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 Page o4 
 
 HI, LITTLE BROTHER, HOW SLEEK YOU LOOK!" 
 
TORIES TO TELL 
 flTHE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 &tj Sara Cone Ito/ant 
 
 (Mrs. Theodore F.Borsf) 
 
 Jllustrations 
 fcy Willy Pogany 
 
 Houqhfon Mifflin Company 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY SARA CONE BORST 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published November iqib 
 
J 
 
 372. e 
 
 Library, Univ. of 
 North Carolina 
 
 TO 
 
 T. F. B. 
 OUR BEST PLAYMATE 
 
 THIS LITTLE BOOK IS DEDICATED 
 
 BY THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 AND ME 
 
 
 S^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 
Acknowledgments 
 
 For the Swabian verses I have to thank my 
 husband, who heard the originals in childhood 
 from his grandfather. The first telling of "The 
 Little White Boat " and the inspiration for a num- 
 ber of other stories came from the same interested 
 source. 
 
 The spirit and outline of the two apple stories 
 I owe to Mr. James H. Bowditch, the noted land- 
 scape architect. While I was very ill he told the 
 little adventures to my husband, to tell to me, for 
 the whiling away of a heavy time; and I have 
 made them into stories with his consent. I regret 
 that I cannot fully transmit in them the rare savor 
 of gentle humor and kindly philosophy that Mr. 
 Bowditch's personality infused into the original. 
 
 The Scotch rhymes with their music were 
 taught my children by Miss Jessie Blaine, their 
 kindest of nurses, and a shining example of the 
 national strength and wholesomeness of character. 
 She learned the funny bits literally at her mother's 
 knee, and in passing them on to my children, used 
 the quaint steps and gestures which had come to 
 hers from a still earlier mother. The rhymes are 
 undoubtedly only fragments, but even as such 
 seem to have a perennial charm for the " littlest 
 
 ones." 
 
 vn 
 
Foreword 
 
 This little book is the outgrowth of a cus- 
 tom in my house, known to the children 
 as " Telling the Rabbit Story." 
 
 Ever since my little girl and boy were 
 born, I have been in the habit of singing 
 them rhymes or telling them stories every 
 day, a while before sleepy-time. One of the 
 earliest connected stories they ever heard was 
 Beatrix Potter's exquisite little tale, " Peter 
 Rabbit." They were very fond of this, and 
 were much attracted by the name and the 
 pictures of Peter himself. So it happened that 
 they asked for more adventures of Peter 
 Rabbit, and I fell into the way of introduc- 
 ing the little hero into many of my inven- 
 tions, until at last no story was complete 
 if it did not begin : " Once when Peter Rab- 
 bit was — " 
 
 For two years the story hour at my 
 house was always called the " Rabbit 
 
 ix 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 story." "Mother, will you be home for the 
 ' Rabbit story ' ? " the children used to say, 
 when I went out. 
 
 Gradually other loves have taken their 
 place in the home-story world, and I have 
 told my boy and girl many tales of many 
 kinds, true, fairy, and "foolish," as they 
 call humorous stories, but they still love the 
 one that begins with " Peter Rabbit." 
 
 Once in a while, in the long series of 
 days, some happy inspiration has given me 
 a better thought than usual, and a real story 
 has popped out of my mouth in place of 
 the mediocre inventions of habit. These 
 few real stories have been retold " by 
 request" of the original audience, and told 
 again to larger audiences many times. 
 It has seemed to me that the best of 
 them might prove of value to other teach- 
 ers and mothers of very little children, for 
 the demand is continuous, and the sup- 
 ply of material suitable for such tiny hearers 
 is exceedingly small. 
 
 x 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 A few of these stones are my own adap- 
 tations from old or foreign tales, as the 
 reader will note in the following pages. But 
 the larger number are entirely original, and 
 grew spontaneously out of the mood of the 
 hour. 
 
 I do not claim any wonderful qualities 
 for the little stories so made and gathered. 
 Very young children have liked them, and 
 I have been willing that my own very 
 young children should hear them. The lat- 
 ter is an acid test which has counted out 
 many a famous old story, and the former 
 disposes of all too many modern ones. So 
 I hope that these may prove useful to 
 grown-up friends and joyous to little boys 
 and girls. 
 
Contents 
 
 The Littlest One of All 3 
 
 The Dog and the Kitty Cats 5 
 An Old Five- Finger Saying (Adapted from the Swabian) 8 
 
 The Goosey Gander 9 
 
 An Old Five-Finger Saying 12 
 
 The Little Bull Calf 13 
 
 An Old Patting Play 20 
 
 The Velocipede that went by Itself ... 22 
 
 Three Jingles 28 
 
 Who discovered the Maple Sugar ? . . . .30 
 
 Two Little Kittens 40 
 
 When Peter Rabbit had the Earache . . 42 
 
 Measuring Song 48 
 
 The Ambitious Apple 51 
 
 Rosey Posey 55 
 
 The Old Apple Tree 57 
 
 Wha lairn't you to dance ? 63 
 
 The Foolish Chauffeur 65 
 
 Was ye at the Fair ? 74 
 
 Little Betty Baker (A Nonsense Story) . . 75 
 
 [ xiii ] 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 We'll all awa' to Jessie's Hoose .... 85 
 Happy Easter ........ 87 
 
 Tired Child 92 
 
 The Wandering Child ...... 94 
 
 Morning Prayer of Thanks ...... 98 
 
 The Resurrection Plant 100 
 
 The Wassail Song {Old Christmas Carol) . .104 
 The Christmas Tree that lived . . . .107 
 
 Pretty Cow 117 
 
 The Adventure of the Little White Boat . .118 
 
 The Tree 126 
 
 The Little Dreamer 128 
 
 The Whimper- Whinies 130 
 
 Sun's Greeting 140 
 
 Peter's Visit to Mother Sun's House . . . 142 
 
 The Wind at Work 149 
 
 Wind Song 151 
 
 Peter's Visit to Mother Wind's House . .153 
 When Christ was born of Mary Free {Old Christ- 
 mas Carol) 164 
 
 The Noah's Ark 166 
 
it T » 
 
 Full-Page Illustrations 
 
 "Hi, Little Brother, how sleek you look!" 
 
 Colored Frontispiece 
 
 It only shook its little handle bars and rang 
 its little bell 24 
 
 Silently and mysteriously he set it down be- 
 fore Grandmother 38 
 
 I'm going to the little flannel bush in the 
 hollow" {colored) 42 
 
 She knocked at the door 46 
 
 The child ran after it {colored) .... 96 
 
 Oh, what was happening to the little plant? . 102 
 
 Oh, just crying a pond," said the Whimper- 
 Whiny {colored) 136 
 
 A tiny sunbeam girlie ran up to him {colored) 142 
 
 The Sunbeam Child and the Little Birds . 146 
 
 Mother Wind was playing with the littlest 
 wind-child {colored) 154 
 
 Away they danced, whirling and swaying and 
 darting 162 
 
 r 
 
Stories to Tell 
 The Littlest Ones 
 
7/io arr/e^r one or all 
 
 Once there was a tiny girl baby. She 
 was so small that her father could carry 
 her in one hand, her soft little head resting 
 on his arm, and her fairy-like feet curled up 
 on his fingers. The tiny baby's eyes were 
 black and shiny, and very, very big. 
 
 Sometimes she cried, and then her father 
 used to carry her about the room, swinging 
 her gently in his arms and singing to her 
 this odd little song : — 
 
 " Eeny, weeny, bottle o' milk, 
 Eeny, weeny, fine as silk ! 
 Her hannies are tiny, 
 Her footies are wee, 
 But her EYES are big as big can be!" 
 
 3 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 When the tiny baby girl grew bigger she 
 had a big doll, and she liked to carry it 
 about and play it was a baby. So her father 
 taught her the odd little song, and the little 
 girl sang it to her baby doll. Here she is in 
 the picture, singing : — 
 
 "Eeny, weeny, bottle o' milk, 
 Eeny, weeny, fine as silk ! 
 Her hannies are tiny, 
 Her footies are wee, 
 But her EYES are big as big can be ! " 
 
The Dog and the Mlg Cab 
 
 Once there was a big gray mother cat 
 who had a little gray" kitten. And the 
 mother cat lay down on the sunny porch 
 and said, " Miaouw, come here ; miaouw, 
 come here ! " 
 
 And the little gray kitten cuddled up 
 close to her mother's warm, soft fur, and 
 said, " Pur-r-r, pur-r-r ! " 
 
 Just then along came the big black dog 
 from next door, and said, " Bow-wow ! 
 Bow-wow ! " And he frightened the two 
 kitty cats so that they ran as fast as they 
 could, away from there. 
 
 At last the mother cat found a cozy cor- 
 ner 'way out behind the barn, and she lay 
 down again, quite out of breath, and said, 
 
 5 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 11 Miaouw, come here ; miaouw, come 
 here ! " 
 
 So the little gray kitty cuddled down as 
 close as she could to her mother's soft 
 warm fur, and she said, " Pur-r-r, pur-r-r ! ' 
 
 But just as they had settled themselves 
 for a nice comfortable time, round the cor- 
 ner came the big black dog again, and said, 
 " Bow-wow ! Bow-wow ! " 
 
 Oh, how they jumped ! They ran, ran, 
 ran, as fast as they could, till they were 
 out of sight ; and they never stopped run- 
 ning till they found a place far down in the 
 orchard, under the old apple tree, where 
 they thought the big dog would n't find 
 them. 
 
 Then the mother cat lay down again 
 quite tired out, and said, " Miaouw, come 
 here ; miaouw, come here ! " 
 
 And the little gray kitty crept as close 
 as she possibly could, and cuddled wearily 
 against the mother cat's soft, warm fur, and 
 said, faintly, " Pur-r-r, pur-r-r!" 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 But no sooner were they settled than up 
 came that miserable black dog again, and 
 said, "Bow-wow! Bow- wow- wow!!" 
 
 And that mother cat just stood up, and 
 she arched her back, and she stiffened her 
 tail, and she made a terrible face to the 
 dog, and said, "S-s-s-s-s! ! " And what 
 do you think? The old black dog was so 
 frightened that he just put his tail between 
 his legs and slunk off, as fast as he could ! 
 Because he knew very well that the mother 
 cat would scratch his face when she looked 
 like that. 
 
 And then the mother cat lay down com- 
 fortably, and said, " Miaouw, come here; 
 miaou w, come here ! " 
 
 And the little gray kitty cuddled down 
 close and warm and happy in her soft, 
 warm coat, and said, "Pur-r-r! Pur-r-r!" 
 
fin Old Fiue-Finger Saying 
 
 fldajikd from the Swahian 
 
 Here 's a round silver dollar ! 
 
 We '11 go to the market, 
 
 And buy a fat sheep, 
 
 A pony to ride, 
 
 And a bossy to keep, 
 
 And a wee, wee, wee little piggy, beside ! 
 
 First draw an imaginary circle in the baby's 
 tiny open palm, then touch the five little fingers 
 in turn, beginning with the thumb, just as we do 
 in the familiar "This little pig went to market." 
 Quite little babies like this very much. 
 
 8 
 
 
THE GOOSEY GANDER 
 
 Elizabeth and James came to the 
 grown-up table on Christmas, and ate roast 
 goose. Between the courses, because it was 
 hard for such little people to wait quietly, 
 mother told them the story of the Goosey- 
 Gander Who Would n't Do as He was 
 Told. 
 
 Once there was a young Goosey-Gander 
 who thought himself very smart. He never 
 would stay in the yard where all the other 
 ducks and geese were, but went wandering 
 along the grass by the roadside, and even 
 in the road. The old geese said to him, 
 "You will get hurt if you go there " ; but 
 he only said, " Quack ! Quack ! I know 
 better." 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 And they said, " Look out for yourself 
 when you hear a big noise " ; but he only 
 said, "Quack! Quack! I can look out for 
 myself without your help." 
 
 So they stopped talking to him. 
 
 One day he was picking round in the 
 grass very close to the white road, when he 
 suddenly heard a loud " Honk! Honk!" 
 "Pooh," said the Goosey-Gander, "what 
 goose are you? I can make one as loud as 
 that. Honk! Honk!" 
 
 And he did n't get out of the way. 
 
 The next instant a glaring red automo- 
 bile came rushing along the white road, with 
 a "Honk! Honk!" as loud as thunder. It 
 passed the Goosey- Gander with a roar and 
 a rush, and such a swirl of wind and dust 
 came with it that it swept him up in the air 
 against the hedge. He was like to die with 
 fright ! He flew and scrambled and tumbled 
 over the hedge into the yard, screaming, 
 "Honk! Honk! Quack! Quack! Honk! 
 Honk!" 
 
 10 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 And do you know, he was so frightened 
 at automobiles after that, that the faintest 
 sound of a horn would set him running. 
 The other geese used to tease him by 
 coming up close behind him, and saying, 
 "Honk! Honk! " Every time they did it 
 the little Goosey-Gander would fly straight 
 up in the air, with a fuss and a flurry, 
 and he would say, "Quack! Quack! Oh! 
 Honk!" 
 
 And he never played in the road after 
 that. 
 
An old Rve-firgerSaying 
 
 The big pig said, " I want some corn ! " 
 The next pig said, "Where are you going 
 to get it?" 
 
 The third pig said, " In Gran'pa's barn." 
 The fourth pig said, " Ah ! I '11 tell I " 
 And the last little pig said, "Wee, wee, 
 wee, wee! You can't get over the barn- 
 door sill ! " 
 
 Touch the little fingers in turn, beginning 
 with the thumb, as in "This little pig went to 
 market." 
 
 12 
 
The little Bull Calf 
 
 Once upon a time there was a Little Bull 
 Calf. His mother was the Cow that Jumped 
 Over the Moon and his father was the Bull 
 in the China Shop — both quite famous 
 persons. 
 
 The Little Bull Calf had inherited the 
 characteristics of both parents. That means, 
 
 13 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 he was a little like his mother and a little 
 like his father. And that means, he liked 
 to jump high and run fast; and he never 
 would look where he was going! 
 
 Such a lot of trouble he got into on that 
 account! Every one was always telling him, 
 " Look where you 're going " ; but he usually 
 did not look until he had gone; by that time 
 it was too late. 
 
 One day he ran and jumped into the 
 garden and spoiled the early lettuce. The 
 Farmer was so angry that he nearly sold 
 the Little Bull Calf to the Butcher. The 
 Little Bull Calf was dreadfully sorry, for 
 he did n't at all mean to spoil the garden. 
 His mother said, "Why didn't you look 
 where you were going?" But he could n't 
 remember. 
 
 And one day he ran and jumped into the 
 wire fence and hurt himself badly. His 
 father scolded him and said he hoped 
 the bump would teach him to look where 
 he was going. But he could n't remember. 
 
 14 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 And finally this is what happened to 
 him. 
 
 • Early in the shiny morning he was stand- 
 ing in the pasture, and his mother was far 
 at the other end, watching the house, which 
 she could clearly see. The sweet fresh air 
 made the little Bull Calf feel so good that he 
 began to run and jump. 
 
 Of course he did n't look where he was 
 going, and presently he jumped right into 
 the fence, as he had done once before. But 
 this time he struck a spot where the fence 
 was weak, and it gave way, and let him 
 through into the big field of the world. 
 
 The Little Bull Calf ran and jumped, and 
 ran and jumped, until he was far, far away, 
 in a place he had never seen before. By and 
 by he came to the top of a hill. Now at the 
 foot of that hill was a Quaky Bog. A Quaky 
 Bog is a place all water and mud — deep, 
 soft mud that won't hold anything up, but 
 lets it sink and sink till it 's out of sight. A 
 bad place, indeed. 
 
 15 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 The Little Bull Calf was so full of fun 
 that he began to jump and run downhill, 
 and he never looked where he was going, so 
 he did n't see the Quaky Bog lying there. 
 
 Faster and faster he ran, — down, down, 
 down, — till suddenly, plump! — splash ! — ■ 
 he landed on all four feet in the horrid 
 mud. 
 
 Splish, splash, came the dirty water over 
 his pretty coat, and, kerchunck, went his 
 hoofs into the soft mud. 
 
 Then the Little Bull Calf did look where 
 he had gone, and saw what a Quaky Bog 
 he was in, and he tried to get out of it that 
 very minute. But, oh, dear, he couldn't! 
 As fast as he tried to draw up one foot, the 
 others sank deeper. The harder he strug- 
 gled, the more the hateful mud oozed all 
 round his body. At last'he had sunk so far 
 that he cou\d no longer bend his knees, and 
 at that the poor Little Bull Calf saw that 
 the Quaky Bog would swallow him up, all 
 of him, if some one did n't help him quickly. 
 
 16 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 He was terribly frightened. But he was 
 a brave little calf, and he knew his mother 
 would never let that Quaky Bog swallow 
 him if she knew where he was. So he began 
 to call to her, just as loud and long as he 
 could: "Ma — ma — ma!" 
 
