutenberg_51734","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51734","summary":null,"tags":["Autumn","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Halloween","Thanksgiving Day"],"text":"Transcriber's Note:\n Underscores \u201c_before and after_\u201d a word or phrase indicate _italics_\n in the original text.\n Equal signs \u201c=\u201d before and after a word or phrase indicate =bold=\n in the original text.\n The carat symbol \u201c^\u201d is used to designate a superscripted character.\n Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.\n Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved.\n Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other\n variations in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.\n The unnumbered footnote in THE TWO ALMS has been moved from the\n bottom of the page to just below the title.\n\n\n\n\n THE TOPAZ STORY BOOK\n\n _Stories and Legends of_\n _Autumn, Hallowe\u2019en, and Thanksgiving_\n\n COMPILED BY\n ADA M. SKINNER\n AND\n ELEANOR L. SKINNER\n\n _Editors of \u201cThe Emerald Story Book\u201d \u201cMerry Tales\u201d_\n _\u201cNursery Tales from Many Lands\u201d_\n\n FRONTISPIECE BY\n MAXFIELD PARRISH\n\n [Illustration]\n\n NEW YORK\n DUFFIELD & COMPANY\n 1928\n\n Copyright, 1917, by\n DUFFIELD & CO.\n Fifth Edition, 1928\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nNature stories, legends, and poems appeal to the young reader\u2019s\ninterest in various ways. Some of them suggest or reveal certain\nfacts which stimulate a spirit of investigation and attract the\nchild\u2019s attention to the beauty and mystery of the world. Others\nserve an excellent purpose by quickening his sense of humour.\n\nSeedtime and harvest have always been seasons of absorbing interest\nand have furnished the story-teller with rich themes. The selections\nin \u201cThe Emerald Story Book\u201d emphasize the hope and premise of\nthe spring; the stories, legends, and poems in this volume, \u201cThe\nTopaz Story Book,\u201d express the joy and blessing which attend the\nharvest-time when the fields are rich in golden grain and the orchard\nboughs bend low with mellow fruit. \u201cThe year\u2019s work is done. She\nwalks in gorgeous apparel, looking upon her long labour and her\nserene eye saith, \u2018It is good.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe editors\u2019 thanks are due to the following authors and publishers\nfor the use of valuable material in this book:\n\nTo Dr. Carl S. Patton of the First Congregational Church, Columbus,\nOhio, for permission to include his story, \u201cThe Pretending\nWoodchuck\u201d; to Frances Jenkins Olcott for \u201cThe Green Corn Dance,\u201d\nretold from \u201cThe Journal of American Folk-Lore,\u201d published by\nHoughton, Mifflin Company; to Ernest Thompson Seton and the Century\nCompany for \u201cHow the Chestnut Burrs Became\u201d; to Dr. J. Dynelly Prince\nfor permission to retell the legend of \u201cNipon\u201d from \u201cKuloskap the\nMaster\u201d; to Thomas Nelson and Sons for \u201cWeeds,\u201d by Carl Ewald; to\nWilliam Herbert Carruth for the selection from \u201cEach In His Own\nTongue\u201d; to Josephine K. Dodge for two poems by Mary Mapes Dodge; to\nA. Flanagan Company for \u201cGolden-rod and Purple Aster,\u201d from \u201cNature\nMyths and Stories,\u201d by Flora J. Cooke; to J. B. Lippincott Company\nfor \u201cThe Willow and the Bamboo,\u201d from \u201cMyths and Legends of the\nFlowers and Trees,\u201d by Chas. M. Skinner; to Bobbs, Merrill Company\nfor the selection by James Whitcomb Riley; to Lothrop, Lee, and\nShepard Company for \u201cThe Pumpkin Giant,\u201d from \u201cThe Pot of Gold,\u201d\nby Mary Wilkins Freeman; to Raymond Macdonald Alden for \u201cLost: The\nSummer\u201d; to the _Youth\u2019s Companion_ for \u201cA Turkey for the Stuffing,\u201d\nby Katherine Grace Hulbert, and \u201cThe News,\u201d by Persis Gardiner; to\nJohn S. P. Alcott for \u201cQueen Aster,\u201d by Louisa M. Alcott; to G. P.\nPutnam\u2019s Sons for two poems from \u201cRed Apples and Silver Bells,\u201d by\nHamish Henry; to Francis Curtis and _St. Nicholas_ for \u201cThe Debut\nof Daniel Webster,\u201d by Isabel Gordon Curtis; to Emma F. Bush and\n_Mothers\u2019 Magazine_ for \u201cThe Little Pumpkin\u201d; to Phila Butler Bowman\nand _Mothers\u2019 Magazine_ for \u201cThe Queer Little Baker Man\u201d; to the\n_Independent_ for \u201cThe Crown of the Year,\u201d by Celia Thaxter; to Ginn\nand Company for \u201cWinter\u2019s Herald,\u201d from Andrew\u2019s \u201cThe Story of My\nFour Friends\u201d; to Frederick A. Stokes Company for \u201cLady White and\nLady Yellow,\u201d from \u201cMyths and Legends of Japan\u201d; to the State Museum,\nAlbany, New York, for permission to reprint the legend \u201cO-na-tah,\nSpirit of the Corn,\u201d published in the _Museum Bulletin_; to Houghton,\nMifflin Company for \u201cThe Sickle Moon,\u201d by Abbie Farwell Brown;\n\u201cAutumn Among the Birds\u201d and \u201cAutumn Fashions\u201d by Edith M. Thomas,\n\u201cThe Nutcrackers of Nutcracker Lodge\u201d by Harriet Beecher Stowe, and\n\u201cThe Three Golden Apples\u201d by Nathaniel Hawthorne; and to Duffield and\nCompany for \u201cThe Story of the Opal\u201d by Ann de Morgan.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n INTRODUCTION\n\n AUTUMN STORIES AND LEGENDS\n\n PAGE\n Each in His Own Tongue (selection)--\n _William Herbert Carruth_ 2\n Nipon and the King of the Northland (Algonquin Legend)\n Retold from Leland and Prince--\n _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 3\n Prince Autumn (Translated from the Danish by\n Alexandre Teixeira de Mattos) _Carl Ewald_ 12\n The Scarf of the Lady (adapted)\n (Translated from the French by Hermine de Nagy) 24\n The Sickle Moon (Tyrolean harvest legend)--\n _Abbie Farwell Brown_ 30\n Winter\u2019s Herald _Jane Andrews_ 35\n Jack Frost (poem) 42\n The Pumpkin Giant _Mary Wilkins Freeman_ 44\n Lady White and Lady Yellow (Japanese Legend)--\n _Frederick Hadland Davis_ 62\n The Shet-up Posy _Ann Trumbull Slosson_ 66\n The Gay Little King _Mary Stewart_ 73\n The Story of the Opal _Ann de Morgan_ 83\n Selection _Celia Thaxter_ 97\n Lost: The Summer (poem)-- _Raymond Macdonald Alden_ 98\n By the Wayside (poem) _William Cullen Bryant_ 99\n The King\u2019s Candles (German legend)--_Eleanor L. Skinner_ 100\n A Legend of the Golden-Rod--_Frances Weld Danielson_ 106\n Golden-Rod (poem) _Anna E. Skinner_ 109\n The Little Weed 110\n Golden-Rod and Purple Aster (adapted)--_Flora J. Cooke_ 112\n Wild Asters (poem) 115\n Silver-rod _Edith M. Thomas_ 116\n Pimpernel, the Shepherd\u2019s Clock (poem) 118\n A Legend of the Gentian (Hungarian) _Ada M. Skinner_ 119\n Queen Aster _Louisa M. Alcott_ 121\n The Weeds _Carl Ewald_ 134\n Autumn Fires (poem) _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 144\n\n AMONG THE TREES\n\n To An Autumn Leaf (poem) 146\n Why the Autumn Leaves Are Red (Indian legend)--\n Retold and adapted by _Eleanor Newcomb Partridge_ 147\n The Anxious Leaf _Henry Ward Beecher_ 154\n How the Chestnut Burrs Became-- _Ernest Thompson-Seton_ 156\n The Merry Wind (poem) _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 158\n Autumn Among the Birds _Edith M. Thomas_ 159\n The Kind Old Oak _Selected_ 163\n The Tree (poem) _Bj\u00f6rnstjerne Bj\u00f6rnson_ 165\n Coming and Going _Henry Ward Beecher_ 166\n A Legend of the Willow Tree (Japanese) 170\n Autumn Fashions (poem) _Edith M. Thomas_ 173\n Pomona\u2019s Best Gift (Old English Song) 175\n\n Pomona (Greek myth retold from Ovid)-- _Ada M. Skinner_ 176\n In the Orchard (poem) _George Weatherby_ 180\n Johnny Appleseed _Josephine Scribner Gates_ 181\n Red Apple (poem) _Hamish Hendry_ 185\n The Three Golden Apples _Nathaniel Hawthorne_ 186\n October: Orchard of the Year _Selected_ 211\n November 212\n\n WOODLAND ANIMALS\n\n The Pretending Woodchuck _Dr. Carl S. Patton_ 215\n Mrs. Bunny\u2019s Dinner Party _Anna E. Skinner_ 228\n The Nutcrackers of Nutcracker Lodge (adapted)--\n _Harriet Beecher Stowe_ 234\n Bushy\u2019s Bravery _Ada M. Skinner_ 243\n Nut Gatherers (poem) _Hamish Hendry_ 248\n\n HARVEST FIELDS\n\n When the Frost is on the Pumpkin--_James Whitcomb Riley_ 250\n Origin of Indian Corn (Indian legend)--\n _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 251\n Song of Hiawatha _Henry W. Longfellow_ 254\n O-na-tah, the Spirit of the Corn Fields--\n _Harriet Converse_ 255\n Mondamin (poem) _Henry W. Longfellow_ 258\n The Discontented Pumpkin _Ada M. Skinner_ 259\n Bob White (poem) _George Cooper_ 263\n The Little Pumpkin _Emma Florence Bush_ 265\n Autumn (poem) _Edmund Spenser_ 270\n\n CHEERFUL CHIRPERS\n\n The News (poem) _Persis Gardiner_ 272\n How There Came To Be a Katy-did _Patten Beard_ 273\n Old Dame Cricket (poem) 276\n Miss Katy-did and Miss Cricket (adapted)--\n _Harriet Beecher Stowe_ 277\n The Cricket (poem) _William Cowper_ 284\n\n ALL HALLOWE\u2019EN\n\n Shadow March (poem) _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 286\n Twinkling Feet\u2019s Hallowe\u2019en (adapted from a Cornwall legend)\n _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 287\n Jack-o\u2019-Lantern (poem) 298\n The Elfin Knight (old ballad retold)--_Eleanor L. Skinner_ 299\n The Courteous Prince (Scotch legend)--_Eleanor L. Skinner_ 307\n Jack-o\u2019-Lantern Song 314\n\n A HARVEST OF THANKSGIVING STORIES\n\n Selection _Henry Van Dyke_ 318\n The Queer Little Baker Man _Phila Butler Bowman_ 319\n A Turkey for the Stuffing _Katherine Grace Hulbert_ 327\n Pumpkin Pie (poem) _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 333\n Mrs. November\u2019s Party _Agnes Carr_ 335\n The Debut of Dan\u2019l Webster _Isabel Gordon Curtis_ 345\n The Green Corn Dance _Frances Jenkins Olcott_ 365\n Thanksgiving (poem) _Amelie E. Barr_ 373\n The Two Alms, or The Thanksgiving Day Gift\n (Translated and adapted from the French)--\n _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 375\n Thanksgiving Psalm _Bible_ 380\n The Crown of the Year (poem) _Celia Thaxter_ 381\n\n\n\n\nAUTUMN STORIES AND LEGENDS\n\n\n\n\nEACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE\n\n\n A haze on the far horizon,\n The infinite, tender sky,\n The rich, ripe tint of the cornfields,\n And the wild geese sailing high;\n And, all over upland and lowland\n The charm of the golden-rod,----\n Some of us call it Autumn,\n And others call it--God.\n WILLIAM HERBERT CARRUTH.\n\n\n\n\nNIPON AND THE KING OF THE NORTHLAND\n\n\n(ALGONQUIN LEGEND)\n\nThe Summer Queen whom the Indians called Nipon lived in the land of\nsunshine where the life-giving beams of the mighty Sun shone all the\nyear round on the blossoming meadows and green forests. The maiden\u2019s\nwigwam faced the sunrise. It was covered with a vine which hung thick\nwith bell-shaped blossoms.\n\nThe fair queen\u2019s trailing green robe was woven from delicate fern\nleaves and embroidered with richly coloured blossoms. She wore a\ncoronet of flowers and her long dusky braids were entwined with\nsprays of fragrant honeysuckle. Her moccasins were fashioned from\nwater-lily leaves.\n\nNipon was very busy in her paradise of flowers. Every day she\nwandered through the green forests where she spoke words of\nenouragement and praise to the great trees, or she glided over the\nmeadows and helped the flower buds to unfold into perfect blossoms.\n\nSometimes the maiden\u2019s grandmother, whose name was K\u2019me-wan, the\nRain, came from afar to visit the land of Sunshine. The Summer Queen\nalways welcomed her and listened carefully to the words of warning\nwhich K\u2019me-wan solemnly gave before leaving.\n\n\u201cNipon, my child, heed what I say. In thy wanderings never go to the\nNorthland where dwells Poon, the Winter King. He is thy deadliest foe\nand is waiting to destroy thee. This grim old Winter King hates the\nfair beauty of the Summer Queen. He will cause thy green garments to\nwither and fade and thy bright hair to turn white like his own frost.\nAll thy youth and strength he will change to age and weakness.\u201d\n\nThe Summer Maiden promised to heed her grandmother\u2019s warning, and\nfor a long time she did not look in the direction of the Northland.\nBut one day when she sat in front of her sun-bathed wigwam a strange\nlonging crept into her heart--a longing to look at the frozen\nNorthland where Poon the Winter King reigned. Slowly she turned her\neyes in the forbidden direction and there she saw a wonderful vision.\nThe far-away Northland was flooded with sunshine. She could see the\nbroad, shining lakes, the white mountain peaks touched with rosy\nmists, and the winding rivers gleaming with light.\n\n\u201cIt is the most beautiful land I have ever seen,\u201d said Nipon.\n\nShe rose slowly and stood for some time looking at the enchanting\nbeauty of the scene before her. Then she said, \u201cMy heart is filled\nwith a strange longing. I shall go to visit the Northland, the Land\nof Poon, King of Winter.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy daughter, remember K\u2019me-wan\u2019s warning,\u201d whispered a voice\nand Nipon knew that her grandmother was speaking. \u201cGo not to the\nNorthland where death awaits thee. Abide in the land of Sunshine.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can not choose,\u201d said Nipon. \u201cI must go to the Northland.\u201d\n\n\u201cHeed my warning! Heed my warning!\u201d whispered the faint voice of\nK\u2019me-wan, the Rain.\n\n\u201cI can not choose,\u201d repeated the Summer Queen. \u201cI must go to the\nNorthland.\u201d\n\nIn her delicate robe of leaves and her coronet of flowers Nipon left\nthe Land of Sunshine and began her long journey northward. For many\nmoons she traveled keeping her eyes fixed on the dazzling beauty of\nthe frost king\u2019s land.\n\nOne day she noticed that the shining mountains, lakes, and rivers in\nthe land of Poon moved onward before her. She stopped for a moment to\nconsider the marvel and again a faint voice whispered, \u201cTurn back, my\nchild! Destruction awaits thee in the land of King Winter. Heed the\nwarning of K\u2019me-wan.\u201d\n\nBut the willful Summer Queen closed her ears to the pleading voice\nand proceeded on her journey. The beautiful vision no longer seemed\nto move away from her. Surely before long she would win her heart\u2019s\ndesire, she would reach the beautiful land of Poon.\n\nSuddenly fear seized the Summer Queen, for she felt that the sunshine\nwas gradually fading away. A chill wind from the distant mountain\nrent her frail garments and with sinking heart she saw the leaves of\nher robe were turning yellow, the blossoms were fading and dying. A\ncruel wind blew and tore to pieces her coronet of flowers. Then she\nnoticed that her dusky braids were turning white as the frost.\n\n\u201cK\u2019me-wan\u2019s warning!\u201d she cried. \u201cHow I wish I had heeded K\u2019me-wan\u2019s\nwarning! The Frost King is cruel. He will destroy me! O K\u2019me-wan,\nhelp me! Save me from destruction!\u201d\n\nSoon after Nipon left for the Northland her grandmother knew what had\nhappened, for from her Skyland she saw that no smoke rose from the\nSummer Queen\u2019s wigwam. K\u2019me-wan hastened to the land of Sunshine.\nThere she saw that the blossoms on the queen\u2019s wigwam were beginning\nto wither, the ground was strewn with fallen petals, and the leaves\nof the vine had lost their shining green colour.\n\n\u201cA grey mist covers the face of the sun and a change is gradually\ncreeping over this beautiful land,\u201d cried K\u2019me-wan. \u201cI\u2019ll send my\ngentlest showers to refresh the woods and meadows.\u201d\n\nBut the Rain-mother failed to bring back the colour to the Summer\nQueen\u2019s island.\n\n\u201cThe trees and flowers need warmth as well as moisture,\u201d sighed\nK\u2019me-wan. \u201cThe leaves of the forest are beginning to turn orange,\ncrimson, and brown. Every day there are fewer flowers in the meadows\nand along the banks of the brook. A great change is creeping over the\nland of Sunshine.\u201d\n\nAnd as she sat in Nipon\u2019s wigwam, grieving, she heard the Summer\nQueen\u2019s cry of agony. She heard Nipon call out, \u201cO K\u2019me-wan! Save me\nfrom destruction.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll send my bravest warriors to do battle with Poon,\u201d declared\nK\u2019me-wan, standing and looking toward the Northland. \u201cHe shall match\nhis strength with mine!\u201d\n\nQuickly she called together her strong warriors, South-wind,\nWest-wind, and Warm-breeze.\n\n\u201cGo to the Northland, my warriors,\u201d she commanded. \u201cUse all your\npower to rescue Nipon from Poon, the Winter King. Fly to the\nNorthland!\u201d\n\nK\u2019me-wan\u2019s wind warriors fled like lightning to the land of Poon.\nBut the crafty Winter King was not taken by surprise. The mighty\nNorth-wind, the biting East-wind, and the Frost-spirit, his strong\nchieftains, he held in readiness to do battle for possession of the\nSummer Queen. And when K\u2019me-wan\u2019s warriors drew near the Northland,\nPoon gave his command.\n\n\u201cFly to meet our foes, my warriors! They come from the land of\nSunshine! Vanquish them!\u201d\n\nAnd as he spoke his chieftains saw that Poon\u2019s stalwart figure was\ngrowing gaunt and thin, and great drops of sweat were dropping from\nhis brow.\n\nAt Winter King\u2019s command his giants flew to match their strength with\nK\u2019me-wan\u2019s warriors.\n\nBut the Snowflakes and Hailstones led by the Frost-spirit weakened\nand fell before Warm-breeze and his followers, the Raindrops. The\ncold wind warriors of the North shook and roared as they matched\nstrength with the mightier giants from the land of Sunshine. Then, as\nK\u2019me-wan\u2019s warriors pressed nearer and nearer to the Northland, Poon\nthe Winter King weakened and cried out in agony, \u201cSet Nipon free or\nI shall perish. My warriors are vanquished by the chieftains of the\nland of Sunshine! Free the Summer Queen and end this strife!\u201d\n\nAt this command from Poon, his giant warriors grew silent and fled\nback to the Northland, leaving K\u2019me-wan\u2019s chieftains in possession\nof Nipon. Gently they led the weary Summer Queen back toward her own\nland. They travelled for many moons before the beams of the great sun\nwere warm enough to restore her beauty.\n\nOnly once on her journey back to her own land did Nipon stop. It was\nwhen she reached a place enveloped in grey mists and dark clouds\nwhere the wild lightning leaped and flashed. The wind blew and the\nshowers fell continually in this land of K\u2019me-wan. Through the clouds\nand rain Nipon traveled until she reached the wigwam of the ancient\nRain-mother.\n\n\u201cForgive me, K\u2019me-wan,\u201d said the Summer Queen humbly.\n\n\u201cMy child, thou hast well nigh killed me,\u201d moaned K\u2019me-wan faintly.\n\u201cThy disobedience has brought great suffering in my cherished island.\nMy giant warriors conquered or Poon with his cruel ice scepter would\nhave reigned king over all. Never again can I venture on such a\nstruggle.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever again shall I disobey thee,\u201d declared Nipon, the Summer Queen.\n\n\u201cHasten back to the land of Sunshine,\u201d said K\u2019me-wan, rising. \u201cThere\nthou art sadly needed, for the leaves have changed their color and\nthe blossoms are almost gone. Hasten back and give them new life, my\ndaughter.\u201d\n\nThen Nipon bade farewell to the Rain-mother and departed for the land\nof Sunshine. As she drew near her heart was filled with a wonderful\njoy and peace.\n\n\u201cWelcome, Nipon,\u201d laughed the warm sunbeams.\n\n\u201cWelcome, Nipon,\u201d sang the gentle breezes.\n\n\u201cWelcome, our life-giving Summer Queen,\u201d nodded the forest trees.\n\n\n\n\nPRINCE AUTUMN\n\n\nCARL EWALD\n\nOn the top of the hills in the West stood the Prince of Autumn and\nsurveyed the land with his serious eyes.\n\nHis hair and beard were dashed with gray and there were wrinkles on\nhis forehead. But he was good to look at, still and straight and\nstrong. His splendid cloak gleamed red and green and brown and yellow\nand flapped in the wind. In his hand he held a horn.\n\nHe smiled sadly and stood awhile and listened to the fighting and the\nsinging and the cries. Then he raised his head, put the horn to his\nmouth and blew a lusty flourish:\n\n Summer goes his all-prospering way,\n Autumn\u2019s horn is calling.\n Heather dresses the brown hill-clay,\n Winds whip crackling across the bay,\n Leaves in the grove keep falling.\n\nAll the trees of the forest shook from root to top, themselves not\nknowing why. All the birds fell silent together. The stag in the\nglade raised his antlers in surprise and listened. The poppy\u2019s\nscarlet petals flew before the wind.\n\nBut high on the mountains and on the bare hills and low down in the\nbog, the heather burst forth and blazed purple and glorious in the\nsun. And the bees flew from the faded flowers of the meadow and hid\nthemselves in the heather-fields.\n\nBut Autumn put his horn to his mouth again and blew:\n\n Autumn lords it with banners bright\n Of garish leaves held o\u2019er him,\n Quelling Summer\u2019s eternal fight,\n Heralding Winter, wild and white,\n While the blithe little birds flee before him.\n\nThe Prince of Summer stopped where he stood in the valley and raised\nhis eyes to the hills in the West. And the Prince of Autumn took the\nhorn from his mouth and bowed low before him.\n\n\u201cWelcome!\u201d said Summer.\n\nHe took a step towards him and no more, as befits one who is the\ngreater. But the Prince of Autumn came down over the hills and again\nbowed low.\n\nThey walked through the valley hand in hand. And so radiant was\nSummer that, wherever they passed, none was aware of Autumn\u2019s\npresence. The notes of his horn died away in the air; and one and all\nrecovered from the shudder that had passed over them. The trees and\nbirds and flowers came to themselves again and whispered and sang and\nfought. The river flowed, the rushes murmured, the bees continued\ntheir summer orgy in the heather.\n\nBut, wherever the princes stopped on their progress through the\nvalley, it came about that the foliage turned yellow on the side\nwhere Autumn was. A little leaf fell from its stalk and fluttered\naway and dropped at his feet. The nightingale ceased singing, though\nit was eventide; the cuckoo was silent and flapped restlessly through\nthe woods; the stork stretched himself in his nest and looked toward\nthe South. But the princes took no heed.\n\n\u201cWelcome,\u201d said Summer again. \u201cDo you remember your promise?\u201d\n\n\u201cI remember,\u201d answered Autumn.\n\nThen the Prince of Summer stopped and looked out over the kingdom\nwhere the noise was gradually subsiding.\n\n\u201cDo you hear them?\u201d he asked. \u201cNow do you take them into your gentle\nkeeping.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall bring your produce home,\u201d said Autumn. \u201cI shall watch\ncarefully over them that dream, I shall cover up lovingly them that\nare to sleep in the mould. I will warn them thrice of Winter\u2019s\ncoming.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is well,\u201d said Summer.\n\nThey walked in silence for a time, while night came forth.\n\n\u201cThe honeysuckle\u2019s petals fell when you blew your horn,\u201d said Summer.\n\u201cSome of my children will die at the moment when I leave the valley.\nBut the nightingale and the cuckoo and the stork I shall take with\nme.\u201d\n\nAgain the two princes walked in silence. It was quite still, only the\nowls hooted in the old oak.\n\n\u201cYou must send my birds after me,\u201d said Summer.\n\n\u201cI shall not forget,\u201d replied Autumn.\n\nThen the Prince of Summer raised his hand in farewell and bade Autumn\ntake possession of the kingdom.\n\n\u201cI shall go to-night,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd none will know save you. My\nsplendour will linger in the valley for a while. And by-the-by, when\nI am far away and my reign is forgotten, the memory of me will revive\nonce more with the sun and the pleasant days.\u201d\n\nThen he strode away in the night. But from the high tree-top came the\nstork on his long wings; and the cuckoo fluttered out of the tall\nwoods; and the nightingale flew from the thicket with her full-grown\nyoung.\n\nThe air was filled with the soft murmurings of wings.\n\nAutumn\u2019s dominion had indeed begun on the night when Summer went\naway, with a yellow leaf here and a brown leaf there, but none had\nnoticed it. Now it went at a quicker pace; and as time wore on, there\ncame even more colours and greater splendour.\n\nThe lime trees turned bright yellow and the beech bronze, but the\nelder-tree even blacker than it had been. The bell-flower rang with\nwhite bells, where it used to ring with blue, and the chestnut tree\nblessed all the world with its five yellow fingers. The mountain ash\nshed its leaves that all might admire its pretty berries; the wild\nrose nodded with a hundred hips; the Virginia creeper broke over the\nhedge in blazing flames.\n\nThen Autumn put his horn to his mouth and blew:\n\n The loveliest things of Autumn\u2019s pack\n In his motley coffers lay;\n Red mountain-berries\n Hips sweet as cherries,\n Sloes blue and black\n He hung upon every spray.\n\nAnd blackbird and thrush chattered blithely in the copsewood, which\ngleamed with berries, and a thousand sparrows kept them company. The\nwind ran from one to the other and puffed and panted to add to the\nfun. High up in the sky, the sun looked gently down upon it all.\n\nAnd the Prince of Autumn nodded contentedly and let his motley cloak\nflap in the wind.\n\n\u201cI am the least important of the four seasons and am scarcely lord\nin my own land,\u201d he said. \u201cI serve two jealous masters and have to\nplease them both. But my power extends so far that I can give you a\nfew glad days.\u201d\n\nThen he put his horn to his mouth and blew:\n\n To the valley revellers hie!\n They are clad in autumnal fancy dresses,\n They are weary of green and faded tresses,\n Summer has vanished, Winter is nigh----\n Hey fol--de--rol--day for Autumn!\n\nBut, the night after this happened, there was tremendous disturbance\nup on the mountain peaks, where the eternal snows had lain both in\nSpring\u2019s time and Summer\u2019s. It sounded like a storm approaching.\nThe trees grew frightened, the crows were silent, the wind held its\nbreath. Prince Autumn bent forward and listened:\n\n\u201cIs that the worst you can do?\u201d shouted a hoarse voice through the\ndarkness.\n\nAutumn raised his head and looked straight into Winter\u2019s great, cold\neyes!\n\n\u201cHave you forgotten the bargain?\u201d asked Winter.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied Autumn. \u201cI have not forgotten it.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave a care,\u201d shouted Winter.\n\nThe whole night through, it rumbled and tumbled in the mountains.\nIt turned so bitterly cold that the starling thought seriously of\npacking up and even the red creeper turned pale.\n\nThe distant peaks glittered with new snow.\n\nAnd the Prince of Autumn laughed no more. He looked out earnestly\nover the land and the wrinkles in his forehead grew deeper.\n\n\u201cIt must be so then!\u201d he said.\n\nThen he blew his horn.\n\n Autumn\u2019s horn blew a lusty chime;\n For the second time, for the second time!\n Heed well the call, complying.\n Fling seed to earth!\n Fill sack\u2019s full girth!\n Plump back and side!\n Pad belt and hide!\n Hold all wings close for flying!\n\nThen suddenly a terrible bustle arose in the land, for now they all\nunderstood.\n\n\u201cQuick,\u201d said Autumn.\n\nThe poppy and the bell-flower and the pink stood thin and dry as\nsticks with their heads full of seed. The dandelion had presented\neach one of his seeds with a sweet little parachute.\n\n\u201cCome, dear Wind, and shake us!\u201d said the poppy.\n\n\u201cFly away with my seeds, Wind,\u201d said the dandelion.\n\nAnd the wind hastened to do as they asked.\n\nBut the beech cunningly dropped his shaggy fruit on to the hare\u2019s\nfur; and the fox got one also on his red coat.\n\n\u201cQuick, now,\u201d said Autumn. \u201cThere\u2019s no time here to waste.\u201d\n\nThe little brown mice filled their parlors from floor to ceiling\nwith nuts and beech-mast and acorns. The hedgehog had already eaten\nhimself so fat that he could hardly lower his quills. The hare and\nfox and stag put on clean white woollen things, under their coats.\nThe starling and the thrush and the blackbird saw to their downy\nclothing and exercised their wings for the long journey.\n\nThe sun hid himself behind the clouds and did not appear for many\ndays.\n\nIt began to rain. The wind quickened its pace: it dashed the rain\nover the meadow, whipped the river into foam and whistled through the\ntrunks in the forest.\n\n\u201cNow the song is finished!\u201d said the Prince of Autumn.\n\nThen he put his horn to his mouth and blew.\n\n Autumn\u2019s horn blew a lusty chime,\n For the last time, for the last time!\n Ways close when need is sorest:\n Land-birds, fly clear!\n Plunge, frogs, in mere!\n Bee, lock your lair!\n Take shelter, bear!\n Fall, last leaf in the forest!\n\nAnd then it was over.\n\nThe birds flew from the land in flocks. The starling and the lapwing,\nthe thrush and the blackbird all migrated to the south.\n\nEvery morning before the sun rose the wind tore through the forest,\nand pulled the last leaves off the trees. Every day the wind blew\nstronger, snapped great branches, swept the withered leaves together\ninto heaps, scattered them again and, at last, laid them like a soft,\nthick carpet over the whole floor of the forest.\n\nThe hedgehog crawled so far into a hole under a heap of stones\nthat he remained caught between two of them and could move neither\nforwards nor backwards. The sparrow took lodgings in a deserted\nswallow\u2019s nest; the frogs went to the bottom of the pond for good,\nsettled in the mud, with the tips of their noses up in the water and\nprepared for whatever might come.\n\nThe Prince of Autumn stood and gazed over the land to see if it was\nbare and waste so that Winter\u2019s storms might come buffeting at will\nand the snow lie wherever it pleased.\n\nThen he stopped before the old oak and looked at the ivy that\nclambered right up to the top and spread her green leaves as if\nWinter had no existence at all. And while he looked at it the\nivy-flowers blossomed! They sat right at the top and rocked in the\nwind!\n\n\u201cNow I\u2019m coming,\u201d roared Winter from the mountains. \u201cMy clouds are\nbursting with snow; and my storms are breaking loose. I can restrain\nthem no longer.\u201d\n\nThe Prince of Autumn bent his head and listened. He could hear the\nstorm come rushing down over the mountains. A snowflake fell upon his\nmotley cloak ... and another ... and yet another....\n\nFor the last time he put his horn to his mouth and blew:\n\n Thou greenest plant and tardiest,\n Thou fairest, rarest, hardiest,\n Bright through unending hours!\n Round Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring,\n Thy vigorous embraces cling.\n Look! Ivy mine, \u2019tis _I_ who sing,\n \u2019Tis _Autumn_ wins thy flowers!\n\nThen he went away in the storm.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCARF OF THE LADY\n\n\n(A French Harvest Legend)\n\nTranslated by Hermine de Nagy\n\nThe Field of the Lady was the name which the peasants gave to a large\ntract of land belonging to a rich estate. The lord of the castle had\ngiven these fertile acres to his daughter and had told her to do as\nshe pleased with the grain which the field produced. Each year at\nharvest time she invited the poor peasants of the neighbourhood to\ncome and glean in her field, and take home with them as much grain as\nthey needed for winter use.\n\nSometimes when the gleaners were busily at work one of them would cry\nout joyfully, \u201cAh, there comes the lady of the castle.\u201d They could\nsee her coming in the distance, for she always wore a simple dress of\nwhite wool, and over her head was thrown a scarf of white silk\nstriped with many colours. She loved to come into the field while the\npeople were at work and speak words of encouragement and cheer to\nthem.\n\nOne sultry afternoon there were many peasants gleaning in the field.\nThe lady of the castle had been with them for several hours. Suddenly\nshe looked up into the threatening sky and said, \u201cMy friends, see\nwhat large clouds are gathering. I\u2019m afraid we shall have a storm\nbefore long. Let us stop gleaning for to-day and seek shelter.\u201d The\npeasants hastened away and the lady started toward the castle.\n\nAs she drew near the green hedge which bordered the field she saw\ncoming toward her a beautiful young woman and a fair child whose hand\nshe held. The little boy\u2019s golden hair fell in waves over his white\ntunic.\n\n\u201cYou came to glean,\u201d said the lady of the castle in her sweet voice,\nfull of welcome. \u201cCome then, we\u2019ll work together for a little while\nbefore the rain falls.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you,\u201d said the young woman.\n\nThe three began to pick up the ripe ears and pile them in small\nheaps. They had worked but a little while, however, when a gust of\nwind swept over the field and great raindrops began to fall. The\nthunder rumbled in the distance and streaks of lightning rent the sky.\n\n\u201cCome, my friends,\u201d said the lady of the castle. \u201cWe must seek\nshelter. See, there near the wood is a great oak, thick with foliage.\nLet us hasten to it and stand there until the storm is over.\u201d\n\nIn a short time they reached the tree and stood together under the\nshelter of its great branches.\n\nWith his chubby hand the child took hold of the end of his mother\u2019s\nveil and tried to cover his curly head with it.\n\n\u201cYou shall have my scarf,\u201d said the lady of the castle, smiling.\n\nShe slipped it off, wrapped it tenderly around the dear child\u2019s head\nand shoulders, and kissed his fair young brow.\n\nSuddenly the great clouds seemed to roll away. The lady of the castle\nstepped out from the shelter of the tree to look at the sky. The\nstorm had ceased and the birds were beginning to twitter in the\ntrees. She stood still, looking at the wonderful golden light which\nflooded the harvest field. And in the calm silence there came\nfloating through the air the sweetest music she had ever heard. At\nfirst it seemed far, far away. Then it came nearer and nearer until\nthe air was filled with harmonious voices chanting tenderly in the\npurest angelic tones. She turned toward her companions and lo! they\nhad disappeared.\n\nIn the distance there was a sound like the light fluttering of wings.\nThe lady of the castle looked toward the hedge where she had first\nseen her mysterious companions. There she saw them again--the lovely\nwoman and the golden-haired child. They were rising softly, softly\nupon fleecy clouds. Around them and mounting with them was a band of\nangels chanting a joyful Hosanna!\n\nThe marvelous vision rose slowly into the clear blue of the heavens.\nThen on the wet ears of grain in the harvest field the lady of the\ncastle knelt in silent adoration, for she knew she had seen the\nVirgin and the Holy Child. While she worshipped in breathless silence\nthe heavenly choir halted and in clear, ringing tones the angels sang\nout:\n\n\u201cBlessed be thou!\u201d\n\n\u201cBlessed be the good lady who is ever ready to help the poor and\nunfortunate! Blessed be this Field of Alms.\u201d\n\nThe Virgin stretched forth her hands to bless the lady and the\nharvest field. At the same time the Holy Child took from his head and\nshoulders the silk scarf which the lady of the castle had wrapped\nabout him, and gave it to two rosy-winged cherubim. Away they\nflew--one to the right, the other to the left, each holding an end\nof the scarf which stretched as they flew into a marvelous rainbow\narch across the blue vault of the sky. The Virgin and the Holy Child,\nfollowed by the angelic choir, rose slowly, slowly into the sky.\n\nSoftly and gently as wood breezes the heavenly music died away and\nthe vision disappeared.\n\nThe lady of the castle rose to her feet. A marvelous thing had\nhappened. The small heaps of grain gathered by the gleaners had\nchanged into a harvest richer than the field had ever produced\nbefore. Over all in the sky still shone the lovely rainbow arch--the\narch of promise across the Field of Alms.\n\n(Adapted.)\n\n\n\n\nTHE SICKLE MOON\n\n\n(Tyrolean Harvest Legend)\n\nABBIE FARWELL BROWN\n\n When of the crescent moon aware\n Hung silver in the sky,\n \u201cSee, Saint Nothburga\u2019s sickle there!\u201d\n The Tyrol children cry.\n\n It is a quaint and pretty tale\n Six hundred summers old,\n When in the green Tyrolean vale,\n The peasant folk is told.\n\n The town of Eben nestled here\n Is little known to fame,\n Save as the legends make it dear,\n In Saint Nothburga\u2019s name.\n\n For in this quiet country place,\n Where a white church spire reared,\n Nothburga dwelt, a maid of grace\n Who loved the Lord and feared.\n\n She was a serving little lass,\n Bound to a farmer stern,\n Who to and fro all day must pass\n Her coarse black bread to earn.\n\n She spun and knit the fleecy wool,\n She bleached the linen white,\n She drew the water-buckets full,\n And milked the herd at night.\n\n And more than this, when harvest-tide\n Turned golden all the plain,\n She took her sickle, curving wide,\n And reaped the ripened grain.\n\n All people yielded to the charm\n Of this meek-serving maid,\n Save the stern master of the farm,\n Of whom all stood afraid.\n\n For he was hard to humble folk,\n And cruel to the poor,\n A godless man, who evil spoke,\n A miser of his store.\n\n Now it was on a Saturday\n Near to the Sabbath time,\n Which in those ages far away\n Began at sunset-chime.\n\n Nothburga in the harvest gold\n Was reaping busily,\n Although the day was grown so old\n That dimly could she see.\n\n Close by her cruel master stood,\n And fearsome was his eye;\n He glowered at the maiden good,\n He glowered at the sky.\n\n For many rows lacked reaping, yet\n The dark was falling fast,\n And soon the round sun would be set\n And working time be past.\n\n \u201cCling--clang!\u201d The sunset-chime pealed out,\n And Sunday had begun;\n Nothburga sighed and turned about----\n The reaping was not done.\n\n She laid her curving sickle by,\n And said her evening hymn,\n Wide-gazing on the starless sky,\n Where all was dark and dim.\n\n But hark! A hasty summons came\n To drown her whispered words,\n An angry voice called out her name,\n And scared the nestling birds.\n\n \u201cWhat ho, Nothburga, lazy one!\n Bend to your task again,\n And do not think the day is done\n Till you have reaped this grain.\u201d\n\n \u201cBut master,\u201d spoke Nothburga low,\n \u201cIt\u2019s the Sabbath time;\n We must keep holy hours now,\n After the sunset-chime.\u201d\n\n And then in rage the master cried:\n \u201cThe day belongs to me!\n I\u2019m lord of all the country side,\n And hold the time in fee!\u201d\n\n \u201cNo Sunday-thought shall spoil the gain\n That comes a hundred fold\n From reaping of my golden grain,\n Which shall be turned to gold.\u201d\n\n \u201cNay, Master, give me gracious leave\n The Lord\u2019s will I must keep;\n Upon the holy Sabbath day\n My sickle shall not reap!\u201d\n\n The master raised his heavy hand\n To deal the maid a blow;\n \u201cThou shalt!\u201d he cried his fierce command,\n And would have struck, when lo!\n\n Nothburga whirled her sickle bright\n And tossed it in the sky!\n A flash, a gleam of silver light,\n As it went circling by,\n\n And there, beside a little star\n Which had peeped out to see,\n The sickle hung itself afar,\n As swiftly as could be!\n\n The master stared up, wondering;\n Forgetting all his rage,\n To see so strange and quaint a thing----\n The marvel of the age.\n\n And she, the maid so brave and good,\n Thenceforth had naught to fear,\n But kept the Sabbath as she would,\n And lived a life of cheer.\n\n So when among the stars you see\n The silver sickle flame,\n Think how the wonder came to be,\n And bless Nothburga\u2019s name.\n\n\n\n\nWINTER\u2019S HERALD\n\n\nJANE ANDREWS\n\nIn the days of chivalry, mail-clad knights, armed with shield and\nspear, rode through the land to defend the right and to punish the\nwrong. Whenever they were to meet each other in battle at the great\ntournaments, a herald was first sent to announce the fight and give\nfair warning to the opponents, that each might be in all things\nprepared to meet the other, and defend or attack wisely and upon his\nguard.\n\nSo, dear children, you must know that Winter, who is coming clad in\nhis icy armour, with his spear, the keen sleet, sends before him a\nherald, that we may not be all unprepared for his approach.\n\nIt is an autumn night when this herald comes; all the warm September\nnoons have slipped away, and the red October sunsets are almost gone;\nstill the afternoon light, shining through the two maples, casts a\ncrimson and yellow glow on the white wall of my little room, and\non the paths is a delicate carpet of spotted leaves over the brown\ngroundwork.\n\nIt is past midnight when the herald is called; and although his\nknight is so fierce, loud, and blustering, he moves noiselessly forth\nand carries his warning to all the country round. Through the little\nbirch wood he comes, and whispers a single word to the golden leaves\nthat are hanging so slightly on the slender boughs; one little shiver\ngoes through them, sends them fluttering all to the ground, and the\nnext morning their brown, shriveled edges tell a sad story.\n\nThrough the birch wood he hurries and on to the bank of the brook\nthat runs through the long valley; for the muskrat, who has his home\nunder the shelving bank, must hear the news and make haste to arrange\nhis hole with winter comforts before the brook is frozen. While he\ncrosses the meadow the field mouse and the mole hear his warning and\nlay their heads together to see what is best to be done. Indeed,\nthe mole, who himself can scarcely see at all, is always of opinion\nthat two heads are better than one in such cases.\n\nBeyond the brook is Farmer Thompson\u2019s field of squashes. \u201cI will not\nhurt you to-night,\u201d says the herald as he creeps among them; \u201conly a\nlittle nip here and a bite there, that the farmer may see to-morrow\nmorning that it is time to take you into the barn.\u201d The turnips stand\nonly on the other side of the fence and cannot fail to know also that\nthe herald has come.\n\nBut up in Lucy\u2019s flower garden are the heliotropes and fuchsias,\ntea roses and geraniums,--delicate, sensitive things, who cannot\nbear a cold word, it must have been really quite terrible what he\nsaid there; for before sunrise the beautiful plants hung black and\nwithered and no care from their mistress, no smiles or kind words,\ncould make them look up again. The ivy had borne it bravely, and\nonly showed on his lower leaves, which lay among the grass, a frosty\nfringe, where the dew used to hang.\n\nMy two maples heard the summons and threw off their gay dresses,\nwhich withered and faded as they fell in heaps on the sidewalk. The\nnext morning, children going to school scuffed ankle-deep among them\nand laughed with delight. And the maples bravely answered the herald:\n\u201cNow let him come, your knight of the north wind and the storm and\nthe sleet; we have dropped the gay leaves which he might have torn\nfrom us. Let him come; we have nothing to lose. His snows will only\nkeep our roots the warmer, and his winds cannot blow away the tiny\nnew buds which we cherish, thickly wrapped from the cold, to make new\nleaves in the spring.\u201d And the elm and the linden and horse-chestnut\nsent also a like brave answer back by the herald.\n\nOver the whole village green went the whisperer, leaving behind him a\nwhite network upon the grass; and before the sun was up to tangle his\nbeams in its meshes and pull it all to pieces, old widow Blake has\nseen it from her cottage window and said to herself: \u201cWell, winter is\ncoming; I must set up some warm socks for the boys to-day, and begin\nlittle Tommy\u2019s mittens before the week is out.\u201d\n\nAnd Farmer Thompson stands at his great barn door, while yet the\neastern sky is red, and tells Jake and Ben that the squashes and\npumpkins and turnips must all be housed in cellar and barn before\nnight; for a frost like this is warning enough to any man to begin to\nprepare for winter.\n\nMr. Winslow, the gardener, is working all day with matting and straw,\ntying up and packing warmly his tender shrubs and trees; and the\nclimbing rose that is trained against the west end of the piazza must\nbe made safe from the cold winds that will soon be creeping round\nthere.\n\nWhat will your mother do when she sees the white message that the\nherald has left in his frosty writing all over the lawn? Will she put\naway the muslin frocks and little pink or blue calicoes and ginghams,\nthe straw hats, and Frank\u2019s white trousers and summer jackets, just\nas the trees threw aside their summer leaves?\n\nNot quite like the trees; for your clothes can\u2019t be made new every\nspring out of little brown buds, but must be put away in the great\ndrawers and trunks of the clothes-press, to wait for you through the\nwinter.