Project Gutenberg's Brooks's Readers, Third Year, by Stratton D. Brooks This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Brooks's Readers, Third Year Author: Stratton D. Brooks Release Date: September 16, 2012 [EBook #40774] Last Updated: March 10, 2013 Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROOKS'S READERS, THIRD YEAR *** Produced by Douglas L. Alley, III, Larry B. Harrison and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net IN A JAPANESE GARDEN. (See page 178.) BROOKS'S READERS THIRD YEAR BY STRATTON D. BROOKS SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS NEW YORK ❖ ❖ CINCINNATI ❖ ❖ CHICAGO AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY [Pg 1] [Pg 2] [Pg 3] [Pg 4] Copyright, 1906, by AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY. Copyright, 1907, Tokyo. BROOKS'S READERS. THIRD YEAR. CONTENTS Page The Magic Windows 11 The Land of Story Books Robert Louis Stevenson 16 O Big, Round World Alice C. D. Riley 18 A Wonderful Ball Adapted 19 The Great, Wide World William Brighty Rands 21 Flowers that Tell Time Kate L. Brown 22 Dandelion George Cooper 24 The Farmer's Wheat Field W. E. Baldwin 25 The Song of the Wheat Selected 27 The Song of the Mill Wheel Selected 29 The Sky Bridge Christina G. Rossetti 30 The Apple-tree Mother Selected 31 The Diamond Dipper An Old Legend 39 Beautiful Things David Swing 43 My Country Marie Zetterberg 44 My Own Land Forever John G. Whittier 44 Home, Sweet Home John Howard Payne 45 Verses for September, October, November 46 Emily Dickinson, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Dora Read Goodale An Autumn Riddle Selected 48 Leaves at Play Frank D. Sherman 48 Where Go the Boats Robert Louis Stevenson 49 The Corn Song John G. Whittier 50 Shapes of Leaves Adapted 52 [Pg 4] [Pg 5] [Pg 6] Dogs that almost Talk Edith Carrington 56 A Little Girl's Fancies Selected 60 A Boy's Wishes William Allingham 61 Rollo and George Jacob Abbott 62 The Farmer's Story Jacob Abbott 64 The Dog and his Image Æsop 68 Belling the Cat Æsop 69 The Dog in the Manger Æsop 70 A Wise Indian Adapted 70 Clovernook 73 The Poet Sisters 76 Our Homestead Phœbe Cary 78 Suppose Phœbe Cary 79 November Alice Cary 81 Columbus in the New World 82 Columbus returns to Spain 85 Columbus at the Court of Spain 87 The First Thanksgiving Marian M. George 90 Thanksgiving Day Lydia Maria Child 94 The Snow Baby Josephine D. Peary 96 A Snow House Adapted 101 The Northern Seas William Howitt 104 Verses for December, January, February Mary Mapes Dodge 106 Christmas Everywhere Phillips Brooks 107 The Christmas Song Selected 108 The New Year Marie Zetterberg 110 How Plants Grow Adapted 111 Talking in their Sleep Edith M. Thomas 115 A Riddle George Macdonald 116 Snowflakes Frank Dempster Sherman 117 Fannie's Menagerie "Rainbows for Children" 118 [Pg 7] How Lambkin White was Saved 122 The Lamb William Blake 129 The Necklace of Truth Old Fairy Tales 130 Speak the Truth Selected 135 Saint Valentine Adapted 135 A Famous Old House 138 Hiawatha's Hunting Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 140 Longfellow with his Children Adapted 143 Letter to a Little Girl Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 147 The Open Window Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 150 The Village Blacksmith Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 151 George Washington, the Young Surveyor 154 Surveying in the Wilderness 156 Abraham Lincoln James Baldwin His New Home 158 His First Great Sorrow 163 Hana and Tora Their Home 167 Their Festival Days 173 Verses for March, April, May 178 Dora R. Goodale, Thomas Bailey Aldrich An Easter Song Mary A. Lathbury 179 The Song of the Poppy Seed E. Nesbit 180 Clovers Helena L. Jelliffe 181 Who Told the News? Selected 182 Air Worthington Hooker 183 The Unseen Giant 185 What Robin Told George Cooper 190 A Bird's Education Olive Thorne Miller 191 How Birds Learn to Sing Mary Mapes Dodge 196 The Greatest of Beasts 197 The Story of Giant Sun Mary Proctor 202 Summer Sun Robert Louis Stevenson 205 The Story of Phaethon Greek Myths 206 A Sunflower Story Greek Myths 210 [Pg 8] Wynken, Blynken, and Nod Eugene Field 212 Rosa Bonheur Adapted A Little Girl who Loved Animals 214 A Little Girl who Painted Animals 217 A Great Artist 220 When Benjamin Franklin was a Boy Adapted 225 A Weaving Story Adapted 229 America Samuel Francis Smith 234 A Song for Flag Day Lydia Coonley Ward 235 Verses for June, July, August 236 The Seasons. The Months 237 For the Girls Charles Kingsley 238 For the Boys Selected 238 What would I Do? Selected 239 Pronouncing Key and Word List 241 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The selections from the writings of Henry W. Longfellow, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, John G. Whittier, Frank Dempster Sherman, Olive Thorne Miller, Dora Read Goodale, Lucy Larcom, Alice and Phœbe Cary, are used by permission of and by special arrangements with Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the authorized publishers of the writings of these authors. Special arrangements