 It was a long, long way from the Quaky 
 Bog to the Home Pasture, for the little calf 
 had run very fast while he was n't looking; 
 and his voice was not very strong because 
 he was not very big, himself. But Mother 
 Cow's ears were very sharp, and presently 
 she heard a faint sound; "Ma — ma," it 
 said. 
 
 Mother Cow lifted her head and stopped 
 chewing her cud. "What is that?" she 
 thought; " it sounds like my little calf." She 
 looked all round, but the little calf was no- 
 where in sight. She ran into the pasture 
 where he had been, but he was not there. 
 And still came the sounds, "Ma — Ma." 
 
 Then the Mother Cow saw the broken 
 fence and she knew instantly that the Little 
 
 17 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Bull Calf was in trouble. And loud as she 
 could she began to call for help. "Moo — 
 moo — where — where ! " 
 
 Father Bull, over in his own yard, heard 
 her and knew something was wrong. And 
 he lifted up his great head, and roared with 
 his mighty voice, "Come! c-o-m-el" 
 
 The Farmer heard them both and came 
 to see what was the matter. No Little Bull 
 Calf in the pasture; a broken fence; little 
 hoof-marks across the field, — the Farmer 
 saw at once what had happened. And when 
 he heard that faint, frightened "Ma — ma 
 — ma," he turned to his man and said, "I 
 believe the little rascal is in the Quaky Bog. 
 Bring ropes and a plank." And he jumped 
 on Bessy, his horse, and rode fast to the hill 
 above the Quaky Bog. 
 
 My, but they were just in time! The 
 Little Bull Calf had sunk till his four legs 
 were out of sight, and his stiff little tail was 
 lying in the mud. 
 
 With planks they got to him, and with 
 
 18 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 ropes they found a way to lift him. And 
 with strong Bessy's help they pulled him 
 out at last and saved him from the dreadful 
 Quaky Bog. The Farmer's man cleaned off 
 his pretty coat, and on his little tottering 
 legs he went slowly back to his mother. 
 
 And his motherl licked him all over with 
 her kind, warm tongue, and cuddled him, 
 and talked to him till he stopped trembling. 
 Then she said, "I hope this will teach you 
 at last to look where you are going." 
 
 And it did. 
 
In Old Pattind Ha 
 
 T 
 
 ( Very freely adapted from the Swabiari) 
 
 Pat the dough for baking, 
 Cookies are a-making, 
 Cookies take good things a-plenty, 
 Five or ten or twelve or twenty. 
 
 One, two, three — 
 Guess how many I have now ? 
 (Child guesses) 
 
 No, I have more things than that, 
 Dough must have another pat ! 
 
 20 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 One, two, three — 
 Guess how many I have now ? 
 
 (Child guesses) 
 
 Oh, you 've guessed too many, so 
 Once again I pat my dough ! 
 
 One, two, three — 
 Guess how many I have now ? 
 (Child guesses) 
 
 Yes, you 've guessed the number right ! 
 No more pats for dough to-night. 
 
 In this game, hold the child in your arms or 
 across your knees, and pat or rub the little back 
 rhythmically. At the "one, two, three," touch 
 the shoulders with the finger. You may make 
 the child guess as often as you wish. 
 
The Velocipede that went by itself- 
 
 Once there was a Little Velocipede that 
 came to Jimmy Boy on Christmas. It was 
 shiny, and strong, and had rubber tires. 
 Jimmy Boy rode it all day long, round and 
 round the halls, in and out the living-room, 
 in and out the library, and back down the 
 hall again. 
 
 Jimmy Boy rode faster and faster, in and 
 out amongst the furniture, till mother said 
 it made her fairly dizzy, and all the time 
 ringing his little bell : Ding-dong, ting-a- 
 ling- ling / 
 
 At last mother said, "You have riddeu 
 that velocipede so much I should almost 
 think it could go by itself." 
 
 Jimmy Boy was standing by the Veloci- 
 
 22 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 pede with his foot ready to jump on. Sud- 
 denly the Little Velocipede started off by 
 itself! It rolled down the hall, gently at 
 first, then quickly and more quickly. 
 
 " Stop, stop," cried Jimmy, " I want to 
 
 get on ! " 
 
 But the Little Velocipede only rolled 
 faster, and turned the corner into the living- 
 room. Faster and ever faster it went, round 
 corners, through rooms, out of doors and 
 in at doors. And pretty soon its little bell 
 began to ring. 
 
 "Ding-dong! Come along I" it said. 
 " Ding-dong ! Come along ! " 
 
 Jimmy ran after it, and his mother ran 
 after Jimmy, and the maid ran after mother, 
 and all the while the Little Velocipede rolled 
 more swiftly and rang its bell harder. It 
 skimmed by the chairs, and whisked past 
 the tables, and as it went the bell said, — 
 
 n 
 
 Ting-a-ling-ling! Ring : a-ting-ting ! 
 
 Did n't touch a thing! Did n't touch a thing!" 
 
 23 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Just then some one opened the door, and 
 out raced the Little Velocipede, down the 
 stairs and down the steps and along the 
 walk. And out raced Jimmy and mother 
 and the maid after it. 
 
 But the Little Velocipede rolled faster 
 and faster, and its little bell said, — 
 
 1 ' He-he-he-he! He-he-he-he! 
 Can't catch me! Can't catch me! " 
 
 So they called the Postman to help. 
 
 But the Postman had a lame knee and 
 he could n't catch the Little Velocipede. It 
 fairly flew up the street, and as it went it 
 rang its little bell to say, — 
 
 "Ding-ding, letter ring! 
 Ding-dong, step along!" 
 
 So they called the Policeman to help. 
 
 But the Policeman was very fat and he 
 could n't catch the Little Velocipede. It 
 only shook its little handle bars and rang 
 its little bell to say, — 
 
 24 
 
IT ONLY SHOOK ITS LITTLE HANDLE BARS AND RANG ITS 
 
 LITTLE BELL 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 " Look at that! Far too fat! 
 You're too slow; I must go!" 
 
 So they called the Fire Engine to help. 
 And it came with a clamor and clang, and 
 a snap and a bang, down the street. But 
 the Little Velocipede only rolled more 
 swiftly and rang its little bell like mad. It 
 said, — 
 
 "Put on speed! Put on speed! 
 I'm the fast Velocipede!" 
 
 And when the Fire Engine did put on 
 speed, the Little Velocipede said, — 
 
 " Ding-a-ding-ding-ding! 
 Going to a fire, on a rubber tire, 
 Whiz and whirr and hum and purr t 
 Chug and choo! I J ll beat you! 
 Ding-a-ding-ding-ding-ding! ' ' 
 
 And the Fire Engine could n't catch the 
 Little Velocipede. 
 
 Then Jimmy Boy began to cry, " Oh, 
 please, Little Velocipede, don't leave me! 
 Please, dear Little Velocipede, come back." 
 
 25 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 At that the Little Velocipede stopped 
 short on the corner, whirled round on its 
 hind wheels, and rolled home again ! 
 
 And the Fire Engine and the Policeman 
 and the Postman and the maid and mother 
 and Jimmy Boy ran home after it. 
 
 When the Little Velocipede got to the 
 front steps, it lifted its little front wheel and 
 flew right up them, still ringing its little bell 
 and saying, — » 
 
 V Could n't catch me, could n't match me, 
 Raced 'em all and beat 'em to it, 
 Everybody saw me do it! 
 Now I'm coming home to stay, ) 
 Never going to run away 
 Any more, any day." 
 
 Jimmy Boy and mother and the maid 
 ran up the steps after it and shut the door, 
 but the Fire Engine and the Postman and 
 the Policeman went home. » 
 
 When Jimmy Boy got to the top of the 
 stairs, the Little Velocipede was standing 
 quietly in the hall. Its little bell was tink- 
 
 26 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 ling very faintly, and Jimmy thought it 
 said, — 
 
 " No, indeed, no — more — speed. 
 I'm — the — good — Velocipede." 
 
 But Jimmy never was sure, and I don't 
 know, because that was the last time the 
 little bell ever spoke, and never again did 
 the Velocipede go by itself. 
 
Three Jingles 
 
 About the Rain 
 
 When the rain beats 
 
 against the windows, 
 
 and the water runs down 
 
 in long streaks on the 
 
 glass, the little boy and 
 
 girl tease Nursie to take 
 
 a walk with them. Then Father says the 
 
 rain is talking to them. "Listen, the rain 
 
 says, — 
 
 . ' If you come out, I will wet you ; 
 If you stay in, I can't get you ! ' " 
 
 Out the Window 
 On the great white 
 
 snow 
 The sun shines so, 
 And the smoke does 
 
 blow, blow, blow! 
 
 28 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 In the Barnyard 
 
 Chickabiddy, Henpenny, Rooster, too. 
 Chickabiddy runs when I say, "Shoo!" 
 Henpenny flies when I say, "Boo!" 
 Big brown rooster says, "Kikikeriku! 
 Not afraid of you ! Not afraid of you ! " 
 
WHO DISCOVERED THE 
 MAPLE SUGAR 
 
 ui. iwiiu. ttagg Bs; 
 
 A long, long time ago, when there was 
 no one in the great forests but the Indians 
 and the Animals, the Little Field Mouse 
 lived in an open glade in the North Coun- 
 try. His name was Momee, and he was 
 very happy. Food was plenty, water was 
 near, and life was full of cozy things. 
 
 But one winter the snow fell frightfully 
 deep, covering every possible thing to eat, 
 and the cold lasted so long that the snow 
 did n't melt till very late. It was the longest 
 and hardest winter the Animals had ever 
 known. Long before the snow melted, Mo- 
 mee was hungry. He had used all his win- 
 
 30 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 ter store of nuts and seeds, and there were 
 no juicy roots and young shoots of green 
 to be had. 
 
 In all the world around him, nothing 
 showed above the deep snow but just the 
 trees. And Momee could n't eat them. 
 
 But at last came a day when he was so 
 hungry that he felt as if he could even eat a 
 tree ! He ran along over the hard icy crust 
 to the Fir Tree, standing so tall and dark, 
 its sighing branches far above his sight. 
 With his sharp little teeth, he nibbled a bit 
 of the bark. 
 
 Oh, it was puckery ! Puckery and pun- 
 gent and dreadful. The Little Field Mouse 
 had to rub his nose in the snow to take the 
 "feel " away. 
 
 He ran away over the icy crust till he 
 came to the Pine Tree, giant of the woods, 
 where there was always a little less snow 
 than anywhere else, because the Pine gave 
 out warmth from its body. He nibbled a 
 bit of its bark, close to the ground. 
 
 3i 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Oh, but it was sharp and shivery and 
 horrid ! It made his mouth burn and sting. 
 He had to rub his tongue in the snow to take 
 the taste away. 
 
 So he ran away over the icy crust till 
 he came to the Hemlock Tree, standing 
 with its brothers and shading all the deep 
 gorge with its great soft branches. He 
 nibbled a little of its bark, close to the 
 ground. 
 
 Oh, oh, dear ! It was so bitter and bad 
 that the Little Field Mouse spit it out, quick 
 as a wink, and took a whole mouthful of 
 snow to wash the taste out. Whee, but it 
 was bad ! 
 
 The Little Field Mouse was so discour- 
 aged that he ran away home and didn't 
 come back that day. 
 
 But the next day he was so hungry that 
 he had to try again. He felt as if he could 
 eat anything ! So he ran along over the icy 
 crust till he came to the Beech Tree, stand- 
 ing so stately with its silver trunk, near the 
 
 32 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 Hemlock. And very carefully he nibbled 
 at it, close to the ground. 
 
 It was n't so very bad. It didn't hurt his 
 mouth, anyway, so he nibbled some more. 
 But the Beech Tree's bark was tough, and 
 had no taste in particular, and after a while 
 the Little Field Mouse decided it would n't 
 stop his hunger to nibble on that, — not if 
 he nibbled all night 
 
 So he ran away over the icy crust till he 
 came to the Maple Tree, with its cloudy 
 gray stem, and its pleasant look. He nib- 
 bled a little at its bark very carefully. 
 
 Mmmmm ! It was nice ! It had a faint, 
 sweet, fascinating flavor ! 
 
 The Little Field Mouse nibbled some 
 more, very eagerly, and some more. It was 
 truly good. It was a little sweet. He nib- 
 bled and nibbled, until he made a little hole 
 through the outer bark ; the sap came ooz- 
 ing out in a big drop. The Little Field 
 Mouse licked it up. Oh, my! Oh, my! It 
 was sweet, the sweetest thing that the 
 
 33 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Little Field Mouse had ever tasted. It was 
 delicious. 
 
 The Little Field Mouse nibbled and 
 licked, and the more he tasted the better he 
 liked it. The sap oozed out of the hole 
 he made, with that faint, delicious sweetness 
 about it, like nothing else in the whole for- 
 est. And he ate till he was quite over being 
 hungry. 
 
 Every day he came back and sipped his 
 wonderful maple sap, and in a short time, 
 long before the ground was bare enough 
 to furnish other food, he began to grow fat 
 and sleek. 
 
 One morning as he was running along 
 very early, he met Eagle Feather full in the 
 path. Eagle Feather was ten years old, and 
 son of the Chief Hunter of his tribe. He was 
 a nice boy, brave, and sharp-eyed, and 
 kind. 
 
 "Hi, Little Brother," he said to Momee. 
 "How sleek you look, this hard winter! 
 Had you so great store of nuts laid by ? " 
 
 34 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 " No, Big Brother," said the Little Field 
 Mouse, " not nuts ; I am fat with the sap 
 of a tree." 
 
 "Tease me not!" said Eagle Feather 
 sharply. 
 
 " Nay, I do not tease," said the Little 
 Field Mouse very quickly. " See, I will 
 show you." 
 
 And he ran ahead of Eagle Feather to the 
 Maple Grove. "This I have nibbled," he 
 said. 
 
 Eagle Feather looked and saw marks of 
 nibbling on one tree and another. 
 
 "Is it good, Little Brother?" he asked. 
 
 "Most good," said Momee. "Taste! 
 There is enough sap in the forest for all." 
 
 Eagle Feather bent and looked where a 
 big drop of maple sap was shining on the 
 bark. He touched it with his finger and put 
 his finger in his mouth. Then he grunted, 
 a funny Indian grunt of surprise and pleas- 
 ure. "It is sweet ! " he said. 
 
 " Most sweet," said Momee. 
 
 35 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Eagle Feather made a hole in the bark, 
 with his sharp-edged horn knife, above the 
 nibbled place ; as the sap oozed, he held his 
 fingers to it, and tasted again. 
 
 " This thing is good drink," he said. 
 " Keep you to your trees, Little Brother, 
 and I will take those of the hillside ; I have 
 a thought." 
 
 So after the Little Field Mouse had run 
 away home, Eagle Feather went swiftly to 
 his father's lodge where his Granny lived 
 and took care of him, and of her he begged 
 one of the earthen water crocks. Then he 
 went back to the Maple Grove and drove a 
 pointed piece of wood into the bark of the 
 Maple Tree, to reach through to the sap, 
 and when he had a hole through, he shaped 
 a kind of trough of wood and drove one end 
 into the opening so that the sap would run 
 down it. And below, he set the earthen 
 water crock begged from Granny. Into this 
 the sap must run. 
 
 Next day as the brown-faced, sharp-eyed 
 
 36 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 Grandmother sat at her lodge door weaving 
 baskets, Eagle Feather came stepping cau- 
 tiously from the forest, bearing the great 
 earthen crock. Silently and mysteriously he 
 set it down before Grandmother, and told 
 her to taste it. 
 
 Granny tasted and found the sweet, faint, 
 fascinating flavor delightful. 
 
 " What is it, and where from ? " she said. 
 
 " Sap of the Maple ; 't is a secret ! " said 
 Eagle Feather, his black eyes shining. 
 
 " Not harmful, then," said the Grand- 
 mother, and tasted again. " Ugh ! 't is good 
 drink," she said then. 
 
 Eagle Feather was delighted. He felt 
 very proud of himself, and very pleased to 
 think there was so handy a supply of sweets 
 for him. 
 
 Pretty soon, Grandmother looked up 
 from her thoughts. "I believe this sap 
 would be the sweeter for boiling," she said. 
 "I will try." 
 
 That night was a wonderful meal for 
 
 37 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Eagle Feather and for his father, the might}! 
 Hunter. On cakes, baked on hot stones, 
 they ate the maple sap boiled down to a 
 thick syrup. And it was good — ah, how 
 good it was ! Nothing like it had ever gone 
 into little Eagle Feather's mouth before. He 
 ate and ate, till every bit was gone, and after 
 the supper, though the moon was bright 
 in the forest, and little Indians belonged 
 under the furs, he stole forth with his 
 crock and set it under the Maple Tree 
 again. 
 
 Every day Granny boiled sap and every 
 day they feasted, till the Little Field Mouse 
 was no fatter or sleeker than they. 
 