\n\nAnd see how your mother will bring out the woolen stockings, warm\nhoods and caps, mittens, cloaks and plaided dresses; and try on and\nmake over, that all things may be ready. For it is with such things\nas these that she arms her little boys and girls to meet the knight\nwho is coming with north wind and storm.\n\nOld Margaret, who lives in the little brown house down at the corner,\nalthough she cannot read a word from a book, reads the herald\u2019s\nmessage as well as your mother can. But here are her five boys,\nbarefooted and ragged, ever in summer clothes, and her husband lies\nback with a fever.\n\nShe can\u2019t send back so brave an answer as your mother does. But your\nmother, and Cousin George\u2019s mother, and Uncle James can help her to\nmake a good, brave answer; for here is Frank\u2019s last winter\u2019s jacket,\nquite too small for him, just right for little Jim; and father\u2019s old\novercoat will make warm little ones for two of the other boys. And\nhere are stout new shoes and woolen socks, and comfortable bedclothes\nfor the sick man. Margaret sends a brave answer now, although this\nmorning she was half ready to cry when she saw the message that\nWinter had sent.\n\nLook about you, children, when the herald comes, and see what answers\nthe people are giving him; I have told you a few. You can tell me\nmany, if you will, before another year goes by.\n\n\n\n\nJACK FROST\n\n\n The door was shut as doors should be\n Before you went to bed last night;\n Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see,\n And left your windows silver white.\n\n He must have waited till you slept,\n And not a single word he spoke,\n But penciled o\u2019er the panes and crept\n Away before you woke.\n\n And now you can not see the trees\n Nor fields that stretch beyond the lane\n But there are fairer things than these\n His fingers traced on every pane.\n\n Rocks and castles towering high;\n Hills and dales and streams and fields,\n And knights in armour riding by,\n With nodding plumes and shining shields.\n\n And here are little boats, and there\n Big ships with sails spread to the breeze,\n And yonder, palm trees waving fair\n And islands set in silver seas.\n\n And butterflies with gauzy wings;\n And herds of cows and flocks of sheep;\n And fruit and flowers and all the things\n You see when you are sound asleep.\n\n For creeping softly underneath\n The door when all the lights are out,\n Jack Frost takes every breath you breathe\n And knows the things you think about.\n\n He paints them on the window pane\n In fairy lines with frozen steam;\n And when you wake, you see again\n The lovely things you saw in dream.\n GABRIEL SETOUN.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PUMPKIN GIANT\n\n\nMARY WILKINS FREEMAN\n\nA very long time ago, before our grandmother\u2019s time, or our\ngreat-grandmother\u2019s, or our grandmothers\u2019 with a very long string of\ngreats prefixed, there were no pumpkins; people had never eaten a\npumpkin-pie, or even stewed pumpkin; and that was the time when the\nPumpkin Giant flourished.\n\nThere have been a great many giants who have flourished since the\nworld began, and, although a select few of them have been good\ngiants, the majority of them have been so bad that their crimes\neven more than their size have gone to make them notorious. But the\nPumpkin Giant was an uncommonly bad one, and his general appearance\nand his behaviour were such as to make one shudder to an extent that\nyou would hardly believe possible. The convulsive shivering caused\nby the mere mention of his name, and, in some cases where the people\nwere unusually sensitive, by the mere thought of him even, more\nresembled the blue ague than anything else; indeed was known by the\nname of \u201cthe Giant\u2019s Shakes.\u201d\n\nThe Pumpkin Giant was very tall; he probably would have overtopped\nmost of the giants you have ever heard of. I don\u2019t suppose the Giant\nwho lived on the Bean-stalk whom Jack visited was anything to compare\nwith him; nor that it would have been a possible thing for the\nPumpkin Giant, had he received an invitation to spend an afternoon\nwith the Bean-stalk Giant, to accept, on account of his inability to\nenter the Bean-stalk Giant\u2019s door, no matter how much he stooped.\n\nThe Pumpkin Giant had a very large, yellow head, which was also\nsmooth and shiny. His eyes were big and round, and glowed like coals\nof fire; and you would almost have thought that his head was lit up\ninside with candles. Indeed there was a rumour to that effect amongst\nthe common people, but that was all nonsense, of course; no one of\nthe more enlightened class credited it for an instant. His mouth,\nwhich stretched half around his head, was furnished with rows of\npointed teeth, and he was never known to hold it any other way than\nwide open.\n\nThe Pumpkin Giant lived in a castle, as a matter of course; it is not\nfashionable for a giant to live in any other kind of a dwelling--why,\nnothing would be more tame and uninteresting than a giant in a\ntwo-story white house with green blinds and a picket fence, or even\na brown-stone front, if he could get into either of them, which he\ncould not.\n\nThe Giant\u2019s castle was situated on a mountain, as it ought to have\nbeen, and there was also the usual courtyard before it, and the\ncustomary moat, which was full of bones! All I have got to say about\nthese bones is, they were not mutton bones. A great many details of\nthis story must be left to the imagination of the reader; they are\ntoo harrowing to relate. A much tenderer regard for the feelings of\nthe audience will be shown in this than in most giant stories; we\nwill even go so far as to state in advance, that the story has a good\nend, thereby enabling readers to peruse it comfortably without\nunpleasant suspense.\n\nThe Pumpkin Giant was fonder of little boys and girls than anything\nelse in the world; but he was somewhat fonder of little boys, and\nmore particularly of fat little boys.\n\nThe fear and horror of this Giant extended over the whole country.\nEven the King on his throne was so severely afflicted with the\nGiant\u2019s Shakes that he had been obliged to have the throne propped,\nfor fear it should topple over in some unusually violent fit. There\nwas good reason why the King shook; his only daughter, the Princess\nAriadne Diana, was probably the fattest princess in the whole world\nat that date. So fat was she that she had never walked a step in the\ndozen years of her life, being totally unable to progress over the\nearth by any method except rolling. And a really beautiful sight it\nwas, too, to see the Princess Ariadne Diana, in her cloth-of-gold\nrolling-suit, faced with green velvet and edged with ermine, with\nher glittering crown on her head, trundling along the avenues of the\nroyal gardens, which had been furnished with strips of rich carpeting\nfor her express accommodation.\n\nBut gratifying as it would have been to the King, her sire, under\nother circumstances, to have had such an unusually interesting\ndaughter, it now only served to fill his heart with the greatest\nanxiety on her account. The Princess was never allowed to leave the\npalace without a body-guard of fifty knights, the very flower of\nthe King\u2019s troops, with lances in rest, but in spite of all this\nprecaution, the King shook.\n\nMeanwhile amongst the ordinary people who could not procure an\nescort of fifty armed knights for the plump among their children,\nthe ravages of the Pumpkin Giant were frightful. It was apprehended\nat one time that there would be very few fat little girls, and no\nfat little boys at all, left in the kingdom. And what made matters\nworse, at that time the Giant commenced taking a tonic to increase\nhis appetite.\n\nFinally the King, in desperation, issued a proclamation that he would\nknight any one, be he noble or common, who should cut off the head\nof the Pumpkin Giant. This was the King\u2019s usual method of rewarding\nany noble deed in his kingdom. It was a cheap method, and besides\neverybody liked to be a knight.\n\nWhen the King issued his proclamation every man in the kingdom who\nwas not already a knight, straightway tried to contrive ways and\nmeans to kill the Pumpkin Giant. But there was one obstacle which\nseemed insurmountable: they were afraid, and all of them had the\nGiant\u2019s Shakes so badly, that they could not possibly have held a\nknife steady enough to cut off the Giant\u2019s head, even if they had\ndared to go near enough for that purpose.\n\nThere was one man who lived not far from the terrible Giant\u2019s\ncastle, a poor man, his only worldly wealth consisting in a large\npotato-field and a cottage in front of it. But he had a boy of\ntwelve, an only son, who rivaled the Princess Ariadne Diana in point\nof fatness. He was unable to have a body-guard for his son; so\nthe amount of terror which the inhabitants of that humble cottage\nsuffered day and night was heart-rending. The poor mother had been\nunable to leave her bed for two years, on account of the Giant\u2019s\nShakes; her husband barely got a living from the potato-field; half\nthe time he and his wife had hardly enough to eat, as it naturally\ntook the larger part of the potatoes to satisfy the fat little boy,\ntheir son, and their situation was truly pitiable.\n\nThe fat boy\u2019s name was Aeneas, his father\u2019s name was Patroclus, and\nhis mother\u2019s Daphne. It was all the fashion in those days to have\nclassical names. And as that was a fashion as easily adopted by the\npoor as the rich, everybody had them. They were just like Jim and\nTommy and May in these days. Why, the Princess\u2019s name, Ariadne Diana,\nwas nothing more nor less than Ann Eliza with us.\n\nOne morning Patroclus and Aeneas were out in the field digging\npotatoes, for new potatoes were just in the market. The Early Rose\npotato had not been discovered in those days; but there was another\npotato, perhaps equally good, which attained to a similar degree of\ncelebrity. It was called the Young Plantagenet, and reached a very\nlarge size indeed, much larger than the Early Rose does in our time.\n\nWell, Patroclus and Aeneas had just dug perhaps a bushel of Young\nPlantagenet potatoes. It was slow work with them, for Patroclus had\nthe Giant\u2019s Shakes badly that morning, and of course Aeneas was not\nvery swift. He rolled about among the potato-hills after the manner\nof the Princess Ariadne Diana; but he did not present as imposing an\nappearance as she, in his homespun farmer\u2019s frock.\n\nAll at once the earth trembled violently. Patroclus and Aeneas looked\nup and saw the Pumpkin Giant coming with his mouth wide open. \u201cGet\nbehind me, O my darling son!\u201d cried Patroclus.\n\nAeneas obeyed, but it was of no use; for you could see his cheeks\neach side his father\u2019s waistcoat.\n\nPatroclus was not ordinarily a brave man, but he was brave in an\nemergency; and as that is the only time when there is the slightest\nneed of bravery, it was just as well.\n\nThe Pumpkin Giant strode along faster and faster, opening his mouth\nwider and wider, until they could fairly hear it crack at the corners.\n\nThen Patroclus picked up an enormous Young Plantagenet and threw it\nplump into the Pumpkin Giant\u2019s mouth. The Giant choked and gasped,\nand choked and gasped, and finally tumbled down and died.\n\nPatroclus and Aeneas, while the Giant was choking, had run to the\nhouse and locked themselves in; then they looked out of the window;\nwhen they saw the Giant tumble down and lie quite still, they knew\nhe must be dead. Then Daphne was immediately cured of the Giant\u2019s\nShakes, and got out of bed for the first time in two years. Patroclus\nsharpened the carving-knife on the kitchen stove, and they all went\nout into the potato-field.\n\nThey cautiously approached the prostrate Giant, for fear he might be\nshamming, and might suddenly spring up at them and Aeneas. But no, he\ndid not move at all; he was quite dead. And, all taking turns, they\nhacked off his head with the carving-knife. Then Aeneas had it to\nplay with, which was quite appropriate, and a good instance of the\nsarcasm of destiny.\n\nThe King was notified of the death of the Pumpkin Giant, and was\ngreatly rejoiced thereby. His Giant\u2019s Shakes ceased, the props were\nremoved from the throne, and the Princess Ariadne Diana was allowed\nto go out without her body-guard of fifty knights, much to her\ndelight, for she found them a great hindrance to the enjoyment of her\ndaily outings.\n\nIt was a great cross, not to say an embarrassment, when she was\ngleefully rolling in pursuit of a charming red and gold butterfly, to\nfind herself suddenly stopped short by an armed knight with his lance\nin rest.\n\nBut the King, though his gratitude for the noble deed knew no bounds,\nomitted to give the promised reward and knight Patroclus.\n\nI hardly know how it happened--I don\u2019t think it was anything\nintentional. Patroclus felt rather hurt about it, and Daphne would\nhave liked to be a lady, but Aeneas did not care in the least. He had\nthe Giant\u2019s head to play with and that was reward enough for him.\nThere was not a boy in the neighbourhood but envied him his\npossession of such a unique plaything; and when they would stand\nlooking over the wall of the potato-field with longing eyes, and\nhe was flying over the ground with the head, his happiness knew no\nbounds; and Aeneas played so much with the Giant\u2019s head that finally\nlate in the fall it got broken and scattered all over the field.\n\nNext spring all over Patroclus\u2019s potato-field grew running vines,\nand in the fall Giant\u2019s heads. There they were all over the field,\nhundreds of them! Then there was consternation indeed! The natural\nconclusion to be arrived at when the people saw the yellow Giant\u2019s\nheads making their appearance above the ground was, that the rest of\nthe Giants were coming.\n\n\u201cThere was one Pumpkin Giant before,\u201d said they; \u201cnow there will be\na whole army of them. If it was dreadful then what will it be in the\nfuture? If one Pumpkin Giant gave us the Shakes so badly, what will a\nwhole army of them do?\u201d\n\nBut when some time had elapsed and nothing more of the Giants\nappeared above the surface of the potato-field, and as moreover the\nheads had not yet displayed any sign of opening their mouths, the\npeople began to feel a little easier, and the general excitement\nsubsided somewhat, although the King had ordered out Ariadne Diana\u2019s\nbody-guard again.\n\nNow Aeneas had been born with a propensity for putting everything\ninto his mouth and tasting it; there was scarcely anything in his\nvicinity which could by any possibility be tasted, which he had not\neaten a bit of. This propensity was so alarming in his babyhood, that\nDaphne purchased a book of antidotes; and if it had not been for her\nadmirable good judgment in doing so, this story would probably never\nhave been told; for no human baby could possibly have survived the\nheterogeneous diet which Aeneas had indulged in. There was scarcely\none of the antidotes which had not been resorted to from time to time.\n\nAeneas had become acquainted with the peculiar flavour of almost\neverything in his immediate vicinity except the Giant\u2019s heads; and he\nnaturally enough cast longing eyes at them. Night and day he wondered\nwhat a Giant\u2019s head could taste like, till finally one day when\nPatroclus was away he stole out into the potato-field, cut a bit out\nof one of the Giant\u2019s heads and ate it. He was almost afraid to,\nbut he reflected that his mother could give him an antidote; so he\nventured. It tasted very sweet and nice; he liked it so much that he\ncut off another piece and ate that, then another and another, until\nhe had eaten two-thirds of a Giant\u2019s head. Then he thought it was\nabout time for him to go in and tell his mother and take an antidote,\nthough he did not feel ill at all yet.\n\n\u201cMother,\u201d said he, rolling slowly into the cottage, \u201cI have eaten\ntwo-thirds of a Giant\u2019s head, and I guess you had better give me an\nantidote.\u201d\n\n\u201cO, my precious son!\u201d cried Daphne, \u201chow could you?\u201d She looked in\nher book of antidotes, but could not find one antidote for a Giant\u2019s\nhead.\n\n\u201cO Aeneas, my dear, dear son!\u201d groaned Daphne, \u201cthere is no antidote\nfor Giant\u2019s head! What shall we do?\u201d\n\nThen she sat down and wept, and Aeneas wept, too, as loud as he\npossibly could. And he apparently had excellent reason to; for it did\nnot seem possible that a boy could eat two-thirds of a Giant\u2019s head\nand survive it without an antidote. Patroclus came home, and they\ntold him, and he sat down and lamented with them. All day they sat\nweeping and watching Aeneas, expecting every moment to see him die.\nBut he did not die; on the contrary he had never felt so well in his\nlife.\n\nFinally at sunset Aeneas looked up and laughed. \u201cI am not going to\ndie,\u201d said he; \u201cI never felt so well; you had better stop crying. And\nI am going out to get some more of that Giant\u2019s head; I am hungry.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t, don\u2019t!\u201d cried his father and mother; but he went; for he\ngenerally took his own way, very like most only sons. He came back\nwith a whole Giant\u2019s head in his arms.\n\n\u201cSee here, father and mother,\u201d cried he; \u201cwe\u2019ll all have some of\nthis; it evidently is not poison, and it is good--a great deal better\nthan potatoes!\u201d\n\nPatroclus and Daphne hesitated, but they were hungry, too. Since the\ncrop of Giant\u2019s heads had sprung up in their field instead of\npotatoes, they had been hungry most of the time; so they tasted.\n\n\u201cIt is good,\u201d said Daphne; \u201cbut I think it would be better cooked.\u201d\nSo she put some in a kettle of water over the fire, and let it boil\nawhile; then she dished it up, and they all ate it. It was delicious.\nIt tasted more like stewed pumpkin than anything else; in fact it was\nstewed pumpkin.\n\nDaphne was inventive; and something of a genius; and next day she\nconcocted another dish out of the Giant\u2019s heads. She boiled them, and\nsifted them, and mixed them with eggs and sugar and milk and spice;\nthen she lined some plates with puff paste, filled them with the\nmixture, and set them in the oven to bake.\n\nThe result was unparalleled; nothing half so exquisite had ever\nbeen tasted. They were all in ecstasies, Aeneas in particular. They\ngathered all the Giant\u2019s heads and stored them in the cellar. Daphne\nbaked pies of them every day, and nothing could surpass the felicity\nof the whole family.\n\nOne morning the King had been out hunting, and happened to ride by\nthe cottage of Patroclus with a train of his knights. Daphne was\nbaking pies as usual, and the kitchen door and window were both open,\nfor the room was so warm; so the delicious odour of the pies perfumed\nthe whole air about the cottage.\n\n\u201cWhat is it smells so utterly lovely?\u201d exclaimed the King, sniffing\nin a rapture.\n\nHe sent his page in to see.\n\n\u201cThe housewife is baking Giant\u2019s head pies,\u201d said the page, returning.\n\n\u201cWhat?\u201d thundered the King. \u201cBring out one to me!\u201d\n\nSo the page brought out a pie to him, and after all his knights had\ntasted to be sure it was not poison, and the King had watched them\nsharply for a few moments to be sure they were not killed, he tasted\ntoo.\n\nThen he beamed. It was a new sensation, and a new sensation is a\ngreat boon to a king.\n\n\u201cI never tasted anything so altogether super-fine, so utterly\nmagnificent in my life,\u201d cried the King; \u201cstewed peacocks\u2019 tongues\nfrom the Baltic are not to be compared with it! Call out the\nhousewife immediately!\u201d\n\nSo Daphne came out trembling, and Patroclus and Aeneas also.\n\n\u201cWhat a charming lad!\u201d exclaimed the King, as his glance fell upon\nAeneas. \u201cNow tell me about these wonderful pies, and I will reward\nyou as becomes a monarch!\u201d\n\nThen Patroclus fell on his knees and related the whole history of the\nGiant\u2019s head pies from the beginning.\n\nThe King actually blushed. \u201cAnd I forgot to knight you, oh, noble and\nbrave man, and to make a lady of your admirable wife!\u201d\n\nThen the King leaned gracefully down from his saddle, and struck\nPatroclus with his jeweled sword and knighted him on the spot.\n\nThe whole family went to live at the royal palace. The roses in the\nroyal gardens were uprooted, and Giant\u2019s heads (or pumpkins, as they\ncame to be called) were sown in their stead; all the royal parks also\nwere turned into pumpkin-fields.\n\nPatroclus was in constant attendance on the King, and used to stand\nall day in his antechamber. Daphne had a position of great\nresponsibility, for she superintended the baking of the pumpkin pies,\nand Aeneas finally married the Princess Ariadne Diana.\n\nThey were wedded in great state by fifty archbishops; and all the\nnewspapers united in stating that they were the most charming and\nwell-matched young couple that had ever been united in the kingdom.\n\nThe stone entrance of the Pumpkin Giant\u2019s Castle was securely\nfastened, and upon it was engraved an inscription composed by the\nfirst poet in the kingdom, for which the King made him laureate, and\ngave him the liberal pension of fifty pumpkin pies per year.\n\nThe following is the inscription in full:\n\n \u201cHere dwelt the Pumpkin Giant once.\n He\u2019s dead the nation doth rejoice,\n For, while he was alive, he lived\n By e----g dear, fat, little boys.\u201d\n\nThe inscription is said to remain to this day; if you were to go\nthere you would probably see it.\n\n\n\n\nLADY WHITE AND LADY YELLOW\n\n(A Legend of Japan)\n\n\nFREDERICK HADLAND DAVIS\n\n The sixteen petal chrysanthemum is one\n of the crests of the Imperial family.\n\nLong ago there grew in a meadow a white and a yellow chrysanthemum\nside by side. One day an old gardener chanced to come across them and\nhe took a great fancy to Lady Yellow. He told her that if she would\ncome along with him he would make her far more attractive; that he\nwould give her delicate food and fine clothes to wear.\n\nLady Yellow was so charmed with what the old man said, that she\nforgot all about the white sister and consented to be lifted up,\ncarried in the arms of the old gardener and to be placed in his\ngarden.\n\nWhen Lady Yellow and her master had departed, Lady White wept\nbitterly. Her own simple beauty had been despised; but what\nwas far worse, she was forced to remain in the meadow alone, without\nthe companionship of her sister, to whom she had been devoted.\n\nDay by day Lady Yellow grew more fair in her master\u2019s garden. No one\nwould have recognized the common flower of the field, but though her\npetals were long and curled and her leaves so clean and well cared\nfor, she sometimes thought of Lady White alone in the field, and\nwondered how she managed to make the long and lonely hours pass by.\n\nOne day a village chief came to the old man\u2019s garden in quest\nof a perfect chrysanthemum that he might take to his lord for a\ncrest design. He informed the old man that he did not want a fine\nchrysanthemum with long petals. What he wanted was a simple white\nchrysanthemum with sixteen petals. The old man told the village chief\nto see Lady Yellow, but this flower did not please him, and, thanking\nthe gardener, he took his departure.\n\nOn his way home he happened to enter a field when he saw Lady White\nweeping. She told him the sad story of her loneliness, and when she\nhad finished her tale of woe the village chief informed her that he\nhad seen Lady Yellow and did not consider her half so beautiful as\nher own white self. At these cheery words Lady White dried her eyes\nand she nearly jumped off her little feet when this kind man told her\nthat he wanted her for his lord\u2019s crest!\n\nIn another happy moment the happy Lady White was being carried in a\npalanquin. When she reached the Daimyo\u2019s palace all warmly praised\nher perfection of form. Great artists came from far and near, set\nabout her and sketched the flower with wonderful skill. She soon saw\nher pretty white face on all the Daimyo\u2019s most precious belongings.\nShe saw it on his armour and lacquer boxes, on his quilts and\ncushions and robes. She was painted floating down a stream and in all\nmanner of quaint and beautiful ways. Every one acknowledged that the\nwhite chrysanthemum with her sixteen petals made the most wonderful\ncrest in all Japan. While Lady White\u2019s happy face lived forever\ndesigned upon the Daimyo\u2019s possessions, Lady Yellow met with a sad\nfate. She had bloomed for herself alone and had drunk in the\nvisitor\u2019s praise as eagerly as she did the dew upon her finely\ncurled petals. One day, however, she felt a stiffness in her limbs\nand a cessation of the exuberance of life. Her once proud head fell\nforward, and when the old man found her he pulled her up and tossed\nher upon a rubbish heap.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SHET-UP POSY\n\n\nANN TRUMBULL SLOSSON\n\nUsed by permission of Chas. Scribner and Sons.\n\nOnce there was a posy. \u2019Twa\u2019n\u2019t a common kind o\u2019 posy, that blows out\nwide open, so\u2019s everybody can see its outsides and its insides too.\nBut \u2019twas one of them posies like what grows down the road, back o\u2019\nyour pa\u2019s sugar-house, Danny, and don\u2019t come till way towards fall.\nThey\u2019re sort o\u2019 blue, but real dark, and they look\u2019s if they was buds\n\u2019stead o\u2019 posies--only buds opens out, and these doesn\u2019t. They\u2019re all\nshet up close and tight, and they never, never, never opens. Never\nmind how much sun they get, never mind how much rain or how much\ndrouth, whether it\u2019s cold or hot, them posies stay shet up tight,\nkind o\u2019 buddy, and not finished and humly. But if you pick \u2019em open,\nreal careful, with a pin,--I\u2019ve done it,--you find they\u2019re dreadful\npretty inside.\n\nYou couldn\u2019t see a posy that was finished off better, soft and nice,\nwith pretty little stripes painted on \u2019em, and all the little things\nlike threads in the middle, sech as the open posies has, standing up,\nwith little knots on their tops, oh, so pretty,--you never did! Makes\nyou think real hard, that does; leastways, makes me. What\u2019s they\nthat way for? If they ain\u2019t never goin\u2019 to open out, what\u2019s the use\no\u2019 havin\u2019 the shet-up part so slicked up and nice, with nobody never\nseein\u2019 it? Folks has different names for \u2019em, dumb foxgloves, blind\ngenshuns, and all that, but I allers call \u2019em the shet-up posies.\n\n\u201cWell, \u2019twas one o\u2019 that kind o\u2019 posy I was goin\u2019 to tell you about.\n\u2019Twas one o\u2019 the shet-uppest and the buddiest of all on \u2019em, all\nblacky-blue and straight up and down, and shet up fast and tight.\nNobody\u2019d ever dream\u2019t was pretty inside. And the funniest thing, it\ndidn\u2019t know \u2019twas so itself! It thought \u2019twas a mistake somehow,\nthought it had oughter been a posy, and was begun for one, but wasn\u2019t\nfinished, and \u2019twas terr\u2019ble unhappy. It knew there was pretty posies\nall \u2019round there, golden-rod and purple daisies and all; and their\ninside was the right side, and they was proud of it, and held it\nopen, and showed the pretty lining, all soft and nice with the little\nfuzzy yeller threads standin\u2019 up, with little balls on their tip\nends. And the shet-up posy felt real bad; not mean and hateful and\nbegrudgin\u2019, you know, and wantin\u2019 to take away the nice part from\nthe other posies, but sorry, and kind o\u2019 \u2019shamed.\n\n\u201cOh, deary me!\u201d she says,--I most forgot to say \u2019twas a girl\nposy--\u201cdeary me, what a humly, skimpy, awk\u2019ard thing I be! I ain\u2019t\nmore\u2019n half made; there ain\u2019t no nice, pretty lining inside o\u2019 me,\nlike them other posies; and on\u2019y my wrong side shows, and that\u2019s\njest plain and common. I can\u2019t chirk up folks like the golden-rod and\ndaisies does. Nobody won\u2019t want to pick me and carry me home. I ain\u2019t\nno good to anybody, and I never shall be.\u201d\n\nSo she kep\u2019 on, thinkin\u2019 these dreadful sorry thinkin\u2019s, and most\nwishin\u2019 she\u2019d never been made at all. You know \u2019twa\u2019n\u2019t jest at fust\nshe felt this way. Fust she thought she was a bud, like lots o\u2019 buds\nall \u2019round her, and she lotted on openin\u2019 like they did. But when the\ndays kep\u2019 passin\u2019 by, and all the other buds opened out, and showed\nhow pretty they was, and she didn\u2019t open, why, then she got terr\u2019ble\ndiscouraged; and I don\u2019t wonder a mite. She\u2019d see the dew a-layin\u2019\nsoft and cool on the other posies\u2019 faces, and the sun a-shinin\u2019 warm\non \u2019em as they held \u2019em up, and sometimes she\u2019d see a butterfly come\ndown and light on \u2019em real soft, and kind o\u2019 put his head down to\n\u2019em\u2019s if he was kissin\u2019 \u2019em, and she thought \u2019twould be powerful nice\nto hold her face up to all them pleasant things. But she couldn\u2019t.\n\nBut one day, afore she\u2019d got very old, \u2019fore she\u2019d dried up or fell\noff, or anything like that, she see somebody comin\u2019 along her way.\n\u2019Twas a man, and he was lookin\u2019 at all the posies real hard and\npartic\u2019lar, but he wasn\u2019t pickin\u2019 any of \u2019em. Seems\u2019s if he was\nlookin\u2019 for somethin\u2019 diff\u2019rent from what he see, and the poor little\nshet-up posy begun to wonder what he was arter. Bimeby she braced up,\nand she asked him about it in her shet-up, whisp\u2019rin\u2019 voice. And says\nhe, the man says: \u201cI\u2019m a-pickin\u2019 posies. That\u2019s what I work at\nmost o\u2019 the time. \u2019Tain\u2019t for myself,\u201d he says, \u201cbut the one I work\nfor. I\u2019m on\u2019y his help. I run errands and do chores for him, and it\u2019s\na partic\u2019lar kind o\u2019 posy he\u2019s sent me for to-day.\u201d \u201cWhat for does he\nwant \u2019em?\u201d says the shet-up posy. \u201cWhy, to set out in his gardin,\u201d\nthe man says. \u201cHe\u2019s got the beautif\u2019lest gardin you never see, and I\npick posies for\u2019t.\u201d \u201cDeary me,\u201d thinks she to herself, \u201cI jest wish\nhe\u2019d pick me. But I ain\u2019t the kind, I know.\u201d And then she says, so\nsoft he can\u2019t hardly hear her, \u201cWhat sort o\u2019 posies is it you\u2019re\narter this time?\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d says the man, \u201cit\u2019s a dreadful sing\u2019lar\norder I\u2019ve got to-day. I got to find a posy that\u2019s handsomer inside\nthan \u2019tis outside, one that folks ain\u2019t took no notice of here,\n\u2019cause \u2019twas kind o\u2019 humly and queer to look at, not knowin\u2019 that\ninside \u2019twas as handsome as any posy on the airth. Seen any o\u2019 that\nkind?\u201d says the man.\n\nWell, the shet-up posy was dreadful worked up. \u201cDeary dear!\u201d she\nsays to herself, \u201cnow if they\u2019d on\u2019y finished me off inside! I\u2019m the\nright kind outside, humly and queer enough, but there\u2019s nothin\u2019 worth\nlookin\u2019 at inside,--I\u2019m certain sure o\u2019 that.\u201d But she didn\u2019t say\nthis nor anything else out loud, and bimeby, when the man had waited,\nand didn\u2019t get any answer, he begun to look at the shet-up posy more\npartic\u2019lar, to see why she was so mum. And all of a suddent he says,\nthe man did, \u201cLooks to me\u2019s if you was somethin\u2019 that kind yourself,\nain\u2019t ye?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no, no, no!\u201d whispers the shet-up posy. \u201cI wish I was, I wish I\nwas. I\u2019m all right outside, humly and awk\u2019ard, queer\u2019s I can be, but\nI ain\u2019t pretty inside,--oh! I most know I ain\u2019t.\u201d \u201cI ain\u2019t so sure\no\u2019 that myself,\u201d says the man, \u201cbut I can tell in a jiffy.\u201d \u201cWill\nyou have to pick me to pieces?\u201d says the shet-up posy. \u201cNo, ma\u2019am,\u201d\nsays the man; \u201cI\u2019ve got a way o\u2019 tellin\u2019, the one I work for showed\nme.\u201d The shet-up posy never knowed what he done to her. I don\u2019t know\nmyself, but \u2019twas somethin\u2019 soft and pleasant, that didn\u2019t hurt a\nmite, and then the man he says, \u201cWell, well, well!\u201d That\u2019s all he\nsaid, but he took her up real gentle, and begun to carry her away.\n\u201cWhere be ye takin\u2019 me?\u201d says the shet-up posy. \u201cWhere ye belong,\u201d\nsays the man; \u201cto the gardin o\u2019 the one I work for,\u201d he says. \u201cI\ndidn\u2019t know I was nice enough inside,\u201d says the shet-up posy, very\nsoft and still. \u201cThey most gen\u2019ally don\u2019t,\u201d says the man.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GAY LITTLE KING\n\n\nMARY STEWART\n\nSo gay it looked, that young maple tree standing in the centre of the\npasture with rows and rows of dark cedars and hemlocks growing all\naround it! They towered above the little maple and yet seemed to bow\nbefore it, as with their size and strength they shielded it from the\nwind which tossed their branches. It was covered, this small tree,\nwith leaves of flaming crimson and gold which danced and fluttered\nmerrily in the sunshine.\n\n\u201cIs it after all only a maple tree?\u201d thought the little lad Jamie,\nwho lay upon the ground in the old pasture watching. Ever since the\nfrost in a single night had painted the leaves with splendour, that\nyoung tree had been a real comrade to the cripple boy. Jamie had\nhurt his back the year before, and this summer, while the other boys\nclimbed mountains and swam streams, Jamie could only hobble upon\nhis crutches as far as the pasture. There he lay for hours upon the\ngrass watching the clouds drift across the sky and wishing he were\na cloud or a bird, so he could fly also. The days seemed very long,\nand to make them pass more quickly Jamie made up stories about the\nmountains in the distance, the stream which rippled at the foot\nof the pasture and the dark evergreen trees which surrounded that\nflaming maple. \u201cThey are dull old courtiers, and he is a gay little\nking in his coronation robes,\u201d thought the boy and then--he sat up\nin astonishment and rubbed his eyes. Was he dreaming? No, it was all\nreal, the young maple was gone and in its place was a little king! A\ncrown of gleaming jewels was upon his head, he was dressed in robes\nof flaming crimson and over all was flung a mantle of woven gold. And\nthe dark evergreens, where were they? There was no sign of them, and\naround the king stood a throng of grave and solemn courtiers dressed\nin green velvet, all gazing frowningly at the King. He was stamping\nhis foot, Jamie heard the stamp, and then he heard the King cry in a\nclear, boyish voice, \u201cI won\u2019t be a King! I won\u2019t sit upon a throne\nall day long and make laws and punish people and be bowed down to; I\nwant to be a little boy and have fun, I do!\u201d\n\nAt that moment a gust of wind blew the King\u2019s mantle from his\nshoulders; it looked like a handful of golden leaves flying through\nthe air, and the King himself--or was it only a branch of scarlet\nleaves?--no, it was the little King who came scampering over the\ngrass toward Jamie. \u201cCome,\u201d he said gleefully, \u201cwe are going to run\naway, you and I. We\u2019re going to have the merriest day of our whole\nlives!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut my crutches,\u201d sighed Jamie. \u201cSee, I can\u2019t run.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you?\u201d whispered the little King gently. \u201cClose your eyes and\nkeep tight hold of my hand.\u201d\n\nAs Jamie shut his eyes he felt something very soft, like a bit of\nthistle down against his cheek, and then as light as that same\nthistle he felt himself rising from the ground, drifting, floating,\nflying, up, up----\u201cNow open your eyes,\u201d said the little King\u2019s\nlaughing voice. Jamie obeyed, and for a moment he was puzzled. Was he\na King, too, he wondered, for his clothes were of crimson velvet like\nthe lad\u2019s beside him, or were they but leaves fluttering through the\nair?\n\n\u201cNever mind what you are,\u201d cried the King, reading his look of\nbewilderment. \u201cWe can all be lots more things than we dream of until\nthe Spirit of Autumn takes hold of us. The folks below think us only\nleaves, but we know better, and now, where shall we go? This is my\nlast gorgeous day, for to-night Autumn flies away from the cold breath\nof Winter. Let\u2019s fly to the spot you wish to see more than anything\nelse in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cFlying like this is such fun that I don\u2019t care where we go,\u201d\nanswered Jamie, then suddenly both leaves--but let us say\nboys--stopped drifting and gazed in wonder at the sight before them.\nThey were in the sunshine, but a shower was falling in the distance\nand opposite them, across the sky, stretched a perfect rainbow.\n\n\u201cDid you ever hear of the pot of gold at the rainbow\u2019s foot?\u201d asked\nJamie excitedly. \u201cLet\u2019s go there now and find it!\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d answered the little King, \u201clet\u2019s go there, and if\nwe don\u2019t find the pot of gold we may find something still more\nwonderful.\u201d\n\nThrough the air they flew toward the rainbow, whose colours were\npaling a little in the center, but growing more and more glorious at\nthe end.\n\n\u201cShut your eyes again and hold my hand tight,\u201d said the King. \u201cI must\nfill your eyes with mist or you would be blinded by the sight you are\ngoing to see. No boy has ever seen it before except in dreams.\u201d\n\nFor a moment Jamie shivered, they seemed to be passing through\na thick fog, and then--\u201cOpen your eyes,\u201d cried the King. Jamie\nlooked----\n\nPicture to yourself a great golden hall filled with streams of\ncolours, each as radiant as the sunshine, and yet, seen through\nspectacles of mist, so soft they could not dazzle your eyes. Each\ngreat sheath of colour was moving, shifting and weaving itself in\nand out among the others like the figure of a dancer, so quickly\nthat it was almost impossible to catch it. And yet that was just what\nhundreds of gay little fairies with butterfly wings and scarfs of\nthistle down were trying to do. Each one carried a golden pot, and\nas they caught one colour after another their captives rushed away,\nleaving a bit of colour in the fairy\u2019s hand. Hastily dropping that\nbit into his golden pot with a merry, tinkling laugh, the fairy was\noff again after another dancing, gleaming bit of rainbow.\n\n\u201cSo there are the pots of gold,\u201d cried Jamie. \u201cBut what do the\nfairies do with the rainbow\u2019s colours?\u201d\n\nJust then a very merry sprite came tearing past, his pot brimming\nover with glowing crimson. \u201cMy colour is the favourite just now,\u201d he\ncried. \u201cI\u2019ve got one billion trees to paint and all that\u2019s left over\ngoes to the cardinal flowers.\u201d \u201cMine is just as popular,\u201d sang out\nanother fairy, his pot overflowing with gold. \u201cThere are millions of\ngoldenrods for me to colour as well as the trees!\u201d \u201cAnd autumn loves\nmine too,\u201d chanted a delicate little sprite whose pot was filled with\nviolet. \u201cThink of all the asters without which your goldenrods would\nbe very tiresome.\u201d \u201cAnd mine,\u201d rippled another, his pot filled with\nblue like the sea. \u201cAutumn always wants mine! The gentians are rare\nbecause one blossom takes more colour than a thousand of spring\u2019s\nforget-me-nots.\u201d\n\nJust then a flaming orange stream rushed past, and Jamie and the\nlittle king made one grab at it.\n\n\u201cThieves! Robbers!\u201d cried the colours in a whirl of fury. In a second\nthey were all dancing madly before the eyes of the terrified boys.\nThen there was a crash as of thunder and the lads found themselves\nlying upon the ground, wet, thick, gray mist all about them. The\nglorious dance at the rainbow\u2019s foot had vanished.\n\n\u201cI suppose we deserved that,\u201d sighed Jamie, \u201cbut I did want a\npocketful of colour stuff to show the boys.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind, let\u2019s fly out of this mist and have more fun!\u201d cried the\nlittle King. Up they floated into the sunshine and they found that\nthe winds had been busy while they were gone. Almost every tree stood\ndark and bare--the air was full of brilliant, whispering leaves.\n\u201cWinter is surely coming soon,\u201d said the little King. \u201cLook at the\nspot below us where I grew.\u201d Beneath them, in the centre of the\npasture, stood the maple tree, only one crimson leaf still fluttering\nfrom its branches.\n\n\u201cWhen that leaf is gone, I\u2019ll have to say good-night for many\nmonths,\u201d said the King. \u201cCome, before that happens we\u2019ll go to the\nCavern of the winds and see how Autumn plays upon them.\u201d\n\nThis time they flew upward, and now it was so cold that Jamie drew\nhis scarlet robes close about him. Through the first thin clouds they\nflew; then right into a great cloud, looking like an enormous castle,\nthey floated. It was one huge hall, so vast that Jamie couldn\u2019t see\nthe other end, but he could hear, far, far away beyond great arches,\nthe rumbling of a mighty organ. Crashing and thunderous it sounded\nuntil the vast hall shook and echoed with the sound. \u201cThat is Autumn\nplaying upon the organ of the winds,\u201d said the little King, and\nalthough he shouted in Jamie\u2019s ear it sounded like a whisper above\nthe music. \u201cWhen she touches the keys the winds fill the pipes and\ngo roaring off to carry away the leaves below,\u201d he explained. \u201cBut\nlisten--she knows the leaves have almost all fallen and now she is\nsinging her good-night to them.\u201d\n\nThe crashing had ceased, and through the great hall echoed a slumber\nsong, as sweet as a thrush\u2019s note at twilight, as tender as a\nwood-dove\u2019s call.\n\nJamie closed his eyes and thought of lapping waves, and sunsets, the\nnew moon rising and the first stars blossoming in the sky.\n\nDid he sleep there in the Winds\u2019 Cavern with the Spirit of Autumn\nsinging good-night to her flaming world? He never knew. When he\nopened his eyes he found himself standing upon the doorstep of his\nown home! He was drawing something soft and white about him to keep\nout the cold and he heard a whispered \u201cGood-night, Comrade, until\nnext Autumn,\u201d and a flutter as of leaves flying through the air, then\nthe house door opened and as he stood with the light of the blazing\nfire falling upon him he heard his mother\u2019s voice:\n\n\u201cWhy, Jamie, you\u2019re covered with snow! And, my boy, where are your\ncrutches?\u201d\n\nInto the house he ran, right into his mother\u2019s outstretched arms,\nalthough his crutches were still lying out on the pasture, buried\nbeneath the snow! And Jamie was well! Was it a gift from the Spirit\nof Autumn to a little lad? Just another of her precious gifts given\nwith her flaming leaves, her wind\u2019s music, her glorious flowers. Has\nshe not a gift for you, too, among all these? Open your eyes and your\nears and find your heart\u2019s desire!\n\n October\u2019s touch paints all the maple leaves\n With brilliant crimson, and his golden kiss\n Lies on the clustered hazels; scarlet glows\n The sturdy oak, and copper-hued the beech.\n A russet gloss lingers in the elm;\n The pensile birch is yellowing apace,\n And many-tinted show the woodlands all,\n With autumn\u2019s dying slendours.\n --_Selected._\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE OPAL\n\n\nANN DE MORGAN\n\n The opal is the stone associated\n with the month of October.\n\nThe sun was shining brightly one day, and a little Sunbeam slid down\nhis long golden ladder, and crept unperceived under the leaves of a\nlarge tree. All the Sunbeams are in reality tiny Sun-fairies, who\nrun down to earth on golden ladders, which look to mortals like rays\nof the Sun. When they see a cloud coming they climb their ladders\nin an instant and draw them up after them into the Sun. The Sun is\nruled by a mighty fairy, who every morning tells his tiny servants,\nthe beams, where they are to shine, and every evening counts them on\ntheir return, to see he has the right number. It is not known, but\nthe Sun and Moon are enemies, and that is why they never shine at\nthe same time. The fairy of the Moon is a woman, and all her beams\nare tiny women, who come down on the loveliest little ladders, like\nthreads of silver. No one knows why the Sun and Moon quarrelled. Once\nthey were very good friends. But now they are bitter enemies, and the\nSunbeams and Moonbeams may not play together.\n\nOne day a little Sunbeam crept into a tree, and sat down near a\nBullfinch\u2019s nest, and watched the Bullfinch and its mate.\n\n\u201cWhy should I not have a mate also?\u201d he said to himself. He was the\nprettiest little fellow you could imagine. His hair was bright gold,\nand he sat still, leaning one arm on his tiny ladder, and listening\nto the chatter of the birds.\n\n\u201cBut I shall try to keep awake to-night to see her,\u201d said a young\nBullfinch.