have also been made with the following publishers for permission to use selections from their publications: Little, Brown & Co. for a stanza from Emily Dickinson's poems; The Macmillan Company for "Clovers," copyright, 1902; Charles Scribner's Sons for "Wynken, Blynken, and Nod," by Eugene Field, and for a stanza from "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. Acknowledgments are also due to Silver, Burdett & Company for "Flowers that tell Time" and "Maple Leaves," from The Plant Baby and its Friends, by Kate Louise Brown, copyright, 1897, and also for a selection from Stories of Starland; to the Century Company for "How Birds learn to Sing," by Mary Mapes Dodge, from When Life is Young; to F. A. Stokes Company for a selection from The Snow Baby, by Josephine D. Peary, copyright, 1901; to the Biglow & Main Company for "The Easter Song," from Little Pilgrim Songs; to A. Flanagan Company for "The First Thanksgiving," from The Plan Book; to James Baldwin for "Abraham Lincoln," from Four Great Americans; to Alice C. D. Riley and to Lydia A. C. Ward for selections from their writings. Acknowledgments are due to Miss Frances Lilian Taylor of Galesburg, Illinois, and to Mr. W. J. Button of Chicago for valuable assistance rendered in choosing the selections comprised in this volume. THE MAGIC WINDOWS. [Pg 9] [Pg 10] [Pg 11] THE MAGIC WINDOWS I Did you ever hear of the Magic Windows? Those who look through them behold many strange and beautiful sights. If you will but make them your own, you may enter the fairyland of wonder and see all its rich treasures. You ask me how you can do this? I will answer by telling you a story. There was once a happy boy who played through the long summer days. And where he played the meadows were green, and the sky was blue, and the sunshine was bright. On every side the flowers nodded like smiling playmates. Birds chirped to him from the bushes. The rabbits gave him a friendly look as they went leaping by. The squirrels watched him with bright eyes as they ran up and down the trees. A little brook flowed through the meadows. On its sandy bed the happy boy found bright pebbles. His toy ships sailed proudly upon its waves or rested in the quiet harbors along its banks. Tiny fishes darted from their hiding places to eat the crumbs which he threw into the water. "I wonder where the brook goes," said the happy boy. "I should like to follow it and see. How I wish the school bell would never call me from my play! I would rather sail my boat than learn to read, and I like the rabbits and squirrels better than my books." II. harbor magic curious spun crumbs delight slumber cubs The little brook heard the boy's words as it went flowing by. On its way to the great river it ran through a forest where fairyland was hidden. There it told the fairies of the happy boy and of his wishes. By and by the sun went down and playtime ended. Night came, and the Shut-eye train carried the boy far away to the Land of Slumber. There a wise fairy met the happy boy. "Come with me," she said, "and I will let you look through Magic Windows into a land of wonders." Through the Magic Windows the boy looked with delight. All the things that he had ever wished to see were before him. There were the hiding places of the wild birds. There were the animals that live in the fields and in the woods. He could look into the birds' nests that hung on the tallest trees. He could peep into the holes where the squirrels kept their little ones. He could see the mole digging long halls under ground. He could watch the spider as it spun the silk for its curious house. Rabbits were hiding their young in the long grass, and little foxes were playing by their rocky dens. He could even see the bear's cubs curled up like balls in the hollow trunks of trees. III. seal reindeer monkeys crept huge dashing elephants hollow "Look to the north," said the fairy. And then the happy boy looked away over the great round world. He saw strange lands and strange people. Far off in the north he could see the land of snow and ice. There were the homes of the seal, the reindeer, and the white bear. Children dressed in fur crept out of snow houses. They went dashing over the snow in sleds drawn by dogs. Again the happy boy looked, and the wonder lands of the south lay before him. Gay flowers blossomed everywhere. Bright-colored birds found a safe home in the great forest. He could see the lion and his mate in their home. Hundreds of monkeys played in the branches of the trees. Tigers ran through the tall grass, and huge elephants pushed their way among the trees and bushes. Once more the happy boy looked through the Magic Windows, and oh, how wonderful! He could see into fairy land where animals talk, and where the playthings are alive. [Pg 12] [Pg 13] [Pg 14] [Pg 15] [Pg 16] "Oh, kind fairy, let me stay here," said the happy boy. "I can not leave this land of wonders." "Would you like to have the Magic Windows for your own?" asked the fairy. "Then listen well. When the school bell rings, it will call you to the land of books. Through