 Then, one day, Granny forgot to take the 
 sap from the fire, because there was great 
 excitement in the lodges ; Great Bear had 
 killed much moose at the hunt, and the vil- 
 lage was full of talk. When she remembered 
 her cooking and ran to the fire, the sap had 
 all boiled away to sugar ! Granny looked at 
 it in surprise, then she stirred some of it 
 
 38 
 
SILENTLY AND MYSTERIOUSLY HE SET IT DOWN BEFORE 
 
 GRANDMOTHER 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 with a stick and tasted it. Then she called 
 Eagle Feather. 
 
 11 Taste ! " she said, and little Eagle 
 Feather tasted. 
 
 11 Oh, Granny I " he said, " oh, Granny ! " 
 And his eyes shone like stars. " It is the 
 best thing I have ever tasted. How made 
 you that ? " 
 
 "'Tis the Maple sap, cooked away," 
 said Granny. " Never have I eaten such 
 sweetness." 
 
 So from that day, all the spring, in the 
 lodge of Eagle Feather's father there was 
 both syrup and sugar of Maple sap, and 
 Eagle Feather ate to his heart's content. 
 
 And that is the way we came to have 
 Maple Sugar. But the Little Field Mouse 
 discovered it first 
 
Two Little Kitt 
 
 ens 
 
 From Mother Goose 
 Two little kittens, one stormy night, 
 Began to quarrel and then to fight ; 
 One had a mouse, and the other had none, 
 And that 's the way the quarrel begun. 
 
 " I '11 have that mouse," said the bigger cat. 
 " You '11 have that mouse? We '11 see 
 
 about that!" 
 " I will have that mouse," said the older 
 
 son. 
 "You shan't have the mouse," said the 
 
 little one. 
 
 40 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 I told you before 'twas a stormy night 
 When these two little kittens began to 
 
 fight ; 
 The old woman seized her sweeping broom, 
 And swept the two kittens right out of the 
 
 room. 
 
 The ground was covered with frost and 
 
 snow, 
 And the two little kittens had nowhere to 
 
 go; 
 
 So they laid them down on the mat at the 
 
 door, 
 While the old woman finished sweeping 
 
 the floor. 
 
 Then they crept in, as quiet as mice, 
 
 All wet with the snow, and as cold as ice, 
 
 For they found it was better that stormy 
 
 night, 
 To lie down and sleep than to quarrel and 
 
 fight. 
 
When Peter Rabbit had 
 the Earache 
 
 Once Peter Rabbit had the earache. He 
 kept his hand over his ear, and cried. 
 
 So Mother Rabbit started out with her 
 shawl and basket, to go to the little flannel 
 bush in the hollow, and get some leaves 
 for a poultice. She thought she would go 
 by the short cut, across the brook by the 
 old pear tree. 
 
 But when she got into the path, it was 
 all muddy, and full of little puddles of 
 
 42 
 
SHE KNOCKED AT THE DOOR 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 brother and sister Woodchuck, with their 
 hands over their ears, crying. 
 
 Mother Rabbit found the fire all fixed, and 
 she made two warm, warm poultices, and 
 put them in warm, warm cloths, and tied 
 them on the little Woodchucks' ears, and 
 then she put them in their warm, warm bed- 
 dies, and they fell fast asleep. 
 
 As soon as they were fast asleep, Mother 
 Rabbit took up her basket and shawl and 
 hurried home. And she opened the door 
 and went in. And there was her darling 
 little Peter, fast asleep. 
 
 So Mother Rabbit, who was very tired 
 from hurrying, went to bed, too, and she 
 fell fast asleep. 
 
 And the next morning, darling little Peter 
 was all well of his earache, and the four 
 little Foxes were all well of their earaches, 
 and the little brother and sister Woodchuck 
 were all well of their earaches. 
 
 And that 's the end of the story. 
 
Mi 
 
 Soj 
 
 eas unrig ^ong 
 
 A calisthenics game to be played by one or more 
 
 children 
 
 Measure the wool, 
 
 And measure the yarn, 
 
 And count the sheep in your father's barn. 
 
 Measure the thread, 
 
 And measure the silk, 
 
 And count the buckets of creamy milk. 
 
 Measure the barley, 
 
 And measure the grain, 
 
 And put your right foot out in the rain. 
 
 Measure the oats, 
 And measure the rye, 
 And put your left foot out to dry. 
 
 48 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 Measure the hummock, 
 
 And measure the hill, 
 
 And reach for the mountain higher still. 
 
 Measure the clouds, 
 
 And measure the sky, 
 
 And stretch your hands to the birds that fly. 
 
 Measure the windmill, 
 
 To and fro, 
 
 And round and round at last you go ! 
 
 In playing this game the children do the fol- 
 lowing exercises : — 
 
 First verse. Stretch the arms out sidewise from 
 the chest; hands are stretched at "wool" and 
 "yarn"; they meet on the chest at "measure" 
 and "measure." At "sheep" both hands are 
 stretched forward with fingers widespread. 
 
 Second verse. Repeat the motions, in the same 
 rhythm. 
 
 Third verse. Bend forward, stretching the 
 hands down toward the floor, reaching the lowest 
 point at "barley" and "grain," and straighten- 
 ing to an erect position at " measure " and "meas- 
 ure," with hands meeting on chest. 
 
 49 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Fourth verse. Repeat the motions in same 
 rhythm. 
 
 Fifth verse. Stretch the hands upward, reach- 
 ing the highest point on ' ' hummock ' ' and ' ' hill ' ' ; 
 and for the last line hold the hands upward, with 
 head tipped backward. 
 
 Sixth verse. Repeat the motions in rhythm. 
 
 Seventh verse. Swing the arms full length 
 twice from right to left, and on the last line twirl 
 round on the toes. 
 
The Ambiiious Apple 
 
 Once a little apple hung on a tree, on a 
 hill. It tried as hard as it could to grow 
 
 5i 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 big and round and juicy, and to let the sun 
 make it rosy, because it was an ambitious 
 apple. And this was its ambition : to grow 
 so big and juicy and rosy that it would be 
 taken to the great white house at the foot 
 of the hill, and be put on the breakfast table 
 in the dining room, and be eaten by the 
 lovely lady and the two dear little children 
 who lived there. It thought to itself: "I shall 
 appear on the table and I shall give joy, 
 and I shall have joy." 
 
 When the wind blew, the little apple 
 swung gently to and fro, and grew. When 
 the rain fell, the little apple drank it all in, 
 and grew. When the sun was bright, the 
 little apple held its cheek happily to the 
 warmth and turned rosier. Because it was 
 an ambitious apple. 
 
 But one day, before the little apple had 
 had nearly enough time to grow juicy and 
 big, a Boy came along over the hill, and 
 saw it hanging there. " My, what a nice red 
 apple ! " he said. And he took up a stick and 
 
 52 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 threw it, and knocked the ambitious apple 
 right off the tree ! 
 
 But, oh, dear, when the boy took a bite 
 of the little apple, he did n't like it a bit ! 
 It was hard, and it was sour. You know 
 it had n't had time to get ripe. So the boy 
 just threw it away. 
 
 Far away over the top of the hill, rolled 
 the poor little apple, and stopped at last in 
 the grass beside a tiny footpath. Far, far 
 from the white house it lay, with its ambi- 
 tion all spoiled, and its cheek bitten into. 
 
 By and by a man came walking over 
 the hill, by the tiny footpath. He saw the 
 red cheek of the little apple, half hidden in 
 the grass, and picked it up. Then he saw 
 that it had been bitten into. " Now I know 
 what I '11 do with you," he said, and he 
 walked across the field to the pasture where 
 a gentle Gummy Cow was standing, chew- 
 ing her cud. He put the little apple under 
 Gummy Cow's nose, and she munched it up 
 in no time; it was n't too sour for her. 
 
 53 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 The little red apple went right down into 
 Gummy Cow's milk factory, and got made 
 into the most delicious milk. And that eve- 
 ning the farm man came and milked 
 Gummy, and filled a pail with the milk, and 
 the little red apple was a part of it ! 
 
 Then the man carried the milk down the 
 hill, to the big white house, and the cook 
 put it in a cool room for the night. 
 
 And next morning, the little red apple, 
 all turned into creamy milk, was put in a 
 blue pitcher, and brought into the dining 
 room. And the lovely lady and the two 
 beautiful children drank it all up ! And as 
 they drank, they said, " Oh, how good the 
 milk is ! It never was better! " 
 
 And the ambitious little apple was con- 
 tent, for its ambition was fulfilled. 
 
Rosey Posey 
 
 Rosey Posey gets up at eight, 
 Goes to school and never is late ; 
 
 Rosey Posey dines at one, — 
 
 When her lessons and sums are done. 
 
 Rosey Posey at five has her tea, 
 Dolls and kittens invited free, 
 
 55 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Rosey Posey plays at six, — 
 Builds a beautiful house of bricks, 
 
 Rosey Posey at seven o'clock 
 Takes off pinafore, shoe and sock ; 
 
 Eight by the clock she 's tuck'd up cozy, — 
 End of the day for Rosey Posey I 1 
 
 Children like this, with music, to use for a pan- 
 tomime game. They act it out as the mother or 
 teacher sings the verse. 
 
 1 From the collection of children's songs, Pillow-Land, by 
 Clifton Bingham, published by the Boston Music Company, Bos- 
 ton, Massachusetts, and used by permission. 
 
The old Upple Tree 
 
 There was once an apple orchard on an 
 old farm. For many years the soil was 
 not plowed, and the trees were not cared 
 for. The orchard grew older and poorer, 
 till at last it was all worthless sprouts, 
 broken trunks and worm-eaten foliage. The 
 few apples were hard and sour. 
 
 But there was one of the trees that never 
 stopped trying. It stood close by the old 
 gate, and its good branches hung over 
 the tumble-down wall. There were not 
 many of these good branches ; half the 
 trunk was split off by lightning, and the 
 whole top of the other side was dead of 
 drought. But towards the bottom there were 
 
 57 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 still two or three limbs with a little life in 
 them, and they tried, year after year, to put 
 forth apples as they had done in happier 
 times. 
 
 The Tree could not be content to be use- 
 less. It remembered the time when its juicy, 
 glowing fruit was the finest on the farm. 
 Before the gathering time, the little children 
 used to sit in its shade and eat the wind- 
 falls, and always the Tree heard them say, 
 11 Oh, what a good apple ! These are the 
 best of all ! " 
 
 It dreamed of this through all the 
 neglected years, and every summer it tried 
 with its failing strength to put out the same 
 fruit, so that men might eat and praise it. 
 But no one came that way any more, — 
 only once in a while a few boys, playing 
 hare and hounds, or a berry-picker with her 
 pail. And these seldom tried a bite from 
 the desolate looking orchard. If they did, 
 it was only to throw the apples away with 
 a twisted mouth for their sourness. 
 
 58 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 The old Tree was very sad. But it could 
 not stop trying ; it felt that it must try till 
 it died. Each year of hard, dry soil and 
 tearing storm took a little of its life away. 
 And finally a spring came that the Tree felt 
 must be its last. But with the feeling came 
 a new, stronger longing, once more to put 
 out good fruit, once more to feed some one, 
 and to be praised. 
 
 The Tree tried as never before ; it drew 
 up all the scanty moisture from the earth, 
 and turned eagerly to the warm sun. Its 
 whole heart burned with a desire to put 
 forth fruit, — good fruit. Little by little, 
 apples formed on the one best branch. Lit- 
 tle by little, they swelled and softened and 
 reddened. No other branch bore ; the 
 tree was almost dead. But when the crisp 
 autumn weather came, that one single 
 branch of ripe apples stood out like a 
 flag. 
 
 The old Tree was very tired. " I wish 
 I might know they are good," it thought. 
 
 59 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 " But it is something to have had them. I 
 have tried." 
 
 One glorious October day, a gentleman 
 came wandering through the fields of the 
 old farm, with his hunting dog. Presently he 
 turned aside into the old orchard. The dog 
 ran all about, sniffing and wagging his tail. 
 
 The gentleman took off his hat and 
 cooled his forehead in the wind. " A pretty 
 day, Snipe," he said to the dog. Snipe 
 pricked his ears for answer. " It is a pity 
 these trees have run out," the gentleman 
 said, "a good apple would taste just right 
 to me now." 
 
 At that moment he saw the gleam of red 
 from the old Tree. He pushed his way 
 through the tangle, till he came close to the 
 old gate, and saw the one branch, full of red 
 apples. " H'm," he said, " those really look 
 as if they might be eatable ; I wonder ? " 
 
 As he spoke, he picked one of the apples, 
 and bit into it, carefully, not wanting to 
 get a sour mouthful. 
 
 60 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 " Well, well! " he said, "it is really good ! " 
 and he began to eat it As he ate, he liked 
 it still better, and presently he called Snipe, 
 and found himself a comfortable seat on 
 the moss beneath the tree. Snipe stretched 
 himself by his master's side, his head close 
 to his knee. And the master ate his apple 
 slowly, contentedly, raising his kind face to 
 the soft sky, and letting a spicy wind play 
 over his head. 
 
 When the apple was gone, the gentleman 
 picked another, choosing this time with 
 great care. This, too, he ate, with much rel- 
 ish. " It is very good, Snipe," he said. " It's 
 a pity you don't care for fruit! " 
 
 By and by he finished the second apple, 
 and sitting there in the warm sunshine, 
 he began to think out loud. The old Tree 
 heard every word. He said: "Old Tree, 
 you have taught me a lesson. You have 
 taught me that no one is so poor or old or 
 unfortunate but that he may bear good 
 fruit. Everything in the world may give its 
 
 61 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 share of service and usefulness. I thank 
 you ! " 
 
 The old Tree trembled with joy through all 
 its drying leaves. A great stillness came into 
 its heart ; a great peace. It had given good 
 fruit to be eaten ; it had been appreciated, it 
 had taught a wise man more wisdom. What 
 more could life give ? Whether it should see 
 another spring or not no longer mattered. 
 The Tree was content. 
 
Wha lairn't you to Dance 
 
 Wha lairn't you to dance, 
 You to dance, you to dance, 
 
 Wha lairn't you to dance ? 
 Bobbety Bruce de Brawley ! 
 
 Mither lairn't me to dance, 
 Me to dance, me to dance, 
 
 Mither lairn't me to dance, 
 Bobbety Bruce de Brawley ! 
 
 Wha lairn't you to bow, 
 You to bow, you to bow, 
 
 63 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Wha lairn't you to bow? 
 Bobbety Bruce de Brawley ! 
 
 Mither lairn't me to bow, 
 Me to bow, me to bow, 
 
 Mither lairn't me to bow, 
 Bobbety Bruce de Brawley ! 
 
 Wha lairn't you to rin, 
 
 You to rin, you to rin, 
 Wha lairn't you to rin? 
 
 Bobbety Bruce de Brawley I 
 
 Mither lairn't me to rin, 
 
 Me to rin, me to rin, 
 Mither lairn't me to rin, 
 
 Bobbety Bruce de Brawley! 
 
 The children, singly or in a circle, move for- 
 ward with rhythmic steps and gestures for three 
 lines of each verse. On the fourth line they make 
 a deep curtsy. 
 
 The first two verses are the original fragment. 
 I have added the others, to fill out the game ac- 
 cording to what seems the early intention. 
 
The Foolish Chauffeur 
 
 One day the new chauffeur took the car 
 out of the garage and drove it to the lady's 
 door, and the lady and her children got in. 
 The chauffeur said, — 
 
 " The car is in very bad shape, Madam." 
 
 11 Oh," said the lady, " I am very sorry 
 to hear that ! It seemed all right when Mr. 
 Brown drove it last week. What is the 
 matter, Hutchins?" 
 
 " The hengine 's in very bad shape. It 
 will need a complete hover'aulin'," said the 
 chauffeur. 
 
 The lady was distressed to hear that any- 
 thing was wrong with the engine, for she 
 did not want anything to happen to their 
 
 65 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 beautiful car, which they enjoyed so much, 
 but she closed the door and said, — 
 " We will go to the farm, please." 
 The chauffeur started the engine, and it 
 said, — 
 
 "Spit, bang, pouf!" 
 Then it said, short and puffily, — 
 
 " I'll do my best, — I '11 do my best" 
 
 As they got out on the smooth road, the 
 engine said, — 
 
 " Clankety, clankety, clankety, clankety, 
 
 "Why, Hutchins, how bad it sounds," 
 said the lady. " It sounds almost as if the 
 engine were dry. Did you put in plenty of 
 oil?" 
 
 "Yes, Madam," said the chauffeur, "I 
 filled it hup just before starting." 
 
 The lady felt sad to hear the engine go 
 " Clankety, clankety, clankety," and the 
 children felt sad too. They were very fond 
 
 66 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 of the car, which gave them such good times, 
 and they knew father had paid a great deal 
 of money for it. 
 
 Pretty soon they came to a slight hill on 
 the road to the farm, fifteen miles away. It 
 was not the worst hill on the way, and usu- 
 ally the car hummed and skimmed up it, like 
 a big bird. But this time the engine began 
 to puff like a fat old man, before they were 
 half way up. The children thought it 
 said, — 
 
 "Afraid-I-can't, Afraid-I-can't, Afraid-I-can't," 
 
 and then it almost stopped, and it gasped 
 out, — 
 
 11 Can't-do-it, QaxCt-do-itr 
 
 The chauffeur jammed the shift into low 
 speed, with a very cross look, and the en- 
 gine caught its breath, and said, — 
 
 "Hard going, hard going! 
 That-is-better. That-is-better. 
 