\n\n\u201cNonsense!\u201d said its mother. \u201cYou shall do no such thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the Nightingale says she is so very lovely,\u201d said a Wren,\nlooking out from her little nest in a hedge close by.\n\n\u201cThe Nightingale!\u201d said the old Bullfinch, scornfully. \u201cEvery one\nknows that the Nightingale was moonstruck long ago. Who can trust a\nword he says?\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless, I should like to see her,\u201d said the Wren.\n\n\u201cI have seen her, and the Nightingale is right,\u201d said a Wood-dove in\nits soft, cooing tones. \u201cI was awake last night and saw her; she is\nmore lovely than anything that ever came here before.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf whom were you talking?\u201d asked the Sunbeam; and he shot across to\nthe Bullfinch\u2019s nest. All the birds were silent when they saw him.\nAt last the Bullfinch said, \u201cOnly of a Moonbeam, your Highness. No\none your Highness would care about,\u201d for the Bullfinch remembered the\nquarrel between the Sun and Moon, and did not like to say much.\n\n\u201cWhat is she like?\u201d asked the Sunbeam. \u201cI have never seen a Moonbeam.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have seen her, and she is as beautiful as an angel,\u201d said the\nWood-dove. \u201cBut you should ask the Nightingale. He knows more about\nher than any one, for he always comes out to sing to her.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere is the Nightingale?\u201d asked the Sunbeam.\n\n\u201cHe is resting now,\u201d said the Wren, \u201cand will not say a word. But\nlater, as the Sun begins to set, he will come out and tell you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt the time when all decent birds are going to roost,\u201d grumbled the\nBullfinch.\n\n\u201cI will wait till the Nightingale comes,\u201d said the Sunbeam.\n\nSo all day long he shone about the tree. As the sun moved slowly\ndown, his ladder dropped with it lower and lower, for it was fastened\nto the Sun at one end; and if he had allowed the Sun to disappear\nbefore he had run back and drawn it up, the ladder would have broken\nagainst the earth, and the poor little Sunbeam could never have gone\nhome again, but would have wandered about, becoming paler and paler\nevery minute, till at last he died.\n\nBut some time before the sun had gone, when it was still shining in\na glorious bed of red and gold, the Nightingale arose, began to sing\nloud and clear.\n\n\u201cOh, is it you at last?\u201d said the Sunbeam. \u201cHow I have waited for\nyou. Tell me quickly about this Moonbeam of whom they are all\ntalking.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat shall I tell you of her?\u201d sang the Nightingale. \u201cShe is more\nbeautiful than the rose. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever\nseen. Her hair is silver, and the light of her eyes is far more\nlovely than yours. But why should you want to know about her? You\nbelong to the Sun, and hate Moonbeams.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not hate them,\u201d said the Sunbeam. \u201cWhat are they like? Show\nthis one to me some night, dear Nightingale.\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot show her to you now,\u201d answered the Nightingale; \u201cfor she\nwill not come out till long after the sun has set; but wait a few\ndays, and when the Moon is full she will come a little before the Sun\nsets, and if you hide beneath a leaf you may look at her. But you\nmust promise not to shine on her, or you might hurt her, or break her\nladder.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will promise,\u201d said the Sunbeam, and every day he came back to the\nsame tree at sunset, to talk to the Nightingale about the Moonbeam,\ntill the Bullfinch was quite angry.\n\n\u201cTo-night I shall see her at last,\u201d he said to himself, for the Moon\nwas almost full, and would rise before the Sun had set. He hid in the\noak-leaves, trembling with expectation.\n\n\u201cShe is coming!\u201d said the Nightingale, and the Sunbeam peeped\nout from the branches, and watched. In a minute or two a tiny\nsilver ladder like a thread was placed among the leaves, near the\nNightingale\u2019s nest, and down it came the Moonbeam, and our little\nSunbeam looked out and saw her.\n\nShe did not at all look as he had expected she would, but he agreed\nwith the Nightingale that she was the loveliest thing he had ever\nseen. She was all silver, and pale greeny blue. Her hair and eyes\nshone like stars. All the Sunbeams looked bright, and hot, but she\nlooked as cool as the sea; yet she glittered like a diamond. The\nSunbeam gazed at her in surprise, unable to say a word, till all at\nonce he saw that his little ladder was bending. The sun was sinking,\nand he had only just time to scramble back, and draw his ladder after\nhim.\n\nThe Moonbeam only saw his light vanishing, and did not see him.\n\n\u201cTo whom were you talking, dear Nightingale?\u201d she asked, putting her\nbeautiful white arms round his neck, and leaning her head on his\nbosom.\n\n\u201cTo a Sunbeam,\u201d answered the Nightingale. \u201cAh, how beautiful he is! I\nwas telling him about you. He longs to see you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have never seen a Sunbeam,\u201d said the Moonbeam, wistfully. \u201cI\nshould like to see one so much;\u201d and all night long she sat close\nbeside the Nightingale, with her head leaning on his breast whilst he\nsang to her of the Sunbeam; and his song was so loud and clear that\nit awoke the Bullfinch, who flew into a rage, and declared that if it\nwent on any longer she would speak to the Owl about it, and have it\nstopped. For the Owl was chief judge, and always ate the little birds\nwhen they did not behave themselves.\n\nBut the Nightingale never ceased, and the Moonbeam listened till the\ntears rose in her eyes and her lips quivered.\n\n\u201cTo-night, then, I shall see him,\u201d whispered the Moonbeam, as she\nkissed the Nightingale, and bid him adieu.\n\n\u201cAnd to-night he will see you,\u201d said the Nightingale, as he settled\nto rest among the leaves.\n\nAll that next day was cloudy, and the Sun did not shine, but towards\nevening the clouds passed away and the Sun came forth, and no sooner\nhad it appeared than the Nightingale saw our Sunbeam\u2019s ladder placed\nclose to his nest, and in an instant the Sunbeam was beside him.\n\n\u201cDear, dear Nightingale,\u201d he said, \u201cyou are right. She is more lovely\nthan the dawn. I have thought of her all night and all day. Tell me,\nwill she come again to-night? I will wait to see her.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, she will come, and you may speak to her, but you must not touch\nher,\u201d said the Nightingale; and then they were silent and waited.\n\nUnderneath the oak-tree lay a large white Stone, a common white\nStone, neither beautiful nor useful, for it lay there where it had\nfallen, and bitterly lamented that it had no object in life. It never\nspoke to the birds, who scarcely knew it could speak; but sometimes,\nif the Nightingale lighted upon it, and touched it with his soft\nbreast, or the Moonbeam shone upon it, it felt as if it would break\nwith grief that it should be so stupid and useless. It watched the\nSunbeams and Moonbeams come down on their ladders, and wondered that\nnone of the birds but the Nightingale thought the Moonbeam beautiful.\nThat evening, as the Sunbeam sat waiting, the Stone watched it\neagerly, and when the Moonbeam placed her tiny ladder among the\nleaves, and slid down it, it listened to all that was said.\n\nAt first the Moonbeam did not speak, for she did not see the Sunbeam,\nbut she came close to the Nightingale, and kissed it as usual.\n\n\u201cHave you seen him again?\u201d she asked. And, on hearing this, the\nSunbeam shot out from among the green leaves, and stood before her.\n\nFor a few minutes she was silent; then she began to shiver and sob,\nand drew nearer to the Nightingale, and if the Sunbeam tried to\napproach her, she climbed up her ladder, and went farther still.\n\n\u201cDo not be frightened, dearest Moonbeam,\u201d cried he piteously; \u201cI\nwould not, indeed, do you any harm, you are so very lovely, and I\nlove you so much.\u201d\n\nThe Moonbeam turned away, sobbing.\n\n\u201cI do not want you to leave me,\u201d she said, \u201cfor if you touch me I\nshall die. It would have been much better for you not to have seen\nme; and now I cannot go back and be happy in the Moon, for I shall be\nalways thinking of you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not care if I die or not, now that I have seen you; and see,\u201d\nsaid the Sunbeam sadly, \u201cmy end is sure, for the Sun is fast sinking,\nand I shall not return to it, I shall stay with you.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo, while you have time,\u201d cried the Moonbeam. But even as she spoke\nthe Sun sank beneath the horizon, and the tiny gold ladder of the\nSunbeam broke with a snap, and the two sides fell to earth and melted\naway.\n\n\u201cSee,\u201d said the Sunbeam, \u201cI cannot return now, neither do I wish it.\nI will remain here with you till I die.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d cried the Moonbeam. \u201cOh, I shall have killed you! What\nshall I do? And look, there are clouds drifting near the Moon; if one\nof them floats across my ladder it will break it. But I cannot go\nand leave you here;\u201d and she leaned across the leaves to where the\nSunbeam sat, and looked into his eyes. But the Nightingale saw that\na tiny white cloud was sailing close by the Moon--a little cloud no\nbigger than a spot of white wool, but quite big and strong enough to\nbreak the Moonbeam\u2019s little ladder.\n\n\u201cGo, go at once. See! your ladder will break,\u201d he sang to her; but\nshe did not notice him, but sat watching the Sunbeam sadly. For a\nmoment the moon\u2019s light was obscured, as the tiny cloud sailed past\nit; then the little silver ladder fell to earth, broken in two and\nshrunk away, but the Moonbeam did not heed it.\n\n\u201cIt does not matter,\u201d she said, \u201cfor I should never have gone back\nand left you here, now that I have seen you.\u201d\n\nSo all night long they sat together in the oak tree, and the\nNightingale sang to them, and the other birds grumbled that he kept\nthem awake. But the two were very happy, though the Sunbeam knew he\nwas growing paler every moment, for he could not live twenty-four\nhours away from the Sun.\n\nWhen the dawn began to appear, the Moonbeam shivered and trembled.\n\n\u201cThe strong Sun,\u201d she said, \u201cwould kill me, but I fear something even\nworse than the Sun. See how heavy the clouds are! Surely it is going\nto rain, and rain would kill us both at once. Oh, where can we look\nfor shelter before it comes?\u201d\n\nThe Sunbeam looked up, and saw that the rain was coming.\n\n\u201cCome,\u201d he said, \u201clet us go;\u201d and they wandered out into the forest,\nand sought for a sheltering place, but every moment they grew weaker.\n\nWhen they were gone, the Stone looked up at the Nightingale, and said:\n\n\u201cOh, why did they go? I like to hear them talk, and they are so\npretty; they can find no shelter out there, and they will die at\nonce. See! in my side there is a large hole where it is quite dark,\nand into which no rain can come. Fly after them and tell them to\ncome, that I will shelter them.\u201d So the Nightingale spread his wings,\nand flew, singing:\n\n\u201cCome back, come back! The Stone will shelter you. Come back at once\nbefore the rain falls.\u201d\n\nThey had wandered out into an open field, but when she heard the\nNightingale, the Moonbeam turned her head and said:\n\n\u201cSurely that is the Nightingale singing. See! he is calling us.\u201d\n\n\u201cFollow me,\u201d sang the bird. \u201cBack at once to shelter in the Stone.\u201d\nBut the Moonbeam tottered and fell.\n\n\u201cI am grown so weak and pale,\u201d she said, \u201cI can no longer move.\u201d\n\nThen the Nightingale flew to earth. \u201cClimb upon my back,\u201d he said,\n\u201cand I will take you both back to the Stone.\u201d So they both sat upon\nhis back, and he flew with them to the large Stone beneath the tree.\n\n\u201cGo in,\u201d he said, stopping in front of the hole; and both passed into\nthe hole, and nestled in the darkness within the Stone.\n\nThen the rain began. All day long it rained, and the Nightingale sat\nin his nest half asleep. But when the Moon rose, after the sun had\nset, the clouds cleared away, and the air was again full of tiny\nsilver ladders, down which the Moonbeams came, but the Nightingale\nlooked in vain for his own particular Moonbeam. He knew she could\nnot shine on him again, therefore he mourned, and sang a sorrowful\nsong. Then he flew down to the Stone, and sang a song at the mouth\nof the hole, but there came no answer. So he looked down the hole,\ninto the Stone, but there was no trace of the Sunbeam or the\nMoonbeam--only one shining spot of light, where they had rested. Then\nthe Nightingale knew that they had faded away and died.\n\n\u201cThey could not live away from the Sun and Moon,\u201d he said. \u201cStill, I\nwish I had never told the Sunbeam of her beauty; then she would be\nhere now.\u201d\n\nWhen the Bullfinch heard of it she was quite pleased. \u201cNow, at\nleast,\u201d she said, \u201cwe shall hear the end of the Moonbeam. I am\nheartily glad, for I was sick of her.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow much they must have loved each other!\u201d said the Dove. \u201cI am glad\nat least that they died together,\u201d and she cooed sadly.\n\nBut through the Stone wherein the beams had sheltered, shot up\nbright, beautiful rays of light, silver and gold. They coloured it\nall over with every colour of the rainbow, and when the Sun or Moon\nwarmed it with their light it became quite brilliant. So that the\nStone, from being the ugliest thing in the whole forest, became the\nmost beautiful.\n\nMen found it and called it the Opal. But the Nightingale knew that it\nwas the Sunbeam and Moonbeam who, in dying, had suffused the Stone\nwith their mingled colours and light; and the Nightingale will never\nforget them, for every night he sings their story, and that is why\nhis song is so sad.\n\n In sapphire, emerald, amethyst,\n Sparkles the sea by the morning kissed;\n And the mist from the far-off valleys lie\n Gleaming like pearl in the tender sky;\n Soft shapes of cloud that melt and drift,\n With tints of opal that glow and shift.\n CELIA THAXTER.\n\n\n\n\nLOST: THE SUMMER\n\n\n Where has the summer gone?\n She was here just a minute ago,\n With roses and daisies\n To whisper her praises----\n And every one loved her so!\n\n Has any one seen her about?\n She must have gone off in the night!\n And she took the best flowers\n And the happiest hours,\n And asked no one\u2019s leave for her flight.\n\n Have you noticed her steps in the grass?\n The garden looks red where she went;\n By the side of the hedge\n There\u2019s a golden-rod edge,\n And the rose vines are withered and bent.\n\n Do you think she will ever come back?\n I shall watch every day at the gate\n For the robins and clover,\n Saying over and over:\n \u201cI know she will come, if I wait.\u201d\n RAYMOND MACDONALD ALDEN.\n\n\n\n\nBY THE WAYSIDE\n\n\n On the hill the golden-rod,\n And the aster in the wood,\n And the yellow sunflower by the brook,\n In autumn beauty stood.\n WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.\n\n\n\n\nTHE KING\u2019S CANDLES\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a good king who was driven from his\nthrone by an enemy. A few faithful knights and servants fled with his\nmajesty to a forest where they found shelter in deep, rocky caves.\n\nThe flight from the king\u2019s palace had been so hasty that the knights\nand servants could bring only a few things for their king\u2019s comfort.\nIt was in the early autumn and his majesty feared it would be\nnecessary to live in secret during the coming winter. You may be sure\nthe king was well pleased to find his knights had brought a few warm\nblankets and robes. After he had praised his followers for their\nthoughtfulness in providing for the winter, a young page stepped\nforward and said, \u201cYour Majesty, I did not bring clothing, but I\nbrought as many candles as I could carry.\u201d\n\n\u201cCandles,\u201d laughed the king, \u201cnow pray tell me, lad, why you brought\ncandles. You served me well in the palace by seeing that my throne\nwas properly lighted, but in our forest exile we shall have little\nuse for candles, I fear.\u201d\n\n\u201cSire,\u201d replied the page, \u201cI thought that your majesty would wish to\nhold council in the evenings, and that I could light your throne seat\nwith candles as was the custom in the palace.\u201d\n\n\u201cI fear my throne seat, as you call it, will be nothing more than a\nrocky ledge for some time,\u201d said the king. \u201cSee, there is one in the\ninner cave which will serve. So long as the candles last, my faithful\nlad, your king will not be obliged to hold council in darkness.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo long as the candles last,\u201d repeated the king\u2019s page to himself.\n\u201cI hope our king\u2019s soldiers, who are seeking help, will be able to\ndrive the usurper away before winter comes.\u201d\n\nThe king and his followers soon adapted themselves to life in exile.\nDuring the daytime they hunted game which lurked in the thickets; in\nthe evening they gathered together in the deep cave and held council.\nThen it was that the king sat on his rude throne lit by two candles.\n\nThe king\u2019s page with sinking heart saw the candles grow fewer and\nfewer until there were but two left. Then at last came an evening\nwhen the lights were missing from the king\u2019s throne. In a dark corner\nof the cave the little page sat grieving because he could not see his\nking\u2019s face.\n\nIt happened one morning that the lad wandered to the edge of the\nwoodland where the highway separated the richly coloured forest\ntrees from a stretch of meadowland where the white mist was slowly\nlifting. On the roadside was an old woman carrying a large sack on\nher bent shoulders. When she reached the place where the king\u2019s page\nwas standing she set her sack on the ground and looked wistfully at\nthe meadow, then at the deep ditch which separated the field from the\nhighway.\n\n\u201cShall I help you across the ditch?\u201d asked the king\u2019s page.\n\n\u201cThank you, my lad,\u201d said the old woman. \u201cPerhaps I\u2019d better not go\nacross. It would be hard for me to reach the highway again. But I\nshould like a few of those tall mullein spikes. I\u2019ve none in my bag\nso fine as those growing in the meadow.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll gather some for you\u201d said the king\u2019s page.\n\nHe leaped across the ditch, and soon filled his hands with the tall\nmullein spikes.\n\nThe old woman was delighted. She tucked them into her bag and said,\n\u201cThey make such fine winter candles. Thank you, my lad.\u201d\n\n\u201cWinter candles!\u201d exclaimed the king\u2019s page.\n\n\u201cAye,\u201d nodded the old woman. \u201cDip them in tallow, a thin coat will\ndo--and you have candles fit for a king. Thank you kindly.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are in sore need of candles where I live, but----\u201d the page\nstopped.\n\n\u201cUse mullein spikes. They make candles fit for a king, I say,\u201d and\nthe old woman picked up her sack.\n\n\u201cBut we have no tallow,\u201d said the lad.\n\n\u201cI can spare you a lump of tallow, my boy. Come along with me to my\ncottage,\u201d said the old woman.\n\nSo the king\u2019s page carried the sack of mullein spikes to the old\nwoman\u2019s cottage and she gave him a large lump of tallow. On his way\nback he leaped across the ditch again and filled his arms with tall\nmullein spikes. He hurried back to the cave, melted the tallow, and\ndipped the weeds into the liquid fat.\n\nWhen the king and his party returned that evening to the cave, two\ntall candles were standing on the rude throne.\n\n\u201cSee,\u201d cried the king\u2019s page, \u201cwe have a fresh supply of candles.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell us where you got them,\u201d said the surprised king.\n\n\u201cThey are made from spikes of the mullein weed,\u201d explained the king\u2019s\npage. Then he told his majesty about the afternoon\u2019s adventure.\n\n\u201cThe mullein weed shall have a new name,\u201d declared the king. \u201cIt\nshall be called the King\u2019s Candles.\u201d\n\nA few days later the king called his followers around his throne seat\nand said, \u201cA message has come to me declaring that the usurper has\nbeen driven out of my country. Tomorrow we\u2019ll hold a feast in the\npalace, and the table shall be lighted by \u2018King\u2019s Candles.\u2019\u201d\n\nEvery year since that far-off time when the reigning king holds an\nautumn festival, the banquet table is lighted with mullein spikes\ndipped in tallow, and they are called the \u201cKing\u2019s Candles.\u201d\n\n \u201cThe mullein\u2019s yellow candles burn\n Over the heads of dry, sweet fern.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nA LEGEND OF THE GOLDEN-ROD\n\n\nFRANCES WELD DANIELSON\n\n(From \u201cStory-Telling Time.\u201d Used by permission of Pilgrims Press.)\n\nOnce there were a great many weeds in a field. They were very\nugly-looking weeds, and they didn\u2019t seem to be the least bit of use\nin the world. The cows would not eat them, the children would not\npick them, and even the bugs did not seem to like them very well.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see what we\u2019re here for,\u201d said one of the weeds. \u201cWe are not\nany good.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo good at all,\u201d growled a dozen little weeds, \u201conly to catch dust.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, if that\u2019s what we\u2019re here for,\u201d cried a very tall weed, \u201cthen\nI say let\u2019s catch dust! I suppose somebody\u2019s got to do it. We can\u2019t\nall bear blueberries or blossom into hollyhocks.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it isn\u2019t pleasant work at all,\u201d whined a tiny bit of a weed.\n\n\u201cNo whining allowed in this field,\u201d laughed a funny little fat weed,\nwith a hump in his stalk. \u201cWe\u2019re all going to catch dust, so let\u2019s\nsee which one can catch the most. What do you say to a race?\u201d\n\nThe little fat weed spoke in such a jolly voice that the weeds all\ncheered up at once, and before long they were as busy as bees, and\nas happy as Johnnie-jump-ups. They worked so well stretching their\nstalks and spreading out their fingers that before the summer was\nhalf over they were able to take every bit of dust that flew up from\nthe road. In the field beyond, where the clover grew and the cows\nfed, there was not any to be seen.\n\nOne morning, toward the end of summer, the weeds were surprised to\nsee a number of people standing by the fence looking at them. Pretty\nsoon some children came and gazed at them. Then the weeds noticed\nthat people driving by called each other\u2019s attention to them. They\nwere much surprised at this, but they were still more surprised when\none day some children climbed the fence and commenced to pick them.\n\n\u201cSee,\u201d cried a little girl, \u201chow all the dust has been changed to\ngold!\u201d\n\nThe weeds looked at each other, and, sure enough, they were all\ncovered with gold-dust.\n\n\u201cA fairy has done it,\u201d they whispered one to the other.\n\nBut the fairies were there on the spot, and declared they had had\nnothing to do with it.\n\n\u201cYou did it yourselves,\u201d cried the queen of the fairies. \u201cYou were\nhappy in your work, and a cheerful spirit always changes dust into\ngold. Didn\u2019t you know it?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re not weeds any more, you\u2019re flowers,\u201d sang the fairies.\n\n\u201cGolden-rod, golden-rod!\u201d shouted the children.\n\n\n\n\nGOLDEN-ROD\n\n\n Pretty, slender golden-rod,\n Like a flame of light,\n On the quiet, lonely way,\n Glows your torch so bright.\n\n With your glorious golden staff,\n Gay in autumn hours,\n Now you lead to wintry rest,\n All the lovely flowers.\n\n Cheering with a joyous face,\n All that pass you by,\n How you light the meadows round,\n With your head so high.\n ANNA E. SKINNER.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE WEED\n\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re nothing but a weed,\u201d said the children in the fall. The\nlittle weed hung its head in sorrow. No one seemed to think that a\nweed was of any use.\n\nBy and by the snow came and the cold winds blew. There were many\nhungry little birds hunting for food.\n\n \u201cTwit! Twit Twee!\n See! See! See!\u201d\n\nsang a merry little bird one cold morning.\n\n\u201cHere is a lovely weed full of nice brown seeds!\u201d And he made a good\nmeal from those seeds that morning. Then three other little birds\ncame to share the feast.\n\nThe little weed was so happy that she held her head up straight and\ntall again.\n\n\u201cThat is what I was meant for,\u201d she said. \u201cI am good for something.\nFour hungry little birds had as many seeds as they wished for their\nbreakfast. Next year I\u2019ll grow as many seeds as I can to feed many\nmore hungry little birds. Good-bye, little birds,\u201d she called out to\nthe little feathery friends. \u201cCome again next year. I\u2019ll have another\ndinner for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-bye, little weed,\u201d sang the birds. \u201cWe have had a fine meal and\nwe thank you very much. You\u2019ll see us again next year. It is so hard\nto get enough to eat during the cold weather, and we are grateful to\nyou for holding your seeds for us.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s nice to find that one is of some use after all, isn\u2019t it?\u201d\ncalled out the little weed to her neighbour in the next field.\n\n --_Selected._\n\n\n\n\nGOLDEN-ROD AND PURPLE ASTER\n\n\nFLORA J. COOKE\n\nOnce upon a time a strange, wise woman lived in a little hut which\nstood on the top of a hill. She looked so grim and severe that people\nwere afraid to go near her. It was said that she could change people\ninto anything she wished.\n\nOne day two little girls who lived at the foot of the hill were\nplaying together. One was named Golden Hair and the other Blue Eyes.\nAfter a while they sat down on the grassy hillside to rest.\n\n\u201cI should like to do something to make everybody happy,\u201d said Blue\nEyes.\n\n\u201cSo should I,\u201d said Golden Hair. \u201cLet us ask the woman who lives on\nthe hilltop about it. She is very wise and can surely tell us just\nwhat to do.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes,\u201d said Blue Eyes, and away they started at once.\n\nIt was a long, long walk to the top of the hill. Many times the\nlittle girls stopped to rest under the oak trees which shaded their\npathway.\n\nThey could find no flowers, but they made a basket of oak leaves and\nfilled it with berries for the wise woman.\n\nThe birds were singing in the treetops, and the squirrels were\nfrisking about in the branches. Golden Hair and Blue Eyes stopped to\nlaugh and talk with them.\n\nThe little girls walked on and on up the rocky pathway. After a while\nthe sun went down, the birds stopped their singing, and the squirrels\nwent to bed. The evening wind was resting. How still and cool it was\non the hillside!\n\nPresently the moon and stars came out. Then the frogs and toads\nawoke, beetles and fireflies flew about and the night music began.\n\nGolden Hair and Blue Eyes were growing very tired, but on and on they\nclimbed until at last they reached the hut on the hilltop where the\nstrange, wise woman lived.\n\n\u201cSee, she is standing at the gate,\u201d said Golden Hair. \u201cHow stern she\nlooks.\u201d\n\nThe little girls clung close together, and when they reached the gate\nGolden Hair said bravely, \u201cWe know you are very wise and we came to\nsee if you would tell us how to make everyone happy.\u201d\n\n\u201cPlease let us stay together,\u201d said timid Blue Eyes.\n\nAs she opened the gate for the children, the wise woman was seen to\nsmile in the moonlight. Golden Hair and Blue Eyes were never seen\nagain at the foot of the hill. The next morning beautiful, waving\ngolden-rod and purple asters grew all over the hillside.\n\nSome people say that these two bright flowers, which grow side by\nside, could tell the secret if they would, of what became of the two\nlittle girls on that moonlight night.\n\n(Adapted.)\n\n\n\n\nWILD ASTERS\n\n\nCHILD\n\n White and purple asters, watching by the brook,\n Tell me where you got your starry eyes.\n\n ASTERS\n\n Dearie, in their play the baby angels took\n Blossoms from the garden of the skies.\n\n Tossed them downward to us over heaven\u2019s wall,\n And we caught and kept them,--that is all.\n\n\n\n\nSILVER-ROD\n\n\nEDITH M. THOMAS\n\nWho knows not Silver-rod, the lovely and reverend Golden-rod\nbeautified and sainted, looking moonlit and misty even in the\nsunshine! In this soft canescent afterbloom beginning at the apex of\nthe flower cluster and gradually spreading downward, the eye finds\nan agreeable relief from the recent dazzle of yellow splendour. I\nalmost forget that the herb is not literally in bloom, that is, no\nlonger ministered to by sunshine and dew. Is there not, perhaps, some\nkind of bee that loves to work among these plumy blossoms gathering a\nconcentrated form of nectar, pulverulent _flower_ of honey? I gently\nstir this tufted staff, and away floats a little cloud of pappus, in\nwhich I recognize the golden-and silver-rods of another year, if the\nfeathery seeds shall find hospitable lodgment in the earth. Two other\nplants in the wild herbarium deserve to be ranked with my\nsubject for grace and dignity with which they wear their seedy\nfortunes: iron-weed, with its pretty daisy-shaped involucres;\nand life-everlasting, which, having provided its own cerements\nand spices, now rests embalmed in all the pastures; it is still\npleasantly odorous, and, as often as I meet it, puts me in mind of\nan old-fashioned verse which speaks of the \u201cactions of the just\u201d and\ntheir lasting bloom and sweetness. On a chill November day I fancy\nthat the air is a little softer in places where Silver-rod holds\nsway and that there spirits of peace and patience have their special\nhaunts.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA white butterfly met a thistle-ball in the airy highway. Expressions\nof mutual surprise were exchanged.\n\n\u201cHello! I thought you were one of us,\u201d said the butterfly.\n\n\u201cAnd I,\u201d returned the thistle-ball, \u201ctook you for a white\npea-blossom.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nPIMPERNEL, THE SHEPHERD\u2019S CLOCK\n\n\n I\u2019ll go and look at the Pimpernel\n And see if she thinks the clouds look well.\n For if the sun shine\n And \u2019tis like to be fine,\n I\u2019ll go to the fair.\n\n So Pimpernel, what bode the clouds in the sky;\n If fair weather, no maiden so merry as I.\n\n Now the Pimpernel flower had folded up\n Her little gold star in her coral cup.\n And unto the maid\n A warning she said:\n \u201cThough the sun seems down\n There\u2019s a gathering frown\n O\u2019er the checkered blue of the clouded sky\n So, tarry at home! for a storm is nigh!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nA LEGEND OF THE GENTIAN\n\n\n(Hungarian)\n\nMany years ago the poor people of Hungary suffered from a terrible\nsickness which had afflicted them for a long time. Thousands of them\nhad been stricken and many had died, for nothing could be found to\ncure them or relieve their sufferings in any way.\n\nAt last the people appealed to their good King Ladislaw for help.\nMessenger after messenger was sent to beg him to bring about some\nrelief. But the good king could do nothing, and he was obliged to\nsend the messengers away without help and without hope.\n\nOne day the king sat thinking about the needs of his people. \u201cWhat\ncan I do for my people?\u201d he asked himself over and over again. \u201cI\nhave sent them away without help and without hope. God alone knows\nwhat will help them. He will give me a sign. My arrow shall bring me\nthe message.\u201d And the good king prayed that divine guidance would\ndirect an arrow shot into the air.\n\nHis Majesty shot the arrow and watched where it fell. And, behold, it\npierced the root of a gentian!\n\nThe king then sent his servants to gather many roots of this plant\nand make from them a medicine for his suffering people. And the\ncure was so wonderful that from that day his people have called the\ngentian \u201cThe Herb of King Ladislaw.\u201d\n\n \u201cThou blossom bright with autumn dew,\n And coloured with the heaven\u2019s own blue,\n That openest when, the quiet light,\n Succeeds the keen and frosty night.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nQUEEN ASTER\n\n\nLOUISA M. ALCOTT\n\nFor many seasons the Golden-rods had reigned over the meadow, and no\none thought of choosing a king from any other family, for they were\nstrong and handsome, and loved to rule.\n\nBut one autumn something happened which caused a great excitement\namong the flowers. It was proposed to have a queen, and such a thing\nhad never been heard of before. It began among the Asters; for some\nof them grew outside the wall beside the road, and saw and heard\nwhat went on in the great world. These sturdy plants told the news\nto their relations inside; and so the Asters were unusually wise and\nenergetic flowers, from the little white stars in the grass to the\ntall sprays tossing their purple plumes above the mossy wall.\n\n\u201cThings are moving in the great world, and it is time we made a\nchange in our little one,\u201d said one of the roadside Asters, after a\nlong talk with a wandering wind. \u201cMatters are not going well in the\nmeadow; for the Golden-rods rule, and they care only for money and\npower, as their name shows. Now, we are descended from the stars,\nand are both wise and good, and our tribe is even larger than the\nGolden-rod tribe; so it is but fair that we should take our turn at\ngoverning. It will soon be time to choose, and I propose our stately\ncousin, Violet Aster, for queen this year. Whoever agrees with me,\nsay Aye.\u201d\n\nQuite a shout went up from all the Asters; and the late Clovers and\nButtercups joined in it, for they were honest, sensible flowers,\nand liked fair play. To their great delight the Pitcher-plant, or\nForefathers\u2019 Cup, said \u201cAye\u201d most decidedly, and that impressed all\nthe other plants; for this fine family came over in the _Mayflower_,\nand was much honoured everywhere.\n\nBut the proud Cardinals by the brook blushed with shame at the\nidea of a queen; the Fringed Gentians shut their blue eyes that\nthey might not see the bold Asters; and Clematis fainted away in the\ngrass, she was so shocked. The Golden-rods laughed scornfully, and\nwere much amused at the suggestion to put them off the throne where\nthey had ruled so long.\n\n\u201cLet those discontented Asters try it,\u201d they said. \u201cNo one will vote\nfor that foolish Violet, and things will go on as they always have\ndone; so, dear friends, don\u2019t be troubled, but help us elect our\nhandsome cousin who was born in the palace this year.\u201d\n\nIn the middle of the meadow stood a beautiful maple, and at its foot\nlay a large rock overgrown by a wild grapevine. All kinds of flowers\nsprang up here; and this autumn a tall spray of Golden-rod and a\nlovely violet Aster grew almost side by side, with only a screen of\nferns between them. This was called the palace; and seeing their\ncousin there made the Asters feel that their turn had come, and many\nof the other flowers agreed with them that a change of rulers ought\nto be made for the good of the kingdom.\n\nSo when the day came to choose, there was great excitement as the\nwind went about collecting the votes. The Golden-rods, Cardinals,\nGentians, Clematis, and Bitter-sweet voted for the Prince, as they\ncalled the handsome fellow by the rock. All the Asters, Buttercups,\nClovers, and Pitcher-plants voted for Violet; and to the surprise\nof the meadow the Maple dropped a leaf, and the Rock gave a bit of\nlichen for her also. They seldom took part in the affairs of the\nflower people,--the tree living so high above them, busy with its own\nmusic, and the rock being so old that it seemed lost in meditation\nmost of the time; but they liked the idea of a queen (for one was a\npoet, the other a philosopher), and both believed in gentle Violet.\n\nTheir votes won the day, and with loud rejoicing by her friends she\nwas proclaimed queen of the meadow and welcomed to her throne.\n\n\u201cWe will never go to Court or notice her in any way,\u201d cried the\nhaughty Cardinals, red with anger.\n\n\u201cNor we! Dreadful, unfeminine creature! Let us turn our backs and be\ngrateful that the brook flows between us,\u201d added the Gentians,\nshaking their fringes as if the mere idea soiled them.\n\nClematis hid her face among the vine leaves, feeling that the palace\nwas no longer a fit home for a delicate, high-born flower like\nherself. All the Golden-rods raged at this dreadful disappointment,\nand said many untrue and disrespectful things of Violet. The Prince\ntossed his yellow head behind the screen, and laughed as if he did\nnot mind, saying carelessly:\n\n\u201cLet her try; she never can do it, and will soon be glad to give up\nand let me take my proper place.\u201d\n\nSo the meadow was divided: one half turned its back on the new queen;\nthe other half loved, admired, and believed in her; and all waited to\nsee how the experiment would succeed. The wise Asters helped her with\nadvice; the Pitcher-plant refreshed her with the history of the brave\nPuritans who loved liberty and justice, and suffered to win them; the\nhonest Clovers sweetened life with their sincere friendship, and the\ncheerful Buttercups brightened her days with kindly words and deeds.\nBut her best help came from the rock and the tree,--for when she\nneeded strength she leaned her delicate head against the rough\nbreast of the rock, and courage seemed to come to her from the wise\nold stone that had borne the storms of a hundred years; when her\nheart was heavy with care or wounded by unkindness, she looked up\nto the beautiful tree, always full of soft music, always pointing\nheavenward, and was comforted by these glimpses of a world above her.\n\nThe first thing she did was to banish the evil snakes from her\nkingdom; for they lured the innocent birds to death, and filled many\na happy nest with grief.\n\nThe next task was to stop the red and black ants from constantly\nfighting; for they were always at war, to the great dismay of more\npeaceful insects. She bade each tribe keep in its own country, and\nif any dispute came up, to bring it to her, and she would decide it\nfairly. This was a hard task; for the ants loved to fight, and would\ngo on struggling after their bodies were separated from their heads,\nso fierce were they. But she made them friends at last, and every one\nwas glad.\n\nAnother reform was to purify the news that came to the meadow. The\nwind was telegraph-messenger; but the birds were reporters, and some\nof them very bad ones. The larks brought tidings from the clouds,\nand were always welcome; the thrushes from the wood, and all loved\nto hear their pretty romances; the robins had domestic news, and\nthe lively wrens bits of gossip and witty jokes to relate. But the\nmagpies made such mischief with their ill-natured tattle and evil\ntales, and the crows criticised and condemned every one who did not\nbelieve and do just as they did; so the magpies were forbidden to go\ngossiping about the meadow, and the gloomy black crows were ordered\noff the fence where they liked to sit cawing dismally for hours at a\ntime.\n\nEvery one felt safe and comfortable when this was done, except the\nCardinals, who liked to hear their splendid dresses and fine feasts\ntalked about, and the Golden-rods, who were so used to living in\npublic that they missed the excitement, as well as the scandal of the\nmagpies and the political and religious arguments and quarrels of the\ncrows.\n\nA hospital for sick and homeless creatures was opened under the big\nburdock leaves; and there several belated butterflies were tucked up\nin their silken hammocks to sleep till spring, a sad lady-bug, who\nhad lost all her children, found comfort in her loneliness, and many\ncrippled ants sat talking over their battles, like old soldiers, in\nthe sunshine.\n\nIt took a long time to do all this, and it was a hard task, for\nthe rich and powerful flowers gave no help. But the Asters worked\nbravely, so did the Clovers and Buttercups and the Pitcher-plant kept\nopen house with the old-fashioned hospitality one so seldom sees\nnowadays. Everything seemed to prosper, and the meadow grew more\nbeautiful day by day. Safe from their enemies, the snakes, birds came\nto build in all the trees and bushes, singing their gratitude so\nsweetly that there was always music in the air. Sunshine and shower\nseemed to love to freshen the thirsty flowers and keep the grass\ngreen, till every plant grew strong and fair, and passers-by stopped\nto look, saying with a smile:--\n\n\u201cWhat a pretty little spot this is!\u201d\n\nThe wind carried tidings of these things to other colonies, and\nbrought back messages of praise and good-will from other rulers, glad\nto know the experiment worked so well.\n\nThis made a deep impression on the Golden-rods and their friends, for\nthey could not deny that Violet had succeeded better than any one\ndared to hope; and the proud flowers began to see that they would\nhave to give in, own they were wrong, and become loyal subjects of\nthis wise and gentle queen.\n\n\u201cWe shall have to go to Court if ambassadors keep coming with such\ngifts and honours to Her Majesty; for they wonder not to see us\nthere, and will tell that we are sulking at home instead of shining\nas _we_ only can,\u201d said the Cardinals, longing to display their red\nvelvet robes at the feasts which Violet was obliged to give in the\npalace when kings came to visit her.\n\n\u201cOur time will soon be over, and I\u2019m afraid we must humble ourselves\nor lose all the gaiety of the season. It is hard to see the good old\nways changed; but if they must be, we can only gracefully submit,\u201d\nanswered the Gentians, smoothing their delicate blue fringes, eager\nto be again the belles of the ball.\n\nClematis astonished every one by suddenly beginning to climb the\nmaple-tree and shake her silvery tassels like a canopy over the\nQueen\u2019s head.\n\n\u201cI cannot live so near her and not begin to grow. Since I must cling\nto something, I choose the noblest I can find, and look up, not down,\nforevermore,\u201d she said; for like many weak and timid creatures, she\nwas easily guided, and it was well for her that Violet\u2019s example had\nbeen a brave one.\n\nPrince Golden-rod had found it impossible to turn his back entirely\nupon Her Majesty, for he was a gentleman with a really noble heart\nunder his yellow cloak; so he was among the first to see, admire, and\nlove the modest, faithful flower who grew so near him. He could not\nhelp hearing her words of comfort or reproof to those who came to her\nfor advice. He saw the daily acts of charity which no one else\ndiscovered; he knew how many trials came to her, and how bravely she\nbore them.\n\n\u201cShe had done more than ever we did to make the kingdom beautiful and\nsafe and happy, and I\u2019ll be the first to own it, to thank her and\noffer my allegiance,\u201d he said to himself, and waited for a chance.\n\nOne night when the September moon was shining over the meadow, and\nthe air was balmy with the last breath of summer, the Prince ventured\nto serenade the Queen on his wind-harp. He knew she was awake; for he\nhad peeped through the ferns and seen her looking at the stars with\nher violet eyes full of dew, as if something troubled her. So he sang\nhis sweetest song, and Her Majesty leaned nearer to hear it; for she\nmuch longed to be friends with the gallant Prince, because both were\nborn in the palace and grew up together very happily till coronation\ntime came.\n\nAs he ended she sighed, wondering how long it would be before he told\nher what she knew was in his heart.\n\nGolden-rod heard the soft sigh, and forgetting his pride, he pushed\naway the screen, and whispered, while his face shone and his voice\nshowed how much he felt.\n\n\u201cWhat troubles you, sweet neighbour? Forget and forgive my\nunkindness, and let me help you if I can,--I dare not say as Prince\nConsort, though I love you dearly; but as a friend and faithful\nsubject, for I confess that you are fitter to rule than I.\u201d\n\nAs he spoke the leaves that hid Violet\u2019s golden heart opened wide\nand let him see how glad she was, as she bent her stately head and\nanswered softly.\n\n\u201cThere is room upon the throne for two: share it with me as King, and\nlet us rule together.