the Magic Windows of your books you may see greater wonders than fairies can tell or fairy land can show." Another day came with the rising sun. Once more the school bell rang. Gladly the happy boy left his play, for in his books he would find the Magic Windows. THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS At evening, when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl, All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read. Till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away, As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about. So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear Land of Story Books. —Robert Louis Stevenson. O, big round world, O, wide, wide world, How wonderful you are. Your oceans are so very deep, Your hills reach up so far; Down through your valleys wide and green, Such mighty rivers flow; Upon your great sky-reaching hills, Such giant forests grow.—Alice C. D. Riley. By permission of John Church Company, owners of the copyright. [Pg 17] [Pg 18] A WONDERFUL BALL rough surface stretches drifts level islands feathery dreary I have heard of a wonderful ball which floats in the sweet blue air, and has soft white clouds about it as it floats along. There are many charming stories to be told about this wonderful ball. Some of them you shall hear. It is so large that many houses are built upon it. Men and women live upon it, and little children can play upon its surface. In some places it is soft and green, like the long meadows between the hills. In other parts there are trees for miles and miles on every side. All kinds of wild animals live in the great forests that grow on this wonderful ball. Then again in some places it is steep and rough. And there are mountains so high that the snow lies upon their tops all the year around. In other parts there are no hills at all, but level land, and quiet little ponds of blue water. There the white water lilies grow and fishes play among the lily stems. Now, if we look on another side of the ball, we shall see no ponds, but something very dreary. A great plain of sand stretches away on every side. There are no trees, and the sunshine beats down upon the burning sand. We look again, and we see a great body of water. Many islands are in the sea, and great ships sail upon it. Look at one more side of this ball as it turns around. Jack Frost must have spent all his longest winter nights here. For see what a palace of ice he has built for himself. How cold it looks! See the clear, blue ice, almost as blue as the sky. And look at the snow, drifts upon drifts, and the feathery flakes filling the air. Now, what do you think of this ball, so white and cold, so warm and green, so dreary and rough, as it floats along in the sweet blue air, with the flocks of white clouds about it? I will tell you one thing more. The wise men have said that this earth on which we live is just such a ball. We shall know more about this when we are older and wiser. THE GREAT, WIDE WORLD Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful world, With the wonderful water round you curled, And the wonderful grass upon your breast— World, you are beautifully dressed. The wonderful air is over me, And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree; It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, And talks to itself on the tops of the hills. You friendly earth, how far do you go, With the wheat fields that nod and the rivers that flow, With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles, And people upon you for thousands of miles? —William Brighty Rands. FLOWERS THAT TELL TIME sign remained refreshing curls jolly nightgown clambered porch Down in the grass plot of a pretty garden grew a little dandelion. He wore a green jacket, and his head [Pg 19] [Pg 20] [Pg 21] [Pg 22] was covered with sunny, yellow curls. In the morning, he stood up boldly, lifting his jolly little face to catch the dewdrops. In this way he took his morning bath, and he found it very refreshing. At dusk he put on his green nightgown and went to bed very early. The mothers said, as they called the children from their play, "See, there is the good dandelion! He knows when it is time to go to bed." As the dandelion grew older, his yellow curls turned white. Then the children would blow—one, two, three times. If all the hairs blew away, it was a sign that mother wanted them at once. If there were ten hairs left, the children said, "Mother wants us at ten o'clock." If but two hairs remained, they said, "Mother will look for us at two o'clock." DANDELION Dandelion, dandelion, Where's your cup of gold? Where's your jacket green and trim That you wore of old? Then you nodded to the birds In a jaunty way, And you danced to every tune The breeze could play. Dandelion, dandelion, Age comes creeping on, And your wig is snowy white, Golden locks are gone; But you've had a merry time Since your days began, And even now you're a cheery, Blithe old man. —George Cooper. THE FARMER'S WHEAT FIELD stalk threshed breeze flour plump healthy bearded