 »> 
 
 67 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 At last they managed to creep over the 
 top of the hill, and the poor engine began 
 to grind out again, — 
 
 "Clankety, clankety, clankety." 
 
 "This car never made trouble on a hill 
 before," said the lady. " Hutchins, are 
 you sure you filled the oil tank?" 
 
 " Certainly, Madam," said the chauffeur. 
 
 " Are the grease cups full ? " said the 
 lady. 
 
 " Certainly, Madam," said the chauffeur, 
 and he seemed so much annoyed that the 
 lady did not like to say any more. 
 
 Such a time as they had going to the 
 farm ! On every hill the engine coughed 
 and sputtered and said, — 
 
 "'Fraid I can't, 'Fraid I can't," 
 
 and then it would almost stop and gasp 
 
 out, — 
 
 "I can't do it." 
 
 The chauffeur grew crosser and crosser ; 
 he jammed the shift into low speed, and he 
 
 68 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 looked as if he would like to break it, and 
 then he said, — " The 'ole car needs hover- 
 'aulin', Madam." 
 
 (The lady thought he said " old " car, but 
 it was just his way of saying " whole.") 
 
 Then they would crawl, and jolt, and jerk 
 over the top of the hill, and the engine 
 would grumble and complain all along the 
 smooth road, — 
 
 "Clankety, clankety, clankety." 
 
 It grew worse on every hill all along the 
 way, until at last it seemed as if they 
 could not even crawl up the little incline of 
 the farm driveway. The engine choked, and 
 sputtered, and gasped, and finally stopped 
 dead just at the barn door. 
 
 " Shall I take the car to the garage in the 
 village, Madam, and 'ave the hengine taken 
 down ? " said the chauffeur. " You '11 not be 
 able to get 'ome in 'er." 
 
 The lady thought a moment, and then 
 she said, — 
 
 69 
 
 J 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 " No, Hutchins, you need not take the 
 car just now. I want to think it over a little. 
 I am going to let you go back to the city by 
 train. Leave the car here, and if I need you, 
 I will telephone for you." 
 
 11 Very well, Madam," said the chauffeur, 
 and he went off to the train. 
 
 Then the lady called John, the man about 
 the farm, and she said, "John, I would like 
 to look at that oil tank ; the engine sounds 
 dry to me." 
 
 " Yes'm," said John, and he opened the 
 hood, and unscrewed the cap, and peered in. 
 " I cannot see very well," he said ; "it does 
 not seem to be very high." 
 
 "Take the gallon can of Mobiloil and 
 put some in, please," said Mrs. Brown; so 
 John got the gallon can and poured oil into 
 the oil tank. He poured, and he poured, and 
 he poured every drop of that gallon into the 
 tank! 
 
 "Why, John," said the lady, "a galloi. 
 is all it holds when it is perfectly empty 
 
 70 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 It must have been absolutely dry ! No 
 wonder the poor engine said 'Clankety, 
 clankety.' Maybe there is not so very much 
 the matter with the engine after all. Sup- 
 pose you take your oiler and oil all the 
 places that might need it." 
 
 So John took his oiler and oiled every 
 single place that had a place for oil. 
 
 " Now fill the radiator, please, for it has 
 been smoking all the way." 
 
 So John put fresh water in the radia- 
 tor. 
 
 11 Now, John," said the lady, " you start 
 her, and I will take the wheel. We will 
 drive very gently out of the yard and along 
 the road. I want to see for myself what is 
 really the matter." 
 
 So John started the engine. It did not 
 say,— 
 
 "Spit, bang, pouf" 
 
 this time. It just said, rather hoarsely, — 
 
 "Now!" 
 7i 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 And as the lady drove very gently down 
 the driveway, it began to grumble, — 
 
 "I was so dry, I was so dry!" 
 
 Then, as they came to the smooth ground, 
 it said, — 
 
 "Feeling better, feeling better, 
 better — better — better — better — 
 better — better — better — better — 
 better." 
 
 Pretty soon they came to a little hill. The 
 children listened anxiously to hear, "'Fraid 
 I can't," but instead it said, — 
 
 "Let me get her, let me get her, 
 let me get her, lemme getter, 
 lemme getter, lemme getter," 
 
 and as they went over the top of the hill, it 
 said, — 
 
 " I got it, I got it, 
 I got it, I got it." 
 
 Down the hill they went, and when they 
 reached the level road, the car began to sing; 
 it sang the pretty song it always sang when 
 
 72 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 father drove, — the song of the Contented 
 Automobile. It sang : — 
 
 1 ' Hum-hum-m-m-m-m ! ' ' 
 
 The lady smiled happily and the children 
 laughed for joy. Their beautiful car was not 
 in "bad shape," and father would not have 
 to be disappointed when he came home. 
 
 And what do you think they did to the 
 foolish chauffeur who drove a car fifteen 
 miles without any lubricating oil in its tank ? 
 The lady said she thought a chauffeur fool- 
 ish enough to do that was too foolish to 
 have a car to drive, so she wrote Hutchins 
 a letter and told him he could not be their 
 chauffeur any more, and that she would 
 drive the car home herself. 
 
 I think the Automobile was glad. 
 
Was ye at the fair 
 
 Was ye at the fair ? 
 Saw ye mony people? 
 Saw ye oor guid man, 
 Ridin' on the beetle ? 1 
 Wasna he a fule, 
 Didna he buy a saiddle? 
 Wearin' a' his old breeks, 
 Ridin' on a beetle ! 
 
 In singing or saying this rhyme, the hands are 
 kept on the hips, and all motion is with the feet. 
 
 1 A " beetle " is a rolling-pin. 
 74 
 
LITTLE BETTY BAKER 
 
 A NONSENSE STORY 
 
 There was once a little girl named Betty 
 Baker. She was very fond of baking things, 
 and when her mother went to work, she 
 always tried to surprise her with something 
 nice for supper. One day in every week 
 her mother left her to get the supper. When 
 she went out in the morning she used to 
 say to Betty, — 
 
 " Now, Betty Baker, there 's cold meat 
 and sauce in the pantry ; set the table and 
 have the kettle boiling for my tea when I 
 
 75 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 come home. You won't have to cook any- 
 thing." 
 
 But Betty Baker always cooked some- 
 thing. 
 
 One day when her mother went away 
 in the morning, she said, "I 've mixed the 
 bread dough ready to rise. Keep a little 
 fire, and set the dough on the back of the 
 stove to rise." 
 
 "Yes, Mother," said Betty. 
 
 As soon as her mother had gone, Betty 
 Baker put on coal and opened all the drafts, 
 and made a hot, hot fire, and put the dough 
 on the front of the stove, to rise. 
 
 It rose, and it rose, and it rose, and it 
 bubbled, and it ran over, all down the 
 sides of the bowl, all over the top of the 
 hot stove, and then it began to burn ! Af- 
 ter a while the bowl broke, and all the 
 dough ran over the stove, and burned to a 
 crisp. 
 
 When Betty Baker's mother came into 
 the house, she began to sniff. " My patience, 
 
 76 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 Betty Baker," she said, "What have you 
 got on the stove?"* 
 
 " I 'm raising the bread, Mother," said 
 Betty Baker." 
 
 " You are raising a smell ! " said Mother 
 Baker, and when she saw the dough on the 
 top of the stove, she said, " Dear, dear, 
 Betty, that 's no way to raise bread ! You 
 have to raise bread cool and slow. Do you 
 hear me*? — cool and slow! " 
 
 "Yes, Mother, said Betty Baker. 
 
 Next week when Mother Baker went to 
 work, she said, " Now, Betty, I have mixed 
 dough, and it 's risen most enough to bake ; 
 when I come home I '11 bake it." 
 
 As soon as she had gone, little Betty 
 Baker said to herself, " I '11 bake the bread." 
 So she put the dough in the pan, and put 
 the pan in the oven, and shut down all the 
 drafts, and opened the oven door a little way, 
 to make the fire cool and slow. She baked 
 it cool and slow, and she baked it cool and 
 slow, all day long. 
 
 77 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 When her mother came home, Betty took 
 Jie bread out of the pan and put it on the 
 table. Her mother looked at it, and then she 
 poked it with a fork, and she said, " What 
 in all the world is this, Betty?" 
 
 " A loaf of bread, Mother," said Betty. 
 
 1 ' A loaf of bread ? ' ' said her mother. "It's 
 just nothing but dough, Betty Baker, and 
 soured dough, too ! Don't you know that 
 is n't the way to bake bread ? Bread has to be 
 brown and crusty ; you hear me, Betty ? — 
 brown and crusty!" 
 
 "Yes, Mother," said Betty. 
 
 Next week when her mother went out, 
 Betty Baker thought she would make a cus- 
 tard to surprise her. So she beat the eggs 
 and the milk and sugar, and put the mixture 
 in little custard cups, and set them in the 
 oven to bake. And she made a nice fire, 
 and every once in a while she looked at the 
 custards to see if they were brown and 
 crusty. They got brown pretty quick, but 
 they did not seem to get very crusty. So 
 
 78 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 she baked them, and she baked them, and 
 she baked them. And by and by Mother 
 Baker came home. 
 
 Betty Baker took the custards out of the 
 oven and put them on the table. [They 
 were just little brown lumps in the bottom 
 of the cups. Mother Baker smelled of them, 
 and she felt them with a spoon, and then 
 she said, "Will you please tell me, Betty 
 Baker, what it is you have made this 
 time?" 
 
 " Custards, Mother," said Betty Baker. 
 
 :< Custards ! " said her mother, " Do you 
 call that custard ? That is n't custard ; that 
 is just a mess ! Custard should be soft and 
 yellow, and shake when you move it ! " 
 
 "Oh," said Betty Baker. 
 
 Next week when the mother went to 
 work, Betty Baker looked in the cook-book, 
 and decided she would make Boston Fa- 
 vorite Cake, to surprise her mother. So she 
 mixed the flour and the sugar and the eggs 
 and the milk, and put it in a pan and set it in 
 
 79 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 the oven. It was nice and soft and yellow, 
 and she moved it very often to be sure it 
 shook. And she kept the door open so it 
 should n't get brown. 
 
 When her mother came home, Betty put 
 the Boston Favorite Cake on the table. 
 Mother Baker looked at it, but she did not 
 poke it with a spoon ; she just said, " Is this 
 custard again, Betty?" 
 
 " No, Mother," said Betty Baker, " It' s 
 cake." 
 
 " Cake ! " said her mother. " My patience 
 to goodness, have n't you any judgment at 
 all, Betty? Don't you know that cake has to 
 be firm ? It has to be firm, but not too firm, 
 and soft, but not too soft. This is n't cake 
 at all ! " 
 
 " But how can I tell when it is firm but 
 not too firm, and soft but not too soft?" said 
 Betty. 
 
 "Try it with a straw," said Mother Baker. 
 " If it sticks to the straw, it isn't done; if 
 the straw comes out clean, it is done." 
 
 80 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 "Oh," said Betty. 
 
 Next week when her mother went to 
 work, Betty thought she would make mo- 
 lasses candy, to surprise her. So she put the 
 molasses and the butter and the sugar in a 
 pan, and put it on the stove to boil. And she 
 boiled it, and she boiled it, and she boiled it, 
 and every once in a while she tried it with 
 a straw to see if it was done. But it always 
 stuck to the straw. So she kept on boiling 
 it until her mother came home. 
 
 When her mother came in the door, there 
 was a terrible black smudge of smoke in 
 the house. " My patience, Betty," said her 
 mother, " What have you got on that 
 stove?" 
 
 11 Molasses candy, Mother," said Betty. 
 
 Her mother ran to the kitchen and took 
 off the candy kettle, which was burned to a 
 cinder, and then she said, " Betty Baker, you 
 just have n't got any judgment at all, and 
 the next time I go to work, you keep away 
 from the stove. Don't you go near it ! " 
 
 81 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 11 All right, Mother," said Betty Baker. 
 
 The next week when Mother Baker went 
 to work, she left beans and brown bread 
 in the oven to bake, and a nice hot fire to 
 bake them with. 
 
 Pretty soon the baker's boy came in at 
 the kitchen door, and left the door open. 
 In came a little gust of wind, and blew a 
 piece of brown paper on top of the hot 
 stove. The brown paper curled up a little, 
 smoked a little, and began to burn. The 
 wind blew harder, and the paper burned 
 brighter. 
 
 But Betty Baker did n't go near the stove. 
 
 Pretty soon the brown paper burned so 
 high that it set fire to the dish-wiper hang- 
 ing behind the stove. The dish-wiper burned 
 up with quite a flame. 
 
 But Betty Baker did n't go near the stove. 
 
 By and by the dish-wiper set fire to the 
 paper trimming on the edge of the shelf, and 
 it burned, and it burned, and it set fire to 
 the shelf. 
 
 82 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 But Betty Baker did n't go near the stove. 
 
 When Mother Baker came home, she 
 smelled smoke as soon as she got inside 
 the door. She ran to the kitchen, and there 
 was all one side of the kitchen on fire ! " My 
 goodness, Betty," she said, " what have 
 you been doing?" 
 
 " I did n't touch the stove, Mother," said 
 Betty Baker. 
 
 Betty Baker's mother ran for the neigh- 
 bors, and everybody poured on water, and 
 by and by they put the fire out. 
 
 After it was all out, Mother Baker said 
 to Betty, " Betty Baker, it looks as if you 
 just never will have any judgment. Every- 
 thing I tell you to do, you do when you 
 ought not to, and everything I tell you not 
 to do, you don't do when you ought to I 
 And I guess until you learn judgment I 
 will have to take you with me when I go to 
 work." 
 
 So that was the end of Betty Baker's 
 baking. — But the children made a foolish 
 
 83 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 rhyme about her, and they used to tease 
 her by singing : — 
 
 "Little Betty Baker, 
 Her mother was a shaker, 
 But the more she shook her, 
 The more her wits forsook her!" 
 
 Which was all nonsense, you know, for 
 Betty Baker's mother did n't shake her at 
 all. 
 
We'll All Awa' f o Jessie's Hoose 
 
 We 'll all awa' to Jessie's hoose, 
 To Jessie's hoose, to Jessie's hoose, 
 We'll all awa' to Jessie's hoose, 
 To get a cup o' tea ! 
 
 Your plack and my plack, 
 Your plack and my plack, 
 Your plack and my plack, 
 And Jessie's bawbee ! 
 
 We'll all awa' to Johnnie's hoose, 
 To Johnnie's hoose, to Johnnie's hoose, 
 We '11 all awa' to Johnnie's hoose, 
 To get a cup o' tea ! 
 
 85 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Your plack and my plack, 
 Your plack and my plack, 
 Your plack and my plack, 
 And Johnnie's bawbee! 
 
 Make as many verses as there are children, 
 naming each in turn. The real old Scotch way is 
 to move the feet and hands in time, taking any 
 little dancing or balancing step that fits the 
 rhythm, and either clapping the hands lightly or 
 making appropriate gestures. 
 
In the night before Easter, the little 
 Easter Rabbit comes out of the woods with 
 a great basket on his back and another 
 over his arm, filled with Easter eggs. 
 
 Stepping softly on his velvety feet, he 
 comes into the town and into the house. All 
 the little children are asleep. Softly, softly, 
 into the playroom he goes, and there he 
 
 87 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 hides some of the eggs. Then he slips into 
 the front rooms and there he hides more, 
 everywhere where you would n't think of 
 looking; — under the sofa cushions, in the 
 flower pots, in grandma's work-basket. 
 
 But if there is a garden by the house, he 
 passes straight through, out of the back 
 door, down the steps, softly, so softly, into 
 the garden. And there he hides the most. 
 Under the old stone wall, in the crotch of 
 the lilac tree, in a bird's nest in the hedge, 
 — every little tuck-a-way corner the cun- 
 ning Easter Rabbit finds and hides an egg 
 in. 
 
 Some are little white and pink and green 
 eggs, made of sugar candy ; some are great 
 chocolate eggs, with fancy trimmings ; some 
 are made of maple sugar, oh, so good ! 
 
 Last of all, he hides a basket of fresh 
 eggs, ready to cook for breakfast. Each one 
 is colored with pretty colors, or has a little 
 picture on it, or else a child's name. One 
 has "E" on it for "Elizabeth," and one 
 
 88 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 has "J " on it for "James." (Change these 
 initials to suit your little audience.) 
 
 When the Easter Rabbit has hidden all 
 the eggs for the children in that house, he 
 cocks up his long ears, waves his little tail, 
 and is off, still as the night. 
 
 In the morning the children come shin- 
 ing from their rooms, to say " Happy 
 Easter!" to father and mother. "Happy 
 Easter!" "Happy Easter!" you hear all 
 over the house. Out into the garden they 
 run and the great Easter Egg Hunt be- 
 gins. 
 