\u201d\n\nWhat the Prince answered only the moon knows; but when morning came\nall the meadow was surprised and rejoiced to see the gold and purple\nflowers standing side by side, while the maple showered its rosy\nleaves over them, and the old rock waved his crown of vine-leaves as\nhe said:\n\n\u201cThis is as it should be; love and strength going hand in hand, and\njustice making the earth glad.\u201d\n\n The lands are lit\n With all the autumn blaze of golden-rod,\n And everywhere the purple asters nod\n And bend and wave and flit.\n HELEN HUNT JACKSON.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WEEDS\n\n\nCARL EWALD\n\nIt was a beautiful, fruitful season. Rain and sunshine came by turns\njust as it was best for the corn. As soon as ever the farmer began to\nthink that things were rather dry, you might depend upon it that next\nday it would rain. And when he thought that he had had rain enough,\nthe clouds broke at once, just as if they were under his command.\n\nSo the farmer was in good humour, and he did not grumble as he\nusually does. He looked pleased and cheerful as he walked over the\nfield with his two boys.\n\n\u201cIt will be a splendid harvest this year,\u201d he said. \u201cI shall have my\nbarns full, and shall make a pretty penny. And then Jack and Will\nshall have some new trousers, and I\u2019ll let them come with me to\nmarket.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you don\u2019t cut me soon, farmer, I shall sprawl on the ground,\u201d\nsaid the rye, and she bowed her heavy ear quite down towards the\nearth.\n\nThe farmer could not hear her talking, but he could see what was in\nher mind, and so he went home to fetch his scythe.\n\n\u201cIt is a good thing to be in the service of man,\u201d said the rye. \u201cI\ncan be quite sure that all my grain will be cared for. Most of it\nwill go to the mill: not that that proceeding is so very enjoyable,\nbut it will be made into beautiful new bread, and one must put up\nwith something for the sake of honour. The rest the farmer will save,\nand sow next year in his field.\u201d\n\nAt the side of the field, along the hedge, and the bank above the\nditch, stood the weeds. There were dense clumps of them--thistle and\nburdock, poppy and harebell, and dandelion; and all their heads were\nfull of seed. It had been a fruitful year for them also, for the sun\nshines and the rain falls just as much on the poor weed as on the\nrich corn.\n\n\u201cNo one comes and mows _us_ down and carries us to a barn,\u201d said the\ndandelion, and he shook his head, but very cautiously, so that the\nseeds should not fall before their time. \u201cBut what will become of all\nour children?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt gives me a headache to think of it,\u201d said the poppy. \u201cHere I\nstand with hundreds and hundreds of seeds in my head, and I haven\u2019t\nthe faintest idea where I shall drop them.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us ask the rye to advise us,\u201d answered the burdock.\n\nAnd so they asked the rye what they should do.\n\n\u201cWhen one is well off, one had better not meddle with other people\u2019s\nbusiness,\u201d answered the rye. \u201cI will give you only one piece of\nadvice: take care you don\u2019t throw your stupid seed on to the field,\nfor then you will have to settle accounts with _me_.\u201d\n\nThis advice did not help the wild flowers at all, and the whole day\nthey stood pondering what they should do. When the sun set they shut\nup their petals and went to sleep; but the whole night through they\nwere dreaming about their seed, and next morning they had found a\nplan.\n\nThe poppy was the first to wake. She cautiously opened some little\ntrap-doors at the top of her head, so that the sun could shine right\nin on the seeds. Then she called to the morning breeze, who was\nrunning and playing along the hedge.\n\n\u201cLittle breeze,\u201d she said, in friendly tones, \u201cwill you do me a\nservice?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed,\u201d said the breeze. \u201cI shall be glad to have something to\ndo.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is the merest trifle,\u201d said the poppy. \u201cAll I want of you is to\ngive a good shake to my stalk, so that my seeds may fly out of the\ntrap-doors.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d said the breeze.\n\nAnd the seeds flew out in all directions. The stalk snapped, it is\ntrue; but the poppy did not mind about that.\n\n\u201cGood-bye,\u201d said the breeze, and would have run on farther.\n\n\u201cWait a moment,\u201d said the poppy. \u201cPromise me first that you will not\ntell the others, else they might get hold of the same idea, and then\nthere would be less room for my seeds.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am mute as the grave,\u201d answered the breeze, running off.\n\n\u201cHo! ho!\u201d said the harebell. \u201cHaven\u2019t you time to do me a little,\ntiny service?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the breeze, \u201cwhat is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI merely wanted to ask you to give me a little shake,\u201d said the\nharebell. \u201cI have opened some trap-doors in my head, and I should\nlike to have my seed sent a good way off into the world. But you\nmustn\u2019t tell the others, or else they might think of doing the same\nthing.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! of course not,\u201d said the breeze, laughing. \u201cI shall be as dumb\nas a stone wall.\u201d And then she gave the flower a good shake and went\non her way.\n\n\u201cLittle breeze, little breeze,\u201d called the dandelion, \u201cwhither away\nso fast?\u201d\n\n\u201cIs there something the matter with you too?\u201d asked the breeze.\n\n\u201cNothing at all,\u201d answered the dandelion. \u201cOnly I should like a few\nwords with you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe quick then,\u201d said the breeze, \u201cfor I am thinking seriously of\nlying down and having a rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou cannot help seeing,\u201d said the dandelion, \u201cwhat trouble we are in\nthis year to get all our seeds put out in the world; for, of course,\none wishes to do what one can for one\u2019s children. What is to happen\nto the harebell and the poppy and the poor burdock I really don\u2019t\nknow. But the thistle and I have put our heads together, and we have\nhit on a plan. Only we must have you to help us.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat makes _four_ of them,\u201d thought the breeze, and she could not\nhelp laughing out loud.\n\n\u201cWhat are you laughing at?\u201d asked the dandelion. \u201cI saw you\nwhispering just now to the harebell and poppy; but if you breathe a\nword to them, I won\u2019t tell you anything.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, of course not,\u201d said the breeze. \u201cI am mute as a fish. What is\nit you want?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe have set up a pretty little umbrella on the top of our seeds. It\nis the sweetest little plaything imaginable. If you will only blow a\nlittle on me, the seeds will fly into the air and fall down wherever\nyou please. Will you do so?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly,\u201d said the breeze.\n\nAnd hush! it went over the thistle and the dandelion and carried all\nthe seeds with it into the cornfield.\n\nThe burdock still stood and pondered. Its head was rather thick, and\nthat was why it waited so long. But in the evening a hare leapt over\nthe hedge.\n\n\u201cHide me! Save me!\u201d he cried. \u201cThe farmer\u2019s dog Trusty is after me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can creep behind the hedge,\u201d said the burdock, \u201cthen I will hide\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t look able to do that,\u201d said the hare, \u201cbut in time of need\none must help oneself as one can.\u201d And so he got in safely behind the\nhedge.\n\n\u201cNow you may repay me by taking some of my seeds with you over into\nthe cornfield,\u201d said the burdock; and it broke off some of its many\nheads and fixed them on the hare.\n\nA little later Trusty came trotting up to the hedge.\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s the dog,\u201d whispered the burdock, and with one spring the hare\nleapt over the hedge and into the rye.\n\n\u201cHaven\u2019t you seen the hare, burdock?\u201d asked Trusty. \u201cI see I have\ngrown too old to go hunting. I am quite blind in one eye, and I have\ncompletely lost my scent.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I have seen him,\u201d answered the burdock; \u201cand if you will do me\na service, I will show you where he is.\u201d\n\nTrusty agreed, and the burdock fastened some heads on his back, and\nsaid to him:\n\n\u201cIf you will only rub yourself against the stile there in the\ncornfield, my seeds will fall off. But you must not look for the hare\nthere, for a little while ago I saw him run into the wood.\u201d Trusty\ndropped the burrs on the field and trotted to the wood.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ve sent my seeds out in the world all right,\u201d said the\nburdock, laughing as if much pleased with itself; \u201cbut it is\nimpossible to say what will become of the thistle and the dandelion\nand the harebell and the poppy.\u201d\n\nSpring had come round once more, and the rye stood high already.\n\n\u201cWe are pretty well off on the whole,\u201d said the rye plants. \u201cHere we\nstand in a great company, and not one of us but belongs to our own\nnoble family. And we don\u2019t get in each other\u2019s way in the very least.\nIt is a grand thing to be in the service of man.\u201d\n\nBut one fine day a crowd of little poppies, and thistles and\ndandelions, and burdocks and harebells poked up their heads above\nground, all amongst the flourishing rye.\n\n\u201cWhat does _this_ mean?\u201d asked the rye. \u201cWhere in the world are _you_\nsprung from?\u201d\n\nAnd the poppy looked at the harebell and asked: \u201cWhere did _you_ come\nfrom?\u201d\n\nAnd the thistle looked at the burdock and asked: \u201cWhere in the world\nhave _you_ come from?\u201d\n\nThey were all equally astonished, and it was an hour before they had\nexplained. But the rye was the angriest, and when she had heard all\nabout Trusty and the hare and the breeze she grew quite wild.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be in such a passion, you green rye,\u201d said the breeze, who had\nbeen lying behind the hedge and hearing everything. \u201cI ask no one\u2019s\npermission, but do as I like; and now I\u2019m going to make you bow to\nme.\u201d\n\nThen she passed over the young rye, and the thin blades swayed\nbackwards and forwards.\n\n\u201cYou see,\u201d she said, \u201cthe farmer attends to his rye, because that is\n_his_ business. But the rain and the sun and I--we attend to all of\nyou without respect of persons. To our eyes the poor weed is just as\npretty as the rich corn.\u201d\n\n(Abridged.)\n\n\n\n\nAUTUMN FIRES\n\n\n In the other gardens\n And all up the vale\n From the autumn bonfires\n See the smoke trail!\n\n Pleasant summer over\n And all the summer flowers;\n The red fire blazes,\n The gray smoke towers.\n\n Sing a song of seasons!\n Something bright in all!\n Flowers in the summer!\n Fires in the fall!\n ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.\n\n\n\n\nAMONG THE TREES\n\n\n\n\nTO AN AUTUMN LEAF\n\n\n Wee shallop of shimmering gold!\n Slip down from your ways in the branches\n Some fairy will loosen your hold----\n Wee shallop of shimmering gold.\n Spill dew on your bows and unfold\n Silk sails for the fairest of launches!\n Wee shallop of shimmering gold;\n Slip down from your ways in the branches.\n\n\n\n\nWHY THE AUTUMN LEAVES ARE RED\n\n\nEMELYN NEWCOMB PARTRIDGE\n\nLong, long ago no one but animals lived upon the earth and sometimes\nthey would hold great Councils. The Bear would be there,--the Bear,\nwith his sharp claws, and his shiny coat, and his big, big growl;\nand the Deer, who was so proud of his antlers, for they came out of\nhis head like trees; and all the animals, and all the birds would be\npresent at the great Council. Little Turtle would go there, too. She\nwas so small that she did not like to speak to anyone. But, she often\nwished:\n\n\u201cOh, if _only_ I could do some good deed! What _could_ such a little\ncreature as I do? Anyway,\u201d she thought, \u201cI\u2019ll be on the watch,--and\nit may be that some time there will be a chance for me to do\n_something_ for my people.\u201d\n\nLittle Turtle never forgot about that good deed she had planned to\nperform. One day the opportunity came to her. She was at the Council,\nand the animals were saying:\n\n\u201cIt is so dark here, we have only the Snowlight to see by. It is\ngloomy, too. Couldn\u2019t we make a light and place it up in Skyland?\u201d\nthey asked.\n\nLittle Turtle said: \u201cPlease let me go up to Skyland? I am\nsure that I can make a light shine up there.\u201d\n\nThey said that she might go, and they called Dark Cloud to carry\nLittle Turtle there. Dark Cloud came.\n\nLittle Turtle saw that Thunder and Lightning were in Dark Cloud; and\nwhen she reached Skyland, she made the Sun from Lightning, and placed\nhim in the Sky.\n\nThe Sun could not move, because he had no life, and all the world\nunderneath was too hot to live upon.\n\n\u201cWhat shall we do?\u201d the animals asked one another. Someone said:\n\n\u201cWe must give the Sun life and spirit, and then he will move about in\nthe sky.\u201d\n\nSo they gave him life and spirit, and he moved about in the sky. Mud\nTurtle dug a hole through the earth for the Sun to travel through.\nLittle Turtle made a wife for him out of some of the Lightning from\nDark Cloud. She was the Moon. Their little children were the stars\nthat played all over Skyland.\n\nAll this time, Little Turtle was taking care of Skyland. The animals\nbelow called her, She Who Takes Care of Skyland. And she was very\nhappy, because she was doing her _good deed_.\n\nSome of the animals became jealous of Little Turtle,--especially the\nDeer, who was so proud of his antlers. One day, Deer said to Rainbow:\n\n\u201cRainbow, please take me up to Skyland where Little Turtle lives.\u201d\n\nRainbow did not know whether it would be quite right to take Deer up\nto Little Turtle\u2019s house, but he said:\n\n\u201cIn the winter, when I rest upon the big mountain by the lake, then I\nwill take you.\u201d\n\nThis made the Deer glad. He did not tell anyone about the promise of\nRainbow. All winter long, he waited and watched near the big mountain\nfor Rainbow to come; but Rainbow did not come to him. In the spring,\none day, Deer saw Rainbow beside the lake.\n\n\u201cRainbow,\u201d he asked, \u201cwhy did you not keep your promise to me?\u201d\nRainbow made him another promise.\n\n\u201cCome to me by the lake, when you see me in the thick fog,\u201d he said.\n\nThe Deer kept this promise a secret, too; because he hoped to go to\nSkyland alone. Day after day, he waited beside the lake. One day,\nwhen the thick fog was rising from the lake,--Deer saw the beautiful\nRainbow.\n\nRainbow made an arch from the lake to the big mountain. Then a\nshining light fell about the Deer, and he saw a straight path shining\nwith all the colours of the Rainbow. It led through a great forest.\n\n\u201cFollow the beautiful path through the great forest,\u201d Rainbow said.\n\nThe Deer entered the shining pathway, and it led him straight to the\nhouse of Little Turtle in Skyland. And the Deer went about Skyland\neverywhere.\n\nWhen the great Council met, Deer was not there. \u201cThe Deer is not come\nto the Council, where is the Deer?\u201d they asked.\n\nHawk flew about the air everywhere, and could not find Deer in the\nair. Wolf searched the deep woods, and could not find Deer in the\nforests.\n\nWhen Dark Cloud brought Little Turtle to the Council, Little Turtle\ntold them how Rainbow had made a path for Deer to climb to Skyland.\n\u201cThere it is now,\u201d said Little Turtle.\n\nThe animals looked over the lake, and they saw, there, the beautiful\npathway. They had never seen it before.\n\n\u201cWhy did not Deer wait for us? All of us should have gone to Skyland\ntogether,\u201d they said.\n\nNow, Brown Bear determined to follow that pathway the very next time\nhe should see it.\n\n_One day_ when he was all alone, near the lake, he saw the shining\npath that led through the great forest. Soon he found himself in\nSkyland. The first person he met was the Deer.\n\n\u201cWhy did you leave us? Why did you go to the land of Little Turtle\nwithout us? Why did you not wait for us?\u201d he asked the Deer.\n\nThe Deer shook his antlers angrily. \u201cWhat right have _you_ to\nquestion me? No one but the Wolf may question why I came. I will kill\nyou for your impertinence.\u201d\n\nThe Deer arched his neck; he poised his antlered head; his eyes\nblazed with fury.\n\nThe Bear was not afraid. He stood up; his claws were sharp and\nstrong; his hoarse growls sounded all over Skyland.\n\nThe battle of the Deer and the Bear shook Skyland. The animals looked\nup from the earth.\n\n\u201cWho will go? Who will go to Skyland and forbid the Deer to fight?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will go,\u201d said the Wolf. \u201cI can run faster than anyone.\u201d So Wolf\nran along the shining pathway, and in a little while he had reached\nthe place of the battle. Wolf made Deer stop fighting. Deer\u2019s antlers\nwere covered with blood, and when he shook them, great drops fell\ndown, down through the air, and splashed against all the leaves of\nthe forest. And the leaves became a beautiful red.\n\nSo, in the autumn, when you see the leaves turning red, you may know\nthat it is because in the long ago, the Deer and the Bear fought a\ngreat battle in Skyland, in the land of Little Turtle who was doing\nher good deed.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ANXIOUS LEAF\n\n\nHENRY WARD BEECHER\n\nOnce upon a time a little leaf was heard to sigh and cry, as leaves\noften do when a gentle wind is about. And the twig said, \u201cWhat is the\nmatter, little leaf?\u201d And the leaf said, \u201cThe wind just told me that\none day it would pull me off and throw me down to lie on the ground!\u201d\nThe twig told it to the branch on which it grew, and the branch told\nit to the tree. And when the tree heard it, it rustled all over, and\nsent back word to the leaf, \u201cDo not be afraid; hold on tightly, and\nyou shall not go till you want to.\u201d And so the leaf stopped sighing,\nbut went on nestling and singing. Every time the tree shook itself\nand stirred up all its leaves, the branches shook themselves, and\nthe little twig shook itself, and the little leaf danced up and down\nmerrily, as if nothing could ever pull it off. And so it grew all\nsummer long until October. And when the bright days of autumn came,\nthe little leaf saw all the leaves around becoming very beautiful.\nSome were yellow, and some scarlet, and some striped with both\ncolours. Then it asked the tree what it meant. And the tree said,\n\u201cAll these leaves are getting ready to fly away, and they have put on\nthese beautiful colours because of joy.\u201d Then the little leaf began\nto want to go, and grew very beautiful in thinking of it, and when\nit was very gay in colour, it saw that the branches of the tree had\nno colour in them, and so the leaf said, \u201cO branches, why are you\nlead colour and we golden?\u201d \u201cWe must keep on our workclothes, for\nour life is not done; but your clothes are for holiday, because your\ntasks are over.\u201d Just then a little puff of wind came, and the leaf\nlet go without thinking of it, and the wind took it up, and turned\nit over and over, and whirled it like a spark of fire in the air,\nand then it fell gently down under the fence among hundreds of other\nleaves, and began to dream--a dream so beautiful that perhaps it will\nlast forever.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE CHESTNUT BURRS BECAME\n\n\nERNEST THOMPSON SETON\n\nIn the woods of Poconic there once roamed a very discontented\nPorcupine. He was forever fretting. He complained that everything was\nwrong, till it was perfectly scandalous and the Great Spirit, getting\ntired of his grumbling, said:\n\n\u201cYou and the world I have made don\u2019t seem to fit. One or the other\nmust be wrong. It is easier to change you. You don\u2019t like the trees,\nyou are unhappy on the ground, and think everything is upside down,\nso I\u2019ll turn you inside out and put you in the water.\u201d\n\nThis was the origin of the Shad.\n\nAfter Manitou had turned the old Porcupine into a Shad the young ones\nmissed their mother and crawled up into a high tree to look for her\ncoming. Manitou happened to pass that way and they all chattered\ntheir teeth at him, thinking themselves safe. They were not wicked,\nonly ill-trained, some of them, indeed, were at heart quite good,\nbut, oh, so ill-trained, and they chattered and groaned as Manitou\ncame nearer. Remembering then that he had taken their mother from\nthem, he said, \u201cYou look very well up there, you little Porkys, so\nyou had better stay there for always, and be part of the tree.\u201d\n\nThis was the origin of the chestnut burrs. They hang like a lot\nof little porcupines on the tree-crotches. They are spiny, and\ndangerous, utterly without manners and yet most of them have a good\nlittle heart inside.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MERRY WIND\n\n\n The merry wind came racing\n Adown the hills one day,\n In gleeful frolic chasing\n The rustling leaves away.\n In clouds of red and yellow,\n He whirled the leaves along,\n And then the jolly fellow\n He sang a cheery song.\n\n The merry wind was weary\n At last of fun and play;\n His voice grew faint and eerie,\n And softly died away.\n Far off a crow was calling\n And in the mellow sun\n The painted leaves kept falling\n And fading, one by one.\n MARY MAPES DODGE.\n\n\n\n\nAUTUMN AMONG THE BIRDS\n\n\n [Enter a little Snipe, crying]:\n\n Peet-weet! Peet-weet!\n I\u2019ve such cold feet,\n And nothing to eat!\n The creek is so high\n That I can\u2019t keep dry\n Except when I fly!\n Peet-weet!\n\n [A Kildeer]:\n\n Kildee! Kildee! Kildee!\n This is no place for me!\n The southland I must seek----\n Kildee!\n\n [A Bobolink]:\n\n Link-a-link! Link-a-link!\n My diet has made me weak;\n The fields of rice must be so nice.\n\n [To the Kildeer]:\n\n I\u2019ll go with you, I think----\n Link-a-link!\n\n [A Red-Shouldered Blackbird]:\n\n Bobaree! Bobaree!\n A frost you\u2019ll see----\n You\u2019ll see to your sorrow,\n If you wait until to-morrow----\n Bobaree!\n\n [A Chipping-Bird]:\n\n Chip-chip! Chip-chip! Chip-chip!\n I\u2019ll give November the slip!\n\n [A House-Wren]:\n\n Sh! Sh! Sh!\n Every one loves the Wren!\n Wait, and just once again\n I\u2019ll go, and, as still as a mouse,\n Peep into the little house\n They built for my use alone,\n With a door and a porch like their own!\n --Sh!\n\n [A Maryland Yellow-Throat Interrupting]:\n\n Witches here! Witches here!\n And no wonder--so late in the year!\n\n [A Flock of Wild Geese Flying Over]:\n\n On! On! On!\n Why should we longer stay?\n On! Ere the peep of day\n We should be leagues away,\n Quite out of sight of land!\n Our old gray Commodore\n Will guide our gallant band\n With the daintiest food in store!\n To a pleasant southern shore,\n On! On! On!\n\n [A Flock of Swallows Rising]:\n\n Zip! Zip! You may count on the Swallow!\n We hear, and anear we will be;\n The rest, if they like, may follow\n O\u2019er land and o\u2019er sea.\n\n [A Bluebird to Her Mate]:\n\n Weary! Oh, weary! Oh, weary!\n It\u2019s a long, long, long way, dearie!\n\n [A Robin]:\n\n Quip! Quip! Cheer up! Cheer up!\n But I think we ought first to sup;\n With such a long journey ahead,\n Pilgrims should be well fed----\n Quip! Quip!\n\n [A Highlander Shouts from the Top of a Dead Tree]:\n\n A-wick-wick! wick-wick! wick-wick! wick! Yare-op!\n If all this senseless chatter you would stop,\n And listen, an announcement I would make:\n Old Father Crane will soon be here to take\n All you small folks upon his back--Wick-wick!\n\n Chorus of Small Birds\n [Chippy, Wren, Yellow-bird, Pewee, Kinglet, etc.]:\n\n Peet-weet! Zit! Zit! Cheeree! Ittee! Be Quick!\n EDITH M. THOMAS.\n\n\n\n\nTHE KIND OLD OAK\n\n\nIt was almost time for winter to come. The little birds had all gone\nfar away, for they were afraid of the cold. There was no green grass\nin the fields, and there were no pretty flowers in the gardens. Many\nof the trees had dropped all their leaves. Cold winter, with its snow\nand ice, was coming.\n\nAt the foot of an old oak tree, some sweet little violets were still\nin blossom. \u201cDear old oak,\u201d said they, \u201cwinter is coming: we are\nafraid that we shall die of the cold.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not be afraid, little ones,\u201d said the oak, \u201cclose your yellow\neyes in sleep, and trust to me. You have made me glad many a time\nwith your sweetness. Now I will take care that the winter shall do\nyou no harm.\u201d\n\nSo the violets closed their pretty eyes and went to sleep; they knew\nthat they could trust the kind old oak. And the great tree softly\ndropped red leaf after red leaf upon them until they were all covered\nover.\n\nThe cold winter came, with its snow and ice, but it could not harm\nthe little violets. Safe under the friendly leaves of the old oak\nthey slept, and dreamed happy dreams until the warm rains of spring\ncame and waked them again.\n\n \u201cNo more the summer floweret charms,\n The leaves will soon be sere,\n And autumn folds his jeweled arms\n Around the dying year.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE TREE\n\n\n The tree\u2019s early leaf-buds were bursting their brown;\n \u201cShall I take them away?\u201d said the Frost, sweeping down.\n \u201cNo, dear, leave them alone\n Till the blossoms have grown,\u201d\n Prayed the tree, while it trembled from rootlet to crown.\n\n The tree bore its blossoms, and all the birds sung:\n \u201cShall I take them away?\u201d said the Wind, as it swung.\n \u201cNo, dear, leave them alone\n Till berries here have grown,\u201d\n Said the tree, while the leaflets all quivering hung.\n\n The tree bore its fruit in the midsummer glow:\n Said the girl, \u201cMay I gather thy berries or no?\u201d\n \u201cYes, dear, all thou canst see;\n Take them; all are for thee,\u201d\n Said the tree, while it bent its laden boughs low.\n BJ\u00d6RNSTJERNE BJ\u00d6RNSON.\n\n\n\n\nCOMING AND GOING\n\n\nHENRY WARD BEECHER\n\nThere came to our fields a pair of birds that had never built a nest\nnor seen a winter. How beautiful was everything! The fields were full\nof flowers, and the grass was growing tall, and the bees were humming\neverywhere. Then one of the birds began singing, and the other bird\nsaid, \u201cWho told you to sing?\u201d And he answered, \u201cThe flowers told me,\nand the bees told me, and the winds and leaves told me, and the blue\nsky told me, and you told me to sing.\u201d Then his mate answered, \u201cWhen\ndid I tell you to sing?\u201d And he said, \u201cEvery time you brought in\ntender grass for the nest, and every time your soft wings fluttered\noff again for hair and feathers to line the nest.\u201d Then his mate\nsaid, \u201cWhat are you singing about?\u201d And he answered, \u201cI am singing\nabout everything and nothing. It is because I am so happy that I\nsing.\u201d\n\nBy and by five little speckled eggs were in the nest, and his mate\nsaid, \u201cIs there anything in all the world as pretty as my eggs?\u201d Then\nthey both looked down on some people that were passing by and pitied\nthem because they were not birds.\n\nIn a week or two, one day, when the father-bird came home, the\nmother-bird said, \u201cOh, what do you think has happened?\u201d \u201cWhat?\u201d \u201cOne\nof my eggs has been peeping and moving!\u201d Pretty soon another egg\nmoved under her feathers, and then another and another, till five\nlittle birds were hatched! Now the father-bird sang louder and louder\nthan ever. The mother-bird, too, wanted to sing, but she had no time,\nand so she turned her song into work. So hungry were these little\nbirds that it kept both parents busy feeding them. Away each one\nflew. The moment the little birds heard their wings fluttering among\nthe leaves, five yellow mouths flew open wide, so that nothing could\nbe seen but five yellow mouths!\n\n\u201cCan anybody be happier?\u201d said the father-bird to the mother-bird.\n\u201cWe will live in this tree always, for there is no sorrow here. It is\na tree that always bears joy.\u201d\n\nSoon the little birds were big enough to fly, and great was their\nparents\u2019 joy to see them leave the nest and sit crumpled up upon the\nbranches. There was then a great time! The two old birds talking and\nchatting to make the young ones go alone! In a little time they had\nlearned to use their wings, and they flew away and away, and found\ntheir own food, and built their own nests, and sang their own songs\nof joy.\n\nThen the old birds sat silent and looked at each other, until the\nmother-bird said, \u201cWhy don\u2019t you sing?\u201d And he answered, \u201cI can\u2019t\nsing--I can only think and think.\u201d \u201cWhat are you thinking of?\u201d \u201cI am\nthinking how everything changes: the leaves are falling off from this\ntree, and soon there will be no roof over our heads; the flowers are\nall going; last night there was a frost; almost all the birds are\nflown away. Something calls me, and I feel as if I would like to fly\nfar away.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us fly away together!\u201d\n\nThen they rose silently, and, lifting themselves far up in the air,\nthey looked to the north: far away they saw the snow coming. They\nlooked to the south: there they saw flowers and green leaves! All day\nthey flew; and all night they flew and flew, till they found a land\nwhere there was no winter--where flowers always blossom, and birds\nalways sing.\n\n\n\n\nA LEGEND OF THE WILLOW TREE\n\n\n(Japanese Legend Retold)\n\nOnce upon a time a humble willow tree with gnarled and twisted\nbranches grew near a tall and stately companion called the bamboo\ntree. Many people who passed by stopped to admire the shapely bamboo,\nbut no one seemed to notice the old willow tree.\n\nOne morning when the sun shone brightly after a soft rain a timid\nlittle plant with a delicate stem sprang up between the two trees,\nand looked pleadingly toward the straight, strong trunk of the\nbamboo. But the bamboo tossed her plumy foliage and said haughtily,\n\u201cDo not look to me for help. I shall not let you cling around my\ntrunk.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet me take hold of you until I grow a little stronger,\u201d begged the\nlittle plant. But the bamboo drew away and said, \u201cKeep away. I can\nnot allow you to cling to my beautiful branches.\u201d\n\nThen the kind old willow tree whispered through her leaves, \u201cDo not\nbe discouraged, little one. The sun is shining, and the soft rain\nwill come to refresh you. Come to me if you like, and grip your\nlittle green fingers into my bark. Do not be afraid. In the shade of\nmy branches you shall be protected. Come.\u201d\n\nThe tiny plant still looked longingly toward the handsome bamboo.\nBut at last she crept over the grass to the old willow, and began\nto twine around the sheltering branches. Up, up, the slender vine\nclimbed to the very top of the tree. There it tossed out so many\nlovely green shoots that the people who passed stopped to enjoy its\nbeauty. And when the early fall days came large buds appeared on the\nvine.\n\nThe bamboo looked at the swelling buds and said, \u201cI wonder what those\nugly knobs on the vine mean. Perhaps she has brought some disease\nwhich may affect all the trees of the country.\u201d\n\nThe willow made no answer to the bamboo, but in her kindly way she\nwhispered to the vine, \u201cDo not feel hurt, I know what the swelling\nbuds mean.\u201d\n\nThere was a gentle rain at night, and in the morning the sun shone\nradiantly in a clear sky. The green buds which covered the vine burst\nforth into beautiful, sweet-scented blossoms. From crown to foot\nthe old willow tree stood bedecked with glorious colour. The owner\nof the land called his friends to see the wonder. They looked in\namazement at the richly coloured blossoms. Then the master called his\nlabourers, and told them to clear a space about the willow tree.\n\n\u201cCut down the bamboo tree that we may see the beauty of the vine.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a very fine bamboo tree, master,\u201d said the head servant.\n\n\u201cYes, it is, indeed,\u201d declared the master, \u201cbut there are many other\nbamboo trees equally fine, whereas no one has ever seen a vine with\nsuch a wealth of lovely blossoms.\u201d\n\nSo the labourers cut down the haughty bamboo tree, and left the\nwillow and the flowering vine to be admired by many, many people.\n\n\n\n\nAUTUMN FASHIONS\n\n\n The Maple owned that she was tired of always wearing green,\n She knew that she had grown, of late, too shabby to be seen!\n\n The Oak and Beech and Chestnut then deplored their shabbiness,\n And all, except the Hemlock sad, were wild to change their dress.\n\n \u201cFor fashion-plate we\u2019ll take the flowers,\u201d the rustling Maple said,\n \u201cAnd like the Tulip I\u2019ll be clothed in splendid gold and red!\u201d\n\n \u201cThe cheerful Sunflower suits me best,\u201d the lightsome Beech replied;\n \u201cThe Marigold my choice shall be,\u201d the Chestnut spoke with pride.\n\n The sturdy Oak took time to think--\u201cI hate such glaring hues;\n The Gillyflower, so dark and rich, I for my model choose.\u201d\n\n So every tree in all the grove, except the Hemlock sad,\n According to its wish ere long in brilliant dress was clad.\n\n And here they stayed through all the soft and bright October days;\n They wished to be like flowers--indeed, they look like huge bouquets!\n EDITH M. THOMAS.\n\n\n\n\nPOMONA\u2019S BEST GIFT\n\n\n Here stands a good old apple tree\n Stand fast at root,\n Bear well, at top;\n Every little twig\n Bear an apple big;\n Every little bough\n Bear an apple now;\n Hats full, caps full;\n Threescore sacks full!\n Hullo, boys, hullo!\n --_Old English Song._\n\n\n\n\nPOMONA\n\n\nIn the far-off days, when the children of sunny Italy saw the\nhillside vineyards rich with purple grapes, and the branches of the\norchards bending with the weight of luscious fruit, they clapped\ntheir hands and cried gleefully, \u201cSee Pomona\u2019s Gifts.\u201d They offered\ngrateful thanks to the wood nymph whose thoughtful care brought the\nprecious fruit to a bountiful harvest.\n\nCarrying a curved knife in her right hand, the faithful Pomona glided\nswiftly up the hillside, and primed the low-bending vines of all rank\nshoots. By cutting away all withered branches, she kept her orchards\ngreen and trim, and thus helped the trees to bring forth richest\nfruit.\n\nSo happy was this nymph in her work that she gave no attention to the\nnumerous suitors who hoped to win her. Many a time a madcap satyr\ndesiring to attract Pomona\u2019s attention danced in vain near her\norchards. Pan played entrancingly on his reed pipes, but the nymph\ngave no heed to his music.\n\nAmong the many admirers of Pomona was a youth named Vertumnus,\nwho presided over gardens and the changing seasons. How often he\npatiently planned to meet this charming nymph while she was tending\nher fruit and vines, but his advances were always met with a coy\nindifference which puzzled him. At last he determined to appear in\nvarious disguises in order to see if he could attract her attention,\nand discover if she cared for him. One day he took the form of a\nplowman, whip in hand, as if he had come from unyoking the tired oxen\nin a neighboring field. At another time he assumed the guise of a\nwoodman carrying a pruning knife and ladder, then again he appeared\nin the garb of a hardy reaper carrying a basket filled with golden\ngrain. But no matter what disguise he took--plowman, woodman, reaper,\nfruit-gatherer, soldier, fisherman--he failed to win any attention\nfrom the nymph, whose interest was centered on the precious orchards\nand vineyards.\n\nOne day when Pomona was carefully examining the ripening fruit an old\nwoman leaning on a staff appeared before her and said, \u201cThy patient\ncare will earn a precious harvest. Never have I seen such marvelous\nfruit. Tell me, fair nymph, does some strong youth help thee attend\nto the orchards and vineyards?\u201d\n\nThe maiden shook her head and replied, \u201cThere is no youth who is\nconstant enough to love the orchards and vineyards as dearly as\nPomona.\u201d\n\nBut the old woman drew near to her and said, \u201cThere is one youth\nwhose constancy can not be questioned, but thou hast scorned his\nadvances. Many times has he told thee how gladly he would be thy\nhelpmate, for nothing in nature delights him so much as the golden\nharvest of luscious fruit.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou meanest Vertumnus,\u201d said the nymph. Then she added, \u201cHe is,\nindeed, worthy of thy praise.\u201d\n\nSuddenly the old woman straightened her bent figure and threw off her\ndisguise. There before Pomona stood the handsome form of Vertumnus,\nwho no longer felt any doubt about the nymph\u2019s love.\n\nIn the autumn sunshine under the trees, whose boughs were bending\nwith the ripening fruit, Pomona and Vertumnus plighted their troth,\nand agreed to share in the labour of bringing to perfection the gifts\nof orchards and vineyards.\n\n\n\n\nIN THE ORCHARD\n\n\n O the apples rosy-red,\n O the gnarled trunks grey and brown,\n Heavy branch\u00e9d overhead;\n O the apples rosy-red,\n O the merry laughter sped,\n As the fruit is showered down!\n O the apples rosy-red,\n O the gnarled trunks grey and brown.\n GEORGE WEATHERBY.\n\n\n\n\nJOHNNY APPLESEED\n\n\nJOSEPHINE SCRIBNER GATES\n\nOnce there was a man who was very, very poor. He had been a farmer,\nand no one raised such fine crops as he did. By and by, in some way,\nhe lost his farm, and was left all alone.\n\nHe had always wanted to do some grand thing, something that would\nmake many people happy, but what could he do? He had no money. All he\nhad was a small boat.\n\nAs he trudged along one day, he saw some old sacks lying under a\ntree. As he looked at them he had a splendid thought. A thought that\nseemed to have wings, and came flying from far away. Oh, it was a\nbeautiful thought, and seemed to be singing a little song in his\nheart, as he picked up the sacks and placed them in his boat, jumped\nin himself and floated away.\n\nAs he rowed down the stream, the man watched the shore with keen\neyes. When he saw an apple orchard he rowed to land, tied his boat,\nhastened to the homes near the orchards and asked for work.\n\nHe cut wood, carried water, and did all sorts of odd chores. In\npayment for this work he asked for food, and what else do you suppose?\n\nThe people were so surprised at what he asked for they could hardly\nbelieve him. He asked that he might have the seeds from the apples on\nthe ground under the trees--only the seeds.\n\nOf course they gladly gave him such a simple thing, and as he cut the\nfruit the neighbour children swarmed about him.\n\nFrom one place to another he went, always adding to his store of\nseeds.\n\nSome generous farmers gave him also cuttings of peach, pear, and plum\ntrees, and grape vines.\n\nDay after day, day after day, he cut up the fruit, while the children\nsat at his feet, and listened to thrilling tales of what he had seen\nin his travels. Of the Indians with their gay blankets and feathers,\nof their camps where they lived in the forests.\n\nOf their dances and war paint; their many-coloured, beaded necklaces\nand jingling, silver chains and bracelets. Of their beady-eyed babies\nstrapped to boards.\n\nOf the wolves which came out at night to watch him as he sat by his\nfire; of the beautiful deer who ran across his patch.\n\nHe sang funny songs for the children, and taught them all sorts of\ngames.\n\nWhen it came time to go on, they begged him to stay. Never before had\nthey been so amused, but on he went, and when his bags were full,\nand he had a goodly store of food, he started on to carry out the\nsplendid thought. Oh, it was a grand thing he was going to do.\n\nThe little boat went on and on, till houses were no more to be seen.\nSplendid forests lined the banks here and there. Then he paused, for\nthis was what he was seeking--a place where no one lived.\n\nHe landed and went about with a bag of seeds, and when he reached\nan open place in a forest, he planted seeds and cuttings of the\ntrees and vines; then wove a brush fence about them to keep the deer\naway. He then hastened back to his boat and drifted on.\n\nIn many, many places he landed and planted seeds, and all the\norchards of the Ohio and Mississippi Valley we owe to this man.\n\nYears after when settlers came looking for a place to live, they\nchose these spots where, to their great surprise, they found all\nsorts of trees loaded with fruit.\n\nThis man\u2019s name was John Chapman, but he was nicknamed Johnny\nAppleseed.\n\n\n\n\nRED APPLE\n\n\n The big Sky-man that makes the Moons,\n Stuck one into our Apple tree;\n I saw it when I went to Bed;\n The Tree was black; the Moon was red,\n And round as round could be.\n\n To-day I went to get that Moon,\n For I can climb the Apple-tree;\n The Moon was gone. But in its stead\n I found an Apple round and red,\n And nice as nice could be.\n HAMISH HENDRY.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE GOLDEN APPLES\n\n\nNATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\nDid you ever hear of the golden apples that grew in the garden of the\nHesperides? Ah, those were such apples as would bring a great price\nby the bushel if any of them could be found growing in the orchards\nof nowadays! But there is not, I suppose, a graft of that wonderful\nfruit on a single tree in the wide world. Not so much as a seed of\nthese apples exists any longer.\n\nAnd, even in the old, old, half-forgotten times, before the garden of\nthe Hesperides was overrun with weeds, a great many people doubted\nwhether there could be real trees that bore apples of solid gold upon\ntheir branches. All had heard of them, but nobody remembered to have\nseen any. Children, nevertheless, used to listen openmouthed to\nstories of the golden apple-tree, and resolved to discover it when\nthey should be big enough. Adventurous young men, who desired to do\na braver thing than any of their fellows, set out in quest of this\nfruit. Many of them returned no more: none of them brought back the\napples. No wonder that they found it impossible to gather them! It is\nsaid that there was a dragon beneath the tree with a hundred terrible\nheads, fifty of which were always on the watch while the other fifty\nslept.\n\nIt was quite a common thing with young persons, when tired of too\nmuch peace and rest, to go in search of the garden of the Hesperides.\nAnd once the adventure was undertaken by a hero, who had enjoyed\nvery little peace or rest since he came into the world. At the time\nof which I am going to speak he was wandering through the pleasant\nland of Italy, with a mighty club in his hand, and a bow and quiver\nslung across his shoulders. He was wrapt in the skin of the biggest\nand fiercest lion that ever had been seen, and which he himself had\nkilled; and though, on the whole, he was kind and generous and\nnoble, there was a good deal of the lion\u2019s fierceness in his heart.\nAs he went on his way he continually inquired whether that were the\nright road to the famous garden. But none of the country people knew\nanything about the matter, and many looked as if they would have\nlaughed at the question if the stranger had not carried so very big a\nclub.\n\nSo he journeyed on and on, still making the same inquiry, until at\nlast he came to the brink of a river, where some beautiful young\nwomen sat twining wreaths of flowers.\n\n\u201cCan you tell me, pretty maidens,\u201d asked the stranger, \u201cwhether this\nis the right way to the garden of the Hesperides?\u201d\n\nOn hearing the stranger\u2019s question, they dropped all their flowers on\nthe grass, and gazed at him with astonishment.\n\n\u201cThe garden of the Hesperides!\u201d cried one. \u201cWe thought mortals had\nbeen weary of seeking it after so many disappointments. And pray,\nadventurous traveler, what do you want there?\u201d\n\n\u201cA certain king, who is my cousin,\u201d replied he, \u201chas ordered me to\nget him three of the golden apples.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you know,\u201d asked the damsel who had first spoken, \u201cthat a\nterrible dragon with a hundred heads keeps watch under the golden\napple-tree?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know it well,\u201d answered the stranger calmly. \u201cBut from my cradle\nupward it has been my business, and almost my pastime, to deal with\nserpents and dragons.\u201d\n\nThe young women looked at his massive club, and at the shaggy lion\u2019s\nskin which he wore, and, likewise, at his heroic limbs and figure,\nand they whispered to each other that the stranger appeared to be one\nwho might reasonably expect to perform deeds far beyond the might of\nothers.