grain forth neighbor thousand cheer here was once a stalk of wheat that grew in the middle of a field. It was very tall and it lifted its head high and nodded in the wind. All around it were a thousand other stalks not quite so tall. Every one was looking up at the sun and bowing to its neighbor, and saying, "Good morning." "How bright and golden we are!" said the tall stalk; "and how beautiful we look, standing together like a great army of soldiers! The sun shines to cheer us. And when the gentle rains fall, how sweet and refreshing they are!" [Pg 23] Morning glory vine When the children awoke in the morning, they saw the morning-glory cups peeping in at the windows. "Six o'clock! Time to get up!" they said. "The morning glories are calling us." Every afternoon the four-o'clocks bloomed. Their red and white flowers told the children that their father would soon be home. In the evening the moon flowers unfolded their great white blossoms on the vines that clambered over the porch. "Now it is bedtime," said the children, "for the moon flowers are looking down at us." [Pg 24] All day long the time flowers, like our clocks, are telling us the time of day. —Kate Louise Brown. [Pg 25] [Pg 26] "Yes, yes!" said the other stalks, waving back and forth in the morning breeze. "All the world is very kind to us. We have nothing to do but to live and grow and become bright and golden like the sun." "Ah," said the tall stalk. "It is true that we must live and grow and become yellow and golden. But after that, there must be something else for us to do." The very next day the farmer came into the fields to look at his wheat. He took some of the bearded heads and rubbed them between his hands. They were full of plump, round, golden grains. "What fine flour these will make, and what good bread for little Alice," he said. "The wheat is fully ripe and it must be cut at once." Then all the golden-headed stalks waved back and forth in the wind. "Now we understand it all," they whispered. "It is for the sake of the farmer's fair little girl that we are here. "She must live and grow and be healthy and beautiful. There is nothing that can help her to do this so well as good bread made from the best of wheat." Very soon the golden stalks were cut. The wheat was threshed and ground into the finest of flour. And then the flour was baked into fresh, white loaves of bread. But little Alice did not know that her bread was made of the wheat that she had seen growing in the big field where the daisies bloomed. —W. E. Baldwin. THE SONG OF THE WHEAT Back of the bread is the snowy flour; Back of the flour is the mill; Back of the mill the growing wheat Nods on the breezy hill; Over the wheat is the glowing sun Ripening the heart of the grain; Above the sun is the gracious God, Sending the sunlight and rain. THE OLD MILL WHEEL. THE SONG OF THE MILL WHEEL Round and round it goes, As fast as water flows,— The dripping, dropping, rolling wheel That turns the noisy, dusty mill. Round and round it goes, As fast as water flows. Turning all the day, It never stops to play,— The dripping, dropping, rolling wheel That keeps on grinding golden meal. Turning all the day, It never stops to play. Sparkling in the sun, The merry waters run Upon the foaming, flashing wheel That laugheth loud, but worketh still. [Pg 27] [Pg 28] [Pg 29] Sparkling in the sun, The merry waters run. —Selected. Boats sail on the rivers, Ships sail on the seas, But the clouds that sail across the sky Are prettier far than these. There are bridges on the rivers, As pretty as you please, But the bow that bridges heaven, And overtops the trees, And builds a bridge from earth to sky Is prettier far than these. Christina G. Rossetti. THE APPLE-TREE MOTHER I. reason mischief pasture couch bitter exclaimed sloping steam [Pg 30] [Pg 31] An old apple tree The old apple tree had stood in the corner of the pasture for so many years that no one could tell when it was planted. It was a friendly old tree. Under its branches men and animals found pleasant shade. In the spring it gave blossoms to all that came, and in the fall it dropped apples at their feet. The apple tree was easy to climb, as Dick well knew. From its top he could see the sloping hillside and the little brook that flowed through the pasture. Indeed, he spent so much time playing in the old tree that his father often said, "Well, Dick, has the Apple-Tree Mother kept you out of mischief to-day?" And so Dick came to wonder a great deal about the Apple-Tree Mother. The time of green apples had come, and all day long a hard wind had been blowing. When supper time came Dick was ill. Perhaps the apple tree could have told the reason. Dick was lying on the couch, and his mother was busy making a cup of tea for him. After he had taken the hot and bitter drink he lay watching the steam that rose from the teakettle. Just as he was closing his eyes in sleep the steam began to turn from white to green. Then an apple tree grew up out of the teakettle and stretched its branches to the ceiling. [Pg 32] "That looks like the apple tree in the