 Such shouts, when a child finds an egg\ 
 Sometimes two or three are hidden to- 
 gether. Sometimes great excitement is 
 heard, and then you know that Jackie 
 found a chocolate egg. But the greatest 
 fun of all is hunting for the basket of 
 fresh eggs, for cook will not begin to get 
 breakfast until that basket is brought to 
 her. The child who finds it has as a prize 
 the right to choose the prettiest egg for his 
 
 89 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 own, and he carries the basket carefully 
 into the kitchen, followed by all the others. 
 
 Then comes the happy breakfast with 
 everybody's boiled egg coming out differ- 
 ent from everybody else's and prettier ! 
 Some are rose-colored, and one has a 
 wreath of blue forget-me-nots on it, and one 
 has a little picture of birds in a nest. Mary's 
 has " Mary " written in red and blue with 
 a rose beside the " M." Mother's has a lit- 
 tle dove of grey and white and Daddy's 
 has a yellow chicken, looking most sur- 
 prised. 
 
 After breakfast everyone puts his treas- 
 ures in a pretty basket and saves them to 
 show visitors and to share with friends. 
 
 After church, the door-bell begins ring- 
 ing, and always it is an Easter gift for 
 some one in the family, or a caller to wish 
 them a happy Easter. It is a lovely, sweet- 
 hearted, thankful day, full of picnics and 
 visits, and excursions for flowers. And 
 when the children go to bed at night, they 
 
 90 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 say, " Good night, dear little Easter Rabbit. 
 Thank you. Please come again next year! " 
 
 Way off in the woods the little Easter 
 Rabbit hears the leaves rustle on the trees, 
 and he listens with his long sharp ears, and 
 the leaves whisper softly: "The children 
 are saying ' Good night, dear little Easter 
 Rabbit! Thank you.' " 
 
 Then the little Easter Rabbit laughs to 
 himself for joy, and the little leaves laugh 
 too. And Happy Easter is over. 
 
The wandering ckild 
 
 Adapted and simplified for little children, from the 
 parable of " The Wandering Child " by Harriet Marti- 
 neau, originally published in the " Monthly Repository," 
 a magazine of the last century in England. 
 
 Once a child was all by himself in a 
 still place among the groves. He thought 
 he was alone, for he did not see his Father's 
 eyes watching over him from the thicket. 
 But the Father was there. 
 
 The child was very happy. He ran and 
 played in the long grass, picked the flowers, 
 
 94 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 wandered among the great trees, and sang 
 till the woods rang with his voice. 
 
 Because everything was new to him he 
 was afraid of nothing. When he lay among 
 the flowers, a dangerous serpent rose from 
 the midst of them. The child saw how 
 bright its coat was, like a rainbow, and he 
 stretched out his hand to take it. Then the 
 Father called from the thicket, " Beware ! " 
 And the child sprang up, and the serpent 
 crept away. 
 
 But the child forgot the voice, for he 
 saw nothing. 
 
 Soon, a lovely butterfly broke from its 
 chrysalis and fluttered away on the wind. 
 The child ran after it, till the butterfly rose 
 and was lost to his sight. Then the Father 
 put forth his hand and pointed to the clouds 
 of the sky, where the butterfly's flight 
 ended. 
 
 But the child did not notice the hand. 
 
 There was a clear spring in the midst 
 of the trees, and its waters flowed into a 
 
 95 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 pool, quiet and deep. The child knelt at 
 the edge and saw his own smiling face re- 
 flected in the water. It pleased him, and he 
 bent nearer. 
 
 " Beware ! " the voice said again. 
 
 The child looked about him, but as a 
 breeze was rippling the pool, he thought it 
 had been only the voice of the wind, so he 
 played on, and when the sun danced on 
 the ruffled water, he laughed and put one 
 foot into the waves, to feel their coolness. 
 
 "Beware!" said the voice once more, 
 and this time it was louder. 
 
 But the child was full of play, and he 
 did not listen. 
 
 At last he saw something glittering at 
 the bottom of the pool. He wanted it so 
 much that he reached for it, leaned for it, 
 and then plunged after it. Alas, the pool 
 was deep ! He sank, and as he sank, he 
 called aloud for help, help ! 
 
 Instantly the Father was there, and his 
 strong hand drew the child to safety before 
 
 96 
 
THE CHILI) RAN AFTER IT 
 
/ 
 
 THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 the waters closed over his head. And while 
 the child shook with fear and cold, the 
 Father comforted him, and said, — 
 
 " I was watching over you, but you did 
 not know ; I gave you a sign, and you did 
 not see; I spoke, and you did not listen; 
 if you had been thinking of me, you would 
 have known I was near." 
 
 And then the child threw himself in the 
 Father's arms, and said, — " Father stay 
 near me forever ! And my eyes shall be al- 
 ways watching for your sign, and my ears 
 waiting to hear your voice ! " 
 
/Homing Prayer of Thanks 
 
 For food and clothes and sleeping beds 
 We bow our grateful little heads : 
 
 98 
 
/ 
 
 THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 For love, and lessons, and for play, 
 We fold our hands our thanks to say ; 
 For sun and wind and sea and sky 
 We sing thy praise, dear God on high. 
 
 Give us, we pray, thy spirit too, 
 Living in all we say or do, 
 So that our works like thine may be 
 Beautiful eternally. 
 
The Resurrection Plant 
 
 Long, long ago, when Jesus was a little 
 baby, there was a cruel king in his country, 
 named Herod, Herod had heard that one 
 of the Prophets had said a new king was to 
 be born that year, and he was afraid of los- 
 ing his throne. So he did a terribly wicked 
 thing. He sent soldiers throughout the 
 country of Judea, to seize and kill every 
 Jewish boy baby born that year. 
 
 Jesus' mother, Mary, and Joseph, her 
 husband, were warned of the horrible thing 
 that was to happen. And in the dark night 
 they wrapped the baby up and fled away 
 out of Judea. Far, far away they traveled, 
 into Egypt; Mary rode on a donkey with 
 
 ioo 
 
/ 
 
 THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 Jesus in her arms, and Joseph walked be- 
 side them. They were weary, and afraid, 
 and often they were hungry and thirsty. 
 But they were so thankful to have got 
 out of Judea without being caught by the 
 soldiers that they did not mind the heat or 
 the hard roads or the leaving behind all 
 their possessions. 
 
 Day after day they rode slowly along, 
 for Mary was weak, and it was hard trav- 
 eling for her. But always she smiled at the 
 baby in her arms, and spoke gently to 
 Joseph, so that the way seemed easier to 
 him. Sometimes they met other poor peo- 
 ple journeying, and sometimes they were 
 passed on the road by rich travelers with 
 great trains of camels and drivers. Mary's 
 beautiful smile and kind mother eyes pleased 
 every one, and many times people gave her 
 little gifts of corn or milk, or dates. And 
 Mary was gentle to all creatures. 
 
 One day they were alone in the great 
 desert. The sun scorched hot, and dry on 
 
 IOI 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 the glittering sand, and Mary was faint 
 with thirst. But she could not drink much 
 for there was but little water left in their 
 jars, and she must save it for the baby. 
 So she took but little in her cup. 
 
 Wearily she sat, her head bowed. As 
 she looked down, she noticed a small plant 
 growing on the hot ground. So dry it was 
 that its fern-like leaves were curled to a 
 tight hard bunch, brown and dry. It seemed 
 quite dead. 
 
 "Poor little plant," said Mary. "You, 
 too, thirst in a weary land. Would I could 
 give you water for your need." And as 
 she spoke she touched its leaves gently. 
 
 Oh, what was happening to the little 
 plant? Slowly, surely, its dry curled leaves 
 began to unfold ! Slowly, surely, they turned 
 from dead brown to living green ! The lit- 
 tle plant was coming alive. Holiness and 
 kindness had touched it, and it could never 
 die again, for holiness and kindness live 
 forever. 
 
 102 
 
/ 
 
 OH, WHAT WAS HAPPENING TO THE LITTLE PLANT? 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 And from that day to this, the strange 
 little plant never dies ; its leaves curl up 
 brown and dry, and it becomes just a bunch 
 of prickly moss, and so it stays for months 
 and years. Travelers to that far eastern 
 country often bring these little bunches 
 home in their trunks. But just put the lit- 
 tle dry bunch in a bowl of water, and see 
 what happens ! Way down at its heart the 
 living memory of the water of kindness is 
 stirred, and the little plant begins to wake. 
 Slowly its leaves uncurl, and spread, and 
 turn green, and at last it is a beautiful fern, 
 living and growing in the water. 
 
 So people call it the resurrection plant, or 
 the "semper viva," which is Latin for "ever 
 living." 
 
 This is only a legend, you know, but one 
 part of it is surely true, and that is thai 
 goodness and mercy are everlasting: they 
 cannot die. And the little resurrection plant 
 reminds us of that. 
 
THE WASSAIL SONG 
 
 Old Christmas Carol 
 
 Here we come a-wassailing, 
 Among the leaves so green, 
 
 Here we come a-wandering, 
 So fair to be seen. 
 
 Chorus 
 Love and joy come to you, 
 
 And to you your wassail too, 
 And God bless you, and send you 
 
 A happy new year, 
 And God send you a happy new year. 
 
 104 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 We are not daily beggars 
 That beg from door to door, 
 
 But we are neighbors' children 
 Whom you have seen before. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Good Master and good Mistress, 
 
 As you sit by the fire, 
 Pray think of us poor children 
 
 Who are wandering in the mire. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 We have a little purse 
 
 Made of ratching leather skin ; 
 We want some of your small change 
 
 To line it well within. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Bring us out a table, 
 
 And spread it with a cloth; 
 Bring us out a mouldy cheese, 
 And some of your Christmas loaf. 
 
 Chorus. 
 105 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 God bless the master of this house, 
 Likewise the mistress too; 
 
 And all the little children 
 That round the table go. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
The Christmaslree that lived 
 
 When Betty Darling was one year old 
 her father bought a farm. So it happened 
 that Betty spent her second Christmas in 
 the country. 
 
 On Christmas morning as soon as Betty 
 had eaten her orange juice and cereal, Nurse 
 dressed her in whitest white, and tied her 
 yellow curls in a big bow that looked like 
 a butterfly perching on her head; then she 
 took her to the head of the stairs and blew 
 
 107 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 a little silver whistle that Father Darling 
 had given her the evening before. 
 
 Instantly came a gay chord from the piano 
 downstairs ; the living-room door flew open 
 and Daddy Darling came leaping up the 
 stairs. "Merry Christmas, father's sweet- 
 heart," he said to Betty, and taking her on 
 his shoulder he marched downstairs, step- 
 ping in time to the lovely Christmas music 
 Mother was playing. 
 
 In at the open door they went, Nursie fol- 
 lowing, in step. And then everybody was 
 calling, " Merry Christmas, dearest ; merry 
 Christmas, honey-heart." But Mother said, 
 "Merry Christmas, Beloved," because that 
 was her name for Betty. And Betty said, 
 " Merry Crippy " to them all in her sweet lit- 
 tle voice. There was Grandma and Grandpa 
 and Uncle Ran and Mary, the cook, and 
 Janie who waited on table, besides Mother 
 and Father and Nursie. And there was a 
 big, shining glorious Christmas tree beside 
 the piano. 
 
 108 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 It had chains and balls and stars and 
 candles on it, a big paper Santa Claus at the 
 top, and dozens of gifts for every one. It 
 was lovely. Betty looked at it and laughed 
 for joy. But when she had looked a while 
 Mother said softly, " Look over there, Be- 
 loved," and turned her round to face the 
 windows. 
 
 There, on a low table between the sunny 
 windows, with firelight and sunlight and 
 frostlight all shining on it, stood Betty's 
 very own Christmas tree ; just her ownty- 
 donty-nobody-else's Christmas tree. It was 
 only two feet tall and it had a top like a 
 pointing finger, with little branches coming 
 out from the stem most beautifully even and 
 pointed, so brave and green ! On its top a 
 lovely birdie with a glittering tail swayed 
 lightly ; from the tiny twigs hung wee frosty 
 lanterns of spun glass, rose and blue and 
 scarlet balls with the light shining through, 
 a Santa Claus no bigger than Betty's hand, 
 and wonderful ropes of gilt and silver tinsel. 
 
 109 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 It was so little that Betty could reach every 
 single thing. She could see it from top to 
 bottom and on every side. She loved it be- 
 cause it was so little, and because it was all 
 her own. She sat in her high-chair holding 
 a new dolly in her arms, and looked at her 
 tree and talked to it. She touched the trim- 
 mings with finger-tips as soft as a birdie's 
 wing, but she never pulled or broke or hurt 
 anything on it. 
 
 That was a wonderful Christmas for Betty. 
 They sang songs, and told stories for her; 
 she played with many new toys; she went 
 riding in a slippy-sleigh behind old Molly 
 with Father and Mother; and when the 
 first silver star shone on the white snow, and 
 the red firelight made the little tree all rosy, 
 she helped give gifts from the bigger tree to 
 all the little boys and girls whose fathers 
 worked on the farm. 
 
 But of all the wonderful and lovely things 
 Betty loved her Christmas tree best. And 
 every morning until New Year's Day, as 
 
 no 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 soon as she was brought downstairs, she ran 
 first to see if the little tree was still there be- 
 tween the windows. " Pretty Crippy, pretty 
 Crippy," she would say, touching its pointed 
 branches softly, and sometimes she would 
 kiss it. 
 
 New Year's Day was very warm and mild, 
 and soon after breakfast Daddy Darling said 
 to Mother, "I think we can plant Betty's 
 Christmas tree to-day. Tell Nurse to put on 
 her leggings and fur coat, and she shall 
 come too." So down Betty was brought, all 
 wrapped up, and there was Daddy Darling 
 and Mother Darling and Ben, who looked 
 after everything, all standing round her little 
 Christmas tree. 
 
 "Sweetheart," said Father, "would you 
 like to have your Crippy tree all planted in 
 the ground, so that it will never dry up, and 
 die, but will keep always green and shiny 
 for you ? " 
 
 Betty's big, black eyes looked at the 
 Crippy tree and looked at Dada, and be- 
 in 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 :ause all the things that Dada did were al- 
 ways nice, she nodded her head for "yes." 
 Then Ben and Father took the little tree 
 and the big tub it stood in, out of the door 
 and along the snowy path, up the hill. And 
 Mother and Nursie each took a hand of 
 Betty and followed after. When they had 
 gone a little way they came to a place where 
 the snow was rounded up like a little tent. 
 Father set the tub on the ground, and Ben 
 brushed away the snow, and there was a 
 heap of dry leaves and pine boughs. These, 
 too, he took away, and underneath was a 
 deep hole, plenty big enough to hold tub 
 and tree, too ; and the ground was n't frozen 
 at all because the leaves and boughs had 
 been over it. But they did n't put the tub 
 in the hole ; very gently and carefully with 
 small shovels they lifted the earth and the 
 little tree out of the tub, and set it all just 
 as it was, in the hole. Then Ben brought a 
 basket of soft earth from the barn, and filled 
 in all the chinks, and they stamped it down 
 
 112 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 until the little Christmas tree looked as if it 
 had always stood there. Last of all they put 
 the leaves and pine boughs around its stem, 
 to protect it. 
 
 "Now your Crippy tree will last for every 
 Christmas if nothing happens to it," said 
 Father Darling, and Betty was delighted. 
 
 It happened that Daddy Darling's work 
 took him very far away, afterwards, and 
 Betty never spent another Christmas at the 
 farm until she was twelve years old. That 
 year they all came back to spend the holi- 
 days at the dear old place. 
 
 On Christmas morning Betty's father, just 
 for fun and in memory of that other Christ- 
 mas, blew a little silver whistle, and big 
 twelve-year old Betty came running down 
 the stairs. 
 
 The living-room had a beautiful great 
 tree in it, and lovely gifts for everybody, 
 but there was no dear little tiny tree on 
 the low table between the south windows. 
 Every year of her life till now Betty had had 
 
 113 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 her own little tree, each year a bigger one, 
 and now she was rather surprised not to 
 find one. 
 
 But Mother Darling said very quickly, 
 "You have a tree, Beloved, but we can't 
 show it to you till we go out of doors." 
 
 "Out of doors?" said Betty. Then sud- 
 denly she thought what Mother meant. 
 "Why, Mother," she said, "you don't mean 
 that my first little ' Crippy tree ' has lived all 
 this time?" 
 
 "My dearest," said Father, "your first 
 little 'Crippy tree' was a Douglas Fir, and 
 unless something happens to it, it will be 
 alive and green when you are lots older than 
 Mother Darling and I are now." 
 
 "Oh, Daddy, show it to me!" said Betty 
 eagerly. 
 
 So very soon they were all wrapped up 
 again and once more they went following 
 the white path up the hillside. 
 
 But where was the little tree? Why, there 
 it was! — Only, it wasn't so very little. 
 