\n\n\u201cGo back!\u201d cried they all; \u201cgo back to your own home! Your mother,\nbeholding you safe and sound, will shed tears of joy; and what can\nshe do more should you win ever so great a victory? No matter for the\ngolden apples! No matter for the king, your cruel cousin! We do not\nwish the dragon with the hundred heads to eat you up.\u201d\n\nThe stranger seemed to grow impatient at these remonstrances. He\ncarelessly lifted his mighty club, and let it fall upon a rock that\nlay half-buried in the earth near by. With the force of that idle\nblow the great rock was shattered all to pieces.\n\n\u201cDo you not believe,\u201d said he, looking at the damsels with a smile,\n\u201cthat such a blow would have crushed one of the dragon\u2019s hundred\nheads?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the dragon of the Hesperides, you know,\u201d observed one of the\ndamsels, \u201chas a hundred heads!\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless,\u201d replied the stranger, \u201cI would rather fight two such\ndragons than a single hydra.\u201d\n\nThe traveler proceeded to tell how he chased a very swift stag for a\ntwelvemonth together, without ever stopping to take breath, and had\nat last caught it by the antlers and carried it home alive. And he\nhad fought with a very odd race of people, half-horses and half-men,\nand had put them all to death, from a sense of duty, in order that\ntheir ugly figures might never be seen any more.\n\n\u201cDo you call that a wonderful exploit?\u201d asked one of the young\nmaidens, with a smile. \u201cAny clown in the country has done as much.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps you may have heard of me before,\u201d said he modestly. \u201cMy name\nis Hercules.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe have already guessed it,\u201d replied the maidens, \u201cfor your\nwonderful deeds are known all over the world. We do not think it\nstrange any longer that you should set out in quest of the golden\napples of the Hesperides. Come, sisters, let us crown the hero with\nflowers!\u201d\n\nThen they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately head and mighty\nshoulders, so that the lion\u2019s skin was almost entirely covered with\nroses. They took possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it\nabout with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant blossoms that\nnot a finger\u2019s breadth of its oaken substance could be seen. Lastly,\nthey joined hands and danced around him, chanting words which became\npoetry of their own accord, and grew into a choral song in honor of\nthe illustrious Hercules.\n\n\u201cDear maidens,\u201d said he, when they paused to take breath, \u201cnow that\nyou know my name, will you not tell me how I am to reach the garden\nof the Hesperides?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe will give you the best directions we can,\u201d replied the damsels.\n\u201cYou must go to the seashore and find out the Old One, and compel him\nto inform you where the golden apples are to be found.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Old One!\u201d repeated Hercules, laughing at this odd name. \u201cAnd\npray, who may the Old One be?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, the Old Man of the Sea, to be sure,\u201d answered one of the\ndamsels. \u201cYou must talk with this Old Man of the Sea. He is a\nseafaring person, and knows all about the garden of Hesperides,\nfor it is situated in an island, which he is often in the habit of\nvisiting.\u201d\n\nHercules then asked whereabouts the Old One was most likely to be met\nwith. When the damsels had informed him he thanked them for all their\nkindness.\n\nBut before he was out of hearing one of the maidens called after him.\n\n\u201cKeep fast hold of the Old One when you catch him!\u201d cried she.\n\n\u201cDo not be astonished at anything that may happen. Only hold him\nfast, and he will tell you what you wish to know.\u201d\n\nHercules again thanked her, and pursued his way.\n\n\u201cWe will crown him with the loveliest of our garlands,\u201d said they,\n\u201cwhen he returns hither with the three golden apples after slaying\nthe dragon with a hundred heads.\u201d\n\nHercules traveled constantly onward over hill and dale, and through\nthe solitary woods.\n\nHastening forward without ever pausing or looking behind, he, by and\nby, heard the sea roaring at a distance. At this sound he increased\nhis speed, and soon came to a beach where the great surf-waves\ntumbled themselves upon the hard sand in a long line of snowy foam.\nAt one end of the beach, however, there was a pleasant spot where\nsome green shrubbery clambered up a cliff, making its rocky face look\nsoft and beautiful. A carpet of verdant grass, largely intermixed\nwith sweet-smelling clover, covered the narrow space between the\nbottom of the cliff and the sea. And what should Hercules espy there\nbut an old man fast asleep.\n\nBut was it really and truly an old man? Certainly, at first sight,\nit looked very like one, but on closer inspection it rather seemed\nto be some kind of a creature that lived in the sea. For on his legs\nand arms there were scales such as fishes have; he was web-footed and\nweb-fingered, after the fashion of a duck; and his long beard, being\nof a greenish tinge, had more the appearance of a turf of seaweed\nthan of an ordinary beard. Hercules, the instant he set eyes on this\nstrange figure, was convinced that it could be no other than the Old\nOne who was to direct him on his way.\n\nThanking his stars for the lucky accident of finding the old fellow\nasleep, Hercules stole on tiptoe toward him, and caught him by the\narm and leg.\n\n\u201cTell me,\u201d cried he, before the Old One was well awake, \u201cwhich is the\nway to the garden of the Hesperides?\u201d\n\nThe Old Man of the Sea awoke in a fright But his astonishment could\nhardly have been greater than that of Hercules the next moment.\nFor, all of a sudden, the Old One seemed to disappear out of his\ngrasp, and he found himself holding a stag by the fore and hind\nleg! But still he kept fast hold. Then the stag disappeared, and\nin its stead there was a seabird, fluttering and screaming, while\nHercules clutched it by the wing and claw. But the bird could not\nget away. Immediately afterward there was an ugly three-headed dog,\nwhich growled and barked at Hercules, and snapped fiercely at the\nhands by which he held him! But Hercules would not let him go. In\nanother minute, instead of the three-headed dog, what should appear\nbut Geryones, the six-legged man-monster, kicking at Hercules with\nfive of his legs in order to get the remaining one at liberty! But\nHercules held on. By and by no Geryones was there, but a huge snake\nlike one of those which Hercules had strangled in his babyhood, only\na hundred times as big. But Hercules was no whit disheartened, and\nsqueezed the great snake so tightly that he soon began to hiss with\npain.\n\nYou must understand that the Old Man of the Sea, though he generally\nlooked so like the wave-beaten figurehead of a vessel, had the power\nof assuming any shape he pleased. When he found himself so roughly\nseized by Hercules, he had been in hopes of putting him into such\nsurprise and terror by these magical transformations that the hero\nwould be glad to let him go. If Hercules had relaxed his grasp, the\nOld One would certainly have plunged down to the very bottom of the\nsea.\n\nBut as Hercules held on so stubbornly, and only squeezed the Old One\nso much the tighter at every change of shape, and really put him to\nno small torture, he finally thought it best to reappear in his own\nfigure.\n\n\u201cPray what do you want with me?\u201d cried the Old One as soon as he\ncould take breath.\n\n\u201cMy name is Hercules!\u201d roared the mighty stranger, \u201cand you will\nnever get out of my clutch until you tell me the nearest way to the\ngarden of the Hesperides.\u201d\n\nWhen the old fellow heard who it was that had caught him, he saw with\nhalf an eye that it would be necessary to tell him everything that he\nwanted to know. Of course he had often heard of the fame of Hercules,\nand of the wonderful things that he was constantly performing in\nvarious parts of the earth, and how determined he always was to\naccomplish whatever he undertook. He, therefore, made no more\nattempts to escape, but told the hero how to find the garden of the\nHesperides.\n\n\u201cYou must go on thus and thus,\u201d said the Old Man of the Sea, \u201ctill\nyou come in sight of a very tall giant who holds the sky on his\nshoulders. And the giant, if he happens to be in the humour, will\ntell you exactly where the garden of the Hesperides lies.\u201d\n\nThanking the Old Man of the Sea, and begging his pardon for having\nsqueezed him so roughly, the hero resumed his journey. He met with a\ngreat many strange adventures, which would be well worth your hearing\nif I had leisure to narrate them as minutely as they deserve.\n\nHercules continued his travels. He went to the land of Egypt, where\nhe was taken prisoner, and would have been put to death if he had not\nslain the king of the country and made his escape. Passing through\nthe deserts of Africa, and going as fast as he could, he arrived\nat last on the shore of the great ocean. And here, unless he could\nwalk on the crests of the billows, it seemed as if his journey must\nneeds be at an end.\n\nNothing was before him save the foaming, dashing, measureless ocean.\nBut suddenly, as he looked toward the horizon, he saw something, a\ngreat way off, which he had not seen the moment before. It gleamed\nvery brightly, almost as you may have beheld the round, golden disk\nof the sun when it rises or sets over the edge of the world. It\nevidently drew nearer, for at every instant this wonderful object\nbecame larger and more lustrous. At length it had come so nigh that\nHercules discovered it to be an immense cup or bowl made either of\ngold or burnished brass. How it had got afloat upon the sea is more\nthan I can tell you. There it was at all events, rolling on the\ntumultuous billows, which tossed it up and down, and heaved their\nfoamy tops against its sides, but without ever throwing their spray\nover the brim.\n\n\u201cI have seen many giants in my time,\u201d thought Hercules, \u201cbut never\none that would need to drink his wine, out of a cup like this.\u201d\n\nAnd, true enough, what a cup it must have been! It was as large--as\nlarge--but, in short, I am afraid to say how immeasurably large it\nwas. To speak within bounds, it was ten times larger than a great\nmill-wheel, and, all of metal as it was, it floated over the heaving\nsurges more lightly than an acorn-cup adown the brook. The waves\ntumbled it onward until it grazed against the shore within a short\ndistance of the spot where Hercules was standing.\n\nAs soon as this happened he knew what was to be done.\n\nIt was just as clear as daylight that this marvelous cup had been set\nadrift by some unseen power, and guided hitherward in order to carry\nHercules across the sea on his way to the garden of the Hesperides.\nAccordingly, he clambered over the brim, and slid down on the inside.\nThe waves dashed with a pleasant and ringing sound against the\ncircumference of the hollow cup; it rocked lightly to and fro, and\nthe motion was so soothing that it speedily rocked Hercules into an\nagreeable slumber.\n\nHis nap had probably lasted a good while, when the cup chanced to\ngraze against a rock, and, in consequence, immediately resounded and\nreverberated through its golden or brazen substance a hundred times\nas loudly as ever you heard a church-bell. The noise awoke Hercules,\nwho instantly started up and gazed around him, wondering whereabouts\nhe was. He was not long in discovering that the cup had floated\nacross a great part of the sea, and was approaching the shore of what\nseemed to be an island. And on that island what do you think he saw?\n\nNo, you will never guess it--not if you were to try fifty thousand\ntimes! It positively appears to me that this was the most marvelous\nspectacle that had ever been seen by Hercules in the whole course of\nhis wonderful travels and adventures. It was a greater marvel than\nthe hydra with nine heads, which kept growing twice as fast as they\nwere cut off; greater than the six-legged man-monster; greater than\nanything that was ever beheld by anybody before or since the days of\nHercules, or than anything that remains to be beheld by travelers in\nall time to come. It was a giant!\n\nBut such an intolerably big giant! A giant as tall as a mountain; so\nvast a giant that the clouds rested about his midst like a girdle,\nand hung like a hoary beard from his chin, and flitted before his\nhuge eyes so that he could neither see Hercules nor the golden cup\nin which he was voyaging. And, most wonderful of all, the giant held\nup his great hands and appeared to support the sky, which, so far as\nHercules could discern through the clouds, was resting upon his head!\nThis does really seem almost too much to believe.\n\nMeanwhile the bright cup continued to float onward, and finally\ntouched the strand. Just then a breeze wafted away the clouds from\nbefore the giant\u2019s visage, and Hercules beheld it, with all its\nenormous features--eyes each of them as big as yonder lake, a nose a\nmile long, and a mouth the same width.\n\nPoor fellow! He had evidently stood there a long while. An ancient\nforest had been growing and decaying around his feet, and oak trees\nof six or seven centuries old had sprung from the acorns, and forced\nthemselves between his toes. The giant now looked down from the far\nheight of his great eyes, and, perceiving Hercules, roared out:\n\n\u201cWho are you, down at my feet, there? And whence do you come in that\nlittle cup?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am Hercules!\u201d thundered back the hero. \u201cAnd I am seeking for the\ngarden of the Hesperides!\u201d\n\n\u201cHo! ho! ho!\u201d roared the giant, in a fit of immense laughter. \u201cThat\nis a wise adventure, truly!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why not?\u201d cried Hercules. \u201cDo you think I am afraid of the\ndragon with a hundred heads?\u201d\n\nJust at this time, while they were talking together, some black\nclouds gathered about the giant\u2019s middle and burst into a tremendous\nstorm of thunder and lightning, causing such a pother that Hercules\nfound it impossible to distinguish a word. Only the giant\u2019s\nimmeasurable legs were to be seen, standing up into the obscurity of\nthe tempest, and now and then a momentary glimpse of his whole figure\nmantled in a volume of mist. He seemed to be speaking most of\nthe time, but his big, deep, rough voice chimed in with the\nreverberations of the thunder-claps and rolled away over the hills\nlike them.\n\nAt last the storm swept over as suddenly as it had come. And there\nagain was the clear sky, and the weary giant holding it up, and the\npleasant sunshine beaming over his vast height and illuminating it\nagainst the background of the sullen thunder-clouds. So far above the\nshower had been his head that not a hair of it was moistened by the\nraindrops.\n\nWhen the giant could see Hercules still standing on the seashore, he\nroared out to him anew:\n\n\u201cI am Atlas, the mightiest giant in the world! And I hold the sky\nupon my head!\u201d\n\n\u201cSo I see,\u201d answered Hercules. \u201cBut can you show me the way to the\ngarden of the Hesperides?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you want there?\u201d asked the giant.\n\n\u201cI want three of the golden apples,\u201d shouted Hercules, \u201cfor my\ncousin, the king.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is nobody but myself,\u201d quoth the giant, \u201cthat can go to the\ngarden of the Hesperides and gather the golden apples. If it were not\nfor this little business of holding up the sky, I would make half a\ndozen steps across the sea and get them for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are very kind,\u201d replied Hercules. \u201cAnd cannot you rest the sky\nupon a mountain?\u201d\n\n\u201cNone of them are quite high enough,\u201d said Atlas, shaking his head.\n\u201cBut if you were to take your stand on the summit of that nearest one\nyour head would be pretty nearly on a level with mine. You seem to be\na fellow of some strength. What if you should take my burden on your\nshoulders while I do your errand for you?\u201d\n\n\u201cIs the sky very heavy?\u201d he inquired.\n\n\u201cWhy, not particularly so at first,\u201d answered the giant, shrugging\nhis shoulders, \u201cbut it gets to be a little burdensome after a\nthousand years.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how long a time,\u201d asked the hero, \u201cwill it take you to get the\ngolden apples?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, that will be done in a few moments!\u201d cried Atlas. \u201cI shall take\nten or fifteen miles at a stride, and be at the garden and back\nagain before your shoulders begin to ache.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then,\u201d answered Hercules, \u201cI will climb the mountain behind\nyou, and relieve you of your burden.\u201d\n\nThe truth is, Hercules had a kind heart of his own, and considered\nthat he should be doing the giant a favour by allowing him this\nopportunity for a ramble. And, besides, he thought that it would be\nstill more for his own glory if he could boast of upholding the sky\nthan merely to do so ordinary a thing as to conquer a dragon with a\nhundred heads. Accordingly, the sky was shifted from the shoulders of\nAtlas, and placed upon those of Hercules.\n\nWhen this was safely accomplished, the first thing that the giant\ndid was to stretch himself. Next, he slowly lifted one of his feet\nout of the forest, that had grown up around it, then the other. Then\nall at once he began to caper and leap and dance for joy at his\nfreedom, flinging himself nobody knows how high into the air, and\nfloundering down again with a shock that made the earth tremble. Then\nhe laughed--\u201cho! ho! ho!\u201d--with a thunderous roar that was echoed\nfrom the mountains far and near. When his joy had a little subsided,\nhe stepped into the sea--ten miles at the first stride, which brought\nhim mid-leg deep; and ten miles at the second, when the water came\njust above his knees; and ten miles more at the third, by which he\nwas immersed nearly to his waist. This was the greatest depth of the\nsea.\n\nHercules watched the giant until the gigantic shape faded entirely\nout of view. And now Hercules began to consider what he should do in\ncase Atlas should be drowned in the sea, or if he were to be stung to\ndeath by the dragon with the hundred heads, which guarded the golden\napples of the Hesperides. If any such misfortune were to happen, how\ncould he ever get rid of the sky? And, by the by, its weight began\nalready to be a little irksome to his head and shoulders.\n\n\u201cI really pity the poor giant,\u201d thought Hercules. \u201cIf it wearies me\nso much in ten minutes, how it must have wearied him in a thousand\nyears!\u201d\n\nI know not how long it was before, to his unspeakable joy, he beheld\nthe huge shape of the giant, like a cloud, on the far-off edge of the\nsea. At his nearer approach Atlas held up his hand in which Hercules\ncould perceive three magnificent golden apples as big as pumpkins,\nand all hanging from one branch.\n\n\u201cI am glad to see you again,\u201d shouted Hercules when the giant was\nwithin hearing. \u201cSo you have got the golden apples?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, certainly,\u201d answered Atlas, \u201cand very fair apples they\nare. I took the finest that grew on the tree, I assure you. Ah, it is\na beautiful spot, that garden of the Hesperides! Yes, and the dragon\nwith a hundred heads is a sight worth any man\u2019s seeing. After all,\nyou had better have gone for the apples yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo matter,\u201d replied Hercules. \u201cYou have had a pleasant ramble, and\nhave done the business as well as I could. I heartily thank you for\nyour trouble. And now, as I have a long way to go, and am rather in\nhaste, and as the king, my cousin, is anxious to receive the golden\napples, will you be kind enough to take the sky off my shoulders\nagain?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, as to that,\u201d said the giant, chucking the golden apples into\nthe air twenty miles high or thereabouts, and catching them as they\ncame down--\u201cas to that, my good friend, I consider you a little\nunreasonable. Cannot I carry the golden apples to the king, your\ncousin, much quicker than you could? As his majesty is in such a\nhurry to get them, I promise you to take my longest strides. And,\nbesides, I have no fancy for burdening myself with the sky just now.\u201d\n\nHere Hercules grew impatient, and gave a great shrug of his\nshoulders. It being now twilight, you might have seen two or three\nstars tumble out of their places. Everybody on earth looked upward in\naffright, thinking that the sky might be going to fall next.\n\n\u201cOh, that will never do!\u201d cried Giant Atlas with a great roar of\nlaughter. \u201cI have not let fall so many stars within the last five\ncenturies. By the time you have stood there as long as I did you will\nbegin to learn patience.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d shouted Hercules, very wrathfully, \u201cdo you intend to make me\nbear this burden forever?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe will see about that one of these days,\u201d answered the giant. \u201cAt\nall events, you ought not to complain if you have to bear it the next\nhundred years, or perhaps the next thousand. I bore it a good while\nlonger, in spite of the backache. Well, then, after a thousand years,\nif I happen to feel in the mood, we may possibly shift about again.\nPosterity will talk of you, I warrant it.\u201d\n\n\u201cPish! a fig for its talk!\u201d cried Hercules, with another hitch of his\nshoulders. \u201cJust take the sky upon your head one instant, will you? I\nwant to make a cushion of my lion\u2019s skin for the weight to rest upon.\nIt really chafes me, and will cause unnecessary inconvenience in so\nmany centuries as I am to stand here.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s no more than fair, and I\u2019ll do it,\u201d quoth the giant. \u201cFor\njust five minutes, then, I\u2019ll take back the sky. Only for five\nminutes, recollect. I have no idea of spending another thousand years\nas I spent the last. Variety is the spice of life, say I.\u201d\n\nAh, the thick-witted old rogue of a giant! He threw down the golden\napples, and received back the sky from the head and shoulders of\nHercules upon his own, where it rightly belonged. And Hercules picked\nup the three golden apples that were as big or bigger than pumpkins,\nand straightway set out on his journey homeward, without paying the\nslightest heed to the thundering tones of the giant, who bellowed\nafter him to come back. Another forest sprang up around his feet and\ngrew ancient there, and again might be seen oak-trees of six or seven\ncenturies old, that had waxed thus aged betwixt his enormous toes.\n\nAnd there stands the giant to this day, or, at any rate, there stands\na mountain as tall as he, and which bears his name; and when the\nthunder rumbles about its summit we may imagine it to be the voice of\nGiant Atlas bellowing after Hercules.\n\n --_Abridged._\n\n\n\n\n_OCTOBER_--ORCHARD OF THE YEAR!\n\n\nBend thy boughs to the earth, redolent of glowing fruit! Ripened\nseeds shake in their pods. Apples drop in the stillest hours. Leaves\nbegin to let go when no wind is out, and swing in long waverings to\nthe earth, which they touch without sound, and lie looking up, till\nwinds rake them, and heap them in fence corners. When the gales come\nthrough the trees, the yellow leaves trail, like sparks at night\nbehind the flying engine. The woods are thinner so that we can see\nthe leaves plainer, as we lie dreaming on the yet warm moss of the\nsinging spring. The days are calm. The nights are tranquil. The\nyear\u2019s work is done. She walks in gorgeous apparel, looking upon her\nlong labour, and her serene eye saith, \u201cIt is good.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nNOVEMBER\n\n\n Trees bare and brown,\n Dry leaves everywhere\n Dancing up and down,\n Whirling through the air.\n\n Red-cheeked apples roasted,\n Popcorn almost done,\n Toes and chestnuts toasted,\n That\u2019s November fun.\n\n\n\n\nWOODLAND ANIMALS\n\n\n No sound was in the woodlands\n Save the squirrel\u2019s dropping shell\n And the yellow leaves among the boughs,\n Low rustling as they fell.\n\n At last after watching and waiting,\n Autumn, the beautiful came,\n Stepping with sandals silver,\n Decked with her mantle of flame.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRETENDING WOODCHUCK\n\n\nCARL S. PATTON\n\nAmong the wild animals I have not known was a family of woodchucks\nwho lived in a hollow log on the edge of a farm in New York State.\nNot that they cared much whether it was New York State or some other\nstate. I mentioned it only that the details of this story may be\nverified by anyone who is inclined to doubt them. It was New York\nState.\n\nNow here was a thing that distinguished this family to start with,\nfrom all other families of the neighbourhood--they lived in a\nhollow log. All their relatives and friends lived in the ground.\nI don\u2019t know how this family got started to living in the rotten\nlog. But I do happen to know that though there were a great many\nwarm discussions about the relative merits of a house in a log, and\na house in the ground, and though many ground houses in the best\nlocations and with all modern improvements were offered to this\nfamily, they stuck to the house in the log.\n\nThe house certainly did have one advantage; it had two doors. And\nnot only that, the log was part of an old fence, and the fence ran\nbetween the garden and the cornfield. So in the summer when the\ngarden stuff was fine, all you had to do was to walk down the hallway\nof the log, until you came to the left-hand door, and there you were\nright in the garden. But when fall came and the garden was dried up,\nbut the corn was stacked in shocks or husked and put into the crib,\nall you had to do was to go down the hallway, to the door that turned\nto the right, and there you were in the cornfield. Quite aside from\nthese advantages, who would live in a house with one door in it when\nhe could just as well have one with two?\n\nThe log-house family consisted of father, mother, and four children.\nThe youngest of these--the favourite of the family, was named Monax.\nHis mother had heard that the scientific name for woodchuck was\nArctomys Monax, and being of a scientific turn of mind, she was much\ntaken with this name. But no woodchuck in her neighbourhood had two\nnames. So she took the last of the two and called her son Monax.\n\nMonax had never been out in the world. He had been down to the two\ndoors, and had looked out, but that was all. But he had been well\ninstructed at home. He knew about men, and how they would sometimes\nshoot at woodchucks; and about dogs, and about the corn-crib;\nand for a long time he had known all about garden vegetables and\ncorn. He was certainly a promising boy, even his father and mother\nacknowledged it, but he had one weak point--he could not learn which\nwas his right hand and which was his left.\n\nIn the fall Monax\u2019 father was laid up with rheumatism. He was a\nterrible old fellow to groan and carry on when he was sick, and his\nwife had to stand by him every minute. The house had to be fixed for\nwinter, and the other children were at work on this. Saturday came\nand someone had to go to market. Who was there to go except Monax? So\nit was decided that Monax should go.\n\nMrs. Woodchuck gave him his instructions. She always gave everybody\ntheir instructions. Mr. Woodchuck was, like many of us, quite an\nimportant man, away from home. \u201cYou go out at the right-hand door,\u201d\nsaid Mrs. Woodchuck to Monax; \u201cmind me, at the right-hand door. You\ngo through the cornfield \u2019till you come to the big rock in the\nmiddle of it. Then you turn to the right again.\u201d She paused a moment,\nand a look of hesitancy or misgiving came into her face. \u201cDo you\nreally know,\u201d she said solemnly, \u201cdo you really know your right hand\nfrom your left?\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d said Monax. \u201cHold up your right one,\u201d said\nhis mother. Monax\u2019 mind was in a whirl. He tried to imagine himself\nwith his back to the cornfield door, where he stood when he had his\nlast lesson on the subject. If he could only get that clearly in his\nmind, he could remember which hand he held up then. But he was too\nexcited to think. So he held up one hand; he hadn\u2019t the slightest\nidea which it was. \u201cCertainly,\u201d said his mother, \u201ccertainly. Your\nfather said it was not safe to let you go, because you did not\nknow your right hand from your left. But he under-rates you. He\nunder-rates all the children.\u201d She spoke almost petulantly. Then her\nmind seemed to be relieved, and she proceeded with her instructions.\n\u201cThrough the cornfield,\u201d she said, \u201c\u2019till you come to the big rock;\nthen you go to the right \u2019till you come to the edge of the field.\nYou will see a couple of men in the cornfield. But do not be afraid\nof them; they are only scarecrows. Even if one of them has a gun,\nit is only a wooden one, and they can\u2019t hurt you. Go right ahead.\nAt the edge of the cornfield, by the maple tree, you turn to the\nright again--always to the right. Then you will see the barn. Go in\nand look around there. Keep away from the horses and don\u2019t mind the\nodour. If you find a basket of corn on the barn floor, help yourself\nand come home. If you don\u2019t you will have to go a little farther.\nJust to the right of the barn a few yards--always to the right--is\nthe corn-crib. That is where your father and I get most of the\nsupplies for the family. You climb up into the old wagon-box that\nstands on the scaffolding, and jump from that into the crib.\nGetting out is much easier and after that all you have to do is\nto come home. You needn\u2019t hurry especially. I sha\u2019n\u2019t be worried\nabout you, because there are no dogs there--the dog lives away over\non the other side of the fence beyond the garage--and I know the\nscarecrows will not hurt you.\u201d\n\nSo Monax started out. Down the hall he went, pondering his\ninstructions. If Mrs. Woodchuck had not gone back to tie another\npiece of red flannel around Mr. Woodchuck\u2019s rheumatic knee, she might\nhave observed that Monax moved slowly, as if in deep thought. But she\nobserved nothing, and so said nothing.\n\nMonax was in deep thought. He was trying to decide which was his\nright hand and which was his left. If he could only be sure of either\none of them he could guess at the other one. He had to know before he\ngot to the first of the two doors. Why were anybody\u2019s two hands so\nmuch alike? How could anyone be sure which was which? He stopped and\nheld up one, then the other; they looked just alike. He struck one of\nthem against the wall; then the other, they felt just alike. He\ncouldn\u2019t stop long about it; if his mother caught him at it, she\nwould probably suspect what was the matter with him, and his little\njourney into the world would be stopped before it began.\n\nHe came to the first door, and a sudden inspiration came to him. He\nnever knew how it was, but he felt perfectly confident which was his\nright hand. It seemed perfectly simple, somehow. It was this one. So\nhe turned out into the garden.\n\nHe didn\u2019t see any corn-shocks. But he was not surprised at that. His\nmother had said maybe they would have been hauled away by this time.\nHe looked ahead. Yes, there was the big stone. It did look a good\ndeal like a cement horse-block. \u201cBut then,\u201d he said to himself, \u201cthey\nmake stone these days so that you can hardly tell it from cement.\u201d He\nlooked for the two scarecrows. If they were there he would know he\nwas right. And there they were. They were awfully good imitations of\nmen. One of them was walking about just a little. As he went by them,\nhe noticed that neither of them had a gun, but he heard one of them\nsay to the other, \u201cEver eat \u2019em?\u201d \u201cThe young uns,\u201d said the other,\n\u201care pretty good; old ones too tough.\u201d Monax was much interested,\nbut he was not frightened. On a page of the \u201cScientific American,\u201d\nwhich his mother brought home a few weeks before, he had read about\nthe talking pictures that Mr. Edison had invented. He hadn\u2019t read of\nthe talking scarecrows, but he had no doubt there were such. \u201cYou\nnever can tell what these men will invent next,\u201d he said as he moved\nleisurely by.\n\nAt the big stone he turned--this way--he said to himself. \u201cIt is\nsurprising how sure I am about my right hand now.\u201d He came to the\nedge of the field. There, just as his mother had said, was the barn.\nIt looked more like a garage than a barn. But styles change. Anyway,\nthere it was to the right, just as his mother had told him. \u201cIf you\nare sure of your direction everything else takes care of itself,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cThe location is right.\u201d\n\nHe went into the barn. He noticed the odour; something like gasoline.\nHe looked for the horses; none there. He glanced about for the basket\nof corn. All he saw, instead, was a bunch of waste lying on top of a\nbig red tank. Where the horses ought to have been was an automobile.\n\u201cProbably they have changed it over from a barn to a garage since\nmother was here,\u201d he said; \u201cif you are going to keep up with the\ntimes these days you can\u2019t stay in the house; you\u2019ve got to get out\nwhere things are doing.\u201d It was no use to look for corn there. He had\nhad no instructions to bring home gasoline. His mother used ammonia\ninstead. So he took his time to look around the barn, and then moved\nleisurely out. Just a few yards to the right again, as his mother had\nsaid, was the corn-crib. He had never seen one before, and this one\nlooked small to him. It looked more like a dog-house to him. But the\nlocation was right again--\u201calways to the right,\u201d his mother said.\n\nThe old wagon box wasn\u2019t there. But at the back end of the corn-crib\nthere was a board tacked up from the crib to the tree. That was\nprobably one end of the scaffold that had held the wagon box. Of\ncourse they wouldn\u2019t leave the wagon box there all the fall. Probably\nthey were using it to haul corn, at that very moment, to that very\ncrib.\n\nMeantime Mrs. Woodchuck was growing very worried at home--for Monax\nhad taken more time for his journey than his mother thought he would.\nMr. Woodchuck\u2019s knee was very bad, and whenever he had rheumatism he\nwas more pessimistic than usual. \u201cI tell you,\u201d said he, \u201cthat boy\nwill never get home. He doesn\u2019t know his right hand from his left.\u201d\n\u201cI tell you he does,\u201d said Mrs. Woodchuck; \u201cI tried him on it just\nbefore he went.\u201d \u201cI wouldn\u2019t be surprised,\u201d Mr. Woodchuck stuck to\nhis position, \u201cif he had turned out that left-hand door, into the\ngarden and had gone to the garage instead of the barn. There is\none thing sure; if he tries to get corn out of that dog kennel, he\nwill find out his mistake.\u201d Mr. Woodchuck\u2019s lack of sympathy always\nirritated his wife.\n\n\u201cKeep still,\u201d she said, \u201cyou will give me nervous prostration again\nif you keep saying such things.\u201d\n\nMonax had climbed up onto the board. He paused to look around a\nmoment. Then thinking that he must not be quite so leisurely, he\njumped quickly through the little window just under the roof.\n\nThen things began to happen so fast that Monax could hardly keep\ntrack of them. For what Monax had really done was just what his\nfather said he probably would do. He had turned to the left every\ntime, where he ought to have turned to the right. He had gone through\nthe garden instead of the cornfield, past the cement horse-block\ninstead of the big stone, mistaken the garage for the barn, and now,\nworst luck of all, he had jumped into the dog kennel instead of into\nthe corn-crib.\n\nThe old dog had been after the sheep and cows, and was fast asleep on\nthe floor of his kennel. Still, he didn\u2019t propose to lie there and\nbe jumped on by a woodchuck--not in his own kennel. And Monax--well,\nperhaps he wasn\u2019t surprised when, instead of landing on top of a\ncrib of corn he fell clear to the bottom, and felt his feet touching\nsomething furry that moved. But it didn\u2019t have time to move much.\nMonax felt that a crisis had arrived in his career, and it was time\nto act. He didn\u2019t wait to look for the door of the kennel; he didn\u2019t\nwant to try any more new routes. He just rebounded off the back of\nthe dog like a rubber ball from the pavement. Up he went, breaking\nthe woodchuck record for the high jump, back through the window, onto\nthe board, down to the ground quick as a flash. The dog was after\nhim, but Monax was six feet ahead. Away he went, past the barn; the\nauto was just backing out; it came over Monax that it wasn\u2019t a barn\nafter all. He dodged under the machine; the dog had to run around it;\nthree feet more gained. He went by the big stone at full speed,--it\nlooked more than ever to him like a cement horse-block. Past the two\nscarecrows; he could see that they had moved quite a little since he\npassed them coming out, and one of them had a gun now. Bang, it went;\nhe felt the shot pass through his tail, and it increased his speed\nto forty miles. He didn\u2019t have much time to reflect, but it did come\nover him that those were not scarecrows, but men, and that what he\nhad overheard them say a half hour before about the \u201cyoung uns being\ngood to eat\u201d might possibly have had some reference to himself. On\nhe sped, through the garden; it was perfectly plain now that it had\nnever been a cornfield, and on like a flash through the garden door\ninto the log-house, and into his father\u2019s room--fluttering, trembling,\nand more dead than alive.\n\n\u201cDid you turn to the right?\u201d asked his mother.\n\n\u201cI did--on the way back,\u201d said Monax.\n\n\n\n\nMRS. BUNNY\u2019S DINNER PARTY\n\n\nANNA E. SKINNER\n\nReprinted from \u201cThe Churchman.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you ready, my dear?\u201d said Mr. Bobtail, looking at his large\nwatch. \u201cMrs. Bunny will expect us to come in good time to her dinner\nparty.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall be ready in a few minutes, Mr. Bobtail. I wonder how many\nare invited. We always meet fine people at Mrs. Bunny\u2019s house.\u201d\n\nMrs. Bobtail brought out her little gray silk bonnet, and Mr.\nBobtail\u2019s best birch cane.\n\n\u201cCome,\u201d she said, \u201cit is a good half hour\u2019s walk to Bramble Hollow.\nShall we go around by the way of Cabbage-Patch Lane?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no, my dear, let us take a short cut through the meadow.\u201d\n\nOff they started arm in arm across the sunlit fields.\n\n\u201cSee, there are Mr. and Mrs. Frisk gathering nuts,\u201d said Mr. Bobtail.\n\u201cJack Frost shook the trees last night. There are plenty lying on the\nground.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood morning. How are all the little Friskies?\u201d called Mrs. Bobtail.\n\n\u201cOh, how do you do! They are quite well, thank you,\u201d said Mrs. Frisk.\n\n\u201cThe nuts are fine this fall, Mr. Frisk,\u201d said Mr. Bobtail, shaking\nhands with his friend.\n\n\u201cYes, indeed. We have gathered a great many for our winter store. But\nyou see we dare not stop long in this open field.\u201d Mr. Frisk dropped\nhis voice and glanced about in all directions. Then he added, \u201cThis\nis hunting season, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! Do you mean you are afraid of hunters?\u201d asked Mr. Bobtail in\nsurprise.\n\n\u201cIndeed, we are,\u201d said Mrs. Frisk, coming a little nearer. \u201cFrom our\ncosy home up in the hollow of this tree we saw two hunters crossing\nthe field this morning. When their dogs sniffed about the ground and\nbarked up the tree, we held our breath in fear.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d added Mr. Frisk, \u201cand in a short time we heard \u2018bang! bang!\u2019 I\ntell you we didn\u2019t venture down to gather nuts for several hours.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow dreadful! And we are on our way to Mrs. Bunny\u2019s dinner party,\u201d\nsaid Mrs. Bobtail, looking in all directions; \u201cdo you think we had\nbetter go on, my dear?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course! Of course! I\u2019ve never had the least fear of a gun! Let\nhunters bang away as much as they please, they will never frighten\nme.\u201d Mr. Bobtail straightened up as he spoke, and tossed back his\nhead. \u201cCome, Mrs. Bobtail. Good day, my friends.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood day. We hope you will have a pleasant time,\u201d said Mr. Frisk.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t Mr. Bobtail wonderfully brave?\u201d said Mrs. Frisk, looking after\nher friends.\n\nWhen they came near Bramble Hollow, Mr. and Mrs. Bobtail met some\nof their friends. There were Mr. and Mrs. Pinkeye, Mr. and Mrs.\nLongears, Mr. and Mrs. Cottontail,--all on their way to the dinner\nparty.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Bunny were waiting for their guests. The little Bunnies\nhad been told how to behave.\n\n\u201cNow, my dears,\u201d their mother had said, \u201cyou may play out-of-doors\nwhile we are at dinner. When we have finished I\u2019ll call you. Now no\nmatter how hungry you are don\u2019t dare peep in at the windows. And if\nanything happens to frighten you slip into the kitchen and wait there\nquietly until I come.\u201d\n\nAway scampered four happy little Bunnies.\n\nAt noon all the guests had reached Bramble Hollow. Mr. and Mrs. Bunny\nwelcomed them, and in a little while all were seated around the table\nlaughing and talking merrily.\n\n\u201cWhat fine salad this is, Mrs. Bunny,\u201d said Mrs. Longears. \u201cThe\ncabbage hearts are very sweet this fall.\u201d\n\nMrs. Bunny nodded pleasantly and said, \u201cDo have some lettuce, Mr.\nBobtail. I\u2019m sure your long walk must have made you hungry.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope you will like our carrots,\u201d said Mr. Bunny, helping himself\nto another. \u201cCome, Mrs. Cottontail, let me help you to another\nserving of turnip tops.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, Mr. Bunny. What a pleasant home you have here in Bramble\nHollow. Do hunters ever wander into this quiet corner?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, yes. They stroll through the hollow sometimes.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear me,\u201d said Mrs. Cottontail.\n\n\u201cOur friends, Mr. and Mrs. Frisk, were telling us that they saw two\nhunters crossing the fields this morning,\u201d said Mrs. Bobtail.\n\n\u201cThis morning!\u201d cried some of the guests, pricking up their ears.\n\n\u201cCome, come, my friends,\u201d said Mr. Bobtail, laughing, \u201cI see I shall\nhave to quiet you. I never could see why so many rabbits are afraid\nof a gun! I have often stayed quietly under a hedge while a hunter\nfired shots as near to me as----\u201d\n\n\u201cBang! bang! bang!\u201d\n\nFour little Bunnies leaped through the window, and jumped right over\nthe table, upsetting many of the dishes.\n\nMr. Bobtail darted off his chair at the same time, and rushed to a\ncorner of the kitchen, where he stayed, shaking with fear.\n\nThe other guests did not move or speak for several minutes. Then\nMrs. Bunny caught sight of Mr. Bobtail in the corner. \u201cCome out, Mr.\nBobtail,\u201d she called, \u201cI\u2019m sure the hunters have gone into the next\nfield.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE NUTCRACKERS OF NUTCRACKER LODGE\n\n\nHARRIET BEECHER STOWE\n\nMr. and Mrs. Nutcracker were as respectable a pair of squirrels as\never wore gray brushes over their backs. They lived in Nutcracker\nLodge, a hole in a sturdy old chestnut tree overhanging a shady dell.\nHere they had reared many families of young Nutcrackers, who were\nmodels of good behavior in the forest.\n\nBut it happened in the course of time that they had a son named\nFeatherhead, who was as different from all the other children of the\nNutcracker family as if he had been dropped out of the moon into\ntheir nest. He was handsome enough, and had a lively disposition,\nbut he was sulky and contrary and unreasonable. He found fault with\neverything his respectable papa and mama did. Instead of helping with\nup nuts and learning other lessons proper to a young squirrel,--he\nsneered at all the good old ways and customs of the Nutcracker Lodge,\nand said they were behind the times. To be sure he was always on hand\nat meal times, and played a very lively tooth on the nuts which his\nmother had collected, always selecting the best for himself. But he\nseasoned his nibbling with much grumbling and discontent.