corner of our pasture," thought Dick. And then he saw a woman sitting in the midst of the branches. She wore a dress that was green and brown, like the apple-tree leaves in the fall. [Pg 33] "I suppose that is the Apple-Tree Mother," said Dick to himself. "If she is as old as our tree, she must be very old indeed." Then the Apple-Tree Mother laughed and all the leaves of the tree danced. "My little boy," she said, "I am so old that I have grown young again, and I bring with me pictures and stories of the world that has lived about my tree." The Oriole's Nest. "Pictures and stories!" exclaimed Dick. "Oh, can't you show me some of them?" "That is just why I came to visit you," she said. "Will you have pictures of animals or of flowers?" "I would like to see pictures of animals first," said Dick. II. dusty oriole drooping happen handled sadness whistling joyous Then the room changed to the corner of the pasture. There was the fence and the brook and the old apple tree. Just above the fence, half hidden in the branches, was a nest that held five tiny eggs. The sound of bird voices was heard, and there in the tree Dick saw two orioles. They were singing a song together, and somehow Dick could understand it all. They sang of their little home and of the eggs that lay within it. And they sang of the happy time when five little birds would come to be loved and cared for. Then the two orioles rose slowly into the air and flew across the field. The nest was left alone. Down the road came a boy whistling and kicking up the dust with every step. Dick began to feel very unhappy, for he knew just what would happen next. The boy in the picture looked up and saw the brown nest among the leaves. "There is an oriole's nest," thought he. And in a moment he had climbed the tree, and the five tiny eggs were in his hand. "I'll take them home," he said, as he put the eggs into his pocket. But he handled them so roughly that three were broken. With an angry word he threw all the eggs on the ground, and then went on whistling and kicking up the dust. A joyous bird song was heard in the air, and the two orioles darted into the apple tree. The mother bird flew to her nest. Then she gave a cry so sharp and sad that it hurt one's heart to hear it. The father bird joined the poor mother in her outcries of fright and sorrow. There on the dusty ground lay all that was left of the beautiful eggs. Far across the field flew the oriole mother, almost wild with sorrow. The father, with his feathers drooping, sat on a fence post, and his happy songs were changed to notes of sadness. III. empty whining shoulder weary stolen crooked cruelly shelter howled rattling pattering limping second wounded terrible banging The Apple-Tree Mother looked very grave, but she only said, "Shall we have another picture?" Dick was afraid to say "No." He lay quite still, looking at the apple tree. The rain was beginning to beat against the leaves. Then he saw a weary little dog come limping to the tree, whining, and licking one of his paws. He was not a handsome dog. His legs were crooked and one ear was torn. The branches of the tree bent above him. And when the poor dog looked up at their shelter, one could see how big and soft and sad were his eyes. With a splashing noise two boys came wading across the brook. Each boy had a fishing pole over his shoulder, and in his hand was a small tin pail in which he had carried bait. As they came toward the tree one of them pointed to the poor little dog. It was the same boy that had stolen the oriole's eggs. "Now for some fun!" he said. Then both the boys sat down on the ground, and to work they went with a fishing line and one of the empty pails. They did not see how the apple tree shook its head at them. They did not hear how each raindrop called, "No! no! no!" as it fell pattering on the leaves. The poor little dog lay resting under the tree, safe from the storm. All at once he was caught and held by rough hands. He howled with fright and pain, but he could not get away. A strong cord was bound around his thin little body, and his [Pg 34] [Pg 35] [Pg 36] [Pg 37] [Pg 38] wounded foot was sadly hurt. At last the boys let him go, and with a wild bound he jumped through the fence and ran along the road. But oh, what terrible thing is rattling and banging around him? At every leap he is cruelly struck on his crooked little legs. Dick had turned his head the other way. His cheeks burned and his heart was sad. Then he opened his eyes and saw his mother standing beside him with a second cup of bitter tea in her hand. "Such a nice sleep as you have had," she said. "I really think you are better. Now sit up and drink this like a man." Never a word said Dick. He sat up and drank the bitter tea, while he thought of many things. Had he seen himself in the pictures which the Apple-Tree Mother had brought to his bedside? —Adapted from "True Fairy Stories." THE DIAMOND DIPPER I. rusty narrow further fern dipper towered suffering brim dying withered carefully spill Once upon a time it was very hot and very, very dry. No rain had fallen