 114 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 It stood far higher than Father Darling's 
 head, straight and green and shiny, with 
 its branches most beautifully even and 
 pointed just as they had been long ago, and 
 its top like a pointing finger still. It was 
 hung all over with the tiniest little cones, 
 all purplish-brown and green, frothing with 
 shining gum. Betty took one look at it and 
 then she put out both hands and touched 
 its little cones as she had touched its trim- 
 mings when it stood in the house that first 
 Christmas. 
 
 " Oh, I love it ! " she said. " It 's my very 
 own Christmas tree." 
 
 And then, as if it heard and was grateful, 
 the tree offered her a Christmas gift ; a little 
 wind came to sway its branches, and there 
 in the very heart of the bough nearest her 
 reach lay a little bird's nest, frosted with 
 snow, and shining like a jewel. Father Dar- 
 ling took it carefully from its fastening and 
 Betty Darling carried it happily back to the 
 house. And for years it stayed in the old 
 
 "5 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 living-room to welcome her whenever she 
 came. 
 
 But far longer and holier was the greet- 
 ing of the Christmas Tree that lived. For 
 it grew and grew, and was always more 
 beautiful, and it kept Betty's first Christmas 
 at the farm alive in its fragrant heart. 
 
PRETTY COW 
 
 Thank you, pretty cow, that made 
 Pleasant milk to soak my bread, 
 
 Every day and every night, 
 
 Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white. 
 
 Do not chew the hemlock rank, 
 
 Growing on the weedy bank; 
 But the yellow cowslips eat, 
 
 That will make it very sweet. 
 
 Where the purple violet grows, 
 Where the bubbling water flows, 
 
 Where the grass is fresh and fine, 
 Pretty cow, go there and dine. 
 
 Ann Taylor 
 
 "7 
 
THE ADVENTURE OP 
 THE LITTLE WHITE BOAT 
 
 A little white boat lived by the side of 
 a pine woods, on the blue bay. All summer 
 it was tied with a strong rope to the float, 
 and bobbed up and down on the gentle tide. 
 
 One day, Daddy took the children for a 
 row in it and they landed on a small island 
 off shore. While the children looked for 
 shells, Daddy tied the little boat to a stone, 
 and it enjoyed itself playing with the curly 
 waves. 
 
 Pretty soon, with a swish and a swash, 
 along came a big motor boat named "If." 
 
 "Want to go for a ride?" called its 
 owner to Daddy. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said Daddy, and "Yes, 
 
 118 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 indeed," said the children. "Yes, indeed," 
 thought the little white boat, too. 
 
 So they tied the little boat behind the big 
 boat, and off they flew, with a swish and a 
 swash. 
 
 That was a grand ride for the little white 
 boat! Never had it gone so fast or so far. 
 They went the whole length of the bay, to 
 the ocean's mouth and back again, and they 
 passed every boat on the way. Oh, it was 
 fine ! " Hurrah for the ' If ' ! " said the chil- 
 dren. "Good for the 'If,'" said Daddy. 
 "How grand the 'If is!" thought the lit- 
 tle rowboat 
 
 By and by they came home to the float, 
 and the little white boat was tied up, and 
 the "If" sailed away, and Daddy and the 
 children went up to the house. 
 
 The little rowboat was all alone. It 
 was very excited and happy, and full of 
 thoughts. 
 
 "Oh," it thought, "if I could only have 
 another ride like that ! If I could only go so 
 
 119 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 fasti If I had an engine inside of me ! If I 
 could go alone, without some one to pull 
 me ! If — if — if — " The little rowboat grew 
 tired and dozed off. 
 
 It woke up with a bounce and a bob, for 
 the wind had risen and so had the waves. 
 The stars were shining, and the beach was 
 making a whispering sound. 
 
 " How bright the sky is," thought the lit- 
 tle boat. "I wish I could take a little ride ! " 
 "If — " and it began to wonder and think 
 of all the big "ifs," till it grew very restless 
 and eager. It pulled and tugged, and bobbed 
 about, jerking at its rope, and shaking its 
 prow. 
 
 All of a sudden the rope broke, and the 
 little white boat was free ! It began to move, 
 faster and faster, without anyone pulling it, 
 but with the wind and tide helping it along. 
 
 "Now I shall have a ride! Now I shall 
 go by myself!" it thought. 
 
 It was so happy, so happy, out in the 
 starlight alone, flying along ! Past the pine 
 
 120 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 woods, past the yacht club, past the gaso- 
 line float it went. What an adventure ! 
 
 Pretty soon the wind blew harder, and 
 puffed some clouds over the sky. 
 
 After a while there were no stars left, and 
 the bay was very dark indeed. And the wind 
 blew harder than ever. It blew so hard that 
 the waves splashed all inside of the little 
 white boat, and it bounced and bobbed so 
 much that it began to be tired. 
 
 "I think I'd like to go home now," it 
 thought. 
 
 But it couldn't turn round. The wind 
 would n't let it. On and on it went, rolling 
 and bobbing, in the dark. It grew very 
 lonely and very sorry, and so very very 
 tired ! But it had to go on. 
 
 After a long long time, the gray dawn 
 came in the sky, and the little white boat 
 could see white foam of waves on the rocks, 
 and hear the noise of breakers. That fright- 
 ened it dreadfully. All boats are afraid of 
 breakers and surf; they love the clear water. 
 
 121 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 What should it do if the wind drove it to 
 those rocks ? 
 
 It put out all its strength to turn round, 
 to swing away from the surf, but in vain. 
 Nearer and nearer the wind and tide swept 
 it along. Now there was a streak of red in 
 the sky where the great sun was ready to 
 rise ; the world grew lighter, and the little 
 boat could see the dark rock looming up 
 most plainly ahead of it. Oh, dear, oh, dear, 
 how frightened it was! 
 
 "If I were safe at my float again," it 
 thought, "I 'd not take another ride alone. 
 I wish I had n't come ! " 
 
 But it was no use. In another few min- 
 utes the big waves lifted it high up and set 
 it on a side of the rock, just as if a giant had 
 taken it in his hands. Then the wave went 
 back, and the little white boat slid and 
 scraped and fell back with it. It hurt, that 
 horrid scrape along the pretty paint. 
 
 Another wave came, and carried the little 
 boat in against the rocks again. This time 
 
 122 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 it bumped so hard that the little boat cried 
 out, in pain. It cried out as loud as it could, 
 and gave a kind of groany, squeaky whim- 
 per as it slid back into the water. 
 
 Up on the rocks, behind the first ledge, a 
 Fisherman was fixing his lobster traps. He 
 had got up very early to go after lobsters, 
 but the rough sea had kept him from going 
 out. He heard the little boat's groany, 
 squeaky cry. 
 
 " I wonder what that is?" he thought. 
 " Sounds like a dory on the rocks." 
 
 And he climbed up to look. He saw the 
 poor little white boat, just being carried in 
 on a high wave. 
 
 " Psho ! " said the Fisherman. " That little 
 craft '11 have a hole in her if she hits again ! " 
 
 And, quick as a wink, he jumped down 
 to the ledge, reached out just in time, and 
 caught the little boat by the side, before it 
 crashed into the rock. Then he held it 
 steady while the wave sucked out, and on 
 the next one he pulled it high and dry. 
 
 123 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 The little white boat was saved, and I can 
 tell you it was glad to be alive. 
 
 But later in the morning, when the Fish- 
 erman had got it down to his float and tied 
 it up there, it felt pretty homesick. Where 
 were the children and the Daddy, and its 
 own dear pine grove ? 
 
 Just at that minute there was a swish 
 and a swash, and who should come proudly 
 over the choppy sea but the big motor boat, 
 11 If" ? And in the " If" were — there was the 
 Daddy of the children ! Not the children, of 
 course, in that sea, but the Daddy and the 
 motor boat's owner. Oh, how the little boat 
 wished it had a voice to call with ! It swung 
 and danced, to attract their attention. But 
 it did not need to do that. The " If" pointed 
 her nose right in towards the float, and the 
 Daddy looked down and said, " That's it! 
 We 've found the little rascal." 
 
 Then he saw the big scratch on the paint, 
 and he said, " Lucky it was n't smashed ; 
 you see it has been on the rocks." 
 
 124 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 The little white boat trembled with joy. 
 While the two men talked with the Fisher- 
 man, and paid him for saving the boat, it 
 made little gurgling noises of content and 
 gratitude, to the big " If." 
 
 And then Daddy tied the little white boat 
 to the stern of the " If," and with a swish 
 and a swash they rode home again. Over 
 the waves, past the village, past the camps, 
 past the yacht club, home to its own pine 
 grove and its own dear float. And there 
 they tied it with a new rope that could n't 
 break. 
 
 And the little white boat said to itself, " I 
 am a very lucky little boat. I have got safe 
 home from my adventure, and I '11 never 
 go riding alone again." 
 
THE TREE 
 
 I am God's tree. I shade you from the 
 burning sun in summer, and give you a cool 
 place to rest or play. I keep off the bitter 
 winds in winter. In the driest weather I keep 
 the moisture in the soil; and in the wettest 
 weather my roots keep the earth from wash- 
 ing away. Without me the ground would 
 be baked dry and soaked wet. 
 
 Do not cut my bark, or bind my trunk, or 
 break my branches. If I am attacked by 
 insects, spray me. If wind or storm injure 
 me, have me mended. Feed me with good 
 soil, and do not drain the water away from 
 my roots. 
 
 126 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 In gratitude, I will give you beauty to 
 look at, purer air to breathe, and comfort and 
 protection both winter and summer. And 
 the birds that live in my branches will sing 
 to you Nature's own song of rejoicing. 
 
Qhe £ittle (Breamer 
 
 A little boy was dreaming, 
 
 Upon his nurse's lap, 
 That the pins fell out of all the stars, 
 
 And the stars fell into his cap. 
 
 128 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 So, when his dream was over, 
 What should that little boy do ? 
 
 Why, he went and looked inside his cap, 
 And found it was n't true. ■ 
 
 * From Poetry for Children, edited by Samuel Eliot (Houghton 
 Mifflin Company). 
 
i He Whimper-wninies 
 
 One day Peter Rabbit woke up in the 
 morning not feeling just right. He was n't 
 very pleasant at breakfast, and he was 
 n't very pleasant at play, and by and by 
 while he was running, he happened to fall 
 down ; instead of jumping up and start- 
 ing again, he began to scream. Mother 
 Rabbit came running to the door, thinking 
 he was badly hurt. She looked him all over 
 and brushed off his jacket, and then she 
 said, — 
 
 " Peter, you should n't cry like that for a 
 little bump. Dry your eyes and play with 
 
 130 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 Mary and Bunny. You have given mother 
 a fright for nothing." 
 
 At luncheon, Peter was eating his bowl 
 of broth and bread when Mary leaned over 
 to show him what a nice bite of crust she 
 had taken ; she leaned too far, and upset a 
 little of Peter's soup. Instantly Peter began 
 to scream again, " Mary 's spilled all my 
 soupl Mary's spilled all my soup! Oh, 
 dear 1 " You would have thought the soup 
 was drowning him, or that he never ex- 
 pected to have any more. Mother Rabbit 
 came hurrying in from the kitchen, where 
 she was making a dessert, and looked to see 
 what the trouble was. She saw a spot of 
 soup on the table, and that was all. 
 
 "Peter," she said, "is all that noise be- 
 cause Mary spilled a littld soup? I don't 
 see anything to cry about." 
 
 But Peter whined and cried, and did n't 
 get really pleasant all through luncheon. 
 He quite spoiled the nice meal for the other 
 Rabbits. 
 
 131 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 So it went all the afternoon ; the sun- 
 shiny Peter had gone far, far away. And the 
 crying and whining seemed to be "catch- 
 ing," like measles; before night, Mary and 
 Bunny had lost their sunny faces, too, and 
 Mother Rabbit felt as if she were in the 
 midst of a thunder shower. The worst came 
 at bed time. Instead of coming happily to 
 get into his comfortable bath and his restful 
 bed, Peter began to whine and whimper, — 
 
 " I don't want to go to bed, I want to 
 stay up a little while ! Please, mother, oh, 
 mother!" 
 
 Now Mother Rabbit was a very kind 
 mother, and she did n't like a bit to punish 
 the little Rabbits, but she knew they would 
 grow up to be perfectly horrid if she let 
 them do things like this ; so at last she 
 said in a very stern voice to Peter, — 
 
 " Peter, if you do not obey me at once, 
 and without crying, you shall stay at home 
 from the picnic to-morrow." 
 
 Peter did stop then, but his face stayed all 
 
 132 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 whiny and puckery, and his voice still 
 sounded whimpery. When Mother Rabbit 
 tucked him into his bed, she said, — 
 
 11 Peter dear, if you keep on this way you 
 will be only fit to go to Whimper- Whiny 
 land; I should think you'd dream of the 
 Whimper- Whinies to-night." 
 
 Well, Peter fell fast asleep, and he had a 
 dream. This is what he dreamed. He was 
 walking softly down a long green path in 
 the woods, and all the light around him 
 was greenish, not bright and goldy-flecked 
 like daytime. Pretty soon he came to a 
 round white stone beside the path. He 
 walked past it, and there beside the big 
 white stone stood a queer little creature. 
 He was squatty and thin-legged, some- 
 thing like a frog, and he had the worst 
 looking face ! It was all puffed up and 
 red, and his mouth was drawn down at the 
 corners. He had red eyes, and a round red 
 nose, and he looked as if he had cried for- 
 ever and ever. 
 
 133 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 While Peter was looking at him he said, 
 in a whiny, squeaky, teary voice, — 
 
 "I was waiting for you, Peter; I was 
 sure you would come to be one of us." 
 
 "Who are you?" said Peter. 
 
 11 Oh, I 'm one of the Whimper- Whinies," 
 said the little creature, in his creaky, whiny 
 voice; "this is Whimper- Whiny land, you 
 know." 
 
 " I don't think I like it," said Peter, doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 "Well, you '11 have to stay, anyway," 
 said the Whimper- Whiny; "but I guess you 
 will like it, for you are just like us." 
 
 "Goodness," thought Peter, "I hope I'm 
 not like you!" But he followed the little 
 Whimper- Whiny along the path. 
 
 In a minute they came out into a grassy 
 place among the trees, where the strange 
 greenish light was stronger. Such a sound 
 as there was there! Can you imagine doz- 
 ens of naughty children all crying at once, 
 and a half dozen pussy cats whining at the 
 
 134 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 same time ? That is what it sounded like. 
 Peter put his hands to his ears, and stood 
 still. Then he saw at the other side of the 
 open place, a circle of little creatures like 
 the Whimper-Whiny. They were back to 
 him, but he could see that they seemed to 
 be rubbing at their eyes, and they were all 
 bending over. 
 
 "What are they doing?" he whispered 
 to the Whimper-Whiny, as well as he 
 could, for the noise. 
 
 11 Oh, just crying a pond," said the 
 Whimper-Whiny. 
 
 " Crying a pond I " said Peter, "What do 
 you mean?" 
 
 The Whimper-Whiny drew his mouth 
 down still further, as he listened to the 
 screeching and whining. "I said, 'crying a 
 pond,' " he said, crossly; "if you don't un- 
 derstand English I can't help it, can I?" 
 
 Just then, the circle of little creatures 
 broke up, and some of them came hopping 
 and running to Peter. They were even 
 
 i35 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 worse than the first. Their eyes were red- 
 der, their noses more swelled, and their 
 mouths curled farther down. Peter drew 
 back, but they crowded round him, and 
 pulled him along with them. Then he saw 
 that they had been standing round a little 
 pool of water. "You can help us now, 
 Peter," they said, " we are making a new 
 tear-pond. You see, we cry so much it is a 
 pity to waste the tears, so we make ponds 
 out of them." And at once they began to 
 whine and scream and cry again, bending 
 over so the tears would drop in the pool. 
 
 Peter thought they were horrid; he 
 wanted to go home; so he started away 
 on the little path. " Keep right on, for the 
 luncheon house," the Whimper -Whinies 
 called after him. " You '11 have to stay in 
 our land now." 
 
 Peter ran on, in the green light, hoping to 
 get out of Whimper-Whiny land. He was 
 hungry, and he wanted to get back where 
 things were cheerful. But at a turn in the 
 
 136 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 path he saw a big arbor, with tables set 
 with many bowls and glasses, and pitchers 
 that looked like home. That seemed better, 
 and he walked right in and sat down. 
 
 But before he could see what was in the 
 pitchers the Whimper-Whinies came run- 
 ning down the path and jumped into the 
 chairs. Then began a pandemonium. All 
 the while that they grabbed the pitchers, 
 and filled their bowls, and reached for bread, 
 — most rudely, without a single "please" or 
 "thank you," they kept up a constant whin- 
 ing and whimpering. It was, "You have 
 my milk!" "You have more bread than 
 I ! " "I don't want that bowl ! " and things 
 like that. Peter was dreadfully ashamed of 
 them, and he began to think he should get 
 nothing to eat. But presently they pushed 
 the pitcher to him, and he filled his mug. 
 He put it to his mouth, and started to drink. 
 Ugh, it was sour milk ! 
 