\n\nPapa Nutcracker would often lose his patience, and say something\nsharp to Featherhead, but Mamma Nutcracker would shed tears, and beg\nher darling boy to be a little more reasonable.\n\nWhile his parents, brothers, and sisters were cheerfully racing up\nand down the branches laying up stores for the winter, Featherhead\nsat apart, sulking and scolding.\n\n\u201cNobody understands me,\u201d he grumbled. \u201cNobody treats me as I deserve\nto be treated. Surely I was born to be something of more importance\nthan gathering a few chestnuts and hickory-nuts for the winter. I am\nan unusual squirrel.\u201d\n\n\u201cDepend upon it, my dear,\u201d said Mrs. Nutcracker to her husband, \u201cthat\nboy is a genius.\u201d\n\n\u201cFiddlestick on his genius!\u201d said old Mr. Nutcracker; \u201cwhat does he\n_do_?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, nothing, of course, but they say that is one of the marks of\ngenius. Remarkable people, you know, never come down to common life.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe eats enough for any two,\u201d said old Nutcracker, \u201cand he never\nhelps gather nuts.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, my dear, Parson Too-Whit, who has talked with Featherhead, says\nthe boy has very fine feelings,--so much above those of the common\ncrowd.\u201d\n\n\u201cFeelings be hanged,\u201d snapped old Nutcracker. \u201cWhen a fellow eats\nall the nuts that his mother gives him, and then grumbles at her, I\ndon\u2019t believe much in his fine feelings. Why doesn\u2019t he do something?\nI\u2019m going to tell my fine young gentleman that if he doesn\u2019t behave\nhimself I\u2019ll tumble him out of the nest neck and crop, and see if\nhunger won\u2019t do something toward bringing down his fine airs.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, my dear,\u201d sobbed Mrs. Nutcracker, falling on her husband\u2019s neck\nwith both paws, \u201cdo be patient with our darling boy.\u201d\n\nNow although the Nutcrackers belonged to the fine old race of the\nGrays, they kept on the best of terms with all branches of the\nsquirrel family. They were very friendly to the Chipmunks of Chipmunk\nHollow. Young Tip Chipmunk, the oldest son, was in all respects a\nperfect contrast to Master Featherhead. Tip was lively and cheerful,\nand very alert in getting food for the family. Indeed, Mr. and Mrs.\nChipmunk had very little care, but could sit at the door of their\nhole and chat with neighbours, quite sure that Tip would bring\neverything out right for them, and have plenty laid up for winter.\n\n\u201cWhat a commonplace fellow that Tip Chipmunk is,\u201d sneered Featherhead\none day. \u201cI shall take care not to associate with him.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear, you are too hard on poor Tip,\u201d said Mrs. Nutcracker. \u201cHe is\na very good son, I\u2019m sure.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t doubt he\u2019s good enough,\u201d said Featherhead, \u201cbut he\u2019s so\ncommon. He hasn\u2019t an idea in his skull above his nuts and Chipmunk\nHollow. He is good-natured enough, but, dear me, he has no manners!\nI hope, mother, you won\u2019t invite the Chipmunks to the Thanksgiving\ndinner--these family dinners are such a bore.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, my dear Featherhead, your father thinks a great deal of the\nChipmunks--they are our relatives you know,\u201d said Mother Nutcracker.\n\n\u201cSo are the High-Flyers our relatives. If we could get them to come\nthere would be some sense to it. But of course a flying squirrel\nwould never come to our house if a common chipmunk is a guest. It\nisn\u2019t to be expected,\u201d said Featherhead.\n\n\u201cConfound him for a puppy,\u201d said old Nutcracker. \u201cI wish good,\nindustrious sons like Tip Chipmunk _were_ common.\u201d\n\nBut in the end Featherhead had his way, and the Chipmunks were not\ninvited to Nutcracker Lodge for Thanksgiving dinner. However, they\nwere not all offended. Indeed, Tip called early in the morning to pay\nhis compliments of the season, and leave a few dainty beechnuts.\n\n\u201cHe can\u2019t even see that he is not wanted here,\u201d sneered Featherhead.\n\nAt last old papa declared it was time for Featherhead to choose some\nbusiness.\n\n\u201cWhat are you going to do, my boy?\u201d he asked. \u201cWe are driving now a\nthriving trade in hickory nuts, and if you would like to join us----\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you,\u201d said Featherhead, \u201cthe hickory trade is too slow for me.\nI was never made to grub and delve in that way. In fact I have my own\nplans.\u201d\n\nTo be plain, Featherhead had formed a friendship with the Rats of Rat\nHollow--a race of people whose honesty was doubtful. Old Longtooth\nRat was a money-lender, and for a long time he had had his eye on\nFeatherhead as a person silly enough to suit the business which was\nneither more nor less than downright stealing.\n\nNear Nutcracker Lodge was a large barn filled with corn and grain,\nbesides many bushels of hazelnuts, chestnuts and walnuts. Now old\nLongtooth told Featherhead that he should nibble a passage into the\nloft, and set up a commission business there--passing out nuts and\ngrain as Longtooth wanted them. He did not tell Featherhead a certain\nsecret--namely, that a Scotch terrier was about to be bought to keep\nrats from the grain.\n\n\u201cHow foolish such drudging fellows as Tip Chipmunk are!\u201d said\nFeatherhead to himself. \u201cThere he goes picking up a nut here and a\ngrain there, whereas I step into property at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope you are honest in your dealings, my son,\u201d said old Nutcracker.\n\nFeatherhead threw his tail saucily over one shoulder and laughed.\n\u201cCertainly, sir, if honesty means getting what you can while it is\ngoing, I mean to be honest.\u201d\n\nVery soon Featherhead seemed to be very prosperous. He had a splendid\nhole in the midst of a heap of chestnuts, and he seemed to be rolling\nin wealth. He lavished gifts on his mother and sisters; he carried\nhis tail very proudly over his back. He was even gracious to Tip\nChipmunk.\n\nBut one day as Featherhead was lolling in his hole, up came two boys\nwith the friskiest, wiriest Scotch terrier you ever saw. His eyes\nblazed like torches. Featherhead\u2019s heart died within him as he heard\nthe boys say, \u201cNow we\u2019ll see if we can catch the rascal that eats our\ngrain.\u201d\n\nFeatherhead tried to slink out of the hole he had gnawed to come in\nby, but found it stopped.\n\n\u201cOh, you are there, are you, Mister?\u201d cried the boy. \u201cWell, you don\u2019t\nget out, and now for a chase.\u201d\n\nAnd sure enough poor Featherhead ran with terror up and down through\nthe bundles of hay. But the barking terrier was at his heels, and\nthe boys shouted and cheered. He was glad at last to escape through\na crack, though he left half of his fine brush behind him--for\nMaster Wasp, the terrier, made a snap at it just as Featherhead was\nsqueezing through. Alas! all the hair was cleaned off so that it was\nas bare as a rat\u2019s tail.\n\nPoor Featherhead limped off, bruised and beaten, with the dog\nand boys still after him, and they would have caught him if Tip\nChipmunk\u2019s hole had not stood open to receive him. Tip took the best\nof care of him, but the glory of Featherhead\u2019s tail had gone forever.\nFrom that time, though, he was a sadder and a wiser squirrel than he\never had been before.\n\n\n\n\nBUSHY\u2019S BRAVERY\n\n\nMr. Squirrel was disappointed when he peeped his head out of his\nhollow tree early one morning. Not one nut was to be seen on the\nground.\n\n\u201cJack Frost did not come last night. I see no nuts anywhere. It will\ntake a long time to get all we need from the tree, I fear,\u201d he said\nto Mrs. Squirrel, who was standing close beside him.\n\n\u201cBut Jack Frost will come to our tree,\u201d she said. \u201cHe never fails.\nSee, there\u2019s Mrs. Bushytail out early. She seems to be looking\naround, too. Perhaps Jack Frost has shaken them down for her. Let\u2019s\nrun down and see.\u201d\n\nAway frisked Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel as fast as their legs could take\nthem, to see what Jack Frost had done for their neighbour. But, no,\nhe had not visited Mrs. Bushytail\u2019s tree. She had looked all over\nthe ground, and there wasn\u2019t a nut in sight. She couldn\u2019t explain it\nherself.\n\n\u201cLet us wait until to-morrow morning,\u201d said Mrs. Squirrel, \u201che will\nbe sure to come to-night. Then what fun Bushy and Frisky will have\ngathering them. They will have to work hard to get enough for our\nwinter store. Boys love nuts, too,\u201d she added with a sigh. \u201cBut we\nwill wait.\u201d\n\nMorning came and frosty Jack had been there in earnest, for the nuts\nlay all over the ground.\n\n\u201cNow to work,\u201d said Father Squirrel. \u201cCome, Bushy and Frisky.\u201d\n\nIt was a busy day for Mr. Squirrel\u2019s family. They well knew how\nmany, many nuts are needed for the winter\u2019s store, and Mr. Squirrel\nkept telling Bushy and Frisky that they would have to work hard, and\nperhaps until the sun went down that day.\n\nBut alas for those little squirrels. \u201cBoys love nuts, too,\u201d Mrs.\nSquirrel had said over and over again, and when a rustle was heard in\nthe bushes behind the trees, and the sound of boys\u2019 voices came loud\nand clear, these little workers had to take to their heels, and whisk\nup the hollow tree. There they stayed trembling with fear. In a few\nminutes Bushy, a little braver than the rest, ventured to peep out of\na small hole. Frisky stood just back of him.\n\n\u201cBoys--three of them--and they all have bags!\u201d\n\nPoor Bushy and Frisky. If there was one thing that these little\nsquirrels loved to do more than another it was to gather nuts--and\nnow their chance was spoiled, for the boys were really there, and\nwould be sure to take every nut they could find.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re working hard,\u201d said Bushy.\n\n\u201cWill they leave any for us?\u201d asked Frisky, not even daring to peep\nout.\n\n\u201cSh! Listen, Frisky. I heard one of the boys say that there are some\nnuts under the other tree. Two of the boys are going there now. It\u2019s\nMrs. Bushytail\u2019s tree. But look, Frisky, they have left two of the\nbags.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere, Bushy?\u201d\n\n\u201cOne of the boys is sitting on one of them. He is cracking nuts, I\nthink.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the other bag, Bushy?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe other one is close by our tree,\u201d and before any one could say a\nword, Bushy was out of the hole, down the tree, and close to the big\nbag. Mrs. Squirrel tried to call him back, but it was of no use. Up\nand down the bag he ran, first to the top and then to the sides. But\nhe could not get in--the bag was tied tight. But Bushy\u2019s teeth were\nsharp.\n\n\u201cDear, dear,\u201d said his mother, \u201chere come the boys back, and they\nwill surely see Bushy--dear, dear.\u201d\n\nBushy caught sight of the boys coming toward the tree for their bags,\nand with a whisk and a scamper he was up the tree again and into his\nhole in no time.\n\n\u201cDear, dear Bushy,\u201d said his mother. \u201cWhat a fright you gave us all.\nJust see those boys. There\u2019s no telling what would have happened if\nthey had seen you.\u201d\n\nMr. Squirrel\u2019s family watched the boys pick up their bags, throw them\nover their shoulders and go away.\n\n\u201cWhy, Tom, look at your bag,\u201d said one of the boys. \u201cIt has a hole in\nit. You must have lost ever so many nuts along the way.\u201d\n\n\u201cA hole?\u201d asked Tom in surprise, as he lifted the bag from his\nshoulder. \u201cSo it has--and a pretty big one, too. I wonder how it ever\ncame there. It wasn\u2019t there when I started.\u201d\n\nThe boys were gone, and Mr. Squirrel\u2019s family ventured out once more.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s of no use, I fear,\u201d began Mrs. Squirrel; \u201cthose boys were good\nworkers and--dear me, here are nuts sprinkled all along the road.\nWhat does it mean?\u201d asked Mrs. Squirrel.\n\n\u201cIt is strange,\u201d said Mr. Squirrel. \u201cI really thought those boys had\nfound them all, but perhaps boys\u2019 eyes are not so sharp as we think.\u201d\n\nBushy kept on gathering the nuts and smiling to himself. How sly he\nwas. Not one of the family seemed to guess the truth. It was only\nwhen he and Frisky were going to bed that night that Frisky dared to\nwhisper, \u201cBushy, did you put that hole in that bag?\u201d\n\n\n\n\nNUT GATHERERS\n\n\n Hark! how they chatter\n Down the dusk Road,\n See them come patter,\n Each with his Load.\n\n What have you sought, then,\n Gay little Band?\n What have you brought, then,\n Each in his Hand?\n\n No need to ask it;\n No need to tell;\n In Bag and in Basket\n Your nuts show well!\n\n Nuts from the wild-wood;\n Sweet Nuts to eat;\n Sweetest in Childhood\n When life is sweet.\n\n There they go patter,\n Each with his Load;\n Hark! how they chatter\n Down the dusk Road.\n HAMISH HENDRY.\n\n\n\n\nIN HARVEST FIELDS\n\n\n\n\nWHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUMPKIN\u2019\n\n\n When the frost is on the punkin\u2019 and the fodder\u2019s in the shock,\n And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin\u2019 turkey-cock,\n And the clackin\u2019 of the guiney\u2019s, and the cluckin\u2019 of the hens,\n And the rooster\u2019s hallylcoyer as he tiptoes on the fence,\n O, it\u2019s then\u2019s the time a feller is a-feelin\u2019 at his best,\n With the risin\u2019 sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,\n As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,\n When the frost is on the punkin\u2019 and the fodder\u2019s in the shock.\n JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.\n\n\n\n\nORIGIN OF INDIAN CORN\n\n\nOnce upon a time an Indian chief sat alone in his wigwam thinking\nabout the needs of his tribe. For more than a year food had been very\nscarce, and they were suffering from a scanty fare of roots, herbs,\nand berries. Many of the people had come to him in their misery.\n\n\u201cWe ask you to help us, brave chief,\u201d they cried. \u201cWill you not\nentreat the Great Spirit to send us some of the food from the Happy\nHunting Grounds where it is so plentiful? See how weak and thin our\nyoung braves are. Help us or we shall die.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll go into the depths of the forest,\u201d said the chief. \u201cThere I\u2019ll\nlive until the Great Spirit tells me how to relieve the misery of my\npeople.\u201d\n\nHe left his wigwam and walked far into the forest, where he waited\nfor several days before the Great Spirit spoke these words to him:\n\n\u201cIn the moon of rains take thy family and go to the stretch of land\nwhich joins this forest. Wait there until I send thee a message.\u201d\n\nThe chief went back to the Indian village, and told what he had heard\nfrom the Great Spirit. And in the Moon of Rains he called together\nhis honoured wife, his fleet-footed sons, and his graceful daughter,\nand said, \u201cFollow me to the stretch of land beyond the forest.\u201d\n\nWhen they reached the great plain, they stood in a group waiting for\na message from the Great Spirit. For three suns they stood patiently\nwithout once changing their positions.\n\nThe Indians of the tribe grew anxious to know what had happened to\ntheir chief and his family, and some of them slipped through the wood\nto the plain where they knew he had been directed to go. There they\nsaw the group of figures standing with their hands uplifted, and\ntheir eyes closed. The Indians were filled with awe.\n\n\u201cThe Great Spirit is talking to them,\u201d they whispered, as they went\nback to their wigwams.\n\nIn a few days they returned to the plain. A marvelous sight met\ntheir eyes. Instead of the chief and his family standing like images\nof sleep, they saw wonderful green plants, tall and straight, with\nbroad, flat leaves, and in place of uplifted hands they beheld ears\nof corn with silken fringe.\n\n\u201cThe Great Spirit has called our chief and his family to the \u2018Happy\nHunting Grounds,\u2019\u201d they said, \u201cand has sent us this food as a symbol\nof their sacrifice.\u201d\n\nThey saved some of the kernels and planted them in the fields, and\neach year when they reaped a golden harvest they remembered the brave\nchief whose thoughtful care brought them the rich blessing of the\nIndian corn.\n\n\n Sing, O Song of Hiawatha,\n Of the happy days that followed,\n In the land of the Ojibways,\n In the pleasant land and peaceful!\n Sing the mysteries of Mondamin,\n Sing the Blessing of the Cornfields!\n HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.\n\n\n\n\nO-NA-TAH: THE SPIRIT OF THE CORN-FIELDS\n\n\nHARRIET CONVERSE\n\nO-na-tah is the spirit of the corn, and patroness of the fields.\nThe sun touches her dusky face with the blush of the morning, and\nher dark eyes grow soft as the gleam of the stars that float on\ndark streams. Her night-black hair flares in the breeze like the\nwind-driven cloud that unveils the sun. As she walks the air, draped\nin her maize, its blossoms plume to the sun, and its fringing tassels\nplay with the rustling leaves in whispering promises to the waiting\nfields. Night follows O-na-tah\u2019s dim way with dews, and Day guides\nthe beams that leap from the sun to her path. And the great Mother\nEarth loves O-na-tah, who brings to her children their life-giving\ngrain.\n\nAt one time O-na-tah had two companions, the Spirit of the Bean and\nthe Spirit of the Squash. In the olden time when the bean, corn, and\nsquash were planted together in the hill these three plant spirits\nwere never separated. Each was clothed in the plant which she\nguarded. The Spirit of the Squash was crowned with the flaunting gold\ntrumpet blossom of its foliage. The Spirit of the Bean was arrayed in\nthe clinging leaves of its winding vine, its velvety pods swinging to\nthe breeze.\n\nOne day when O-na-tah had wandered astray in search of the lost dew,\nHah-gweh-da-et-gab captured her, and imprisoned her in his darkness\nunder the earth. Then he sent one of his monsters to blight her\nfields and the Spirit of Squash and the Spirit of Bean fled before\nthe blighting winds that pursued them. O-na-tah languished in the\ndarkness, lamenting her lost fields. But one day a searching sun ray\ndiscovered her, and guided her safely back to her lands.\n\nSad indeed was O-na-tah when she beheld the desolation of her\nblighted fields, and the desertion of her companions, Spirit of\nSquash and Spirit of Bean. Bewailing the great change, she made a vow\nthat she would never leave her fields again.\n\nIf her fields thirst now, she can not leave them to summon the dews.\nWhen the Flame Spirit of the Sun burns the maize O-na-tah dare not\nsearch the skies for Ga-oh to implore him to unleash the winds and\nfan her lands. When great rains fall and blight her fields the voice\nof O-na-tah grows faint and the Sun can not hear. Yet faithful she\nwatches and guards, never abandoning her fields till the maize is\nripe.\n\nWhen the maize stalk bends low O-na-tah is folding the husks to the\npearly grains that the dew will nourish in their screening shade, as\nthey fringe to the sun.\n\nWhen the tassels plume, O-na-tah is crowning the maize with her\ntriumph sign, and the rustling leaves spear to the harvest breeze.\n\n\n\n\nMONDAMIN\n\n\n Summer passed and Shawondasee\n Breathed his sighs o\u2019er all the landscape,\n From the South-land sent his ardours,\n Wafted kisses warm and tender;\n And the maize-field grew and ripened,\n Till it stood in all the splendour\n Of its garments green and yellow,\n Of its tassels and its plumage,\n And the maize-ears full of shining\n Gleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure.\n Then Nokomis, the old woman,\n Spake, and said to Minnehaha,\n \u201c\u2019Tis the Moon when leaves are falling,\n All the wild rice has been gathered,\n And the maize is ripe and ready;\n Let us gather in the harvest,\n Let us wrestle with Mondamin,\n Strip him of his plumes and tassels,\n Of his garments green and yellow.\u201d\n And the merry Laughing Water\n Went rejoicing from the wigwam,\n With Nokomis, old and wrinkled,\n And they called the women round them,\n Called the young men and the maidens,\n To the harvest of the cornfields,\n To the husking of the maize-ear.\n HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DISCONTENTED PUMPKIN\n\n\nJack Frost visited Farmer Crane\u2019s field one night, and the next\nmorning the gold of the pumpkins shone more brilliantly than ever\nthrough their silver coverings.\n\n\u201cIt is of no use,\u201d said one large pumpkin to another lying beside it.\n\u201cIt is of no use. I was never made to be cut up for pumpkin pies. I\nfeel I was put here for something higher.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, what do you mean?\u201d said the other. \u201cYou never seemed\ndissatisfied before. You quite take my breath away.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, to tell the truth, I do not like the thought of being cut up\nand served on a table like an ordinary pumpkin. See how large I am,\nand what a glorious colour. Tell me, did you ever see a pumpkin more\nbeautiful?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are beautiful, indeed, but I never thought of being made for\nanything but pies. Do tell me of what other use can one be?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I have always thought that I am not like the other pumpkins in\nthis field, and when Farmer Crane pointed me out as the finest one he\nhad, I heard him say, \u2018That would be a fine one for a fair.\u2019 It was\nnot till then that I really knew for what I was intended.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do remember,\u201d answered the other. \u201cYes, I do remember hearing\nabout some pumpkins\u2019 being taken to a county fair once, but I never\nheard how they liked it. As for myself, I should be proud to be made\ninto delicious pies and served on a beautiful plate.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow can you be satisfied with that thought? But there is Farmer\nCrane now. He is gathering some of the _smaller_ pumpkins to make\npies with, I think.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps he knows best what you are made for,\u201d answered the other.\n\nFarmer Crane was soon at their side, and was looking from one to the\nother.\n\n\u201cWhat fine pies they will make. I had better take them now, I think,\u201d\nhe said, and they were quickly added to the golden heap already on\nthe wagon.\n\nHow happy they all were--all but one that lay on the top of the large\npile.\n\n\u201cIt is hard to be thrown in with these ordinary pumpkins. If I could\nonly slip off by myself. Perhaps there is at least a place at the\nbottom of the wagon where I can be alone.\u201d\n\nIt was a long way from the top of the pile to the bed of the wagon,\nbut it was very little trouble to slip away from the rest. It would\ntake only a second, and then he could be away from the others. But\nalas! the discontented pumpkin slipped a little too far, and I\u2019m\nsorry to say, soon lay on the frozen ground, a shattered heap.\n\n\u201cDear me,\u201d said the pumpkins in one breath; \u201csee, that fine fellow\nhas slipped off, and is broken to pieces. What a feast the cows and\npigs will have.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is too bad,\u201d said one.\n\n\u201cAnd he was so anxious to be taken to a fair,\u201d added another.\n\n Hurrah for the tiny seed!\n Hurrah for the flower and vine!\n Hurrah for the golden pumpkin;\n Yellow and plump and fine!\n But better than all beginnings,\n Sure, nobody can deny,\n Is the end of the whole procession----\n This glorious pumpkin pie!\n\n\n\n\nBOB WHITE\n\n\n I see you on the zig zag rails,\n You cheery little fellow!\n While purple leaves are whirling down,\n And scarlet, brown or yellow.\n I hear you when the air is full\n Of snow-down of the thistle;\n All in your speckled jacket trim,\n \u201cBob White! Bob White!\u201d you whistle.\n\n Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows,\n Are nodded there to greet you,\n I know that you are out for play----\n How I should like to meet you!\n Though blithe of voice, so shy you are,\n In this delightful weather;\n What splendid playmates, you and I,\n Bob White, would make together.\n\n There, you are gone! but far away\n I hear your whistle falling,\n Ah! maybe it is hide and seek,\n And that\u2019s why you are calling.\n Along those hazy uplands wide\n We\u2019d be such merry rangers;\n What! silent now and hidden, too?\n Bob White, don\u2019t let\u2019s be strangers.\n\n Perhaps you teach your brood the game,\n In yonder rainbowed thicket,\n While winds are playing with the leaves,\n And softly creaks the cricket.\n \u201cBob White! Bob White!\u201d again I hear\n That blithely whistled chorus,\n Why should we not companions be?\n One Father watches o\u2019er us!\n GEORGE COOPER.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE PUMPKIN\n\n\nEMMA FLORENCE BUSH.\n\nOnce there was a little pumpkin that grew on a vine in a field. All\nday long the sun shone on him, and the wind blew gently around him.\nSometimes the welcome rain fell softly upon him, and as the vine\nsent her roots deep down into the earth and drew the good sustenance\nfrom it, and it flowed through her veins, the little pumpkin drank\ngreedily of the good juice, and grew bigger and bigger, and rounder\nand rounder, and firmer and firmer.\n\nBy and by he grew so big he understood all that the growing things\naround him were saying, and he listened eagerly.\n\n\u201cI came from the seed of a Jack-o\u2019-lantern,\u201d said this vine to a\nneighbour, \u201ctherefore I must grow all Jack-o\u2019-lanterns.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo did I,\u201d said a neighbour, \u201cbut no Jack-o\u2019-lanterns for me. It is\ntoo hard a life. I am going to grow just plain pumpkins.\u201d\n\nWhen the little pumpkin heard he was supposed to be a\nJack-o\u2019-lantern, he grew very worried, for he could not see that he\nwas in any way different from any ordinary pumpkin, and if Mother\nVine expected him to be a Jack-o\u2019-lantern, he did not want to\ndisappoint her.\n\nAt last he grew so unhappy over it that the dancing little sunbeams\nnoticed it. \u201cWhat is the matter, little pumpkin?\u201d they cried. \u201cWhy do\nyou not hold up your head and look around as you used to do?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause,\u201d answered the little pumpkin, sadly, \u201cI have to be a\nJack-o\u2019-lantern, and I don\u2019t know how. All I know about is how to be\na little yellow pumpkin.\u201d\n\nThen the merry little breezes laughed and laughed until they shook\nthe vine so that all the pumpkins had to tighten their hold not to\nbe shaken off. \u201cOh, little pumpkin!\u201d they cried, \u201cwhy worry about\nwhat you will have to do later? Just try with all your might to be a\nlittle yellow pumpkin, and believe that if you do the best you can,\neverything will be all right. We know a secret, a beautiful secret,\nand some day we will tell it to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, tell me now!\u201d cried the little pumpkin, but the sunbeams and\nbreezes laughed together, and chuckled,\n\n \u201cOh no, oh no, oh no!\n Just grow and grow and grow,\n And some day you will know.\u201d\n\nThe little pumpkin felt comforted. \u201cAfter all,\u201d he thought, \u201cperhaps\nif I cannot be a Jack-o\u2019-lantern I can be a good pumpkin, and I am so\nfar down on the vine perhaps Mother Vine won\u2019t notice me.\u201d He looked\naround, and saw that all his brothers and sisters were only little\npumpkins, too.\n\n\u201cOh, dear,\u201d he cried, \u201care we going to disappoint Mother Vine?\nAren\u2019t any of us going to be Jack-o\u2019-lanterns?\u201d Then all his little\nbrothers and sisters laughed, and said, \u201cWhat do we care about being\nJack-o\u2019-lanterns? All we care about is to eat the good juice, and\ngrow and grow.\u201d\n\nAt last came the cold weather, and all the little pumpkins were now\nbig ones, and a beautiful golden yellow. The biggest and yellowest of\nall was the little pumpkin who had tried so hard all summer to grow\ninto a Jack-o\u2019-lantern. He could not believe Mother Vine did not see\nhim now, for he had grown so big that every one who saw him exclaimed\nabout him, and Mother Vine did not seem at all disappointed, she just\nkept at work carrying the good food that kept her pumpkin children\nwell fed.\n\nAt last one frosty morning, a crowd of children came to the field.\n\u201cThe pumpkins are ready,\u201d they cried. \u201cThe pumpkins are ready; and\nwe are going to find the biggest and yellowest and nicest to make a\nJack-o\u2019-lantern for the Thanksgiving party. All the grandmothers and\ngrandfathers and aunts and uncles will see it, and we are going to\neat the pies made from it.\u201d\n\nThey looked here and there, all over the field, and pushed aside the\nvines to see better. All at once they saw the little pumpkin. \u201cOh!\u201d\nthey cried, \u201cWhat a perfect Jack-o\u2019-lantern! So big and firm and\nround and yellow! This shall be the Jack-o\u2019-lantern for our\nThanksgiving party, and it is so large there will be pie enough for\nevery one.\u201d\n\nThen they picked the pumpkin and carried him to the barn. Father\ncut a hole in the top around the stem, lifted it off carefully and\nscooped out the inside, and the children carried it to mother in the\nkitchen. Then father made eyes and a nose and mouth, and fitted a big\ncandle inside. \u201cOh, see the beautiful Jack-o\u2019-lantern!\u201d they cried.\n\nThe little pumpkin waited in the barn. \u201cAt last I am a\nJack-o\u2019-lantern,\u201d he said. After a time it grew dark, and father\ncame and carried him into the house, and lighted the candle, and put\nhim right in the middle of the table, and all the grandmothers and\ngrandfathers, and aunts and uncles, cried, \u201cOh, what a beautiful,\nbig, round, yellow Jack-o\u2019-lantern!\u201d\n\nThen the little pumpkin was happy, for he knew Mother Vine would have\nbeen proud of him, and he shone--shone--SHONE, until the candle was\nall burned out.\n\n\n\n\nAUTUMN\n\n\n Then came the Autumn all in yellow clad,\n As though he joy\u00e8d in his plenteous store,\n Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full glad\n That he had banished hunger, which to-fore\n Had by the body oft him pinch\u00e8d sore:\n Upon his head a wreath, that was enroll\u2019d\n With ears of corn of every sort, he bore;\n And in his hand a sickle he did hold,\n To reap the ripen\u2019d fruits the which the earth had yold.\n EDMUND SPENSER.\n\n\n\n\nCHEERFUL CHIRPERS\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEWS\n\n\n The katydids say it as plain as can be\n And the crickets are singing it under the trees;\n In the asters\u2019 blue eyes you may read the same hint,\n Just as clearly as if you had seen it in print.\n And the corn sighs it, too, as it waves in the sun,\n That autumn is here and summer is done.\n PERSIS GARDINER.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THERE CAME TO BE A KATY-DID\n\n\nPATTEN BEARD\n\nFrom \u201cThe Bluebird\u2019s Garden.\u201d Used by special permission of the\nauthor and the Pilgrim Press.\n\nLong, long, long ago--so long that this story has had time to grow\ninto a garden legend--two green grasshoppers went out, one fine day,\nto play with a cricket. They played tag, and I\u2019m on gypsyland. At\nlast they decided to have a game of hide-and-seek.\n\nThe goal was a blade of grass, and they counted out to see who should\nbe goal man. It fell to the little cricket, Katy-did. She was to hide\nher eyes behind the grassblade, and count up to one hundred by tens,\nwhile the two grasshoppers went off to hide.\n\nSo the cricket hid her face so that she could not see, and began:\n\u201cTen, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety,\none hundred! Coming!\u201d\n\nThough there were plenty of good places in which to hide in the\ngarden, one green grasshopper had been slow to suit himself. He had\nnot yet hidden when the little cricket turned about and caught him.\n\nAnd he began, \u201cYou didn\u2019t count up to a hundred! I didn\u2019t have time\nto hide! You should have hollered, \u2018Coming!\u2019 It\u2019s no fair! I\u2019m not\ngoing to play any more--you didn\u2019t count up to a hundred!\u201d\n\nAt this, the other grasshopper came out of hiding. \u201cShe did count up\nto a hundred,\u201d he said, \u201cKaty did!\u201d\n\n \u201cShe didn\u2019t\u201d\n \u201cShe did!\u201d\n \u201cShe didn\u2019t!\u201d\n \u201cKaty did, did, did!\u201d\n \u201cKaty didn\u2019t, didn\u2019t, didn\u2019t!\u201d\n \u201cDid, did, did!\u201d\n \u201cDidn\u2019t, didn\u2019t, didn\u2019t!\u201d\n \u201cKaty did!\u201d\n \u201cKaty didn\u2019t!\u201d\n \u201cShe did!\u201d\n \u201cShe didn\u2019t!\u201d\n \u201cKaty did!\u201d\n \u201cKaty didn\u2019t!\u201d\n\nTo this very, very day, you can hear the dispute still going on in\nthe garden, and the game of tag has never yet been finished. Ever\nsince that time the grasshoppers who started the discussion have been\ncalled katydids, and the whole garden is full of the controversy. You\ncan hear hundreds of little voices keeping it up, though nothing is\never decided. So it goes on eternally, Katy did--Katy didn\u2019t, did,\ndid, did, didn\u2019t, didn\u2019t, she did, she didn\u2019t--for nobody has ever\nyet settled a dispute by contradiction. By this time, too, everyone\nhas forgotten what the quarrel was about.\n\n\n\n\nOLD DAME CRICKET\n\n\n Old Dame Cricket, down in a thicket,\n Brought up her children nine,----\n Queer little chaps, in glossy black caps\n And brown little suits so fine.\n \u201cMy children,\u201d she said,\n \u201cThe birds are abed:\n Go and make the dark earth glad!\n Chirp while you can!\u201d\n And then she began,----\n Till, oh, what a concert they had!\n\n They hopped with delight,\n They chirped all night,\n Singing, \u201cCheer up! cheer up! cheer!\u201d\n Old Dame Cricket,\n Down in the thicket,\n Sat awake till dawn to hear.\n\n \u201cNice children,\u201d she said,\n \u201cAnd very well bred.\n My darlings have done their best.\n Their naps they must take:\n The birds are awake;\n And they can sing all the rest.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nMISS KATY-DID AND MISS CRICKET\n\n\nHARRIET BEECHER STOWE\n\nMiss Katy-Did sat on the branch of a flowering azalia in her best\nsuit of fine green and silver, with wings of point-lace from mother\nnature\u2019s finest web.\n\nHer gallant cousin, Colonel Katy-Did, had looked in to make her a\nmorning call.\n\n\u201cCertainly I am a pretty creature,\u201d she said to herself when the\ngallant Colonel said something about being dazzled by her beauty.\n\n\u201cThe fact is, my dear Colonel,\u201d said Miss Katy, \u201cI am thinking of\ngiving a party, and you must help me make out the lists.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear, you make me the happiest of Katy-Dids.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said Miss Katy, drawing an azalia leaf towards her, \u201clet us\nsee--whom shall we have? The Fireflies are a little unsteady, but\nthey are so brilliant, everybody wants them--and they belong to the\nhigher circles.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, we must have the Fireflies,\u201d said the colonel.\n\n\u201cWell, then--and the Butterflies and the Moths, now there\u2019s the\ntrouble. There are so many Moths, and they\u2019re so dull. Still if you\nhave the Butterflies you can\u2019t leave out the Moths.\u201d\n\n\u201cOld Mrs. Moth has been ill lately. That may keep two or three of the\nMisses Moth at home,\u201d said the colonel.\n\n\u201cI thought she was never sick,\u201d said Miss Katy-Did.\n\n\u201cYes, I understand she and her family ate up a whole fur cape last\nmonth, and it disagreed with them.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, how can they eat such things as worsted and fur?\u201d then sneered\nMiss Katy-Did.\n\n\u201cBy your fairy-like delicacy one can see that you couldn\u2019t eat such\nthings,\u201d smiled the colonel.\n\n\u201cMamma says she doesn\u2019t know what keeps me alive. Half a dewdrop and\na little bit of the nicest part of a rose-leaf often lasts me for a\nday. But to our list. Let\u2019s see,--the Fireflies, Butterflies, Moths.\nThe Bees must come, I suppose.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Bees are a worthy family,\u201d nodded the colonel.\n\n\u201cYes, but dreadfully humdrum. They never talk about anything but\nhoney and housekeeping.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen there are the Bumble Bees.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I dote on them,\u201d said Miss Katy-Did. \u201cGeneral Bumble is one of\nthe most dashing, brilliant fellows of the day.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s shockingly fat!\u201d said the colonel.\n\n\u201cYes, he is a little stout,\u201d nodded Miss Katy-Did, \u201cbut he is very\nelegant in his manners,--something soldierly and breezy about him.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you invite the Bumble Bees, you must have the Hornets.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, they are spiteful,--I detest them.\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless, one must not offend the Hornets, and how about the\nMosquitoes?\u201d asked the Colonel.\n\n\u201cThey are very common. Can\u2019t one cut them?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think not, my dear Miss Katy. Young Mosquito is connected with\nsome of our leading papers, and he carries a sharp pen. It will never\ndo to offend him.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I suppose one must ask all his dreadful relations, too,\u201d sighed\nMiss Katy.\n\nAt this moment they saw Miss Keziah Cricket coming. She carried her\nworkbag on her arm, and she asked for a subscription to help a poor\nfamily of Ants who had just had their house hoed up by some one who\nwas clearing the garden walks.\n\n\u201cHow stupid of the Ants,\u201d said Katy, \u201cnot to know better than to put\ntheir house in a garden-walk.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, they are in great trouble,\u201d said Miss Cricket. \u201cTheir stores are\nall destroyed, and their father killed--cut quite in two by a hoe.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow very shocking! I don\u2019t like to hear such disagreeable things.\nBut I have nothing to give. Mamma said yesterday she didn\u2019t know how\nour bills were to be paid,--and there\u2019s my green satin with point\nlace yet to come home,\u201d said Miss Katy, shrugging her shoulders.\n\nLittle Miss Cricket hopped briskly off. \u201cPoor, extravagant little\nthing,\u201d she said to herself.\n\n\u201cShall you invite the Crickets?\u201d said Colonel Katy-Did.\n\n\u201cWhy, Colonel, what a question! I invite the Crickets? No, indeed.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd shall you ask the Locusts or the Grasshoppers?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly. The Locusts, of course--a very old and fine family, and\nthe Grasshoppers are pretty well, and ought to be asked. But one must\ndraw the line somewhere--and the Crickets! Why, I can\u2019t think of\nthem.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought they were very nice, respectable people,\u201d said the colonel.\n\n\u201cOh, perfectly nice and respectable,--but----\u201d\n\n\u201cDo explain, my dear Katy.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, their _colour_, to be sure. Don\u2019t you see?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d said the colonel. \u201cThat\u2019s it, is it? And tell me, please, who\ndecides what colour shall be the reigning colour?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a question! The only true colour--the only proper one--is _our_\ncolour to be sure. A lovely pea green is the shade on which to found\nan aristocratic distinction. Of course, we are liberal; we associate\nwith the Moths, who are gray; with the Butterflies, who are blue and\ngold coloured; with the Grasshoppers, yellow and brown; and society\nwould become dreadfully mixed if it were not fortunately ordered\nthat the Crickets are as black as jet. The fact is that a class to\nbe looked down upon is necessary to all elegant society, and if the\nCrickets were not black we could not keep them down. Everybody knows\nthey are often a great deal cleverer than we are. They have a vast\ntalent for music and dancing; they are very quick at learning, and\nwould be getting to the very top of the ladder if we allowed them to\nclimb. Now, so long as we are green and they are black, we have a\nsuperiority that can never be taken from us. Don\u2019t you see now?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes, I see exactly,\u201d said the colonel. \u201cNow that Keziah Cricket,\nwho just came in here, is quite a musician, and her old father plays\nthe violin beautifully; by the way, we might engage him for our\norchestra.\u201d\n\nAnd so Miss Katy\u2019s ball came off. It lasted from sundown till\ndaybreak, so that it seemed as if every leaf in the forest were\nalive. The Katy-Dids, and the Mosquitoes, and the Locusts, and a full\norchestra of Crickets made the air perfectly vibrate.\n\nOld Parson Too-Whit was shocked at the gaieties, which were kept up\nby the pleasure-loving Katy-Dids night after night.\n\nBut about the first of September the celebrated Jack Frost epidemic\nbroke out. Poor Miss Katy, with her flimsy green satin, and point\nlace, was one of the first victims, and fell from the bough in\ncompany with a sad shower of last year\u2019s leaves.\n\nThe worthy Cricket family, however, avoided Jack Frost by moving\nin time to the chimney corner of a nice little cottage that had\nbeen built in the wood. There good old Mr. and Mrs. Cricket, with\nsprightly Miss Keziah and her brothers and sisters, found a warm and\nwelcome home. When the storm howled without, and lashed the poor,\nnaked trees, the crickets on the warm hearth would chirp out cheery\nwelcome to the happy family in the cottage.\n\n(Adapted.)\n\n\n\n\nTHE CRICKET\n\n\n Little cricket, full of mirth,\n Chirping on my kitchen hearth;\n Wheresoever be thine abode,\n Always harbinger of good.\n Pay me for thy warm retreat\n With a song more soft and sweet;\n In return thou shalt receive\n Such a strain as I can give.\n WILLIAM COWPER.\n\n\n\n\nALL HALLOWE\u2019EN\n\n\n\n\nSHADOW MARCH\n\n\nUsed by special permission of Charles Scribner and Sons.\n\n All around the house is the jet black night,\n It stares through the window-pane,\n It creeps in the corners hiding from the light\n And it moves with the moving flame.\n Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum,\n With the breath of the bogie in my hair,\n While all around the candle the crooked shadows come\n And go marching along up the stair.\n The shadow of the baluster, the shadow of the light,\n The shadow of the child that goes to bed,\n All the wicked shadows come a tramp, tramp, tramp,\n With the black night overhead.\n ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.\n\n\n\n\nTWINKLING FEET\u2019S HALLOWE\u2019EN\n\n\nOne Hallowe\u2019en a band of merry pixies were dancing round and round\na bright green ring in the meadow. In the center stood the Little\nFiddler, playing his gayest music, and keeping time with his head\nand one tiny foot. The faster he played, the merrier the little\ncreatures danced. What sport it was to twirl and twist in time with\nthe fairy music, which the jolly little elf brought out from his tiny\ninstrument. No wonder the pixies laughed until their sides ached. And\nso, indeed, did their little musician. Sometimes he was obliged to\nstop playing for a few seconds in order to catch his breath.\n\nNow there was one pixie named Twinkling Feet who was the best dancer\nin the ring, and he could cut such queer little capers that his\ncompanions fairly shrieked with laughter when they looked at him.\nSuddenly he thought what sport it would be to play a trick on all the\nlittle dancers. Very slyly he tripped his partner, and the two fell\ndown in the grass, dragging with them one pixie after another until\nall in the circle were sprawling on the ground. There they lay for\nseveral seconds, a wriggling mass of green coats and red caps. It was\nsome time before they could pick themselves up. Many of them laughed\nheartily at the mishap, but a few were so badly bruised that they\nwere obliged to slip away and bathe their shins in the evening dew.\n\n\u201cWho tripped first in the ring?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho made us fall on our stumjackets?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho spoiled our Hallowe\u2019en dance?\u201d asked one little pixie after\nanother.\n\n\u201cTwinkling Feet and I fell first,\u201d said the best dancer\u2019s partner. \u201cI\ndon\u2019t know what made us tangle our feet, do you?