for days and days. The thirsty birds had stopped singing. The plants withered and the animals were dying for want of water. All the people were praying for rain. One morning a little girl started out to find some water for her sick mother. In her hand she carried a tin dipper. She climbed a high hill hoping to find a spring. Up and up she climbed. On her way she saw the dusty plants, the quiet birds, and the suffering animals. The sharp stones cut her feet. High rocks towered above her head. Their strange shapes filled her with fear. But she thought of her sick mother and she would not turn back. At last she came to a great wall of rocks, and could go no farther. "Oh, that some good fairy would show me where to find water!" she cried. And then a beautiful fairy stood before her in a robe like the clouds at sunset. She pointed to a narrow path among the rocks. The child followed the path and soon came to a spring hidden under green fern leaves. She filled her dipper to the brim. How carefully she held it! How softly she stepped, so as not to spill one drop! In her path down the hill there lay a rabbit almost dead from thirst. The little girl needed all the water, but she poured a few drops upon the rabbit's tongue. Then something wonderful happened! The rusty tin dipper was changed to shining silver. II. hurried twinkle garments stranger precious faithful diamonds ragged The little girl hurried home. With a happy heart she gave the water to her sick mother. The gentle mother raised the dipper to her lips, but she did not drink. "My faithful nurse, let her drink first," she said. As she gave the silver dipper to the nurse, behold! it was changed to yellow gold. Again the mother raised the water to her lips. Just then a shadow fell across the floor. In the open doorway stood an old woman. She was ragged and pale and weak. She could only stretch out her thin hand toward the water. The mother and the little girl looked at each other. Could they give up the last drop of the precious water? The mother nodded her head, and the little girl put the golden dipper into the hands of the stranger. The poor old woman took the water and drank it all. As she drank, her rags were changed into beautiful garments, and the dipper sparkled with diamonds. [Pg 39] [Pg 40] [Pg 41] [Pg 42] "Oh, mother, look! There is the fairy I saw in the mountains," cried the little girl. "And see! The dipper shines like diamonds!" They looked again, but the fairy was gone. It was not long before clouds spread over the sky, and a gentle rain began to fall. Soon there was water for all the plants, the birds, the animals, and the people. But the dipper could not anywhere be found. Night came, and the little girl looked up at the stars. There, in the sky, she saw the dipper shining like diamonds. And now, when the evening stars twinkle overhead, the mothers point out the great dipper in the northern sky and tell this story to their children. "Is the story true?" the children ask when the tale is ended. And the mothers smile as they answer:— "When you can tell what the story means, you will know that it is true." BEAUTIFUL THINGS Beautiful hands are those that do Work that is earnest, brave, and true, Moment by moment, the long day through. Beautiful feet are those that go On kindly errands to and fro— Down humblest ways, if God wills it so. Beautiful faces are those that wear— It matters little if dark or fair— Whole-souled honesty printed there. —David Swing. MY COUNTRY From sea to sea my country lies Beneath the splendor of the skies. Far reach its plains, its hills are high, Its mountains look up to the sky. Its lakes are clear as crystal bright, Its rivers sweep through vale and height. America, my native land, To thee I give my heart and hand. God in His might chose thee to be The country of the noble free! —Marie Zetterberg. MY OWN LAND FOREVER Land of the forest and the rock, Of dark blue lake and mighty river, Of mountains reared on high to mock [Pg 43] [Pg 44] The storm's career and lightning's shock, My own green land forever! —John Greenleaf Whittier. HOME, SWEET HOME 'Mid pleasures and palaces, though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home; A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is not met with elsewhere. An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain; Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again; The birds singing gayly, that came at my call; Give me them, and that peace of mind, dearer than all. Home, home, sweet, sweet home, There's no place like home, Oh, there's no place like home. —John Howard Payne. SEPTEMBER The peaches are ripe in the orchard, The apricots ready to fall, And the grapes reach up to the sunshine Over the garden wall. —Thomas Bailey Aldrich. The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown, The berry's cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. —Emily Dickinson. OCTOBER October glows on every tree, October shines in every eye, While up the hill and down the dale Her crimson banners fly. —Dora Read Goodale. [Pg 45] [Pg 46] [Pg 47]