 "The milk is sour," said Peter to his 
 neighbor. 
 
 i37 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 " Oh, yes, it always is," said the Whim- 
 per- Whiny, "we cry so much, you know, 
 it sours everything here ; there is n't any 
 sweet milk in Whimper -Whiny land." 
 
 14 1 'm going home ! " said Peter, getting 
 off his chair. 
 
 " No, you can't," said the Whimper- 
 Whinies, " you must be one of us now ! " 
 
 Peter was dreadfully frightened. He 
 wanted to get away as fast as he could. 
 So he ran and ran, through the woods, put- 
 ting his fingers in his ears to shut out the 
 crying of the Whimper -Whinies. 
 
 Suddenly he stubbed his toe, and fell flat 
 on the ground, — and the thump woke him 
 up, out of his dream ! 
 
 He was in his own cozy bed, in the nice 
 goldy light of morning, and Mother Rabbit 
 was just opening his door to say " Good 
 morning." 
 
 Peter sat up and threw his arms round 
 her neck. " Oh, mother, dear," he said, 
 " don't let the Whimper-Whinies get me I " 
 
 138 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 Mother Rabbit began to laugh. " I guess 
 you did dream of the Whimper- Whinies," 
 she said. 
 
 " I don't want to go to Whimper -Whiny 
 land, mother," said Peter. 
 
 "I should say not," said mother, "and 
 I don't want you to. Let's have a sunny 
 face and a brave heart to-day, and never a 
 whimper or a whine ! " 
 
 " Yes, let's ! " said Peter, and he jumped 
 out of bed, and dressed himself quickly. 
 
 And all that day he took very good care 
 not to act like a Whimper -Whiny, for he 
 did not like their ways at all 
 
Suns Greeting 
 
 Early in the morning the little girl comes 
 into the nursery, washed and combed and 
 dressed, and sits down at her little table to 
 wait for breakfast. The great golden Sun 
 looks in at the window and sees her there. 
 He touches her cheek, brightly, and shines 
 in her face and makes her laugh. Then the 
 great Sun laughs too, and says, — 
 
 "How do you do? How do you do? 
 I send my rays to shine on you 
 And warm your body through and through." 
 
 140 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 He touches the little feet and says, — 
 
 "Be firm and light and merry and fast, 
 To run and rest while the day shall last." 
 
 He touches the little hands and says, — 
 
 "Clean and quiet and willing and strong, 
 Work and play the whole day long." 
 
 And he touches the little head and says, — 
 
 "Golden thoughts I bring to you, 
 Kind and happy and pure and true." 
 
 Last, he touches the little heart, gently, oh, 
 so gently, and says, — 
 
 (< 
 
 God give this little heart the light 
 That shines forever, day and night, 
 The warmth that lives when days are cold, 
 And little girls are growing old." 
 
PETER'S VISIT TO 
 MOTHER SUN'S HOUSE 
 
 Once when Peter was sound asleep in 
 his bed, he dreamed. He was standing on 
 the grassy hillside, among the bayberry 
 bushes and wild roses, looking off at the far 
 islands, when a little rosy balloon came 
 floating toward him. It came softly on the 
 wind till it was quite near, and Peter saw a 
 little door on it. He knew it must be a magic 
 balloon by that, because real balloons have 
 no doors. So he stepped in. 
 
 142 
 
\ 
 
 ■ >''ypoyo*^ — 
 
 A TINY SUNBEAM GIRLIE RAN UP TO HIM 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 As soon as he was inside, the little balloon 
 grew large, large, like a great house, and he 
 saw that all its sides were windows, with 
 cloudy curtains at the sides, and rose-colored 
 cushioned seats beneath. So of course he 
 went and sat on one of the seats, and began 
 to look out. The big balloon was floating 
 up and out, over the sea, up to the clouds. 
 Fast it went as the wind, but softer than the 
 softest breeze. The little clouds waved to it, 
 the little stars peeped at it, and the sea and 
 land far below went flying by, till at last 
 the balloon and Peter came to the edge of 
 the world, to the house where the great 
 Mother Sun lives, with her children. 
 
 Mother Sun was sitting by her door, 
 telling her children where they were to go 
 that day. All the little sunbeam children 
 were gathered round her, listening to their 
 tasks, ready to start on their journeys. 
 
 When Peter stepped out of the little door 
 a tiny sunbeam girlie ran up to him and 
 said, " How nice that you came, Peter 1" 
 
 i43 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Her hair was yellower than California pop- 
 pies, and curlier than a lamb's wool; her 
 eyes were blue as the sea, and her little 
 white robe flickered flashes of light when 
 she moved. 
 
 Peter said " Thank you " to her, and 
 made his bow to Mother Sun. Mother Sun 
 smiled at him, and said he was just in time 
 to hear what the sunbeam children were to 
 do for their day's work. " But you must rot 
 play with them now," she said, " it is 
 almost time for them to start." So Peter 
 stood very still and watched and listened. 
 
 First Mother Sun spoke to a tall, shining 
 sunbeam boy: "You, Joy-of-Morning," 
 she said, "speed to the ends of the earth to 
 the bleak mountain that rises from the forest, 
 and search out the lost traveler who lies 
 there exhausted and afraid. Warm his 
 numb hands, shine on the chill fog around 
 him, and pierce it till he sees the light on 
 the ocean far away, and knows how to 
 choose his path." 
 
 144 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 Joy-of- Morning lifted his bright head 
 and waved his hand like a flash of a bird's 
 wing, and in the instant he was gone. 
 
 11 Comfort-of- Watchers," said Mother 
 Sun. A lovely sunbeam girl, strong and red- 
 cheeked, with her robe bound up with flow- 
 ers, leaned forward. " Do you pass to the 
 island in the midst of the sea you know of; 
 in the poor fisherman's cottage a woman lies 
 waiting for the morning, sick and helpless. 
 Whisper through the pane that light is on 
 the sea, day breaks, help is near ; pass in, 
 and drive out the gray shadows from the 
 room ; touch her cheek and give the mes- 
 sage that warmth and joy have come 
 again." 
 
 Comfort-of- Watchers smiled sweetly, so 
 sweetly, caught up her flowers, and with 
 outstretched arms, was away. 
 
 11 My Harvesters," said Mother Sun, and 
 instantly a band of sunbeam boys stepped 
 forward, their hair shining like copper and 
 gold, wands in their hands, like sheaves of 
 
 145 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 wheat, but radiant so that they blinded the 
 eye. "Hasten to the field of the old man 
 upon the prairie beyond the muddy stream, 
 on the far side of the great hills, and work 
 there all day," said Mother Sun. " Leave 
 not one spear of golden grain unripened 
 when I call you home ; touch all. Be swift, 
 for your task is great." 
 
 The shining band of harvesters raised 
 their magic sheaves in one swirl of light, 
 and sped away. 
 
 After them Mother Sun sent band after 
 band of her children to ripen the fruits on 
 the trees, the berries in the fields, the fruits 
 in the gardens. They went with a flash and 
 a smile, till all the air around Peter seemed 
 to be shining and smiling. Then Mother 
 Sun beckoned to two smaller sunbeam chil- 
 dren, a dear little golden girl and boy. 
 
 " Run, Cheer and Delight," she said, 
 " find out the hidden spot in the dark woods 
 where the little nest of birds wait for the 
 mother bird that was shot yesterday. Pet 
 
 146 
 
THE SUNBEAM CHILD AND THE LITTLE BIRDS 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 them, warm them, make them strong to fly; 
 tell them to try, try, try ! Do not leave till 
 they are brave, for they must take care of 
 themselves now." 
 
 Little Cheer and Delight clapped their 
 hands, and with arms round each others' 
 necks darted away. 
 
 Then came the darling tiny sunbeam 
 girlie who had smiled at Peter. " I am not 
 too little, what for me, dear Mother?" she 
 said. 
 
 Mother Sun put her hand on the curly 
 hair. " None is too little to serve," she said. 
 " Your task is to go to the big gray city 
 and find the little house that stands in the 
 court behind all the grand ones. Enter the 
 window under the eaves, and find the baby 
 who lies in a crib, all alone while his mother 
 works. Play with him ; make him reach his 
 hands to you, teach his eyes to follow you 
 about the coverlid ; find the little piece of 
 glass his mother has hung by the window 
 and shine through it so that the pretty 
 
 147 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 colors go dancing over the room. Red, 
 blue, orange, violet, and many more they 
 must be. Keep the little one happy and 
 quiet till your time to rest." 
 
 The little sunbeam girlie blew a kiss to 
 her mother, another to Peter, and danced 
 away. Peter stared after her golden head, 
 but it shone so that it hurt his eyes. He be- 
 gan to rub them — and suddenly he woke. 
 
 He was in his own room, and no rosy 
 balloon was in sight. 
 
 But through the window a little flicker 
 of golden sunlight was dancing on Peter's 
 glass paper-weight, sending blue twinkles 
 right in his eyes. "Which one are you?" 
 said Peter, " I did n't hear her tell you to 
 do that ! " And then he laughed, for of 
 course he knew it was only a dream. 
 
THE WIND AT WORK 
 
 The little girl and boy kneel on the win- 
 dow seat and look down on the boats in the 
 harbor. Every one has its nose pointing to 
 the east. They are sniffing the wind, father 
 says; wherever the wind comes from, that 
 way all the boats' noses will be turned. 
 
 In the harbor is the Joan, the green and 
 white rowboat father takes the children in; 
 and the twin sail boats, Eagle and Owl, 
 graceful as swans ; and as many as twenty 
 fishing boats, black and swift, piled with 
 nets and lobster cages ; besides dories and 
 motor boats more than I can count. 
 
 149 • 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 And all these boats are sniffing the wind, 
 which comes from the east, straight out to 
 sea. Nothing stops that wind, or gives it 
 any bad smells, all the way to England. 
 So fresh and salty and good it is that it 
 turns pale cheeks to red and brown, and 
 makes dull eyes bright as jewels. It tosses 
 the waves and ruffles the poplar leaves on 
 the tree by the door ; it scurries the fleecy 
 clouds across the sky. And all the while 
 it seems to be playing, it is working for the 
 world, working good for the great earth and 
 all the children of men who live on it. 
 
 The little girl and boy have a song to 
 sing about the wind, that tells some of the 
 work it does. They sing it, looking out the 
 window at the boats in the harbor. 
 
WIND SONG 
 
 I am the Wind that blows so high, 
 Puffing the clouds about the sky, 
 Turning the windmills round so fast, 
 Filling the sails as I go past, 
 Wafting the fragrance of the flowers 
 Into the weary city doors, 
 Driving the smoke and smells away, 
 All on a windy day ! 
 
 I am the Wind that blows so low, 
 Dusting the daisies as I go, 
 Cooling the children's golden heads, 
 Soothing the sick in fevered beds, 
 
 151 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Frothing the waves upon the beach, 
 Piling the mosses in your reach, 
 Rolling the shells for happy play, 
 All on a breezy day ! 
 
 I am the Wind that blows so loud, 
 Bringing the fog and rain and cloud, 
 Sweeping the rocks and trees and soil, 
 Cleansing the world of stain of toil. 
 Foam of the rain and water's rush 
 Follow my mighty scrubbing brush ! 
 This is the Lord's house-cleaning way, 
 All on a stormy day ! 
 
 When my children were four and five years old, 
 we used this song as a picture song, or picture 
 dance, if I may apply the word to their rhythmic 
 but inaccurate motions. We sang it to the tune 
 of "Come, Birdie, Come and Live with Me," in 
 waltz time. And they skipped in time, using 
 their hands and arms in appropriate gestures as 
 the lines suggest. It was a pretty game. The 
 first verse suggests waving arms and hands held 
 high, while at the second they make a number of 
 pretty bending, caressing movements. The third 
 verse gives a chance for whirling and for vigorous 
 sweeping gestures. 
 
PETER'S VISIT TO 
 MOTHER WIND'S HOUSE 
 
 This is a dream Peter had, after he had 
 been sailing with Father. 
 
 153 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 He was standing on the hillside again, 
 looking out at the water across the wild roses 
 and bayberry bushes, when the little rosy 
 balloon appeared, and floated straight to 
 him. 
 
 In at its little door he stepped, and, as 
 before, the little balloon grew large, large, 
 till it was like a great house ; and all its sides 
 were windows, curtained with pinky clouds, 
 and with rose-colored cushioned seats be- 
 neath. Peter curled up on the seat, rested 
 his head on his hand, and looked at the won- 
 derful things they passed. 
 
 Out and away floated the magic balloon, 
 past the clouds, over the mountains, away 
 and away, to the other side of the world. 
 Beyond the other side of the world it came 
 at last to the Wind's House. And there it 
 settled soft as a feather, and Peter stepped 
 out, where Mother Wind sat at her porch, 
 with her wind-children around her. 
 
 The wind-children were all moving, hither 
 and thither, with wavy movements, so that 
 
 i54 
 
MOTHER WIND WAS PLAYING WITH THE LITTLEST WIND-CHILD 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 Peter could not tell whether he was looking 
 at the same one for an instant at a time. 
 They wore dresses of pearly colors, like 
 clouds at dawn, and the dresses moved so 
 lightly that Peter could not see at all what 
 they were like, — only the soft, pearly colors. 
 
 Mother Wind was playing with the littlest 
 wind-child, who tossed a great silver ball 
 into her lap, and caught it again when 
 Mother Wind threw it. The ball floated like 
 a bubble from their hands, but it always 
 settled in Mother Wind's lap, and always 
 fell in the littlest wind's hands. 
 
 The littlest wind-child danced up to Peter, 
 and stood wavily before him. Her hair was 
 dark like the first edge of night, and full 
 of ripples. 
 
 " I am little Southwest Breeze, Peter," 
 she said, " I 've often played with you in 
 summer time ; don't you remember how I 
 slip my fingers through your hair ? Some- 
 times I run over the smooth sea-floor, and 
 it dimples all up to laugh at me. I make you 
 
 i55 
 
STORIES TO TELI/ 
 
 sleepy, funny boy ! " And with a laugh the 
 littlest wind puffed her breath at Peter, but 
 very softly. Oh, how warm and soft, and 
 sweet-smelling and drowsy that breath was ! 
 Peter half shut his eyes, and the little Breeze 
 danced and laughed to see him. 
 
 Just then a tall wind-child came up to 
 them. His hair was all about his face, so 
 that Peter could only see his black eyes 
 now and then. His body gleamed like cop- 
 per through the wavy garment he wore, not 
 at all like the littlest wind's rosy limbs. 
 
 " I am South Wind," he said, in a sharp, 
 sighing voice. " I come from the white des- 
 ert where the sand and the sun blaze always ; 
 I pass the tropic islands where the coral 
 reefs lie naked in the sun ; I fly over great 
 fields of flowers but bring no cooling to 
 them. I am the breath of the heat." 
 
 "He has much work to do," said Mother 
 Wind; "he must melt the ice and snow 
 when Earth is weary of their wrapping. 
 He has to work with the sun-children long 
 
 156 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 hours to set the water streams free. But he 
 is a little mischievous." 
 
 "Am I?" said the South Wind, "Ha, 
 ha ! Let me touch you with my nice warm 
 hand, Peter ! " 
 
 He touched Peter's cheek with his finger. 
 Ugh ! It was hot almost to scorch. Peter 
 felt smothered, just to see South Wind so 
 near. 
 
 "Be quiet, son," said Mother Wind, 
 "Cool his cheek, East Wind." 
 
 As she spoke, a gray-robed wind-girl ad- 
 vanced softly toward Peter, and South 
 Wind vanished. The East Wind's eyes 
 were gray. They had blue lights in them 
 when she smiled, and though her hair waved 
 like a mist about her face, Peter could see 
 how brave and young it was. 
 
 East Wind pushed her hair from her face 
 and said, " I will cool the burning." And 
 she waved her hand lightly over Peter's 
 head. And all at once a soft, cool fog lay on 
 his hair and cheeks, and he smelled the salt 
 
 i57 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 of the sea, and the strong tang of seaweed. 
 She waved her hand again, and Peter felt 
 like shouting for joy, so cool and bracing 
 was the air around him. 
 
 " Oh, dear East Wind, I would love to 
 play with you," he cried. 
 
 "I am more than a playmate," answered 
 East Wind, " I have a great deal to do when 
 my brother has been too much about; I 
 have to search out the hidden places in cities 
 and breathe life again into little children 
 and sick people who have fainted at his 
 lingering. And the cleaning I have to do ! 
 Dear, dear, you men-people are so helpless ! 
 Besides, I am the wings of the Storm and 
 have to serve her. She cannot travel with- 
 out us, and we all carry her when she bids 
 us. But I do like to play, Peter! All the 
 beautiful white sail-boats are my toys!" 
 
 "And mine!" Another wind-child came 
 pushing East Wind away. He was taller 
 than she, with brown hair and red lips, and 
 his robe was richer in its pearly colors than 
 
 158 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 the others. "I am a good playmate, too, 
 Peter," he said, " don't you remember 
 your friend Northwest Wind? I come 
 from the great prairies and the far moun- 
 tains, across mighty lakes and rivers, and 
 over wonderful forests of fragrant pines. 
 I bring you the bluest skies, the brightest 
 sun, the white caps on the ocean. I am cool 
 and fresh but have no chill, and though I am 
 strong, I do not give my wings to the storm. 
 Play with me, Peter! Play and dance!" 
 