\u201d he asked, laughing\nand turning to his companion.\n\nBut Twinkling Feet\u2019s little brown face was so drawn and sober that\nhis partner asked quickly, \u201cWhy, what _is_ the matter with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said the little elf.\n\n\u201cWhy, _do look_ at him,\u201d cried another pixie.\n\n\u201cDoes anything hurt you?\u201d asked several little creatures together.\n\n\u201cI feel very queer,\u201d said Twinkling Feet.\n\n\u201cHave you what mortals call \u2018pain?\u2019\u201d asked his partner.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what that is, but I feel very, very queer. Please ask\nthe Little Fiddler if he knows what is the matter with me.\u201d\n\nThe group of pixies that had gathered around Twinkling Feet\nmoved away in order to let the elfin musician come close to the\nqueer-looking pixie. The little Fiddler gazed steadily at him, shook\nhis white head, and said slowly, \u201cA frightful thing has happened.\nTwinkling Feet has lost his laugh!\u201d\n\n\u201cLost his laugh!\u201d shrieked all the other little elfs.\n\n\u201cHe has lost his laugh!\u201d repeated the Fiddler Pixie.\n\n\u201cLost my laugh,\u201d moaned Twinkling Feet. \u201cOh, please tell me what to\ndo.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is nothing to do but go and search for it. You can not dance\nin a pixie ring without your laugh, and mark what I say, you must\nfind it before midnight.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what if I _can\u2019t_ find it?\u201d cried the frightened elf.\n\n\u201cThen you\u2019ll be a pixie _without a laugh_--that is all,\u201d declared the\nLittle Fiddler.\n\nAt these awful words every pixie\u2019s face grew sober. They looked at\neach other very solemnly and said, \u201cA pixie without a laugh! How\nterrible!\u201d\n\nThen one after another they cried out. \u201cSearch for it, Twinkling\nFeet. Perhaps you\u2019ll find it before midnight. Start now. Think how\nsad it will be if you are never able to dance in the ring again.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere shall I go, Fiddler Pixie?\u201d asked Twinkling Feet.\n\n\u201cWell, you might ask Jack-o\u2019-Lantern,\u201d said the musician. \u201cHe\u2019s been\nflitting about in the meadow all the evening. See, there he goes over\nby the brook.\u201d\n\nAway ran the little pixie as fast as his legs could carry him. It was\nno easy matter to come close enough to Jack-o\u2019-Lantern to make him\nhear. Twinkling Feet was almost ready to give up the chase when the\nlittle man stopped, poked his head out of his lantern, and called,\n\u201cDo you wish to speak to me?\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you know me?\u201d cried the pixie. \u201cI\u2019m Twinkling Feet.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, what has happened to you?\u201d asked Jack. \u201cYou\u2019re the queerest\nlooking chap I ever saw.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve lost my laugh. Please tell me, Jack-o\u2019-Lantern, have you seen\nit?\u201d\n\n\u201cLost your laugh!\u201d repeated the lantern man, looking very serious.\n\u201cNo wonder I didn\u2019t know you. I\u2019m very sorry to say I\u2019ve seen nothing\nof your laugh.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you know anyone who could help me, Jack?\u201d asked Twinkling Feet.\n\u201cOh do help me find it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, let me see. You might ask Jolly Little Witch. Her eyes are\nvery sharp. She\u2019s in the ragweed meadow, looking for a good riding\nstalk. As soon as she finds one I\u2019m going to light her to the village\nwhere she will make plenty of merriment at the children\u2019s party. It\u2019s\nHallowe\u2019en, you know. Come, jump into my lantern, and I\u2019ll take you\nto her.\u201d\n\nTwinkling Feet hopped into the little lantern, and away they went\nto the ragweed field. When they drew near the Jolly Little Witch\ncalled out, \u201cI\u2019ve found a good ragweed stalk, Jack, but I\u2019ve lost my\ngoggles. Come, perhaps you can help me find them. I can\u2019t go to the\nvillage without my goggles. Why, who is that in the lantern with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cA pixie who wants to ask you something,\u201d said Jack-o\u2019-Lantern,\nopening the door to let Twinkling Feet out. Then the lantern man\nhurried away to search for the witch\u2019s goggles.\n\n\u201cPlease, Jolly Little Witch, I\u2019ve lost my laugh,\u201d said Twinkling Feet.\n\n\u201cLost your laugh! and on Hallowe\u2019en! Well, no wonder I didn\u2019t know\nyou. You\u2019re the queerest looking pixie I ever saw. Tell me how you\nhappened to lose your laugh?\u201d\n\nBut Twinkling Feet did not answer her question. He said meekly, \u201cHave\nyou seen it?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, my little fellow. I\u2019m sorry to say I\u2019ve not seen your laugh,\u201d\nsaid the Jolly Little Witch.\n\n\u201cA pixie can\u2019t dance without his laugh,\u201d sighed Twinkling Feet.\n\n\u201cNo, of course he can\u2019t. Dear, dear! How sorry I am for you,\u201d said\nthe little witch, shaking her head.\n\n\u201cAnd if a pixie loses anything on Hallowe\u2019en, he must find it before\nmidnight or give it up forever.\u201d\n\n\u201cI could have helped you on any other night, but you see I always\nspend Hallowe\u2019en in the village with the children. I shall be late\nto-night if I don\u2019t find those goggles.\u201d And again she began to search\nfor them.\n\nThe pixie looked at her for a moment. Then he asked, \u201cDo the children\nlaugh a good deal on Hallowe\u2019en?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, my little man, it\u2019s the time in all the year when they laugh\nmost. To-night there is to be a witch\u2019s party. I shall secretly join\nthe children, and play all sorts of tricks for their amusement. What\na nuisance it is that I\u2019ve lost those goggles.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll help you search for them, Jolly Little Witch,\u201d said the pixie.\n\u201cI suppose I must give up my laugh, for I don\u2019t know anyone else to\nask about it. Please tell me what your goggles look like.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are two round glass windows, which I wear over my eyes when I\nride through the air,\u201d said the little Witch.\n\nAway started the pixie to search for them. He looked carefully around\nevery ragweed stalk in the meadow, but he could see nothing which\nlooked like \u201ctwo round glass windows.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps one cannot find _anything_ which has been lost on\nHallowe\u2019en,\u201d he said to himself.\n\nSlowly he walked back to the place where he had left the Jolly Little\nWitch. When he reached her he stared sharply at something on top of\nher head.\n\n\u201cPlease tell me more about your goggles,\u201d said Twinkling Feet. \u201cAre\nthey like the two glass windows across the front of your hat?\u201d\n\n\u201cAcross the front of my hat!\u201d exclaimed the witch, putting her\nhands up to find out what the little elf meant. Then she burst out\nlaughing, and said, \u201cWell, well! What strange things do happen on\nHallowe\u2019en! Come, Jack-o\u2019-Lantern! Come! The pixie has found my\ngoggles. They were on top of my head all the time!\u201d\n\nAnd turning to Twinkling Feet she said, \u201cYou shall go with us to the\nvillage, and see the merriment if you like. I\u2019m sure Jack will carry\nyou in his lantern.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course I will,\u201d said the lantern man. \u201cAnd while you are playing\ntricks at the children\u2019s party, I\u2019ll carry him anywhere he wishes to\ngo. It is a long while before midnight.\u201d\n\n\u201cI want to see the children, and hear them laugh,\u201d said Twinkling\nFeet.\n\nThe Jolly Little Witch pulled her goggles down on her nose, and\nmounted her ragweed stalk. The pixie hopped into the lantern, and\naway through the air the three sailed.\n\nWhen they drew near the village, the little Witch lowered herself to\nthe ground.\n\n\u201cMeet me here before the party is over, Jack-o\u2019-Lantern,\u201d she said.\n\u201cI shall leave before the children take off their masks. In the\nmeantime, let Twinkling Feet see the fun the children will have on\nthe way to the party.\u201d\n\nAway she ran up the village street to a corner where she joined a\ngroup of jolly little boys and girls on their way to the party. They\nwore black dresses, high, pointed hats with narrow brims, and funny\nlittle masks. Not a word did anyone speak, but the sound of their\nmerry laughter reached Twinkling Feet\u2019s ears.\n\nHe slipped out of the lantern, and ran toward the group of children\nas fast as he could go. Before he reached them, however, the tiniest\nbit of a creature, turning somersaults faster than anyone could\ncount, came bounding to him. It climbed up the pixie\u2019s little body,\nand disappeared into his mouth. Twinkling Feet burst into the\nmerriest laugh, and ran back to Jack-o\u2019-Lantern, crying out, \u201cI\u2019ve\nfound it! I\u2019ve found my laugh! My dear little laugh! Oh, how happy\nI am! Jack-o\u2019-Lantern, please take me back to the pixie ring. I\u2019ve\nfound my dear little laugh!\u201d\n\nHe hopped into the little man\u2019s lantern, and away over the fields\nthey flew. As they drew near the green ring where the pixies were\nstill dancing, the delighted elf called out, \u201cI\u2019ve found my laugh!\nI\u2019ve found my dear little laugh!\u201d\n\n\u201cWelcome back, Twinkling Feet,\u201d answered the dancers.\n\nHe hopped out of the lantern, and joined the other merry pixies. When\nthey stopped dancing for a little while, the Fiddler Pixie slipped up\nto the Twinkling Feet, and whispered slyly, \u201cAlways watch your laugh\ncarefully while you are dancing.\u201d\n\n --_Cornish Legend, Adapted._\n\n\n\n\nJACK-O\u2019-LANTERN\n\n\n Here comes a Jack-o\u2019-lantern\n To frighten you to-night;\n Made from a hollow pumpkin\n With a candle for its light.\n Go off! You Jack-o\u2019-lantern!\n You can not frighten me,\n You\u2019re nothing but a pumpkin\n As any one can see!\n\n\n\n\nTHE ELFIN KNIGHT\n\n\nThe autumn wind blew sharp and shrill around the turrets of a grey\nstone castle. But indoors the fire crackled merrily in my lady\u2019s\nbower where an old nurse was telling a tale of Elfland to Janet, the\nfairest of Scotch maidens.\n\nWhen the story was finished, Janet\u2019s merry laugh echoed through the\nhalls. The old nurse nodded her head earnestly and said, \u201c\u2019Tis well\nknown, my lassie, that the people of Elfland revel in the hills and\nhollows of Scotland. Come close, and I\u2019ll tell you a secret.\u201d\n\nJanet leaned forward, and the old woman whispered, \u201cAn Elfin Knight,\nnamed Tam Lin, haunts the moorland on the border of your father\u2019s\nestate. No maiden dares venture near the enchanted place, for if she\nshould fall under the spell of this Elfin Knight she would be obliged\nto give him a precious jewel for a ransom.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne glimpse of the Elfin Knight would be worth the rarest gem I\nhave,\u201d laughed Janet. \u201cHow I wish I could see him!\u201d\n\n\u201cHush-sh!\u201d said her nurse tremblingly. \u201cNay, nay, my lady! Mortals\nshould have nothing to do with the people of Elfland. By all\nmeans shun the moorland at this time of the year, for to-morrow is\nHallowe\u2019en--the night when the fairies ride abroad.\u201d\n\nBut the next morning Janet bound her golden braids about her head,\nkilted up her green kirtle, and tripped lightly to the enchanted\nmoorland. When she came near she saw lovely flowers blooming as gaily\nas if it were mid-summer time. She stooped to gather some of the\nroses when suddenly she heard the faintest silvery music. She glanced\naround, and there, riding toward her, was the handsomest knight she\nhad ever seen. His milk-white steed, which sped along lighter than\nthe wind, was shod in silver shoes, and from the bridle hung tiny\nsilver bells.\n\nWhen the knight came near, he sprang lightly from his horse and said,\n\u201cFair Janet, tell me why you pluck roses in Elfland?\u201d\n\nThe maiden\u2019s heart beat very fast, and the flowers dropped from her\nhands, but she answered proudly, \u201cI came to see Tam Lin, the Elfin\nKnight.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe stands before you,\u201d said the knight. \u201cHave you come to free him\nfrom Elfland?\u201d\n\nAt these words Janet\u2019s courage failed, for she feared he might cast\na spell over her. But when the knight saw how she trembled, he said,\n\u201cHave no fear, Lady Janet, and you shall hear my story. I am the son\nof noble parents. One day, when I was a lad of nine years, I went\nhunting with my father. Now it chanced that we became separated from\neach other, and ill-luck attended me. My good horse stumbled, and\nthrew me to the ground where I lay stunned by the fall. There the\nFairy Queen found me, and carried me off to yonder green hill. And\nwhile it is pleasant enough in fairyland, yet I long to live among\nmortals again.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen why do you not ride away to your home?\u201d asked Janet.\n\n\u201cAh, that I can not do unless some fair maiden is brave enough to\nhelp me. In three ways she must prove her courage. First she must\nwill to meet me here in the enchanted moorland. That you have done,\u201d\ndeclared the knight. Then he stopped, and looked pleadingly at Janet.\nAll her fear vanished, and she asked, \u201cIn what other ways must the\nmaiden show her courage?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe must banish all fear of him. That, too, you have done,\u201d said the\nknight.\n\n\u201cTell me the third way, Tam Lin, for I believe I am the maid to free\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly my true love can prove her courage in the third way, fair\nJanet.\u201d\n\nAnd the maiden answered, \u201cI am thy true love, Tam Lin.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen heed what I say, brave lady. To-night is Hallowe\u2019en. At the\nmidnight hour, the Fairy Queen and all her knights will ride abroad.\nIf you dare win your true love, you must wait at Milescross until the\nFairy Queen and her Elfin Knights pass. I shall be in her train.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how shall I know you among so many knights, Tam Lin?\u201d then asked\nLady Janet.\n\n\u201cI shall ride in the third group of followers. Let the first and\nsecond companies of the Fairy Queen pass, and look for me in the\nthird. There will be only three knights in this last company; one\nwill ride on a black horse, one on a brown, and the third on a\nmilk-white steed,\u201d said the knight, pointing to his horse. \u201cMy right\nhand will be gloved, Janet,\u201d he continued, \u201cbut my left hand will\nhang bare at my side. By these signs you will know me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall know you without fail,\u201d nodded Janet.\n\n\u201cWait, calmly, until I am near you, then spring forward and seize me.\nWhen the fairies see you holding me they will change my form into\nmany shapes. Do not fear, but hold me fast in your arms. At last I\nshall take my human form. If you have courage enough to do this, you\nwill free your true love from the power of the fairies.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have courage enough to do all that you say,\u201d declared Janet. Then\nthey sealed this promise with a kiss, and parted.\n\nGloomy was the night, and eerie was the way to Milescross. But Janet\nthrew her green mantle about her shoulders, and sped to the enchanted\nmoorland. All the way she said to herself over and over, \u201cOn this\nHallowe\u2019en at midnight I shall free my true love, Tam Lin, from\nElfland.\u201d\n\nAt Milescross she hid herself and waited. How the wind from the sea\nmoaned across the moorland! Presently she heard a merry tinkling\nsound of far-off music, and in the distance she saw a twinkling light\ndancing forward. Janet could hear her heart beat, but there she\nstood, undaunted. The Fairy Queen and her train were riding forth. In\nthe lead of her first merry company of knights and maids of honour\nrode the beautiful queen, whose jeweled girdle and crown flashed in\nthe darkness. The second group passed quickly, and now came three\nknights in a third group. One rode on a black horse, one on a brown,\nand there came the milk-white steed last of all. Janet could see that\none hand of the rider was gloved, and one hung bare at his side. Then\nup leaped the maiden. Quickly she seized the bridle of the milk-white\nsteed, pulled the rider from his horse, and threw her green mantle\naround him. There was a clamour among the Elfin Knights, and the\nFairy Queen cried out, \u201cTam Lin! Tam Lin! Some mortal has hold of Tam\nLin, the bonniest knight in my company!\u201d\n\nThen the strangest things happened. Instead of Tam Lin, Janet held in\nher arms a bearded lion, which struggled mightily to get away. But\nshe remembered the knight\u2019s warning. \u201cHold me fast, and fear me not.\u201d\n\nThe next moment she held a fire-breathing dragon, which almost\nslipped from her, but she tightened her grasp, and thought of Tam\nLin\u2019s words. The dragon changed to a burning bush, and the flames\nleaped up on all sides, but Janet stood still and felt no harm. Then\nin her arms she held a branching tree, filled with blossoms. And at\nlast Tam Lin, her own true love, stood there.\n\nWhen the Fairy Queen saw that none of her enchantments could\nfrighten Janet, she cried out angrily, \u201cThe maiden has won a stately\nbridegroom who was my bonniest knight. Alas! Tam Lin is lost to\nElfland.\u201d\n\nOn into the darkness rode the fairy train. Tam Lin and Lady Janet\nhastened back to the grey stone castle. There, in a short time, a\nwedding feast was prepared, and Tam Lin, who was really a Scottish\nEarl, and Lady Janet, the bravest maid in Scotland, were married.\n\n --_Old Ballad Retold._\n\n\n\n\nTHE COURTEOUS PRINCE\n\n\nOnce upon a time a bonnie Prince fell in love with a lassie who was\nnobly born, but was not his equal in rank. The king was sorely vexed,\nbecause his son looked with favour on this maiden, and his majesty\ndetermined to part the lovers. He sent the high chancellor of the\ncourt to an old witch for advice. After thinking the matter over for\nnine days, the old woman muttered the following answer:\n\n \u201cThe lassie will I charm away\n \u2019Till courtesy doth win the day.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not quite sure what the old hag means,\u201d said the king. \u201cBut if\nshe\u2019ll get this maiden out of the Prince\u2019s sight, I can arrange for\nhis marriage with some one of his own rank.\u201d\n\nIn a few days the lassie disappeared, and the Prince could find no\ntrace of her. He was very sad, indeed, and declared if he could not\nmarry his own true love he would remain single all his life.\n\nIt happened one fine day near the end of October that the young\nPrince and a party of nobles went hunting. The hounds were soon on\nthe track of a fine deer, which was so wily and fleet of foot that\nthe nobles, one by one, lost track of the quarry, and dropped out of\nthe chase. The young Prince, who was a famous rider, continued the\nhunt alone. Miles and miles over the low hills he galloped until at\nlast in the depths of a wooded glen the exhausted deer was brought to\nbay by the hounds, and dispatched by the Prince.\n\nNot until after the prize was won did the royal hunter realize how\ndusky it was in the glen, and how threatening the evening sky looked.\nHe felt sure he was too far from the palace to retrace his journey;\nbesides, he had lost all trace of direction. He threw the quarry over\nhis steed\u2019s back, whistled to his hounds, and rode slowly down the\nwooded valley, wondering where he could lodge for the night.\n\n\u201cLittle sign of hospitality in this lonely place,\u201d he mused. \u201cPerhaps\nI\u2019d better make the best of it, and find shelter in one of the rocky\nhollows.\u201d\n\nOn he rode in the gathering darkness. A turn in the valley brought\nhim to a stretch of moorland, and a little distance away he saw the\ndark outline of an old, deserted hunting hall.\n\n\u201cA cheerless looking inn,\u201d thought the Prince. \u201cNo doubt one will\nhave to play host as well as guest here. However, I have my trusty\nhounds and noble steed for company, and the quarry will furnish a\ngood meal for all of us.\u201d\n\nHe leaped from his horse and walked up to the old ruin. With very\nlittle effort he broke open the door. The creaking of its rusty\nhinges made strange echoings throughout the hall. The Prince led his\nhorse into one of the small rooms, then with his hounds he went into\nthe large dining hall, where he lit a fire on the great hearth, and\nproceeded to cook some venison for supper.\n\nWhile he was waiting for the meat on the spit to roast, he listened\nto the rising wind, which moaned about the gloomy old ruin, and\nrattled the doors and windows unceasingly. The good steed, in the\nadjoining room, pawed the floor restlessly, and every few moments the\nhounds stretched their heads straight up into the air, and whined in\na most uncanny way.\n\nAs he mused before the fire, the Prince thought, \u201cThis is All\nHallowe\u2019en, the night when ghosts and witches hold their revels.\nNevertheless, I\u2019d rather be in this deserted hall than on the\nstorm-swept moorland.\u201d\n\nHe took the roasted meat from the fire, and prepared to eat his\nsupper. Suddenly a fierce blast of wind burst open a large door at\nthe far end of the hall, and into the room stalked a tall, ghostly\nwoman. Her lank figure was clothed in grey garments, which trailed\nfor yards on the floor. Her long, grey hair hung loose down her back.\nBy the light of the flickering fire the Prince could see her hollow\neyes and wan features. He was a brave man, but this ghostly creature\nfilled him with dread and horror. The hounds dropped their bones of\nvenison, and crept close to their master, who was unable to utter a\nword.\n\nSlowly down the hall the grey ghost glided to the Prince, and\npointing a long, bony finger at him, she asked in a hollow voice,\n\u201cArt thou a courteous knight?\u201d\n\nIn a trembling voice the Prince answered, \u201cI will serve thee. What\ndost thou wish?\u201d\n\n\u201cGo ye to the moorland, and pluck enough heather to make a bed in the\nturret-room for me,\u201d said the phantom-like figure.\n\nIt was a strange request to make, but the Prince was relieved to have\nany excuse to get out of her sight. He sprang quickly to his feet,\nand hurried out to face the stormy night in search of heather. He\nplucked as much as he could carry in his plaid, and returned to the\nhall where the ghostly visitor was waiting for him. She led the way\ndown the room, and up a half-ruined staircase to the turret-room.\nHere the Prince spread a heather bed for her, and covered it with his\nplaid. When it was finished she pointed to the door, and dismissed\nhim.\n\n\u201cMay you sleep well,\u201d said the Prince courteously. Then, cold and\nweary, he descended to the hall, and lay down to sleep in front of\nthe dying embers of the fire.\n\nWhen he awakened the bright sun was shining in the windows.\n\nThe Prince lost no time in making ready to depart, for he remembered\nquite well the ghostly visitor of the past night.\n\n\u201cNo doubt she departed before the crowing of the cock,\u201d he said. \u201cI\nwonder if she left my bonnie plaid in the turret room. The autumn air\nis keen and biting. I\u2019ll go and see.\u201d\n\nHe ran quickly up the ruined staircase. To his surprise when he\nreached the top, the door of the chamber opened, and there before him\nstood his lost sweetheart.\n\n\u201cHow camest thou here?\u201d gasped the Prince. \u201cAnd where is the grey\nghost.\u201d\n\n\u201cLast night I was the grey ghost,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cAnd thou wilt change thy form again to-night?\u201d he asked in horror.\n\n\u201cNever again,\u201d said the maiden. \u201cIn order to part us a wicked witch\nthrew a spell over me--a spell which changed me into the awful\nshape thou sawest last night. But thou hast broken her wicked charm.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me how,\u201d said the Prince, whose face was beaming with happiness.\n\n\u201cThe witch\u2019s charm could not be broken until some knight should serve\nme, even though my form was horrible. By thy courtesy thou hast\nbroken the spell,\u201d said the maiden.\n\nSo the Prince and his true love rode away, and were happily married,\nand when the king heard of his son\u2019s adventure in the hunting hall he\nsaid, \u201cNow I know what that old witch meant by her prophecy.\u201d\n\n Scotch legend.\n\n\n\n\nJACK-O\u2019-LANTERN SONG\n\n\n Upon one wild and windy night----\n Woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo----\n We Jacks our lanterns all did light;\n The wind--it surely knew--FOR----\n\n Whistle and whistle--and whist! Now list!\n Woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo----\n Whirling and twirling, with turn and twist,\n The wind--it softly blew.\n\n It was the creepiest, scariest night----\n Woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo,\n We held our breath, then lost it quite;\n The wind--it surely knew--FOR----\n\n Whistle and whistle--and whist! Now list!\n Woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo----\n Whirling and twirling, with turn and twist,\n The wind--it loudly blew.\n\n It rose in all its main and might\n Woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo----\n _It blew out every single light_;\n The Wind--it surely knew--FOR----\n\n Whistle and whistle--and whist! Now list!\n Woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo, woo-oo----\n Whirling and twirling, with turn and twist,\n That wind--it _laughed_--_Ho-oh_!\n\n\n\n\nA HARVEST OF THANKSGIVING STORIES\n\n\n\n\n These are things I prize\n And hold of dearest worth:\n Light of the sapphire skies,\n Peace of the silent hills,\n Shelter of forests, comfort of the grass,\n Music of birds, murmur of little rills,\n Shadow of clouds that swiftly pass,\n And, after showers,\n The smell of flowers\n And of the good brown earth,----\n And best of all, along the way, friendship and mirth.\n So let me keep\n These treasures of the humble heart\n In true possession, owning them by love.\n HENRY VAN DYKE.\n\n (_Selection from God of the Open Air._)\n\n Used by permission and special arrangement\n with Chas. Scribner and Sons.\n\n\n\n\nTHE QUEER LITTLE BAKER MAN\n\n\nPHILA BUTLER BOWMAN\n\nAll the children were glad when the Little Baker came to town and\nhung the sign above his queer little brown shop,\n\n \u201cThanksgiving Loaves to Sell.\u201d\n\nEach child ran to tell the news to another child until soon the\nstreets echoed with the sound of many running feet, and the clear\nNovember air was full of the sound of happy laughter, as a crowd of\nlittle children thronged as near as they dared to the Little Baker\u2019s\nshop, while the boldest crept so close that they could feel the heat\nfrom the big brick oven, and see the gleaming rows of baker\u2019s pans.\n\nThe Little Baker never said a word. He washed his hands at the\nwindmill water spout and dried them, waving them in the crisp air.\nThen he unfolded a long, spotless table, and setting it up before his\nshop door, he began to mold the loaves, while the wondering children\ngrew nearer and nearer to watch him.\n\nHe molded big, long loaves, and tiny, round loaves; wee loaves filled\nwith currants, square loaves with queer markings on them, fat loaves\nand flat loaves, and loaves in shapes such as the children had never\nseen before, and always as he molded he sang a soft tune to these\nwords:\n\n \u201cBuy my loaves of brown and white,\n Molded for the child\u2019s delight.\n Who forgets another\u2019s need,\n Eats unthankful and in greed;\n But the child who breaks his bread\n With another, Love has fed.\u201d\n\nBy and by the children began to whisper to each other.\n\n\u201cI shall buy that very biggest loaf,\u201d said the Biggest Boy. \u201cMother\nlets me buy what I wish. I shall eat it alone, which is fair if I pay\nfor it.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said the Tiniest Little Girl, \u201cthat would be greedy. You could\nnever eat so big a loaf alone.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I pay for it, it is mine,\u201d said the Biggest Boy, boastfully, \u201cand\none need not share what is his own unless he wishes.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said the Tiniest Little Girl, but she said it more softly this\ntime, and she drew away from the Biggest Boy, and looked at him with\neyes that had grown big and round.\n\n\u201cI have a penny,\u201d she said to the Little Lame Boy, \u201cand you and I can\nhave one of those wee loaves together. They have currants in them, so\nwe shall not mind if the loaf is small.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, indeed,\u201d said the Little Lame Boy, whose face had grown wistful\nwhen the Biggest Boy had talked of the great loaf. \u201cNo, indeed, but\nyou shall take the bigger piece.\u201d\n\nThen the little Baker Man raked out the bright coals from the great\noven into an iron basket, and he put in the loaves, every one, while\nthe children crowded closer with eager faces.\n\nWhen the last loaf was in, he shut the oven door with a clang so loud\nand merry that the children broke into a shout of laughter.\n\nThen the Queer Little Baker Man came and stood in his tent door, and\nhe was smiling, and he sang again a merry little tune to these words:\n\n \u201cClang, clang, my oven floor,\n My loaves will bake as oft before,\n And you may play where shines the sun\n Until each loaf is brown and done.\u201d\n\nThen away ran the children, laughing, and looking at the door of the\nshop where the Queer Little Baker stood, and where the raked-out\ncoals, bursting at times, cast long, red lights against the brown\nwall, and as they ran they sang together the Queer Little Baker\u2019s\nmerry song:\n\n \u201cClang, clang, my oven floor,\n The loaves will bake as oft before.\u201d\n\nThen some played at hide-and-seek among the sheaves of ungarnered\ncorn, and some ran gleefully through the heaped-up leaves of\nrusset and gold for joy to hear them rustling. But some, eager,\nreturned home for pennies to buy a loaf when the Queer Little Baker\nshould call.\n\n \u201cThe loaves are ready, white and brown,\n For every little child in town,\n Come buy Thanksgiving loaves and eat,\n But only Love can make them sweet.\u201d\n\nSoon all the air was filled with the sound of the swift running feet,\nas the children flew like a cloud of leaves blown by the wind in\nanswer to the Queer Little Baker\u2019s call. When they came to his shop\nthey paused, laughing and whispering, as the Little Baker laid out\nthe loaves on the spotless table.\n\n\u201cThis is mine,\u201d said the Biggest Boy, and laying down a silver coin\nhe snatched the great loaf, and ran away to break it by himself.\n\nThen came the Impatient Boy, crying: \u201cGive me my loaf. This is mine,\nand give it to me at once. Do you not see my coin is silver? Do not\nkeep me waiting.\u201d\n\nThe Little Baker never said a word. He did not smile, he did not\nfrown, he did not hurry. He gave the Impatient Boy his loaf and\nwatched him, as he, too, hurried away to eat his loaf alone.\n\nThen came others, crowding, pushing with their money, the strongest\nand rudest gaining first place, and snatching each a loaf they ran\noff to eat without a word of thanks, while some very little children\nlooked on wistfully, not able even to gain a place. All this time the\nQueer Little Baker kept steadily on laying out the beautiful loaves\non the spotless table.\n\nA Gentle Lad came, when the crowd grew less, and giving all the\npennies he had he bought loaves for all the little ones; so that by\nand by no one was without a loaf. The Tiniest Little Girl went away\nhand in hand with the Little Lame Boy to share his wee loaf, and both\nwere smiling, and whoever broke one of those smallest loaves found it\nlarger than it had seemed at first.\n\nBut now the biggest Boy was beginning to frown.\n\n\u201cThis loaf is sour,\u201d he said angrily.\n\n\u201cBut is it not your own loaf,\u201d said the Baker, \u201cand did you not\nchoose it yourself, and choose to eat it alone? Do not complain of\nthe loaf since it is your own choosing.\u201d\n\nThen those who had snatched the loaves ungratefully and hurried away,\nwithout waiting for a word of thanks, came back.\n\n\u201cWe came for good bread,\u201d they cried, \u201cbut those loaves are sodden\nand heavy.\u201d\n\n\u201cSee the lad there with all those children. His bread is light. Give\nus, too, light bread and sweet.\u201d\n\nBut the Baker smiled a strange smile. \u201cYou chose in haste,\u201d he said,\n\u201cas those choose who have no thought in sharing. I can not change\nyour loaves. I can not choose for you. Had you, buying, forgotten\nthat mine are Thanksgiving loaves? I shall come again; then you can\nbuy more wisely.\u201d\n\nThen these children went away thoughtfully.\n\nBut the very little children and the Gentle Lad sat eating their\nbread with joyous laughter, and each tiny loaf was broken into many\npieces as they shared with each other, and to them the bread was as\nfine as cake and as sweet as honey.\n\nThen the Queer Little Baker brought cold water and put out the\nfire. He folded his spotless table, and took down the boards of his\nlittle brown shop, packed all into his wagon, and drove away singing\na quaint tune. Soft winds rustled the corn, and swept the boughs\ntogether with a musical chuckling. And where the brown leaves were\npiled thickest, making a little mound, sat the Tiniest Little Girl\nand the Little Lame Boy, eating their sweet currant loaf happily\ntogether.\n\n\n\n\nA TURKEY FOR THE STUFFING\n\n\nKATHERINE GRACE HULBERT\n\nIt always made Ben feel solemn to watch the river in a storm. To-day\nit was grey, and rough and noisy, and the few boats, which went down\ntoward Lake Huron, pitched about so that their decks slanted first\none way, then another, and their sides were coated with ice.\n\n\u201cGran\u2019ma, what day\u2019s to-day?\u201d he asked at last, turning from the\nstormy river to glance about their warm, comfortable little room.\n\n\u201cWednesday, Benny,\u201d answered the small old woman who crouched over\nthe stove.\n\n\u201cThen to-morrow will be Thanksgiving day, and the Rosses are going\nto have a turkey,\u201d said Ben, excitedly. \u201cWhat are we going to have,\nGran\u2019ma?\u201d\n\nMrs. Moxon looked over her glasses at her grandson\u2019s small, thin\nfigure in its patched and faded clothes, and at his bright, eager\nface.\n\n\u201cSonny, dear, what do you think Gran\u2019ma has for Thanksgiving?\u201d she\nasked gently.\n\nThe expectant look faded from Ben\u2019s face, and he winked hard to keep\nthe tears from running over. He did not need to be told how bare of\ndainties their cupboard was, for everything there he had brought\nwith his own hands. Bacon and smoked fish enough for all winter were\nstored away; flour, potatoes, and a few other vegetables were there.\n\n\u201cTell me about a real Thanksgiving dinner,\u201d the small boy begged\nafter the first disappointment had been bravely put away. Mrs.\nMoxon took off her spectacles, and leaned back cautiously in her\nbroken-rockered chair.\n\n\u201cI remember one Thanksgiving when your pa was alive, we had a dinner\nfit for a king. There was a ten-pound turkey, with bread stuffing. I\nput the sage and onions into the stuffing with my own hands.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe could have some stuffing,\u201d interrupted Ben, eagerly.\n\n\u201cSo we could, sonny, so we could. It takes you to think of things,\u201d\nand Mrs. Moxon affectionately patted the little brown hand on her\nknee. \u201cIt never would \u2019a\u2019 come to me that we might have turkey\nstuffing even if we didn\u2019t have any turkey.\u201d\n\nBen beamed with delight at this praise. \u201cAnd was there anything else\nbesides the turkey and the stuffing, Gran\u2019ma?\u201d\n\n\u201cLand, yes, child. There was turnips, and mashed potatoes and\nmince pie, and your pa got two pounds of grapes, though grapes was\nexpensive at that time o\u2019 year. Yes, nobody could ask for a better\ndinner than that was.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe could have one just like it, all but the turkey and the mince pie\nand the grapes,\u201d said Ben hopefully.\n\n\u201cSo we can, and will, too, child,\u201d answered the old woman. \u201cTrust\nyou for making the best of things,\u201d and the two smiled at each other\nhappily.\n\nNext morning Ben watched his grandmother add an egg, some sage and\nchopped onion to a bowlful of dry bread, pour boiling water over it,\nand put the mixture in the oven.\n\n\u201cYour father said I made the best turkey stuffing he ever ate,\u201d she\nsaid with satisfaction. \u201cWe\u2019ll see how it comes out, Benny.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t hardly wait till dinner-time,\u201d Ben said, with an excited\nskip. \u201cI b\u2019lieve I\u2019ll go down to the beach, and pick up driftwood for\na while. You call me when the things are most cooked, Gran\u2019ma.\u201d\n\nThe storm of the day before had left many a bit of board or end of a\nlog on the beach that would be just the thing for Mrs. Moxon\u2019s stove.\nBen worked so hard that he did not notice a big barge that was coming\nslowly down the river, towing two other boats behind it, until he\nheard a voice ask:\n\n\u201cHullo, kid! What makes you work so hard on Thanksgiving day?\u201d\n\nThen he straightened up, to see the boat\u2019s captain standing near its\npilot house, and shouting through a great trumpet.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m waiting for dinner to cook,\u201d Ben answered in his piping voice.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t hear you!\u201d roared the captain. \u201cRun home and get your horn,\nand talk to me.\u201d\n\nBen ran up the little hill to Mrs. Ross\u2019s, and borrowed her trumpet,\nor megaphone. One\u2019s voice sounds much louder when these are used, and\nthey are to be found at every house on the shores of the St. Mary\u2019s,\nboats, and those on the land, often want to say, \u201cHow do you do?\u201d to\neach other. It was all Ben could do to hold the great tin trumpet on\nstraight, for it was nearly as long as he was.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m waiting for dinner to cook,\u201d the boy shouted again, and this\ntime the captain heard him.\n\n\u201cGoing to have turkey, I suppose?\u201d the captain asked.\n\n\u201cNo, but we\u2019re going to have turkey stuffing,\u201d answered Ben with\npride.\n\n\u201cTurkey stuffing, but no turkey! If that isn\u2019t the best I ever\nheard!\u201d The captain had dropped his trumpet, and doubled up with\nsudden laughter. Luckily Ben did not hear. \u201cWhat else are you going\nto have?\u201d he called when he had repeated the joke about him. \u201cMince\npie without any mince meat?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, sir!\u201d Ben\u2019s voice was shrill, but clear. \u201cMy father had mince\npie for Thanksgiving dinner once, though.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid, did he?\u201d The captain dropped his trumpet again. \u201cThat boy\u2019s all\nright,\u201d he said to the first mate. \u201cHe\u2019s too plucky to be laughed at.\nI\u2019m going to send him some turkey for his stuffing, Morgan. Tell the\ncook to get ready half a turkey and a mince pie, and say, Morgan,\nhave him send up one of those small baskets of grapes. We\u2019ll tie them\nto a piece of plank, and they\u2019ll float ashore all right. Tell the\ncook to hurry, or we\u2019ll be too far downstream for the boy to get the\nthings.\u201d Then he raised his trumpet again.\n\n\u201cSay, kid, can you row that boat that\u2019s tied to your dock?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you hurry out into the river, and I\u2019ll put off a float with\nsome things for your Thanksgiving dinner. You\u2019re going to have some\nturkey for that stuffing.\u201d\n\nYou may be sure Ben lost no time in pushing the rowboat off into the\nstream, where the end of a plank and its delicious load were soon\nbobbing up and down on the water. How he did smack his lips when he\nlifted them into the boat, and how pleased he was for grandma!\n\n\u201cFirst the stuffing, and then the turkey! My, ain\u2019t I lucky?\u201d He did\nnot know that the captain had said he was plucky, and that luck is\nvery apt to follow pluck.\n\n\n\n\nPUMPKIN PIE\n\n\n Through sun and shower the pumpkin grew,\n When the days were long and the skies were blue.\n\n And it felt quite vain when its giant size\n Was such that it carried away the prize\n\n At the County Fair, when the people came,\n And it wore a ticket and bore a name.\n\n Alas for the pumpkin\u2019s pride! One day\n A boy and his mother took it away.\n\n It was pared and sliced and pounded and stewed,\n And the way it was treated was hard and rude.\n\n It was sprinkled with sugar and seasoned with spice,\n The boy and his mother pronounced it nice.\n\n It was served in a paste, it was baked and browned,\n And at last on a pantry shelf was found.\n\n And on Thursday John, Mary, and Mabel\n Will see it on aunty\u2019s laden table.\n\n For the pumpkin grew \u2019neath a summer sky\n Just to turn at Thanksgiving into pie!\n MARY MAPES DODGE.\n\n\n\n\nMRS. NOVEMBER\u2019S DINNER PARTY[1]\n\n\nBY AGNES CARR\n\nThe Widow November was very busy indeed this year. What with\nelections and harvest homes, her hands were full to overflowing; for\nshe takes great interest in politics, besides being a social body,\nwithout whom no apple bee or corn husking is complete.\n\nStill, worn out as she was, when her thirty sons and daughters\nclustered round, and begged that they might have their usual family\ndinner on Thanksgiving day, she could not find it in her hospitable\nheart to refuse, and immediately invitations were sent to her eleven\nbrothers and sisters, old Father Time, and Mother Year, to come with\nall their families and celebrate the great American holiday.\n\nThen what a busy time ensued! What a slaughter of unhappy barnyard\nfamilies--turkeys, ducks, and chickens! What a chopping of apples\nand boiling of doughnuts! What a picking of raisins and rolling of\npie crust, until every nook and corner of the immense storeroom was\nstocked with \u201csavoury mince and toothsome pumpkin pies,\u201d while so\ngreat was the confusion that even the stolid redhued servant, Indian\nSummer, lost his head, and smoked so continually he always appeared\nsurrounded by a blue mist, as he piled logs upon the great bonfires\nin the yard, until they lighted up the whole country for miles around.\n\nBut at length all was ready; the happy days had come, and all the\nlittle Novembers, in their best \u201cbib and tucker,\u201d were seated in a\nrow, awaiting the arrival of their uncles, aunts, and cousins, while\ntheir mother, in russet-brown silk trimmed with misty lace, looked\nthem over, straightening Guy Fawkes\u2019 collar, tying Thanksgiving\u2019s\nneck ribbon, and settling a dispute between two little presidential\ncandidates as to which should sit at the head of the table.\n\nSoon a merry clashing of bells, blowing of horns, and mingling of\nvoices were heard outside, sleighs and carriages dashed up to the\ndoor, and in came, \u201cjust in season,\u201d Grandpa Time, with Grandma Year\nleaning on his arm, followed by all their children and grandchildren,\nand were warmly welcomed by the hostess and her family.\n\n\u201cOh, how glad I am we could all come to-day!\u201d said Mr. January, in\nhis crisp, clear tones, throwing off his great fur coat, and rushing\nto the blazing fire. \u201cThere is nothing like the happy returns of\nthese days.\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, indeed,\u201d simpered Mrs. February, the poetess. \u201cIf I had had\ntime I should have composed some verses for the occasion; but my son\nValentine has brought a sugar heart, with a sweet sentiment on it, to\nhis cousin Thanksgiving. I, too, have taken the liberty of bringing a\nsort of adopted child of mine, young Leap Year, who makes us a visit\nevery four years.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is very welcome, I am sure,\u201d said Mrs. November, patting Leap\nYear kindly on the head. \u201cAnd, Sister March, how have you been since\nwe last met?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! we have had the North, South, East, and West Winds all at our\nhouse, and they have kept things breezy, I assure you. But I really\nfeared we should not get here to-day; for when we came to dress I\nfound nearly everything we had was lent; so that must account for our\nshabby appearance.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe! he! he!\u201d tittered little April Fool. \u201cWhat a sell!\u201d And he shook\nuntil the bells on his cap rang; at which his father ceased for a\nmoment showering kisses on his nieces and nephews, and boxed his ears\nfor his rudeness.