 And the merry Northwest Wind reached 
 out his hands to Peter, and Peter felt him- 
 self lifted and swayed back and forth in a 
 wonderful dance. It was so gay, so gay! 
 And how cool and dry the air was ! Peter 
 smelled apples and hay, and some kind of 
 sharp, pickly smell like mother's kitchen on a 
 September day. He wanted to dance forever. 
 
 " Dearest Northwest Wind," he said, "I 
 love you, too! Stay with me!" 
 
 But as he spoke his "playmate leaped 
 away, and all the little wind-children drew 
 
 i59 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 close to their mother. A strange wind- 
 girl was striding forward, her tall figure 
 wrapped in a robe that seemed shot through 
 with gleams of violet light. Her hair was 
 yellower than flax, her eyes as blue as steel, 
 her skin as white as snow. 
 
 " I too can play," she said, and as she 
 spoke Peter thought he heard sleigh bells. 
 " I come from the land of eternal ice, I travel 
 across unmelting snow. I know the polar 
 bear well, and the Eskimo children are mine. 
 I make great sport of the lakes and rivers 
 when my time comes ; they wrestle with me, 
 but I bind them in my ice chains till some of 
 my brothers come to aid them. Few love 
 me for the work I do, for I am cold, cold; 
 yet I work. These others would have the 
 Earth worn to her death with their pranks 
 and their dances if I did not protect her. I 
 lock her away from them and give her rest. 
 I make the snow roads firm for the lumber- 
 men to drag the great trees from the forest. 
 I am the North Wind." 
 
 1 60 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 Peter was afraid of the North Wind. 
 While she spoke the lights flickered and 
 gleamed in her garments, and the air was 
 sharp and still like a winter day. But he did 
 not want to be rude, so he said, timidly, "I 
 am sure you do a great deal of good." 
 
 "Are you?" said the North Wind, "then 
 come with me ! " 
 
 And she stretched out her hand to Peter. 
 
 Peter shivered all over, and shrank back. 
 An icy arrow seemed to shoot from her 
 hand to his very heart. 
 
 11 Oh, little Southwest Breeze, come 
 quickly!" he cried. "Warm me, or I 
 die!" 
 
 Little Southwest Breeze moved from her 
 mother's knee, but the North Wind turned 
 her steely eyes on her, and the little sister 
 hid behind her mother's skirt. Peter felt the 
 cold stealing through his veins, freezing, 
 freezing. 
 
 " Fie, my daughter! " said the Mother of 
 Winds, sternly, "leave little Peter alone! 
 
 161 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 West Wind, bring your summer cloak to 
 warm him." 
 
 At her words the cold North Wind strode 
 away, and a laughing boy came running to 
 Peter, with a little cloak of fleecy white and 
 fawn and rose. He threw it around Peter's 
 shoulders with a merry toss, and instantly 
 Peter was all cozy warm ! Not hot, not 
 sleepy-drowsy, but just summery warm. 
 The wind-boy nodded his bright brown 
 head at him, and looked kindly from his 
 gray-blue eyes. He was younger than 
 Northwest Wind, but he resembled him. 
 Only his motions were gentler, and his hair 
 brighter. 
 
 "Better now, Peter?" he said, touching 
 Peter's face with his brown hand. What a 
 nice touch that was ! It felt like a mother's 
 kiss. 
 
 " 1 '11 dance with you, darling wind ! " said 
 Peter, happily. 
 
 "Well you may," said the wind-boy, 
 "for I am your companion all the long 
 
 162 
 
AWAY THEY DANCED, WHIRLING AND SWAYING AND 
 
 DARTING 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 summer days. I am West Wind. Many a 
 time we've raced together over fields of 
 buttercups, Peter ! I drive your little sail- 
 boat across the pond when you play. I stir 
 up all the sweet smells of clover and sweet 
 brier for your mother to smell at in the 
 morning. I fly your kite, and — come on, 
 have a game ! " 
 
 His hand took Peter's, lightly, and Peter 
 found that his feet could fly ! Away they 
 danced, whirling and swaying and darting, 
 like swallows in flight, and all the while the 
 little cloak of summer fluttered from Peter's 
 shoulders, with its cozy warmth. 
 
 Faster and gayer they danced, merrier and 
 merrier, till all at once Peter laughed aloud. 
 
 Well ! Where was he ? Who was that 
 laughing with him? Mother, to be sure, 
 bending over him in bed ! And it was full 
 morning, and he was rolled like a puppy in 
 his soft coverlid. Well, well, well ! 
 
 So Peter knew it was just a dream. 
 Was n't it a nice one ? 
 
When Christ ms Born of Marg Free 
 
 OLD CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 When Christ was born of Mary free, 
 In Bethlehem that fair citie, 
 
 164 
 
Angels sang there with mirth and glee, 
 "In excelsis Gloria." 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 " In excelsis Gloria, 
 In excelsis Gloria, 
 In excelsis Gloria, 
 In excelsis Gloria." 
 
 Herdsmen beheld these Angels bright, 
 To them appearing with great light, 
 Who said, " God's Son is born to-night 
 In excelsis Gloria. 
 
 "The King is come to save mankind, 
 As in Scripture truths we find, 
 Therefore this song we have in mind, 
 In excelsis Gloria. 
 
 "Then, dear Lord, for Thy great grace, 
 Grant us in bliss to see Thy face, 
 That we may sing to Thy solace, 
 In excelsis Gloria." 
 
TkeNoak's Ark 
 
 There was once a little girl named 
 Alice, who had a Noah's Ark for Christmas. 
 She was very fond of it. She liked to play 
 with the little wooden animals better than 
 with her dolls. Especially she liked to play 
 with the horses and cows and sheep and 
 dogs. 
 
 The next Christmas, when her big uncle 
 asked what she wanted Santa Claus to 
 bring her, she said, " Another Noah's Ark." 
 So the kind uncle bought her a larger 
 Noah's Ark at the toy store, with more 
 and prettier animals in it, made of wood, 
 and nicely painted. 
 
 1 66 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 The little girl loved it dearly, and played 
 with it more than any other toy. She liked 
 it so well, that next Christmas, when the 
 big uncle said, "What shall I bring you 
 for Christmas?" she said again, "Another 
 Noah's Ark ! " The uncle laughed very much 
 at that. " Surely you don't want another ! " 
 he said. But the little girl said she surely did. 
 
 So on Christmas there was another big 
 beautiful Noah's Ark for her, with still larger 
 and more beautiful animals, of painted 
 wood. And the little girl played with them 
 all, the new ones and the old ones, and 
 loved them all. 
 
 As long as she was little enough to pla)' 
 with toys at all, she continued to like her 
 animals best, and she never tired of them. 
 Her favorite game was to play she had a 
 wonderful farm, a stock farm, where there 
 were all the best animals in the world. She 
 had fine cows, splendid horses, clever dogs, 
 fat sheep, fatter pigs, and pretty hens and 
 doves and ducks and geese. 
 
 167 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 Well, all little girls grow up, you know, 
 if you give them time, and this one did. 
 She grew to be a big girl at school, then a 
 bigger girl at college, and then a young 
 woman, graduated from college. The toys 
 had been put away for a long long time, 
 now. 
 
 About this time she began to want to 
 do some work in the world. Alice was very 
 smart and she had learned a good many 
 things, so she wanted to be useful. Of all 
 the things she wanted to do, she would 
 have liked most to raise animals, and live 
 on a little farm, all her own. But when- 
 ever she talked about it people laughed; 
 they said a girl could n't run a farm. Father 
 did n't laugh ; he said he believed she could 
 run a farm. But he said no one could do it 
 nowadays without money to begin on, and 
 money they did n't have. Alice knew this 
 was true. So she went to work in an office, 
 and began to save her money carefully, so 
 that in a few years she might have enough 
 
 168 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 to start a very little farm. And every eve- 
 ning she studied how to be a farmer. 
 
 By and by Christmas was near; and 
 just then the big uncle came home from 
 South America. He had been away ten 
 years, and he was a good deal bigger and 
 older, but he was as kind as ever. And one 
 of the first things he said to the girl who 
 used to be a little girl was, ''What shall 
 I bring you for Christmas?" 
 
 Now the girl had heard her father say 
 that Uncle Will had grown rich in South 
 America, and she remembered how kind he 
 was, so she did not want to ask for any- 
 thing, because she knew he would go and 
 buy her the very best of whatever she asked 
 for. And that would seem like taking ad- 
 vantage. So she would not tell him any- 
 thing that she wanted, though she would 
 have liked some new furs, or a set of books. 
 But still he kept asking and asking, and at 
 last the girl remembered about the times 
 when she was a little girl, and she began to 
 
 169 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 laugh very hard. " Please send me a Noah's 
 Ark," she said. 
 
 Uncle Will laughed too, and kept on 
 laughing a long, long time. "All right, my 
 dear," he said, " I will." And every few days 
 he would say, " Sure you want a Noah's 
 Ark? " She knew his teasing ways, so she 
 always said, " Yes, sure." 
 
 To her mother she said, "I should n't be 
 a bit surprised if Uncle Will carried out the 
 joke, and brought me a little Noah's Ark 
 on Christmas." And her mother said she 
 would n't be surprised either. 
 
 But he did not. On Christmas morning 
 he came early to the house, with flowers for 
 mother, a gift for father, and nothing for 
 Alice. But when he had exchanged " Merry 
 Christmases," he said, "I have planned an 
 excursion for Alice, an automobile ride out 
 into the country for supper at a nice little 
 place I know. I hope she will accept my 
 Christmas present." 
 
 Alice was delighted. She had not had 
 
 170 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 many automobile rides, and she loved the 
 country more than all other places in the 
 world. 
 
 So after dinner all the party was bundled 
 and wrapped, and they started off with 
 Uncle Will in his big brown car. 
 
 They rode fast, through the crisp Christ- 
 mas weather, and it seemed as if Uncle Will 
 had some particular time in his mind, for he 
 looked at the big clocks in every town, and 
 sometimes he put on speed, and then again 
 he would slow down a little. 
 
 At last, when Alice was getting very curi- 
 ous to know where they were going, the 
 machine turned unexpectedly in at a small 
 road in the pretty old town of Woods Farms, 
 and then in a moment it stopped before a 
 small brick house which stood close to the 
 road. It was a wonderfully pretty brick 
 house, and though it stood so near the road 
 in front there were fields on fields stretch- 
 ing away behind it. 
 
 "Oh, is this an inn?" said Alice. "It is 
 
 171 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 the dearest place I ever saw ! How nice of 
 you to bring us ! " 
 
 " Glad you like it," said Uncle Will. 
 
 As they got out of the car, Alice caught 
 sight of a fine-looking barn near the rear of 
 the house. It was rather new, and had many 
 windows in it. 
 
 "Oh, Uncle," said Alice, "will they let 
 us look in the barn ? I know they must have 
 stock there, by the windows." 
 
 "We will look the very first thing," said 
 Uncle. 
 
 Straight to the barn they went. Over the 
 large door was a name, but Alice did not 
 see it because Uncle called her attention 
 to something just then. A strong, pleasant- 
 looking man met them at the door, and took 
 off his cap to Uncle as if he knew him. 
 "Just in time, sir," he said, "they are all 
 here and ready." 
 
 Alice did not have time to wonder, for 
 what she saw on the great clean floor was 
 so fascinating that it took her breath away. 
 
 172 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 The barn was full of animals ! And they 
 were all in the main building, lined up like 
 a procession. Of course they were tied by 
 halter ropes, but they were so gentle and 
 beautiful that it seemed as if they stood 
 there of their own will, to show their visit- 
 ors how fine they were. 
 
 First stood two splendid cart horses; 
 great beauties from Normandy, with kind 
 eyes and glossy coats, and mighty muscles. 
 Next stood two sweet-breathed Jersey cows, 
 handsome and gentle as children. Behind 
 them were a pair of sheep, a big South- 
 down mother and the darlingest fat little 
 baby lamb. Next were two fat, sleek pigs, 
 that could n't keep so still as the others, 
 and made little grunts of curiosity and 
 conversation. 
 
 By the time Alice got to the pigs her eyes 
 were fairly shining. " Why do they have all 
 these beauties out here ? " she asked. "And 
 how did it happen that there are two of 
 everything? See, there is a hen and a 
 
 173 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 rooster, a duck and a drake, two turkeys, 
 two geese, — why, mother, there are even 
 two dogs." For just at this moment two 
 wonderful puppies came from somewhere 
 in the barn and threw themselves on Alice 
 with funny little barks and wriggles of 
 joy. 
 
 "Do you like them?" said Uncle. 
 
 "Like them," said Alice, "why, Uncle, 
 they are prize winners, every one ; don't 
 you see they are blooded stock?" 
 
 " Good girl," laughed Uncle Will, " I did 
 not know you were so keen. Alice, look at 
 the name over the door." 
 
 Alice turned, and read over the inner 
 door, in brown lettering on a green sign, 
 "THE ARK." 
 
 " Why, — how strange ! What a quaint 
 name ! " she said. " It just goes with the 
 animals, 'two by two.' What interesting 
 people must own this place ; whose inn is 
 it?" 
 
 " It is n't an inn," said Uncle Will, 
 
 i74 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 taking her hand. "It is a Noah's Ark, 
 Alice dear, — your Christmas present from 
 me." 
 
 "A Noah's Ark — Uncle — you don't 
 mean — you cant mean to give me all 
 this ! " 
 
 " I certainly do," said Uncle, " and if 
 you will just ' step lively, ladies,' I '11 show 
 you the inside of your ark house ! " 
 
 But what do you suppose Alice did? 
 She began to cry ! — Harder than she had 
 ever cried before. Uncle was terribly fright- 
 ened, and mother took her in her arms, but 
 Alice suddenly raised her wet face and 
 laughed. " I 'm crying for happiness, Uncle, 
 dearest," she said, "this is a fairy tale 
 come true." 
 
 Indeed it seemed like it. For in the house 
 were all the things a nice girl would love: 
 quaint furniture, pretty china, flowers, and 
 a whole bookcase of books on farming. 
 There were bedrooms for mother and fa- 
 ther, for Alice, and for Uncle Will when he 
 
 i75 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 was n't in South America. And there was 
 a cozy porch for summer. 
 
 Uncle said the house had been built over 
 from an old one by a man he knew, and 
 then after the family had bought furniture 
 to fit every room, and had built a fine new 
 stock barn, they were called by business to 
 Chicago, and had to sell. Uncle said he 
 heard about it the very day Alice had said 
 she wanted the Noah's Ark, and it fitted 
 his plans for her so perfectly, that he bought 
 it that same day. And then he sent all over 
 the country for the finest animals of every 
 kind, and hired an experienced man to take 
 care of them. The man was to stay and 
 work for Alice, and his wife was to help in 
 the house. 
 
 I can't begin to tell you what they talked 
 about that lovely Christmas afternoon, or 
 how Alice exclaimed and laughed, and cried 
 again, or how she went from one room to 
 another, upstairs and down, admiring her 
 Noah's Ark. Or how she made Uncle Will 
 
 176 
 
THE LITTLEST ONES 
 
 choose his chair and nook and room, and 
 how Uncle Will said it had been the dream 
 of his life to have a New England home to 
 come to when he needed rest; and how he 
 said it could n't be quite perfect unless there 
 was a nice girl in it, and a kind mother, and 
 a good father to make it safe. Really, it was 
 too happy to tell, for there was so much 
 of it. 
 
 But I can tell you what they had for 
 supper ! 
 
 Alice set the table in her own new dining 
 room, with the pretty china, and then in 
 the kitchen she found that Uncle Will had 
 stocked the pantries with everything a 
 housekeeper could wish. Mother had been 
 in the secret, and had helped him make out 
 the orders. So, with the bundles mother 
 had smuggled into the car, they had a per- 
 fect Christmas supper. There was cold roast 
 goose and crimson glowing jelly, and hot 
 tea and toast ; and then little mince pies 
 heated in Alice's oven, a great basket of 
 
 177 
 
STORIES TO TELL 
 
 red apples from the apple cellar, with cider 
 made on the farm, and nuts from mother's 
 bundle. 
 
 When it was all over and cleaned away, 
 Alice did not want to leave. She wanted to 
 begin living at once in her Noah's Ark. So 
 mother promised that they would all get 
 moved out before New Year's, and begin 
 the new year in the Ark. Uncle Will said 
 that suited him perfectly. 
 
 All the way home, with the golden Christ- 
 mas moon shining softly, and the Christmas 
 candles twinkling from the windows, Alice 
 sat by Uncle Will, her hand touching his 
 arm ; and all the way, her heart said, " Bless 
 him for his Christmas gift to us all! God 
 bless him for his great goodwill, and help 
 me make a happy home for him in the beau- 
 tiful ' Noah's Ark,' — my Noah's Ark 1 " 
 
 THE END 
 


 .JS 1 - • 
 
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