\n\n\u201cOh, Aunt May! do tell us a story,\u201d clamoured the younger children,\nand dragging her into a corner she was soon deep in such a moving\ntale that they were all melted to tears, especially the little\nAprils, who cry very easily.\n\nMeanwhile, Mrs. June, assisted by her youngest daughter, a \u201csweet\ngirl graduate,\u201d just from school, was engaged in decking the\napartment with roses and lilies and other fragrant flowers that she\nhad brought from her extensive gardens and conservatories, until the\nroom was a perfect bower of sweetness and beauty; while Mr. July\ndraped the walls with flags and banners, lighted the candles, and\nshowed off the tricks of his pet eagle, Yankee Doodle, to the great\ndelight of the little ones.\n\nMadam August, who suffers a great deal with the heat, found a seat\non a comfortable sofa, as far from the fire as possible, and waved a\nhuge feather fan back and forth, while her thirty-one boys and girls,\nled by the two oldest, Holiday and Vacation, ran riot through the\nlong rooms, picking at their Aunt June\u2019s flowers, and playing all\nsorts of pranks, regardless of tumbled hair and torn clothes, while\nthey shouted, \u201cHurrah for fun!\u201d and behaved like a pack of wild colts\nlet loose in a green pasture, until their Uncle September called\nthem, together with his own children, into the library, and persuaded\nthem to read some of the books with which the shelves were filled, or\nplay quietly with the game of Authors and the Dissected Maps.\n\n\u201cFor,\u201d said Mr. September to Mrs. October, \u201cI think Sister August\nlets her children romp too much. I always like improving games for\nmine, although I have great trouble in making Equinox toe the line as\nhe should.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is because you are a schoolmaster,\u201d laughed Mrs. October,\nshaking her head, adorned with a wreath of gaily tinted leaves; \u201cbut\nwhere is my baby?\u201d\n\nAt that moment a cry was heard without, and Indian Summer came\nrunning in to say that little All Hallows had fallen into a tub of\nwater while trying to catch an apple that was floating on top, and\nMrs. October, rushing off to the kitchen, returned with her youngest\nin a very wet and dripping condition, and screaming at the top of\nhis lusty little lungs. He could only be consoled by a handful of\nchestnuts, which his nurse, Miss Frost, cracked open for him.\n\nThe little Novembers, meanwhile, were having a charming time with\ntheir favourite cousins, the Decembers, who were always so gay and\njolly, and had such a delightful papa. He came with his pockets\nstuffed full of toys and sugarplums, which he drew out from time\nto time, and gave to his best-loved child, Merry Christmas, to\ndistribute amongst the children, who gathered eagerly around their\nlittle cousin, saying:\n\n \u201cChristmas comes but once a year,\n But when she comes she brings good cheer.\u201d\n\nAt which Merry laughed gaily, and tossed her golden curls, in which\nwere twined sprays of holly and clusters of brilliant scarlet berries.\n\nAt last the great folding-doors were thrown open. Indian summer\nannounced that dinner was served, and a long procession of old and\nyoung was quickly formed, and led by Mrs. November and her daughter\nThanksgiving, whose birthday it was. They filed into the spacious\ndining-room, where stood the long table, groaning beneath its weight\nof good things, while four servants ran continually in and out\nbringing more substantials and delicacies to grace the board and\nplease the appetite. Winter staggered beneath great trenchers of\nmeat and poultry, pies, and puddings; Spring brought the earliest\nand freshest vegetables; Summer, the richest creams and ices; while\nAutumn served the guests with fruit, and poured the sparkling wine.\n\nAll were gay and jolly, and many a joke was cracked as the contents\nof each plate and dish melted away like snow before the sun, and the\ngreat fires roared in the wide chimneys as though singing a glad\nThanksgiving song.\n\nNew Year drank everybody\u2019s health, and wished them \u201cmany returns of\nthe day,\u201d while Twelfth Night ate so much cake he made himself quite\nill, and had to be put to bed.\n\nValentine sent mottoes to all the little girls, and praised their\nbright eyes and glossy curls. \u201cFor,\u201d said his mother, \u201che is a sad\nflatterer, and not nearly so truthful, I am sorry to say, as his\nbrother, George Washington, who never told a lie.\u201d\n\nAt which Grandfather Time gave George a quarter, and said he should\nalways remember what a good boy he was.\n\nAfter dinner the fun increased, all trying to do something for the\ngeneral amusement. Mrs. March persuaded her son, St. Patrick, to\ndance an Irish Jig, which he did to the tune of the \u201cWearing of the\nGreen,\u201d which his brothers, Windy and Gusty, blew and whistled on\ntheir fingers.\n\nEaster sang a beautiful song, the little Mays, \u201ctripped the light\nfantastic toe\u201d in a pretty fancy dance, while the Junes sat by so\nsmiling and sweet it was a pleasure to look at them.\n\nIndependence, the fourth child of Mr. July, who is a bold little\nfellow, and a fine speaker, gave them an oration he had learned at\nschool; and the Augusts suggested games of tag and blindman\u2019s buff,\nwhich they all enjoyed heartily.\n\nMr. September tried to read an instructive story aloud, but was\ninterrupted by Equinox, April Fool, and little All Hallows, who\npinned streamers to his coat tails, covered him with flour, and would\nnot let him get through a line; at which Mrs. October hugged her\ntricksy baby, and laughed until she cried, and Mr. September retired\nin disgust.\n\n\u201cThat is almost too bad,\u201d said Mrs. November, as she shook the popper\nvigorously in which the corn was popping and snapping merrily; \u201cbut,\nThanksgiving, you must not forget to thank your cousins for all they\nhave done to honour your birthday.\u201d\n\nAt which the demure little maiden went round to each one, and\nreturned her thanks in such a charming way it was quite captivating.\n\nGrandmother Year at last began to nod over her teacup in the chimney\ncorner.\n\n\u201cIt is growing late,\u201d said Grandpa Time.\n\n\u201cBut we must have a Virginia Reel before we go,\u201d said Mr. December.\n\n\u201cOh, yes, yes!\u201d cried all the children.\n\nMerry Christmas played a lively air on the piano, and old and young\ntook their positions on the polished floor with grandpa and grandma\nat the head.\n\nMidsummer danced with Happy New Year, June\u2019s Commencement with\nAugust\u2019s Holiday, Leap Year with May Day, and all \u201cwent merry as a\nmarriage bell.\u201d\n\nThe fun was at its height when suddenly the clock in the corner\nstruck twelve. Grandma Year motioned all to stop, and Grandfather\nTime, bowing his head, said softly, \u201cHark! my children, Thanksgiving\nDay is ended.\u201d\n\n[1] From _Harper\u2019s Young People_, November, 1883.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEBUT OF \u201cDAN\u2019L WEBSTER\u201d\n\n\nISABEL GORDON CURTIS\n\nUsed by permission of _St. Nicholas_.\n\n\u201cI guess you can get the ell roof shingled now, \u2019most any old time,\u201d\ncried Homer Tidd. He bounced in at the kitchen door. A blast of icy\nwind followed him.\n\n\u201cGracious! shet the door, Homer, an\u2019 then tell me your news.\u201d His\nmother shivered and pulled a little brown shawl tighter about her\nshoulders. The boy planted himself behind the stove and laid his\nmittened hands comfortably around the pipe. \u201cOh, I\u2019ve made a great\ndeal, Mother.\u201d Homer\u2019s freckled face glowed with satisfaction.\n\n\u201cWhat?\u201d asked Mrs. Tidd.\n\n\u201cDid you see the man that jest druv out o\u2019 the yard?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I didn\u2019t, Homer.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, \u2019twas Mr. Richards--the Mr. Richards o\u2019 Finch & Richards, the\nbig market folks over in the city.\u201d\n\n\u201cHas he bought your Thanksgivin\u2019 turkeys?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe hain\u2019t bought \u2019em for Thanksgivin\u2019.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, what are you so set up about, boy?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s rented the hull flock. He\u2019s to pay me three dollars a day for\nthem, then he\u2019s goin\u2019 to buy them all for Christmas.\u201d\n\n\u201cLand sakes! Three dollars a day.\u201d Mrs. Tidd dropped one side of a\npan of apples she was carrying, and some of them went rolling about\nthe kitchen floor.\n\nHomer nodded.\n\n\u201cFor how long?\u201d she asked eagerly.\n\n\u201cFor a week.\u201d Homer\u2019s freckles disappeared in the crimson glow of\nenthusiasm that overspread his face.\n\n\u201cEighteen dollars for nothin\u2019 but exhibitin\u2019 a bunch o\u2019 turkeys!\nSeems to me some folks must have money to throw away.\u201d Mrs. Tidd\nstared perplexedly over the top of her glasses.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you all about it, Mother.\u201d Homer took a chair and planted\nhis feet on the edge of the oven. \u201cMr. Richards is goin\u2019 to have a\ngreat Thanksgivin\u2019 food show, an\u2019 he wants a flock o\u2019 live turkeys.\nHe\u2019s been drivin\u2019 round the country lookin\u2019 for some. The postmaster\nsent him here. He told him about Dan\u2019l Webster\u2019s tricks.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey don\u2019t make Dan\u2019l any better eatin\u2019,\u201d objected his mother.\n\n\u201cMaybe not. But don\u2019t you see? Well!\u201d\n\nHomer\u2019s laugh was an embarrassed one. \u201cI\u2019m goin\u2019 to put Dan\u2019l an\u2019\nGettysburg through their tricks right in the store window.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou ben\u2019t?\u201d and the mother looked in rapt admiration at her clever\nson.\n\n\u201cI be!\u201d answered Homer, triumphantly.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know, boy, jest what I think o\u2019 it,\u201d said his mother,\nslowly. \u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t exactly a--a gentlemanly sort o\u2019 thing to do; be it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI reckon I ben\u2019t a gentleman, Mother,\u201d replied Homer, with his jolly\nlaugh.\n\n\u201cTell me all about it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I was feedin\u2019 the turkeys when Mr. Richards druv in. He said\nhe heered I had some trick turkeys, an\u2019 he\u2019d like to see \u2019em. Lucky\nenough, I hadn\u2019t fed \u2019em; they was awful hungry, an\u2019 I tell you they\nnever did their tricks better.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did Mr. Richards say?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe thought it was the most amazin\u2019 thing he\u2019d ever seen in his life.\nHe said he wouldn\u2019t have believed turkeys had enough gumption in them\nto learn a trick o\u2019 any kind.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you tell him how you\u2019d fussed with them ever since they was\nlittle chicks?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did. He wuz real interested, an\u2019 he offered me three dollars to\ngive a show three times a day. He\u2019s got a window half as big as this\nkitchen. He\u2019ll have it wired in, an\u2019 the turkeys\u2019ll stay there at\nhis expense. Along before Christmas he\u2019ll give me twenty-two cents a\npound for \u2019em.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I vow, Homer, it\u2019s pretty good pay.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Richards give me a commutation on the railroad. He\u2019s to send\nafter the turkeys an\u2019 bring \u2019em back, so I won\u2019t have any expense.\u201d\n\nHomer rose and sauntered about the kitchen, picking up the apples\nthat had rolled in all directions over the floor.\n\nA week before Thanksgiving, the corner in front of Finch & Richard\u2019s\ngreat market looked as it was wont to look on circus day: only the\neyes of the crowds were not turned expectantly up Main Street; they\nwere riveted on a window in the big store. Passers-by tramped out\ninto the snowy street when they reached the mob at the corner. The\nfront of the store was decorated with a fringe of plump turkeys. One\nwindow had held a glowing mountain of fruit and vegetables arranged\nby someone with a keen eye to colour--monstrous pumpkins, splendid\npurple cabbages, rosy apples and russet pears, green and purple\ngrapes, snowy stalks of celery, and corn ears yellow as sunshine.\nCrimson beets neighboured with snowy parsnips, scarlet carrots, and\nsilk-wrapped onions. Egg-plants, gleaming like deep-hued amethysts,\ncircled about magnificent cauliflowers, while red and yellow bananas\nmade gay mosaic walks through the fruit mountain. Wherever a crack or\na cranny had been left was a mound of ruby cranberries, fine raisin\nbunches, or brown nuts.\n\nIt was a remarkable display of American products; yet, after the\nfirst \u201cAh\u201d of admiration, people passed on to the farther window,\nwhere six plump turkeys, supremely innocent of a feast-day f\u00eate,\nflapped their wings or gobbled impertinently when a small boy laid\nhis nose flat against the window. Three times a day the crowd\ngrew twenty deep. It laughed and shouted and elbowed one another\ngood-naturedly, for the Thanksgiving spirit was abroad. Men tossed\nchildren up on their stalwart shoulders, then small hands clapped\necstatically, and small legs kicked with wild enthusiasm.\n\nThe hero of the hour was a freckled, redhaired boy, who came\nleaping through a wire door with an old broom over his shoulders.\nEvery turkey waited for him eagerly, hungrily! They knew that each\nold, familiar trick--learned away back in chickhood--would earn a\ngood feed. When the freckled boy began to whistle, or when his voice\nrang out in a shrill order, it was the signal for Dan\u2019l Webster, for\nGettysburg, for Amanda Ann, Mehitable, Nancy, or Farragut to step to\nthe center of the stage and do some irresistibly funny turn with a\nturkey\u2019s bland solemnity. None of the birds had attacks of stage\nfright--their acting was as self-possessed as if they were in the old\nfarm yard with no audience present but Mrs. Tidd to lean smiling over\nthe fence with a word of praise, and the coveted handful of golden\ncorn.\n\nWith every performance the crowd grew more dense, the applause more\nuproarious, and the Thanksgiving trade at Finch & Richard\u2019s bigger\nthan it had been in years. Each night Homer took the last train home,\ntired but happy, for three crisp greenbacks were added to the roll in\nhis small, shabby wallet.\n\nTwo days before Thanksgiving, Homer, in his blue overalls and faded\nsweater, was busy at work. The gray of the dawn was just creeping\ninto the east, while the boy went hurrying through his chores. There\nwas still a man\u2019s work to be done before he took the ten o\u2019clock\ntrain to town; besides, he had promised to help his mother about the\nhouse. His grandfather, an uncle, an aunt, and three small cousins\nwere coming to eat their Thanksgiving feast at the old farmhouse.\nHomer whistled gaily, while he bedded the creatures with fresh straw.\nThe whistle trailed into an indistinct trill; the boy felt a pang of\nloneliness as he glanced into the turkey-pen. There was nobody there\nbut old Mother Salvia. Homer tossed her a handful of corn. \u201cPoor old\nlady, I s\u2019pose you\u2019re lonesome, ain\u2019t you, now? Never mind; when\nspring comes you\u2019ll be scratchin\u2019 around with a hull raft of nice\nlittle chickies at your heels. We\u2019ll teach them a fine trick or two,\nwon\u2019t we, old Salvia?\u201d\n\nSalvia clucked over the corn appreciatively.\n\n\u201cHomer, Homer, come here quick.\u201d\n\nDown the frozen path through the yard came Mrs. Tidd, with the little\nbrown shawl wrapped tightly about her head. She fluttered a yellow\nenvelope in her hand.\n\n\u201cHomer boy, it\u2019s a telegraph come. I can\u2019t read it; I\u2019ve mislaid my\nglasses.\u201d\n\nHomer was by her side in a minute, tearing open the flimsy envelope.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s from Finch & Richards, Mother,\u201d he cried excitedly. \u201cThey say,\n\u2018Take the first train to town without fail.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you s\u2019pose they want you for?\u201d asked Mrs. Tidd, with a very\nanxious face.\n\n\u201cP\u2019r\u2019aps the store\u2019s burned down,\u201d gasped Homer. He brushed one rough\nhand across his eyes. \u201cPoor Dan\u2019l Webster an\u2019 Gettysburg! I didn\u2019t\nknow anybody could set so much store by turkeys.\u201d\n\n\u201cMaybe \u2019t ain\u2019t nothin\u2019 bad, Homer,\u201d Mrs. Tidd laid her hand upon\nhis shoulder. \u201cMaybe they want you to give an extra early show or\nsomethin\u2019.\u201d She suggested it cheerfully.\n\n\u201cMaybe,\u201d echoed Homer. \u201cBut, Mother, I\u2019ve got to hurry to catch that\n7:30 train.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet me go with you, Homer.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t need to,\u201d cried the boy. \u201cIt probably ain\u2019t nothin\u2019\nserious.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m goin\u2019,\u201d cried Mrs. Tidd decisively; \u201cyou don\u2019t s\u2019pose I could\nstay here doin\u2019 nothin\u2019 but waitin\u2019 an\u2019 wond\u2019rin\u2019?\u201d\n\nMrs. Tidd and Homer caught a car at the city depot. Five minutes\nlater they stood in front of Finch & Richards\u2019 big market.\n\n\u201cMother,\u201d whispered the boy, as he stepped off the car, \u201cMother, my\nturkeys! They\u2019re not there! Something\u2019s happened. See the crowd.\u201d\n\nThey pushed their way through a mob that was peering in at the\nwindows, and through the windows of locked doors. The row of plump\nturkeys was not hung this morning under the big sign; the magnificent\nwindow display of fruit and vegetables had been ruthlessly demolished.\n\n\u201cWhat do you s\u2019pose can have happened?\u201d whispered Mrs. Tidd, while\nthey waited for a clerk to come hurrying down the store and unlock\nthe door.\n\nHomer shook his head.\n\nMr. Richards himself came to greet them.\n\n\u201cWell, young man,\u201d he cried, \u201cI\u2019ve had enough of your pesky bird\nshow. There\u2019s a hundred dollars\u2019 worth of provisions gone, to\nsay nothing of the trade we are turning away. Two days before\nThanksgiving, of all times in the year!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood land!\u201d whispered Mrs. Tidd. Her eyes were wandering about the\nstore. It was scattered from one end to the other with wasted food.\nSticky rivers trickled here and there across the floor. A small army\nof clerks was hard at work sweeping and mopping.\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s my turkeys?\u201d asked Homer.\n\n\u201cYour turkeys, confound them!\u201d snarled Mr. Richards. \u201cThey\u2019re safe\nand sound in their crate in my back store, all but that blasted old\ngobbler you call Dan\u2019l Webster. He\u2019s doing his stunts on a top shelf.\nWe found him there tearing cereal packages into shreds. For mercy\u2019s\nsake, go and see if you can\u2019t get him down. He has almost pecked the\neyes out of every clerk who has tried to lay a finger on him. I\u2019d\nlike to wring his ugly neck.\u201d\n\nMr. Richard\u2019s face grew red as the comb of Dan\u2019l Webster himself.\n\nHomer and his mother dashed across the store. High above their heads\nstrutted Dan\u2019l Webster with a slow, stately tread. Occasionally he\npeered down at the ruin and confusion below, commenting upon it with\na lordly, satisfied gobble.\n\n\u201cDan\u2019l Webster,\u201d called Homer, coaxingly, \u201cgood old Dan\u2019l, come an\u2019\nsee me.\u201d\n\nThe boy slipped cautiously along to where a step-ladder stood.\n\n\u201cDan\u2019l,\u201d he called persuasively, \u201cwouldn\u2019t you like to come home,\nDan\u2019l?\u201d\n\nDan\u2019l perked down with pleased recognition in his eyes. Homer crept\nup the ladder. He was preparing to lay a hand on one of Dan\u2019l\u2019s black\nlegs when the turkey hopped away with a triumphant gobble, and went\nracing gleefully along the wide shelf. A row of bottles filled with\nsalad-dressing stood in Dan\u2019l\u2019s path. He cleared them out of the way\nwith one energetic kick. They tumbled to a lower shelf; their yellow\ncontents crept in a sluggish stream toward the mouth of a tea-box.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll have that bird shot!\u201d thundered Mr. Richards. \u201cThat\u2019s all there\nis about it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWait a minute, sir,\u201d pleaded Mrs. Tidd. \u201cHomer\u2019ll get him.\u201d\n\nDan\u2019l Webster would neither be coaxed nor commanded. He wandered\nup and down the shelf, gobbling vociferously into the faces of the\nexcited mob.\n\n\u201cHenry, go and get a pistol,\u201d cried Mr. Richards, turning to one of\nhis clerks.\n\n\u201cHomer,\u201d--Mrs. Tidd clutched the boy\u2019s arm,--\u201cwhy don\u2019t you make\nb\u2019lieve you\u2019re shootin\u2019 Dan\u2019l? Maybe he\u2019ll lie down, so you can git\nhim.\u201d\n\nHomer called for a broom. He tossed it, gun fashion, across his\nshoulder, and crept along slowly, sliding a ladder before him to the\nspot where the turkey stood watching with intent eyes. He put one\nfoot upon the lowest step, then he burst out in a spirited whistle.\nIt was \u201cMarching through Georgia.\u201d The bird stared at him fixedly.\n\n\u201cBang!\u201d cried Homer, and he pointed the broom straight at the\nrecreant turkey.\n\nDan\u2019l Webster dropped stiff. A second later Homer had a firm grasp of\nthe scaly legs. Dan\u2019l returned instantly to life, but the rebellious\nhead was tucked under his master\u2019s jacket. Dan\u2019l Webster thought he\nwas being strangled to death.\n\n\u201cThere!\u201d cried Homer, triumphantly. He closed the lid of the poultry\ncrate, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. \u201cThere! I guess\nyou won\u2019t get out again.\u201d\n\nHe followed Mr. Richards to the front of the store to view the\ndevastation.\n\n\u201cWho\u2019d have thought turkeys could have ripped up strong wire like\nthat?\u201d cried the enraged market man, pointing to the shattered door.\n\n\u201cI guess Dan\u2019l began the mischief,\u201d said Homer soberly; \u201che\u2019s awful\nstrong.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry I ever laid eyes on Dan\u2019l!\u201d exclaimed Mr. Richards. \u201cI\u2019ll\nhate to see Finch. He\u2019ll be in on the 4.20 train. He\u2019s conservative;\nhe never had any use for the turkey show.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen did you find out that they--what had happened?\u201d asked Homer\ntimidly.\n\n\u201cAt five o\u2019clock. Two of the men got here early. They telephoned\nme. I never saw such destruction in my life. Your turkeys had\nsampled most everything in the store, from split peas to molasses.\nWhat they didn\u2019t eat they knocked over or tore open. I guess they\nwon\u2019t need feeding for a week. They\u2019re chuckful of oatmeal, beans,\ncrackers, peanuts, pickles, toothpicks, prunes, soap, red herrings,\ncabbage--about everything their crops can hold.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m awfully sorry,\u201d faltered Homer.\n\n\u201cSo am I,\u201d said Mr. Richards resolutely. \u201cNow, the best thing you can\ndo is to take your flock and clear out. I\u2019ve had enough of performing\nturkeys.\u201d\n\nHomer and his mother waited at the depot for the 11 o\u2019clock train.\nBeside them stood a crate filled with turkeys that wore a well-fed,\nsatisfied expression. Somebody tapped Homer on the shoulder.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re the boy who does the stunts with turkeys, aren\u2019t you?\u201d asked\na well-dressed man with a silk hat, and a flower in his buttonhole.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d answered the boy, wonderingly.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve been hunting for you. That was a great rumpus you made at Finch\n& Richards\u2019. The whole town\u2019s talking about it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d answered Homer again, and he blushed scarlet.\n\n\u201cTaking your turkeys home?\u201d\n\nHomer nodded.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve come to see if we can keep them in town a few days longer.\u201d\n\nThe boy shook his head vigorously. \u201cI don\u2019t want any more turkey\nshows.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot if the price is big enough to make it worth your while?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d said Homer sturdily.\n\n\u201cLet us go into the station and talk it over.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nOn Thanksgiving afternoon the Colonial Theater, the best vaudeville\nhouse in the city, held a throng that was dined well, and was happy\nenough to appreciate any sort of fun. The children--hundreds of\nthem--shrieked with delight over every act. The women laughed,\nthe men applauded with great hearty hand-claps. A little buzz of\nexcitement went round the house when, at the end of the fourth turn,\ntwo boys, instead of setting up the regulation big red number,\ndisplayed a brand new card. It read: \u201cExtra Number--Homer Tidd and\nhis Performing Turkeys.\u201d A shout of delighted anticipation went up\nfrom the audience. Every paper in town had made a spectacular story\nof the ruin at Finch & Richards\u2019. Nothing could have been so splendid\na surprise. Everybody broke into applause, everybody except one\nlittle woman who sat in the front row of the orchestra. Her face was\npale, her hands clasped, and unclasped each other tremulously.\n\u201cHomer, boy,\u201d she whispered to herself.\n\nThe curtain rolled up. The stage was set for a realistic farmyard\nscene. The floor was scattered with straw, an old pump leaned over\nin one corner, hay tumbled untidily from a barn-loft, a coop with\na hen and chickens stood by the fence. From her stall stared a\nwhite-faced cow; her eyes blinked at the glare of the footlights. The\norchestra struck up a merry tune; the cow uttered an astonished moo;\nthen in walked a sturdy lad with fine, broad shoulders, red hair,\nand freckles. His boots clumped, his blue overalls were faded, his\nsweater had once been red. At his heels stepped six splendid turkeys,\nstraight in line, every one with its eyes on the master. Homer never\nknew how he did it. Two minutes earlier he had said to the manager,\ndesperately: \u201cI\u2019ll cut an\u2019 run right off as soon as I set eyes on\nfolks.\u201d Perhaps he drew courage from the anxious gaze in his mother\u2019s\neyes. Hers was the only face he saw in the great audience. Perhaps it\nwas the magnificent aplomb of the turkeys that inspired him. They\nstepped serenely, as if walking out on a gorgeously lighted stage was\nan every-day event in their lives. Anyhow, Homer threw up his head,\nand led the turkey march round and round past the footlights, till\nthe shout of applause dwindled into silence. The boy threw back his\nhead and snapped his fingers. The turkeys retreated to form in line\nat the back of the stage.\n\n\u201cGettysburg,\u201d cried Homer, pointing to a stately, plump hen.\nGettysburg stepped to the center of the stage. \u201cHow many kernels of\ncorn have I thrown you, Getty?\u201d he asked.\n\nThe turkey turned to count them, with her head cocked reflectively on\none side. Then she scratched her foot on the floor.\n\n\u201cOne, two, three, four, five!\u201d\n\n\u201cRight. Now you may eat them, Getty.\u201d\n\nGettysburg wore her new-won laurels with an excellent grace. She\njumped through a row of hoops, slid gracefully about the stage on a\npair of miniature roller-skates; she stepped from stool to chair,\nfrom chair to table, in perfect time with Homer\u2019s whistle,\nand a low strain of melody from the orchestra. She danced a stately\njig on the table, then, with a satisfied cluck, descended on the\nother side to the floor. Amanda Ann, Mehitable, Nancy, and Farragut\nachieved their triumphs in a slow dance made up of dignified hops\nand mazy turns. They stood in a decorous line awaiting the return\nof their master, for Homer had dashed suddenly from the stage. He\nreappeared, holding his head up proudly. Now he wore the blue uniform\nand jaunty cap of a soldier boy; a gun leaned on his shoulder.\n\nThe orchestra put all its vigor, patriotism, and wind into \u201cMarching\nthrough Georgia.\u201d\n\nStraight to Homer\u2019s side when they heard his whistle, wheeled the\nturkey regiment, ready to keep step, to fall in line, to march\nand countermarch. Only one feathered soldier fell. It was Dan\u2019l\nWebster. At a bang from Homer\u2019s rifle he dropped stiff and stark.\nFrom children here and there in the audience came a cry of horror.\nThey turned to ask in frightened whispers if the turkey was \u201ctruly\nshooted.\u201d As if to answer the question, Dan\u2019l leaped to his feet.\nHomer pulled a Stars and Stripes from his pocket, and waved it\nenthusiastically; then the orchestra dashed into \u201cYankee Doodle.\u201d It\nawoke some patriotic spirit in the soul of Dan\u2019l Webster. He left his\nmaster, and, puffing himself to his stateliest proportions, stalked\nto the footlights to utter one glorious, soul-stirring gobble. The\ncurtain fell, but the applause went on and on and on! At last, out\nagain across the stage came Homer, waving \u201cOld Glory.\u201d Dan\u2019l Webster,\nGettysburg, Amanda Ann, Nancy, Mehitable and Farragut followed in\na triumphal march. Homer\u2019s eyes were bent past the footlights,\nsearching for the face of one little woman. This time the face was\none radiant flush, and her hands were adding their share to the\ndeafening applause.\n\n\u201cHomer, boy,\u201d she said fondly. This time she spoke aloud, but nobody\nheard it. An encore for the \u201cExtra Turn\u201d was so vociferous, it almost\nshook the plaster from the ceiling.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREEN CORN DANCE\n\n\nFRANCES JENKINS OLCOTT\n\nThe first Thanksgiving Dinner in America, where was it eaten? Why, of\ncourse, we think of its being eaten in old Plymouth Town, when the\nPilgrim Fathers spread their board with fish, wild turkey, geese,\nducks, venison, barley bread, Indian maize, and other good things,\nand invited the Indian King Massasoit and his braves to the feast. It\nwas a time of rejoicing and thanksgiving for the fine harvest God had\ngiven the Pilgrims.\n\nBut that was not the first Thanksgiving Dinner eaten in America! For\nmany, many years before the Pilgrims came to this land, Thanksgiving\nDinners had been given. The Red Men, the first owners of America,\nheld their Thanksgiving Festivals every autumn. These were in\ncelebration of the ripening of the corn, and in honour of their\nManitos, as they called their gods. For, until the white men came,\nthe Indians never heard of the all-good \u201cGreat Spirit\u201d of Heaven.\nThey held other feasts, too, among them a New Year one, a Maple Sugar\nFeast, a Strawberry Festival, a Bean Dance, and a Corn-gathering\nFeast.\n\nEven to-day, some Indians keep their heathen Thanksgiving at the time\nof the ripening of the corn. It is called the Green Corn Dance. Many\nIndians are Christians, but numbers still worship the Manitos of the\nsun, moon, stars, wind, rain, thunder, and other things in Nature.\nThough some of these heathen Red Men speak reverently of the Great\nSpirit, they seem scarcely to understand who He is, and confuse Him\nwith their Manitos, as may be seen in the hymn that introduces the\nFeather Dance.\n\nAmong some tribes of the Iroquois Family, in New York State, the\nGreen Corn Dance is still celebrated. And this is how a visitor saw\nthe dance at the Cattaraugus Reservation.\n\nAs the time for the Festival approached, certain men and women of\nthe tribe, called the \u201cKeepers of the Faith,\u201d began to prepare for\nthe dance. Every morning at sunrise, the women went to the cornfield\nand picked a few ears, and took them to the Head Man at the Council\nHouse. When he decided that the corn was sufficiently ripe, the Feast\nwas called.\n\nSummons were sent to the Indians at the Tonawanda and Allegany\nReservations, bidding all meet at sunrise on the tenth of September,\nin the Council House of the Cattaraugus Reservation.\n\nOn the morning of the feast, the men, \u201cKeepers of the Faith,\u201d arose\nat sunrise, and built a fire, on which they threw an offering of\ntobacco and corn, and they prayed to the Great Spirit to bless the\ntribes. They then extinguished the fire, and later the women \u201cKeepers\nof the Faith\u201d built another in the same spot.\n\nThen the people began to arrive, all in their best clothes. While\nthey were waiting for the ceremonies to begin, the young men played\nball, and the girls walked about, talking with each other. Meanwhile,\nthe women \u201cKeepers of the Faith,\u201d hastened to prepare soup and\nsuccotash, which were soon boiling in large kettles suspended over\nhuge, flaming logs.\n\nAfter a little while the people began to move toward the Council\nHouse, a long, low, wooden building, with a door at the northeast\nend, and another at the southwest. The people entered in two lines,\nthe women through one door, and the men through the other. All took\ntheir seats on benches arranged on three sides of the room. In the\ncentre of the room sat the singers, and the musicians with their\nturtle-shell rattles.\n\nWhen all was quiet, the speaker began the ceremonies by a prayer\nto the Great Spirit, while the men, with bowed, uncovered\nheads,--Indians do not kneel,--listened reverently.\n\nAfter the prayer was finished, the speaker, lifting his voice,\naddressed the Indians.\n\n\u201cMy friends,\u201d he said, \u201cwe are here to worship the Great Spirit. As\nby our old custom, we give the Great Spirit His dance, the Great\nFeather Dance. We must have it before noon. The Great Spirit sees\nto everything in the morning, afterwards he rests. He gives us\nland and things to live on, so we must thank Him for His ground, and\nfor the things it brought forth. He gave us the thunder to wet the\nland, so we must thank the thunder. We must thank Ga-ne-o-di-o[2]\nthat we know he is in the happy land. It is the wish of the Great\nSpirit that we express our thanks in dances as well as prayer. The\ncousin clans are here from Tonawanda; we are thankful to the Great\nSpirit to have them here, and to greet them with the rattles and\nsinging. We have appointed one of them to lead the dances.\u201d\n\nWhen the speaker finished, there was a pause, then a shout outside\nthe Council House told that the Feather Dancers were coming. They\nentered the room, a long, gracefully swaying line of fifty men, clad\nin Indian costume, gay with colour and nodding plumes, and with bells\nadorning their leggings. Slowly and majestically they entered, and\nstood for a moment near the entrance. Then the speaker began in a\nhigh voice, the hymn of thanksgiving to the Great Spirit, while the\ndancers, in single file, commenced walking slowly around the room,\nkeeping step with the beating of the musicians\u2019 rattles.\n\nEach verse of the hymn thanked the Great Spirit for some\nbenefit,--for water, for the animals, for the trees, for the light,\nfor the fruits, for the stars, and among other good things, for the\n\u201cSupporters,\u201d the three Manito-sisters, the guardians of the Corn,\nBean, and Squash.\n\nAfter each verse, the dancers quickened their steps, and danced\nrapidly around the room. When the hymn was finished, the speaker\nordered the real dance to start. Then, still in single file, the\ndancers began the great Feather Dance.\n\nErect in body, yet gracefully swaying, they moved around and\naround the Council House, keeping time with the rhythmic beat of\nthe rattles, that sounded now slow and now fast. Lifting each foot\nalternately from the floor, every dancer brought his heel down with\nsuch force that all the legging-bells rang in time with the music. At\ntimes the movement grew very swift, and the many lithesome twistings\nand bendings of the dancers, their shouts to one another, and the\ncries of the spectators, filled all with keen excitement. During the\nslower movements, some of the women arose, and joined the dance,\nforming an inner circle.\n\nThen the dancers sang a weird chant, in company with the singers,\n\u201cHa-ho!--Ha-ho!--Ha-ho!\u201d they sang; then all present joined in the\nquick refrain, \u201cWay-ha-ah! Way-ha-ah! Way-ha-ah!\u201d ending in a loud,\nguttural shout, as the dancers bowed their heads, \u201cHa-i! Ha-i!\u201d\n\nWhen the noon hour came, the great Feather Dance was over, and two\nhuge kettles were brought in to the Council House, one full of soup,\nand the other of succotash. One of the men \u201cKeepers of the Faith,\u201d\nsaid a prayer of thanksgiving, in which all joined, and the food was\npoured into vessels brought by the women. It was then carried to the\nhomes, where the Indians enjoyed eating it by their own firesides.\n\nThe feast was over for that day, but it lasted two days more, during\nwhich the tribes gambled, danced, ate, and beat their drums. The\nvisitor who saw this Green Corn Festival, wrote afterward about the\nclosing scene, the great Snake Dance:\n\n\u201cThe nodding plumes, the tinkling bells, the noisy rattles, the beats\nof the high-strung drums, the shuffling feet and weird cries of the\ndancers, and the approving shouts of the spectators, all added to the\nspell of a strangeness that seemed to invest the quaint old Council\nHouse with the supernaturalness of a dream!\n\n\u201cAs the sun neared its setting, the dancers stopped in a quiet order,\nand the speaker of the day bade farewell to the clans ... and, after\ninvoking the blessing of the Great Spirit, declared the Green Corn\nFestival of 1890 ended.\u201d\n\n[2] A prophet of the Indians.\n\n\n\n\nTHANKSGIVING\n\n\n \u201cHave you cut the wheat in the blowing fields,\n The barley, the oats, and the rye,\n The golden corn and the pearly rice?\n For the winter days are nigh.\u201d\n\n \u201cWe have reaped them all from shore to shore,\n And the grain is safe on the threshing floor.\u201d\n\n \u201cHave you gathered the berries from the vine,\n And the fruit from the orchard trees?\n The dew and the scent from the roses and thyme,\n In the hive of the honeybees?\u201d\n\n \u201cThe peach and the plum and the apple are ours,\n And the honeycomb from the scented flowers.\u201d\n\n \u201cThe wealth of the snowy cotton field\n And the gift of the sugar cane,\n The savoury herb and the nourishing root----\n There has nothing been given in vain.\u201d\n\n \u201cWe have gathered the harvest from shore to shore,\n And the measure is full and brimming o\u2019er.\u201d\n\n \u201cThen lift up the head with a song!\n And lift up the hand with a gift!\n To the ancient Giver of all\n The spirit in gratitude lift!\n For the joy and the promise of spring,\n For the hay and the clover sweet,\n The barley, the rye, and the oats,\n The rice, and the corn, and the wheat,\n The cotton, and sugar, and fruit,\n The flowers and the fine honeycomb,\n The country so fair and so free,\n The blessings and glory of home.\u201d\n AMELIA E. BARR.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWO ALMS OR THE THANKSGIVING DAY GIFT\n\n\nTranslated by special permission from Guerber\u2019s Contes et Legendes,\nI^{\u00e8re} Partie. Copyright by American Book Company.\n\n\nOnce upon a time a poor old beggar woman stood shivering by the side\nof a road which led to a prosperous village. She hoped some traveler\nwould be touched by her misery, and would give her a few pennies with\nwhich to buy food and fuel.\n\nIt had been snowing since early morning, and a sharp east wind made\nthe evening air bitterly cold. At the sound of approaching footsteps\nthe old woman\u2019s face brightened with expectancy, but the next moment\nher eager expression changed to disappointment, for the traveler\npassed without giving her anything.\n\n\u201cPoor old woman,\u201d he said to himself. \u201cThis is a bitter cold night to\nbe begging on the roadside. It is, indeed. I am truly sorry for her.\u201d\n\nAnd as his footsteps became fainter, the beggar woman whispered, \u201cI\nmust not give up. Perhaps the next traveler will help me.\u201d\n\nIn a little while she heard the sound of wheels. It happened to be\nthe carriage of the mayor, who was on his way to a Thanksgiving\nbanquet. When his excellency saw the miserable old woman, he ordered\nthe carriage to stop, lowered the window, and took a piece of money\nfrom his pocket.\n\n\u201cHere you are, he called, holding out a coin.\n\nThe woman hurried to the window as fast as she could. Before she\nreached it, however, the mayor noticed that he had taken a gold piece\ninstead of a silver one out of his pocket.\n\n\u201cWait a moment,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve made a mistake.\u201d\n\nHe intended to exchange the coin for one of less value, but he caught\nhis sleeve on the window fastening, and dropped the gold piece in the\nsnow. The woman had come up to the carriage window, and he noticed\nthat she was blind.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve dropped the money, my good woman,\u201d he said, \u201cbut it lies near\nyou there in the snow. No doubt you\u2019ll find it.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, sir, thank you,\u201d said the beggar, kneeling down to search\nfor the coin.\n\nOn rolled the mayor to the banquet. \u201cIt was foolish to give her\ngold,\u201d he thought, \u201cbut I\u2019m a rich man, and I seldom make such a\nmistake.\u201d\n\nThat night after the banquet when the mayor sat before a blazing fire\nin his comfortable chair, the picture of the beggar woman, kneeling\nin the snow, and fumbling around for the gold piece, came before his\neyes.\n\n\u201cI hope she will make good use of my generous gift,\u201d he mused. \u201cIt\nwas entirely too much to give, but no doubt I shall be rewarded for\nmy charity.\u201d\n\nThe first traveler hurried on his way until he came to the village\ninn, where a great wood fire crackled merrily in the cheery dining\nroom. He took off his warm coat, and sat down to wait for dinner to\nbe served. But he could not forget the picture of the old beggar\nwoman standing on the snowy roadside.\n\nSuddenly he rose, put on his coat, and said to the host, \u201cPrepare\ndinner for two. I shall be back presently.\u201d\n\nHe hastened back to the place where he had seen the poor old woman,\nwho was still on her knees in the snow searching for the mayor\u2019s gold\npiece.\n\n\u201cMy good woman, what are you looking for?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cA piece of money, sir. The gentleman who gave it to me dropped it in\nthe snow.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not search any longer,\u201d said the traveler, \u201cbut come with me to\nthe village inn. There you may warm yourself before the great fire,\nand we shall have a good dinner. Come, you shall be my Thanksgiving\nguest.\u201d\n\nHe helped her to her feet, and then, for the first time, he saw that\nshe was blind. Carefully he took her arm, and led her along the road\nto the inn.\n\n\u201cSit here and warm yourself,\u201d he said, placing her gently in a\ncomfortable chair. In a few moments he led her to the table, and gave\nher a good dinner.\n\nOn that Thanksgiving Day an angel took up her pen, and struck out all\naccount of the gold piece from the book where the mayor recorded his\ngood deeds. Another angel wrote in the traveler\u2019s book of deeds an\naccount of the old beggar woman\u2019s Thanksgiving dinner at the village\ninn.--Adapted.\n\n\n\n\nA THANKSGIVING PSALM\n\n\n Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.\n Serve the Lord with gladness:\n Come unto his presence with singing.\n\n Know ye that the Lord he _is_ God;\n It is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves;\n We are his people and the sheep of his pasture.\n Enter into his gates with thanksgiving\n And into his courts with praise,\n Be thankful unto him, _and_ bless his name.\n\n For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting:\n And his truth endureth to all generations.\n --_Psalm C._\n\n\n\n\nTHE CROWN OF THE YEAR\n\n\n Ah, happy morning of autumn sweet,\n Yet ripe and rich with summer\u2019s heat.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Near me each humble flower and weed----\n The dock\u2019s rich umber, gone to seed,\n The hawk-bit\u2019s gold, the bayberry\u2019s spice,\n One late wild rose beyond all price;\n Each is a friend and all are dear,\n Pathetic signs of the waning year.\n\n The painted rose-leaves, how they glow!\n Like crimson wine the woodbines show;\n The wholesome yarrow\u2019s clusters fine,\n Like frosted silver dimly shine;\n And who thy quaintest charm shall tell,\n Thou little scarlet pimpernel?\n\n In the mellow, golden autumn days,\n When the world is zoned in their purple haze,\n A spirit of beauty walks abroad,\n That fills the heart with peace of God;\n The spring and summer may bless and cheer,\n But autumn brings us the crown o\u2019 the year.\n CELIA THAXTER.","title":"The Topaz Story Book: Stories and Legends of Autumn, Hallowe'en, and Thanksgiving","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":59897}